Chapter Text
Cut grass.
Freshly cut grass. The scent hung thick in the spring air. The child was almost proud of himself for remembering what it was called. What it was. As if he could forget anything now. He let his hand go slack, and Brother released it. He blinked, slow and unsure, taking it all in.
Screams and squeals and laughter. High pitched and ringing, squirreling deep inside his skull, burrowing between his eardrums. But he'd gotten used to that roar by now. It accompanied every large group of children. In class, at lunch. Recess and the walk home. He'd disliked it at first, couldn't stand it. The Party was bad enough. At least his return to school had been better. Most were staring too much to make noise. And those who didn't care were told to keep it down by adults out of respect.
The roar was background noise at this point. Never soft, always loud and everywhere, but ignorable. Avoidable. He could block it out.
Mostly.
"We're here," Brother said. He settled down on a patch of green grass, smiling at him. It was strained. He could tell. The events that had happened earlier weighed on Brother's mind.
Brother cared too much about those children. That child.
The ones that got Evan killed.
Brother had already made it up to him. Brother had done his best. Brother had tried and died and sobbed his heart out, had bled and shed his cruel grin and laughter, destroyed the mask that haunted the child's dreams. Had burnt away every scrap of the person Brother had been before.
He forgave Brother.
He didn't forgive them. It angered him- that after everything, all that would happen to one of his murderers was being maimed, then moved. Being taken away, far away, where he hoped he'd never see them again, yes, but nothing more.
He felt cheated, robbed of justice and what he was entitled to.
As far as he'd observed, nothing had happened to the rest of his murderers. It tasted sour on his tongue.
Brother drew his own knees to himself, hugging them. "You used to love this." His eyes took on that glassy, warm quality, lost in memories and nostalgia. The child leafed through a safe set of memories and found that to be an exaggeration. He had enjoyed it somewhat, but almost everyone made it unpleasant. He was a soft, east target for the petty cruelties of the young.
Brother looked at him, expectant, and the child tottled off. Perhaps it would be better now. Now that he was older, that he no longer scared of those his age, or those older or younger. Now that he had seem horrors and endured a torment far worse than any happy child playing here could inflict. Now that he drew breath again, was a living, breathing being, an impossibility.
He quite liked being an impossibility.
It was nice to be alive. To breath. To grow taller, and older. To know that his living- no, dying nightmare was over, and he was free. He only had to worry about his old ones now. But they hadn't gotten him yet. And Brother let him sleep and stay in Brother's room, far from where their claws could reach. Safe.
He didn't hate Brother for bringing him back. For giving life back to him. For letting him experience this. But at the same time, he would never forgive Brother for doing so. He wished so dearly that Brother hadn't. It would have been so much better for him, if Brother didn't.
The child was well aware that something was not quite right with him. That he was out of place. Wrong. Askew. That his experiences had changed him on a fundamental level, changed his very being. If their life was a puzzle, he was a damaged piece. Broken. He didn't fit any longer. And as much as Brother tried, tried to fit and fix and squeeze and glue, nothing about the child would ever be the same again.
Brother still fit. Almost too perfectly. He'd come back different, and was changing the world around him to make himself fit. He belonged.
Evan did not.
What he could have grown to be was no longer possible. He was not who he was before. He was no longer himself. If he could cry, he would. Cry over the lost of the young, innocent boy he was. Weak, yes. But whole.
A whole being.
A proper child, a heathly, crying young boy with a long future ahead of him. He wouldn't be holding the memories of years of suffering, too scarred by his events of his short life and far too long death to even cry. Watching the others, knowing when and how they'd die. Staring, with old-young eyes that he knew to be unsettling. Forgetting to speak and make his presence known, forgetting not to creep up on others, to move more smoothly and less choppy, less unnatural. To blink and smile and laugh and cry and sleep without waking up in a silent scream, fearing the monsters that hunting him before.
He used to simply be a neglected, weak little boy scared of everyone and everything. Then he was a lonely ghost, still afraid. Then he was no longer lonely, because the others were there, and she was there, to bring him torment again, to be his first real friend. Now...
He wasn't sure what he was now. A hollowed out shell, maybe.
He turned to the park. Neatly trimmed grass provided a soft landing for any child that happened to slip off the jungle gym; a firemen's pole was being squabbled over by a group of pouting kids. A broad tree, already growing fresh green leaves casted shade over a bright, painted tunnel. A solitary tire swing hung from its branches. An old path snaked through it all, almost completely worn away.
He ignored his apprehension.
He decided to head for the place with the most children. To dunk his whole body under the water, so to speak. Grow accustomed. Get it over with. He approached the jungle gym, saw that a messy line had been formed for the pole. He joined it, only to have a weedy kid butt ahead.
He found his voice. "The end of the line is behind me."
"Yeah. You're the last person." Their voice was obnoxious.
"I got here first."
"Well then, you shouldn't have let me go in front of you, then?"
"Move."
They snorted. "As if." They turned to say more, then froze when they saw his face. Recognition flashed in their eyes. "Evan?"
He didn't reply but they already were alerting everyone else. "Guys, it's Evan!" They pointed at him, calling their friends over.
A tiny group of about four children surrounded him, curious and pushy. "Did Fredbear really eat someone at your birthday party?"
He blinked. "Yes." It was true enough.
"Well, I don't believe it. Fredbear's the best! He'll never eat anyone."
"He did!" Another child, dressed in overalls and neon colours chimed in. "He totally did! My sister saw it. Fredbear was like roar, and he was really, really big! He grabbed someone and took a big bite out of them. Like this!" They demonstrated for everyone, holding their dirty hands like claws and chomping down on an imaginary unfortunate.
A different child crossed their arms, jutting their chin. Their brown curls shook, as did their candy necklace. "I was there, and that didn't happen!"
"You didn't see it through."
They frowned, giving the other child a stink eye. "Well, my parents told me what happened."
"Really? So what happened?" An inquisitive child asked.
"Fredbear ma- m-malfuncshioned." They stumbled over the pronunciation, but quickly recovered. "And someone got hurt, but the doctor made them better!"
"Nuh uh, Fredbear went on a rampage! And there was blood! Loads of it." They streched their arms wide. "This much. Buckets! All gooey and gross."
"Eww, don't say that!"
"Gooey, and gross!" They stuck out their tongue.
"Stop it!"
"It was like ketchup. A wave of sticky, gross ketchup."
"I'm leaving!"
They laughed and gave chase.
He was left with the rest of the group, which was growing larger by the moment, other kids curious about the circle they'd formed around him, and coming to investigate. "I heard someone died."
"Is that true?"
"No," he said. He survived. He lived. Maybe it wouldn't have been too bad, if someone had taken his place. If his tormentors had understood what it was like. If they had felt the pain he'd been put through, had become just as damaged as he was. Just as broken. If- "No."
"Then what happened?" A child with orange pigtails and bright green eyes leaned forward.
"Like the other child said. Some big kids got into a fight with Brother and I. They knocked into Fredbear, and he bit one of their arms off."
"Woah. That must be scary." A kid with a voice that felt oddly familiar stood behind him. He turned, but did not recognize them. He looked them over. They had shorts and light-up shoes, pink T-shirt with writting on. Short blonde curls, large bow clipped in their hair. Strange. He would have remembered their name and face if he remembered their voice. He couldn't forget anything now.
"Not anymore," he replied.
"I knew it!" The pigtailed child grinned in triumph. "I heard they come to life at night, and if you die, they hide your body and never tell anyone."
"Fredbear isn't alive." Not anymore, he didn't add.
"That's boring."
"Don't be mean!" A tall child elbowed the pigtailed one. "It must have been terrible, to get into a fight on your birthday." They bent slightly to get to his level. "Your party was ruined! I saw loads of policemen there. And you got hurt." A poke. "Are you still hurt?"
"No."
Another poke. "Hmm."
He took a step back, away from chubby fingers and nails with dirt trapped under them, away from questions and a growing headache that threatened to overwhelmed him. He moved back again, bumped into a young child, clutching a bedragged bunny plush. Springbonnie, his mind supplied, recognizing the greenish fur that was once bright yellow.
The child holding the plush to their body looked him up and down. He mentally prepared for another onslaught of questions from them, but was surprised when they were the one to back away.
"My brother says I mustn't go near you," they started. "He's very mad at you and your brother."
He was confused, so he said nothing. He took a moment to sort through his memories, then felt his stomach curdle when he discovered that this child was brother to one of his tormentors. The one who wore the bear mask. He didn't was to go near this child either. He wonders for a moment, what it would have been like if their brother lead the little gang of mean teenagers they had going. Would the situation be reversed? Would they be the one to die on their birthday, the one bullied and attacked? The one to have their being irrevocably changed?
He thinks so, and feels a strange kinship. With that bully as a brother, it couldn't be easy. They had a plush, like he had a plush, and a brother that was bad, or used to be. Their plush was even a pair to his, he concluded. Springbonnie and Fredbear. This young child, and himself.
Before he could decided what to say to them, they ran off, bright green top with a red heart disappearing from his sight. He stared after them, still. A few children asked him more questions, but he couldn't make out what they were saying. All he heard was the rushing blood in his ears. It was like his first day back at school, after the Party. But worse. So much worse. There weren't any teachers that already spoke to the other children, to warn them off bothering him and explain that he'd had a very traumatic experience.
Someone tapped his shoulder. Another began shouting their questions, because he wasn't responding. Someone shook him. He felt a hand touch his head, and he couldn't take it anymore. He pushed pass a few of them, sent a child with a balloon tumbling to the grass.
He ran back to Brother, who already had been approaching, concern etched on his face. He slammed into Brother, clenching his fists around Brother's t-shirt. He hung on tight, face burried in him. He smelt faintly of bubblegum.
"Evan, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have brought you- I should have known, I should- It's still too soon and I saw how they crowded you, I'm so sorry, I-" Brother tripped and stumbled over his words, panicked apologies falling from his lips. The child looked up, saw Brother's wet eyes. He was overemotional. Like the child used to be. It wasn't that bad. He didn't think so, at least. It would have overwhelmed him, but he got away.
"I'm so sorry... After everything that happened earlier, now this." Brother sounded miserable. It made the child feel uncomfortable. "Let's just... Let's get you home."
The child paused. Brother seemed so... Desolate. The child knew the events of today had been hard on him. It shouldn't have been. Brother should have been happy, to finally be rid of the tormentor. At least, that's what the child believed.
It occurred to him that Brother wanted him to be a happy child. A happy child would love to go to the park. A happy child would make friends with other children their age. A happy child would not cause Brother worry and pain.
He knew it couldn't be easy, to get him instead.
He may always be out of place, but Brother would never be happy and fit together if he throught the child wasn't.
The child did care for Brother. If he couldn't have a happy life, he could at least let Brother do so. And today he could start to try. "No."
Brother paused his torrent of apologies. "What is it?"
"I want to stay."
"Are... Are you sure?"
"Yes."
Brother looked him up and down, fretting. "If you want to. But if any of them give you any trouble you come to me, okay?"
"Okay."
Brother squeezed him again, then let go. "Be safe. Be careful." Brother already seemed better, and the child knew he made the right choice.
"I will," the child said, and went off.
He didn't want to brave the children by the jungle gym again, and he couldn't bring himself to try. He headed for the tire swing, whch seemed mercifully empty. He climbed in, sticking his midrift through the hole. It was uncomfortable, and he hung there for quite some time. There was supposed to be someone to push him, he was sure. He hadn't used swings much before. He'd been too scared. The only person who'd push him in a swing was Brother, and he used to resent it, punishing Evan by pushing him fast and high, making sure he'd never ask again.
The child put the memory aside. He knew how to push himself. In theory.
He dug his feet into the ground, kicked it. The tree creaked a little, and he felt himself move. He did it again, harder. He went swung forward and back fast, hands latched on so tightly to the tire they were sure to leave imprints. Once he'd come to a standstill again, he'd almost fallen in his hast to get off.
A giggle sounded.
Already off balance, this time he did fall. The ground was soft, but getting grass in his mouth was unpleasant. The giggles became louder. His heart couldn't decide if it wanted to sink in dread, beat erratically in fear, or burst with joy at hearing an all too familiar giggle. "You're not supposed to do it like that, silly!"
A small hand was extended in front of his head. He slowly raised his eyes, to meet the amused gaze of-
He froze.
A garbled sound escaped him. His head pounded, like it was being attacked. His palms felt slick, and he couldn't breath. He couldn't breath, he-
"Want me to show you how?"
Should he have expected this? Should he have known it would happen?
Yes. Had he have thought for one second, one moment, he could have... He wasn't sure. But something.
Something.
"Are you okay?" A hint of concern crept into her voice. "Hello? Anyone home?"
She sounded so wrong.
It was identical to how he remembered, but off. High-pitched and playful, barest hint of a lisp. She spoke like someone used to getting what they want, when they want it. Commanding. Confident. Young, but that was to be expected. Even when they had existed for years and years on end, they always sounded the same. She always sounded the same. Like a child, because they were. Two little children. Little dead children.
The child gazed at her, long and hard.
("Who areyou? Help me. I... Ithink I'm dead.")
He gazed at Cassidy.
Cassidy.
It always came back to Cassidy. The one who'd made it her mission to end William Afton. The One He Shouldn't Have Killed. The one that survived everything out of sheer, utter determination and want- no, need for revenge. The one who he had shared his prison with. The one who suppressed him until there was barely anything left. The only one of the others he could directly speak to. His first friend. His last tormentor.
The Last.
There were many firsts, amongst them. He was first to die, first to come to possess the metal monsters. Then there was the gift-giver, his visitor, from all that time ago. The Puppet. The Protector.
Charlie.
The first child to die by William Afton's hands. Then there was the other, one of the five. The Yellow Bird, who was Chica, he remembered, who was Susie, he'd learnt from Cassidy.
And Cassidy, who was last. Last to die. Last to possess their shared animatronic. Last to leave. The last to torment him. The Last.
Cassidy was the person he was closest to, during the long decades. In both the literal, and figurative sense.
("I know you're in here with me! I can feel you. I can feel you. Speak to me! Please talk to me. This place is bad and wrong. I'm scared. I don't want to be alone. Answer!")
"Um, you good?" She bent down, crouching. "Did you hit your head when you fell? I've never treated a concusion before. I wanna try! Do you have a concusion?" She was younger he remembered. But he'd gone back in time, hadn't he? He was older than her now. It was strange.
("Stop ignoring me-! Stop-! I'll make you answer me-!")
He blinked. "No."
It was the first thing he'd said to her, in this new life. The first thing he'd said to her as a living child. The first thing he said to her when she was alive. When they both were.
("Did he do this to you as well? Answer me! What's your name?")
"Aww." She was momentarily disappointed, but recovered fast. "Are you hurt in anyway then?" Her eagar face nauseated him. It was different. Wrong. He'd seen her, as a ghost, but her living face invoked a deep-rooted sense of unease in him. And he knew it wasn't the lack of inky tear strains, or the fact that it was no longer transparent.
("I'm going to hurt him. Like he hurt me. And more. So much more. He'll regret everything-! He'll be sorry, and I'll be... Why did he do this? Why me?")
"No."
Cassidy pouted. "I never get to work on a real life patient." She crossed her arms, settling on the grass beside him. "Why aren't you hurt?"
He couldn't bring himself to answer.
(He shouldn't have done this. He shouldn't have killed me. He shouldn't have- HE SHOULD NOT HAVE- He's gonna pay. I'm going to get him. And you're gonna help me. I am the One He Shouldn't Have Killed, and I will- Why...? Why? What did I do...?")
Cassidy's pout deepened. "I wanna be a doctor, you see." He knew. "And I'll never get any good if no one bothers to get hurt! You're mean."
("Why won't you answer me-!? Why do you never stop crying!? Crybaby-!")
He was taken aback, lifting his head from the grass. "No?" The word slipped from his mouth, unwilling.
"Okay, fine." She dragged the word out, as if it pained her. "You're not mean. It just sucks that no one gets hurt, ever! It's the worstest."
He blinked again.
("I'm sorry. I... My name is Cassidy.")
"So... Are you just gonna lay there the whole time?"
"...no."
Cassidy grinned, snorting. "You're weird.Do you ever say anything except "no"?"
"Yes."
"You're silly. Silly and weird," she said, with the tone of someone reading out a law. Then she giggled. Longer. Higher.
It triggered something in him. His vision went white and he flinched, scrambling away from her. Once the moment of pure panic was over, and he regained his senses, he felt just as silly as she said he was. He pressed his hands into the grass to hide their quivering, and shook his head to clear it.
He peeked up at her. Hurt flashed across her face, before it quickly turned to a smug look he knew to be forced. "Ha! Made you scared."
"Sorry." He didn't mean to react like that. After all, she couldn't hurt him like this.
"I guess I'll just..." She awkwardly stood, brushing off her pants. "Nice meeting you, I guess."
"No!" He sprung up, seized her hand. "Wait, I-" He stopped. What had she said earlier? "Aren't you going to show me how to use the swing?"
Her responding smile revealed the slight gap in her teeth, and a happy glint in her eye.
"Well, come on then." Cassidy tugged him along. She stepped towards the swing, grabbing the rope the tire was attached to. "First, you get on." She let go of his hand, pulled herself up on the tire. "Like this!"
Once she'd determined he'd seen her do it, she slipped off. "Now you try!"
He looked at her. Then back at the swing. "Okay."
He took the rope, pulling himself on. He almost slipped and fell of, but regained his balance last minute. Cassidy grinned again. He didn't understand it, but her face still looked wrong.Felt wrong. Was wrong.
"Now you need to swing." She tilted her head, looking him up and down. "You're too short to reach the ground sitting like that." Cassidy thought for a moment. "I know! Lean back and forth. It'll build up mo-men-tum," she sounded out.
He leaned back. He leaned forward. He fell.
Cassidy grabbed his arm before he face-planted in the ground. "You're so clumsy! Would you rather I push you?"
He nodded. She helped him sit properly. "Hold on tight, okay?"
Again, he nodded. His tiny fingers were glued to the rope, his legs locked on to the tire. He only had a few seconds to prepare, before a battering ram disguised as a child shoved him.
He squealed. The ground disappeared, and he was sideways, head facing the sky. Then his stomach dropped as he went back down, swinging backwards. Cassidy giggled, pushing him again. "Isn't this fun?"
"No!"
That just set her off again, snickers still stroking his unease. He squeezed his eyes shut, biting his lip. It just made everything worse, as there was nothing to distract him from this situation. He felt himself drop, then rise.
Something heavy grabbed the swing, slowing it down. He cracked open an eyelid. Cassidy brought the swing to a standstill, guilt on her face. She scratched her head, not meeting his eye. "Sorry. Was that too fast?"
He nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak. Cassidy rubbed her arm. "Sorry," she muttered. "I'm really not being a good friend."
"Friend?"
"Oh." Cassidy stepped back. "Okay, then. Sorry."
"No, wait." He reached for her sleeve, then pulled away last minute. "I didn't mean it that way."
"Then how?"
"I didn't know we were friends." A pause. "So, we are friends then?"
"Yes, silly! We're friends now. You looked lonely, so now we're friends."
"Friends." He savoured the word, unfamiliar sensation in his chest. He quite liked having a friend again. Even if she pushed him too hard. Or felt wrong. Or giggled.
She still was better than the Cassidy of before.
They had been friends. He thinks so. She didn't like him a first, then tolerated him. He was just grateful she'd never found out who he was originally.
"Oh shoot, just realized. I don't know your name. We can't be friends if we don't know each others' names! I'm Cassidy."
He stopped himself from saying "I know" last minute. "I'm..." His words died in his throat. Who was he? Evan was a living, whole boy. Miserable yes, but whole. He couldn't call himself Evan. It almost felt disrespectful to the child that had died oh so long ago.
He couldn't call himself the Crying Child. He was no longer the lost soul with no name nor memory of who he was and his life before.
He hadn't thought of himself with a name, or some kind of identity, in a very long time.
Cassidy waved a hand in front of his eyes. "Wait... Aren't you an Afton? That must be so cool!"
And he discovered why Cassidy sounded so wrong.
Hearing that name out of her mouth had never been a pleasant experience. She spoke it with venom, rage and betrayal dripping from it. Its only two syllables were uttered with great force and pure hatred.
It had always rubbed him the wrong way, made him feel unsettled. Unsafe. Even as the Crying Child, who had no memory of being an Afton.
Cassidy said it normally now. Well, not normally. Slightly awed. As if being an Afton was something cool. She didn't speak the name with enough hatred to terrify him.
That's why she had sounded so wrong to him. He was so used to her every word being bitter, tinged with resentment. Even when they'd become sort of friends, close before, when they'd nearly merged and become one. Her words always carried her hatred, even when they were light and understanding, or soothing and kind. Especially when she was angry.
Her face too. They hadn't had much cause for joy or happiness, but when she did muster up a genuine smile, her bitterness crept into it. Her loss was etched into her very face.
He'd never seen Cassidy happy.
It felt wrong to see now.
Her giggles were something he'd long associated with bad things. Cassidy giggled when she was too furious to speak, filled with so much rage that she couldn't handle it. Too angry to scream.
Cassidy giggled when she'd used honeyed words to convince the others to do something she wanted, high-pitched giggles infuriating Charlie. Cassidy giggled when she killed someone. Cassidy giggled and then she screamed and someone would die and she'd take out the rest of her anger on him. Cassidy giggled when she was feeling better and they were all being friends, pretending they weren't dead for a while- no. Not pretending. Just ignoring, for the time. Cassidy giggled when she was mean. Cassidy giggled when she ripped him apart with nothing but feelings and half-formed thoughts and words, leaving him a sobbing puddle. Cassidy giggled when she was satisfied.
Cassidy giggled. And he was afraid.
"You kinda look like Mr Afton. If I didn't wanna be a doctor, I'd be an inventor! It looks like so much fun. My favourite animatronic is Springbonnie. Do you have a favourite? What's it like having such a cool dad? My dad's boring. I wanted to go to your party like everyone else, but he said I had to go vist my grandma and grandpa. They're old and smell weird. I bet the party didn't smell weird."
She spoke fast, bursting with excitement. It was beginning to feel as through he'd never escape prying children. "Wait, wasn't there some sort of accident? I heard rumers when I got back, and I asked like, a bunch of people, but the grown-ups said not to talk about it, and that's boring. You were there, right? Of course you were, it was your birthday! What really happened?"
She shot off question after question, without pause. It reminded him of earlier. He didn't want to go over the whole events again, but he supposed he should. Cassidy was his friend now. "The Bite."
"The what?"
"One of my tormen- a bully. Some bullies got into a fight with my brother. Three of them, one of him. They knocked over Fredbear, and then..."
Cassidy gasped. "Poor Fredbear! He's Springbonnie's friend, he can't get hurt. I don't really like him through. His voice is funny."
He almost laughed. He hadn't thought Cassidy could be so childish. But she didn't know the rest yet. "One of the bully's got his arm bitten off by Fredbear."
"What?" Her eyes were as wide as saucers. "Fredbear hurt someone?"
"Yes."
"Oh." Cassidy shifted. "Like... His whole arm?"
"Yes."
"Just... Gone?"
"Yes."
"Oh." Cassidy contemplated this for a while. "I don't like people who hurt others. That couldn't have been a great birthday."
"Yes. But he deserved it."
"What?"
"He was a bully."
"No one deservesto get hurt. Even bad people. When you become a doctor, you have to make an oath to say you'll only help people. Even bad ones. Very bad ones. It's called the Hippo Oath," she said with conviction. "He didn't deserve to get his arm chomped off."
It felt strange to hear Cassidy say that. She'd been hell-bent on revenge on William, and uncaring of who she might hurt along the way. Like the nightguards. Like Charlie. Like the others.
Like him.
"But he did. When people do bad things, they get punished. They have to be."
"Why?"
It stumped him for a moment. "Because they did something wrong. What if they do the wrong thing again? They have to be taught. Punished."
"But not like that. Isn't losing an arm too much?"
This time, he had to bit back the laugh. He'd died. He had died. Losing an arm was nothing. "No."
"Okay." The two of them watched the other, then Cassidy broke the awkward silence that had been stretching out for a while. "Evan, right?"
Evan Afton went into a coma on his seventh birthday, Spring 1983. He had died in hospital, exactly one week later. A day after that, the Crying Child woke up in a fur and metal prison. The Cying Child died again decades later, burning for a final time. Hewoke up in the Afton's living room, on Evan Afton's birthday, 1983.
He didn't think he'd ever stop being the Crying Child. His time and experiences would haunt him forever. But it was time to acknowledge that he was Evan Afton, through at the same time, he wasn't. He'd always be the weak, sobbing little boy, some part of him. He carried Evan with him.
He hoped Evan wouldn't be too sad about losing his name as well as his identity.
The child needed one, after all.
"Yes."
"Well, Evan. Ready to try one more time with the swings?"
Evan smiled at Cassidy, his friend. "Yes."
This time, Cassidy got on with him. They sat facing each other, rope in between them, awkward. It was cumbersome, but they managed. "It's gonna be so hard to push ourselves when we're both on here." Cassidy kicked her feet, sticking out her bottom lip. "This would be some much easier if there was someone to push us," she complained.
"I have a brother."
"Wait, is he here? D'you think he'd push us?"
"He will if I ask."
"Then do it." Cassidy shoved him off the swing, gently. "Go on! What are you waiting for?"
Evan shrugged. Cassidy rolled her eyes. "Call him over!"
Evan walked towards where Brother sat. He'd moved from the grass to a bench, knees brought up to his chest. He had a misty look in his eyes, watching Evan. When he saw Evan approaching, he sprung up. "You good?"
"Brother."
"Yes? Is everything alright?" Brother already was checking him over, anxious. Evan appreciated his worry, but it was getting old.
"My friend and I," he started. "We were wondering if you'd push us. On the swing."
One would have thought he'd granted Brother's deepest wish, with the way he reacted. Brother beamed. "Of course, of course!"
Brother got to his feet, practically bouncing. The child- Evan, he quietly reminded himself- lead him to the tire where Cassidy was. Brother's giddiness faded. "Is that..."
"That's Cassidy."
"Cassidy," Brother repeated. He then paused. "She is..." He trailed off, hesitation sweeping through his words. "She's one of the missing children, isn't she?"
Silence. Then a small, raw, "Yes."
"I'm... I'm glad you made a friend." Brother rubbed the side of his head.
"I'm glad, too."
Brother had not asked Evan about his time as a ghost. Not once. He'd tried to go through most of the events he'd missed, what had happened to the people around them, but never asked Evan about his experiences.
"Well. I guess we best, uh, get to it then."
Cassidy waved at Evan as he came back, brother in tow. "Hello! Nice to meet you. I'm Cassidy! You're Evan's brother, right?"
"Yep, that's me." Brother bent slightly to be more level with her. He smiled, gentle and friendly. "I'm Michael."
"Cool. Evan and me wanna swing. Push us! Please," she added, an afterthought.
"Sure. Can't go wrong with a good 'ld swing, I'll be the first to say."
Cassidy giggled. Evan was able to get over the fear that accompanied it this time. This Cassidy was alive. This Cassidy was nice, and happy. "You sound old.And British. You're weird. Like Evan!"
Brother was unsure, but recovered his footing. "Okay, young one." He played into the role. "I'll push you. But bare in mind, I'm an old, tired man. Go easy on me."
Cassidy laughed aloud, genuine and clear. It sounded much better than the constant giggles. It sounded nice."Okay, old man!"
Brother shook his head in mock disappointment. "You can go get on now." He told Evan.
Evan pulled himself up onto the swing again.
"Hold on tight, you two!" Brother said, and memories of not-so-fun visits to the park flashed through Evan's mind. He latched on to the tire, heart beat quickening.
However, they barely moved. "That was hardly a push!" Cassidy scoffed.
"I know, I know. But I'm an old man, remember? I can't push you to high." Brother was grinning, mischief dancing in his eyes.
Cassidy rolled hers. "Fine! You're not old then. Push properly!"
Brother smiled. "Of course. If the lady commands." He gave them a stronger shove this time, and Evan and Cassidy moved.
Cassidy kicked her feet in the air. "Faster! Faster!"
Evan disagreed. But she was his friend now, so he supposed he'd have to deal with it. Brother complied, swing them high and higher. Cassidy squealed, laughing. "Wooooo!"
Once his fear began to subside, and he accepted he wouldn't be getting off anytime soon, it didn't seem that bad. Seeing Cassidy happy still felt odd, but good.
Swinging almost felt like flying. Weightless, with his friend. The pit in his stomach subsided. He could feel himself slowly breaking into a smile of his own. This was fun. This was nice!
Evan was playing, and he was having fun!
He let the laugh free from his chest, joining in Cassidy's pleas for faster, faster, faster. He let go of the rope with one hand, extending it out while the other one held firm to it. He felt the air rush past him. His chest hurt, from laughing. It felt euphoric, to fly like this. Like everything he'd gone through was left behind on the ground, leaving only a blissful, fast and free sensation.
Evan made a new-old friend. And he felt happy.
For perhaps, the first time in his life.
_
When they got home, the doors were locked. All windows too. Even the side door, which was normally never locked. Brother sighed, and Evan chalked it up to William's unstable moods. Brother rang the doorbell, standing in front of Evan in case things went sideways. No one answered. A long while later, it was getting late, and Brother had taken to pacing, fidgeting.
Evan sat stand down on the ground. The fading light bothered him more than he'd care to disclose. He felt exposed. Open. Easy pickings, for any monster than came along. Just when Brother seemed about to explode with concern, they heard the click of a key in the lock. The front door swung open, revealing Sister, already dressed and ready for bed, little fingers on the handle. She peered at them. "Daddy's upstairs," she said, by way of a greeting. "Where were you?"
"We went to the park. Father was a little too much, this afternoon," he admitted.
"What did he do?"
Brother hesitated. "It's a long story."
Sister stared at him, a little to hard. "Okay."
Brother didn't notice. "Come on, Evan. Let's get you warm." He rested a hand on Evan's shoulder, steering him inside the house, past Sister. She huffed, dropping the key on the little table they had in the entrance hall. She went off to the lounge. Brother let go of him to lock behind them.
Evan walked over to the doorway to the lounge. Sister was sprawled across the couch, blanket wrapped around her. A brand new, shiny television box had been set up. It was playing a cartoon, on low volume. She looked miserable, but hid it quickly when Brother poped his head in to check on her. Brother didn't notice how he face had been. He wouldn't. Evan thinks that maybe if Brother was less worried about him, he'd have time to worry about Sister too.
"Did Father get a new TV?"
"Yes. He said you're not allowed to use it because you broke the last one. Evan can through."
"Of course." Brother didn't seem too upset by the fact. "Well, not to late, okay? You still have school tomorrow."
"I know, I know." Her eyes were glued to the screen. But they had a glassy quality and Evan knew she wasn't really watching. Just determined to ignore Brother.
Brother brought Evan upstairs. He helped him get done for bed. Apparently, William had cooked, but didn't bother to make sure there'd be enough for Evan and Brother. Brother let him have all the meagre leftovers, claiming he wasn't hungry anyway. He made him a warm cup of hot chocolate to go long with it.
Brother set the steaming mug aside on Brother's bedside table. "I'll just take this back to the kitchen," he said, grabbing Evan's empty plate. While he trooped downstairs, Evan kept out of the bed. He listened for a moment, sharp ears trained to catch every slight noise. He heard the sink tap turn on, and the sound of Brother washing up the dish.
Evan hurried over to Brother's desk. He pulled open a drawer. Inside was various Fazbear toys and collectables. Old birthday gifts and stolen goods, things left in the lost and found for a little too long. Scrapped prototypes William discarded and sent Brother's way.
Brother used to collect it all religiously, Evan remembered. Now, he'd opened the drawer once, and slammed it shut again with a look of disgust. That made Evan figure it was the safest place to keep it.
He moved some of the junk out of the way, and pulled a mangled, dirty yellow plush out. He smoothed out its fur, rubbed over the clumsy, hard attempts to glue it back together he'd made. He'd had to hunt for a while to find all the pieces that weren't robotic bits and bods. He wanted to save Fredbear, not the monitoring device William suck in it. Frankly, now it was a mess. A hot, ugly mess. And it was his.
Evan hugged his first friend close, and began to tell him the events of the day. The empty cloth and fur of Fredbear, hastily suffed with paper to give it some semblance of form, didn't speak back to him.
That was okay. He didn't need it to. He just needed to talk, without interruption, to a friendly face.
When he heard Brother making his way back upstairs, he pressed a kiss to the top of Fredbear's head, like he'd seen many do to comfort another. He tucked it away, re-covering it with Brother's forgotten possessions. He closed up the drawer, and climbed back into bed.
Brother entered the room, shaking his hands dry. He sat next to Evan, and wiped some of Evan's hair out of his eyes. "Did you have a good afternoon?"
"Yes."
Brother smiled. "At least there's that. I'm glad."
Evan just snuggled deeper into the blanket. He felt cold, and his eyelids were heavy.
"Evan?"
Evan forced his eyes open. "Hmm?"
"Are you happy?"
Surprisingly, the first answer that jumped to mind was not an immediate 'No.' That didn't mean it was an automatic 'Yes' either. He didn't think it would ever be that simple.
He thought for a moment. "I can be."
It wasn't a lie, he found. Being reunited with Cassidy again, a Cassidy that willingly befriended him, that was soft features and and true smiles and happy laughter, made him feel far better than he had before.
And while Evan knew he would never forgive Brother for bringing him back, he was thankful. He may not fit anymore, but neither did Brother. He saw it now. Brother was just as out of place as he was. But Brother didn't let that stop him from trying to make a new place for them in this strange time.
"Thank you," whispered Brother. "I just want you to be happy."
Brother's words settled heavy on his shoulders. Evan had been happy earlier. Perhaps, of he tried, he could be happy always. He wasn't the same as he was before, but their confusing puzzle of a life was no longer the same either. Evan still didn't fit the new puzzle- far from it. But he could. He could try.
After all, he had the rest of his life to do so.
