Sometimes, Mike forgets that he does indeed have brain damage.

It's not his fault. It's just so easy to forget that you're dysfunctional when everyone around treats you normally. Until he fucks something up, and everyone realizes how flawed he is, treating him like he was a deranged half-wit. He can't make a mistake without anyone blaming it on his head, on him, like he was the very mistake itself.

He learned to deal with it, growing up with it from a very young age. How young? He can't remember, and he's not sure if he wants to either. Hell only knows how much more of childhood he would have had if only his skull didn't have a gaping hole in it

He doesn't remember when it began, but he remembers having to live through it.

Most of it is clouded, fuzzy images of a white hospital room, an old nurse, and a window just out of reach. His mother hardly came to see him, too busy working multiple jobs to pay off what he imagined was an avalanche of incoming medical bills. Her son hospitalized, facing the possibility of paralyzation, fighting to keep both the bills and courts away while working on a schedule of two hours of sleep and one meal per day. Mike knew he shouldn't of been mad she couldn't visit, but he couldn't help but feel a pang in his chest when he awoke every morning to an empty chair beside his bed.

The nurse was probably the most pleasant memory he had of his time in care. She was an old looking, plump woman, probably in her late 40s at the least. She brought him toys and tucked him in at night, stayed and told him stories on the night's he couldn't sleep. When the doctors placed him on a strict diet, she would sneak him tiny cups of ice cream she had stolen from the break room, the both of them laughing when he'd throw the spoon aside and dive in. For a while, that woman was a beacon in the storm.

Mike wished he could remember her name.

After they were sure he wasn't going to be paralyzed, that his scarred skin wasn't going to pry his stitches apart after a few failed attempts, they placed him in mental and physical therapy. It was an incredibly slow process, a total of fourteen years spent going twice a week to different therapist, physician, and psychiatrist. Each of them had their own methods of helping him recover, though, they probably confused him more than helped now that he thinks back on it.

The covered a variety of issues, ranging from his short term memory loss, to executing multi-step tasks, to helping him understand that even as he grew older, his emotional and sexual urges would be affected as well. He remembers being told he would never be able to drive a car, swim in deep water or even hold a professional conversation.

While he may have proved those predictions wrong, he still found it difficult to work a coffee maker.

They tested his memory and attention span with cheap card tricks, combined with his hand-eye coordination of dance lessons. After a while he fell into a simple routine, one he kept up until his emotional boundaries were pushed to his limit, and he found himself delivering a solid punch to his psychiatrist's gut.

Not much longer afterwards they had him switch over to another phycastrist, and 'personalized treatment', which almost completely centered around his unavoidable aggression and impulsiveness.

Sometime after a few sessions, Mike began to see just how whacked up his reactivity really was.

He would be sitting alone at home, watching whatever was showing or flipping mindlessly through the channels. Then in the next moment he's outside in his pajamas, standing in front of his mailbox with the weekly newspaper in hand. He blinked. When did he walk out here?

Another time was when he was shopping at the market, looking for some food to hold him over for the week while his fridge sat empty, and thecabinets at home had pretty much lost their purpose. He was minding his own business, a basket full of necessities in on hand and a jug of milk in the other when suddenly he blanked.

When he came to, he was standing in a puddle of spilled milk with his basket thrown down the isle, it's contents scattered across the floor. He quickly left before being confronted, vowing to never return to the store again.

His therapist grew concerned about these 'episodes', worried that if he continued to act rashly and adopt more risky behaviors, these 'blanks', as he liked to call them, would occur more frequently. She wrote him a recommendation to join a help group, one that would teach him how to regulate his emotions and try to rehabilitate what impairments he had to his judgment level.

That's when Mike realized he was nothing more than a series of weekly experimentation and anger issues, so he stopped going altogether.

Not long after it was like he was a whole new person. The blanks didn't stop, popping in every now and then, but he felt like he was developing his own personality, his own characteristics. It was nice to keep his own conscious thought when he was able instead of being told what and how to think. It felt like he had been freed.

But that freedom came at a nasty price. He became a lot more violent, and although he would never attack anyone without reason, there has been a few times with broken noses and bloody knuckles when the option to walk away was there, but he didn't know any better to take it.

It wasn't just violence, but other acts as well. He became a lot more forward, persistent, stubborn, the list could go on. In his view he called it 'determination', but it was more of fear of being defeated that motivated him more than the idea of a reward. His lack of control would cause of a lot of shit for others and himself.

Mike's body had a mind of it's own, making choices for him without his permission.

Jeremy should know, considering most of Mike's outburst would take place at work.

The nights when Mike would stay with him until 6AM would be the nights where no animatronic would dare bother them, or they would working their hardest to stuff the both of them. It was confusing, hard to tell if the robots were afraid of him, or just hated him deeply. There was a possibility it was both, since it was obvious Mike mutually shared the latter.

He's witnessed one of his 'blanks' before. The transition was short and quick, hardly noticeable to anyone else until every detail was accounted for.

Mike's body would tense, as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over him. He'd pale and would stand stoic, a cloudy his eyes.

Jeremy vividly remembers one night shift when the animatronics were particularity aggressive. Foxy was posed down the hallway, his mangled counter-part not too far from the office as well. Jeremy handled the cameras while Mike occupied himself with the flashlight, sneering as he kept the robots at bay.

Neither of them had been watching the vents, and it wasn't until chubby plastic hands snatched the flashlight out of Mike's hands did the two of them realize how fucked they were.

BB held his sadistic smile as he crushed the flashlight into two, the head of it popping out and dropping to the floor. Jeremy swallowed. There was the heart-gutting sound of metal against tile as Foxy crept closer, and the static that had been nawing at his ears for the past half hour grew louder as Mangle crawled through the final boundaries of the office, twisted and ready to lunge. It was too late for the mask.

He looked to Mike for some sort of signal. A signal to run, fight, hide, anything really. Instead, the security guard sat fuming in his chair, unresponsive to the night watch's calls.

Then with no warning, Mike lunged towards BB, throwing him against the wall and roughly down to the floor. Sputtering in surprise, BB backed away from the guard as he loomed closer. Mike looked as if he was ready for another attack when wire wrapped around his neck.

Mangle held the security guard in the air, suspended as he struggled for breath. Jeremy stood frozen, unsure of what to do and much too shocked to think of any solution anyways. His heart rammed in his chest as he watched with choking fear as Mike clawed angrily at the bonds. All Jeremy could do was call out his name.

He was raised higher until Mangle was close enough to clamp her jaws around his skull. Her mouth widened, the endo skeleton intertwined with her laughed with excitement, like the entire show of execution was a circus act. Jeremy screamed.

Then Mike's hands left the wires around his neck, and reached towards the fox's head, growling as he grabbed hold of mechanical teeth. Mangle's static fizzled in response, quickly chomping down onto his hands. Tiny streams of blood darkened the bandage's, trailing down his arm and staining his sleeves.

There was a lot of cursing, screaming, and the wretch of metal tearing from the party of three. Suddenly, Mangle dropped Mike, her head flailing widely from side to side as her radio wavelengths intensified. Endo hung limply from the body, in a mess of twisted, mixed feelings of pain and panic. Jeremy ducked under the mass, bolting straight for the bloodied body on the ground.

But instead of quickly falling back into action, Mike simply, slowly pulled himself to his feet, glaring down at his hands with a wide, cheek splitting smile.

It wasn't until Jeremy saw what he was holding did he realize that he had broken Mangle's jaw off.

Behind him, Mangle inched down the wall and into the right vent, her body still convulsing from the unexpected mutilation. Her metal body clanked loudly against the sides of the inner building as she made her escape.

With his breath heaving and chest pounding, he spun around to the guard's front, grabbing hold of his shoulders and looking underneath the shadow of his hat for any sign of distress. Mike's head was craned downwards at the jaw, his broad shoulders straightened and grip closed tightly, as if he was proud of what he had done. Jeremy, not receiving an immediate response, place a hand the older man's face to gain his attention.

He could of sworn his heart stopped when wide, dark eyes slowly looked upwards, smile never faultering.

Jeremy remembered Mike telling him about the 'blanks', and what to expect if one happened whenever he was around. He was told Mike would act himself, if not a bit rasher, and simply not have any memory of the event while it happened. He was told to remain calm, and play along, and disregard anything offensive or embarrassing the guard might of committed while in the trance-like state. He was told that most of the time the effects were minimal, not so different from his usual behavior, like you wouldn't even notice if he suddenly blanked out and back in.

He was told wrong. This wasn't Mike.

Jeremy didn't have time to react, not with Foxy slamming into him at full speed and harshly tossing him to the ground. He skidded across the tile until his back hit the desk with a thud, barley able to shake the dizziness from the impact to stare up at the pirate, light glinting off the hook as he raised it for the kill. Foxy screeched as Jeremy covered his ears, overlapping it with his own.

The animatronic's voice box cut abruptly, something pink and white being shoved forcibly between his teeth. The interruption caused Jeremy to peek open an eye and glance up, snapping to attention when he saw Mike in front of him, one hand keeping the hook at bay, the other pushing Mangle's jaw down into Foxy's throat.

Despite the animatronic's attempts to resist, the piece of Mangle was now stuck in the inner teeth of his endo skeleton. Satisfied, Mike raised a leg and kicked him square in the mid-section, sending him flying back a few feet. Metal feet scratched against the tile as he stumbled back, finally turning mid-fall and sprinting down the hallway, guttering curses like a sailor best he could.

Jeremy stood up, reaching out a cautious hand to Mike, whom had silently watched Foxy scamper down the hallway. The moment his hand made contact with his shoulder, the guard twitched, slowly turning around to make eye contact, his expression horrified. What had he done?

It was only after 6AM did Jeremy explain to him. The flashlight, snapping, BB, Mangle's jaw, gagging Foxy; it would probably be a story they'd like to look back on one day and laugh. But as Mike held his face in his hands, still bloodied from teeth digging into the flesh, Jeremy knew that day would be a long time from now.

Luckily that next morning, Mangle's jaw was strangely hooked back in place, a screw or two missing but on the bottom half of her face none less. They don't know how she repaired herself, whether she stole a spare, had another animatronic help her or just grew a new one out of nowhere. Frankly, they didn't care, as long as they didn't get fired.

Over the next few weeks, Mike promised to try and better control those blanks of his. Although it was unknown to why they were occurring more often, none of them were half as bad or long as the one Jeremy had witnessed. The security guard would find himself in the locker room, getting ready to end shift before he'd find himself in the dining room. Or maybe he'd be washing his face in the restrooms after a long day, and suddenly he finds himself saving that snotty kid from the ball pit again.

The weirdest situation Jeremy found him in was when he had arrived early after closing time, rounding the corner to find Mike in the middle of the party room, arms full of party hats and childishly throwing them at the still-posed animatronics. And when Jeremy attempted to take them away, Mike pelted a few at him too.

The blanks had dumbed down to nothing more than shenanigans of randomness and memory loss. It wasn't anything to worry about.

Until today.

It started off what you'd call normal. They woke up, Mike went work, Jeremy went to school, later Mike's shift ended and Jeremy's started. Nothing out of the ordinary, just boring and routine. Which they liked, mind you. Neither of them had come to like surprises, especially since Fazbear's was full of them. A puppet in particular, Jeremy mused.

Back to the present time, where Jeremy was getting in his uniform and Mike occupied himself by dusting out his locker. "Yo, Jere" He broke the silence. "This is the third day in a row I've had to pull that brat out of ball pit. I'm starting to think his parent's should get him some floaties or some shit."

The night watch smiled. "I'm sure he thinks you're his hero, Mike" The security guard laughed, shutting his locker with a sharp slam. "Bullshit. The kid threw ice cream on me, had to change ties." The guard motioned towards his front for emphasis. "This was the only spare I had"

Jeremy eyed the purple fabric and raised a brow. "I-It's not so bad-"

"I look fucking stupid"

The guard leaned against the lockers, unhappy. "Purple's not your favorite color?" Jeremy giggled, fixing his name tag to it's correct position. "I didn't know you were such a fashion queen" Mike rolled his eyes, moving to ruffle the younger male's hair. "Can it, dweeb. You know I'm too awesome to wear this"

"Because it's purple?"

"Yep"

Reaching back to smooth the ends of his hair, Jeremy glared up at the guard, resisting a playful smile. "W-why don't you like purple? I like it..." Mike seemed to stare at him with mock disgust, placing a hand over his chest like he had been offended. "Ew" He stuck his tongue out.

Jeremy unplugged the tablet from it's charging station, eyeing Mike from the corner of his eye. "You're weird, Mike" Said person grinned, pulling a brand new flashlight out from a nearby duffle bag. "I'm a boss ass bitch, Jeremy"

"...W-what?"

"...Just roll with it"

It was a few minutes until midnight, lights had already been shutting off automatically in the less occupied rooms. The manager had already left, trusting the lock up to them. Mike ushered Jeremy out of the locker room, moving to secure the front doors. He cursed underneath his breath as he fumbled with the keys. Should of done this earlier.

Behind him, Jeremy eyed the security guard. "Y-your not leaving?" Without turning, the older man shook his head. "Nah, Fridays are usually when their at their worst. Better safe than sorry" Although he didn't see it, he could feel Jeremy frowning behind him. "I-I don't need you to watch over me, you know."

One key finally fit the lock, and Mike twisted it until he heard a gratifying click. "Sure you don't. Lets get to the office." He retorted, stuffing the keys back into his slacks. Better safe than sorry, he told himself. It wasn't a phrase he took lightly, not with there being a endless chain of deaths and an expanding collection of tags in his locker. Jeremy had been the first to break the cycle, and Mike wanted to make sure it would never start again.

"D-don't you get tired of this? I mean...with the day shift and all..." The night watch asked, pulling out his chair. Out of habit he leaned over and flicked the vent's lights on. It wasn't even twelve yet.

Mike kicked his feet up onto the desk, lazily checking the flashlight's batteries. "Your one to talk. You go to school too, yeah?" Jeremy nodded. His classes ended at three, and he didn't get here around ten, if not earlier. "Y-yeah, I can catch up on sleep between when my classes ends and my shift begins. B-but you're here all day and yet you-"

He was waved off. "I'm used to it. Believe me, I've been doing this for a while" It wasn't a lie, though the discoloration underneath his eyes hinted that he's been losing sleep far longer than he's been working for Fazbear's. "Don't worry about it"

Mike tossed the flashlight to him, switching it for the tablet. "Don't expect for them to go easy on you tonight" Not like it was a cake walk on any other night, but as the clock neared twelve Mike couldn't help but feel like he should be particularly careful.

Jeremy shrugged, swatting his partner's feet off the table. "You going to leave marks" "Who cares?"

Mike's watch beeped and the two went quiet, each respectfully giving their assigned task at hand their full attention. Fingers tapped in rhythm on the tablets screen, falling into beat with the sound of light switching on and off. Just another night, nothing out of the ordinary.

BonBon spotted in the vents. Mike frowned. The bunny wasn't going to waste anytime, was he? She? It? Didn't matter. With a flick of his hand, he motioned towards the right vent. Jeremy caught the order out the corner of his eye and leaned over to flick the light. While is appeared empty, he knew something had to be lurking just around the bend.

A tap on his shoulder, and Jeremy turned around to see Mike's face covered with a mask, gesturing to his own. The night watch worked to strap it on, barley getting the cover around his head as light blue ears and bright green eyes peered in from the opening.

BonBon froze, glaring at the two unmoving forms. Their sensors could of sworn one of them was just moving, then again, it might have been a glitch in the scan. The recognition software had been known to delay from time to time, and it wouldn't of been a surprise if the readings came out wrong. Just to make sure, another scan was commence. Same results.

Unsatisfied, BonBon crept backwards into the vents and made way for the stage.

After he was sure the animatronic was gone, Jeremy let out the breath he was holding, pushing his mask upwards. Now that he could see properly, he flicked the flashlight a few times, surprised to see Bonnie at the far end of the hallway, his led lights flickering in stunned stance.