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He couldn’t believe he was doing this. Especially out in public. Michael pulled at his scarf with one hand, while the other rested on the diner table. Thankfully, it was pretty late in the night, the time creeping closer to the AMs, so the diner wasn’t very full. Still, whenever a worker or fellow weirdo eating out at 11:28PM passed, he could feel their stares burning into him. He couldn’t blame them. Sure, it was winter, but a scarf covering half his face, a dirty and questionably stained security hat, and a thick coat with bandaged hands? Michael would’ve thought it was shady too, and so he kept his eyes down on the table so people wouldn’t get too close a look.
Though it also could’ve been the smell. He tried to cover up the whole “decomposing” smell with a lot of perfume. A whole bottle of “In the Stars” (it was the first thing he saw on sale, okay?).
Thinking about it, it was definitely the smell.
“Are you ready to order…?” A waitress who silently snuck up on Michael asked, and the walking corpse tilted his head to the window, avoiding eye contact.
“Waiting for two,” he quietly answered, pulling his scarf up just slightly. He didn’t get a good look at her, but she had that kind southern accent that would make any person instantly trust her. Michael didn’t want to scare the bloody hell out of the woman.
“Alright, sir,” she was forcing a customer service voice. Badly. “Would ya’ like a drink while you wait?”
“Iced water would serve well, thank you.”
He could hear her scribble down his “order,” if it could even be counted that. “Thank you, sir, I’ll be back with your water in a moment.” She didn’t wait around for a second thanks, by the time he eyed where she was standing, she had already slinked away.
Michael turned his attention back to the window, his eyes fixed on the scenery outside. It was nothing pretty, just a parking lot and lights, but it kept his attention.
“Mike Schmidt?”
That was a voice he never heard before. Quiet, unsure, slightly intimidated, definitely not the voice of an uncomfortably curious adult or a waiter. Turning his head, he could feel his eyes widen just slightly as he stared at the two.
They were like him.
Not walking corpses, but… noticeably affected , if that made sense. One more than the other. The one in the wheelchair, they had a nasty scar running through their forehead, the skin around it hasn't seemed to healed correctly, and even their left eye was fallen and nearly closed. Michael knew what that wound looked like. He never got to see it healed, but he knew. He saw it on his little brother, he saw it in the hospital, and he was the cause of it. The other person had horrible posture over and simply looked exhausted, as if the world had decided to turn against them and only them. Michael knew that look anywhere, mostly because he knew it in his own reflection.
These were the two.
“Michael, actually,” Michael answered with a nod, using his hands to gesture to the table. “Fritz Smith and Jeremy Fitzgerald, I assume?” He asked. The duo nodded, and Michael watched as Fritz pulled out a chair and sat down, and as Jeremy pushed a chair off to the side to make himself room.
…Jeremy wouldn’t look away from him. Fritz seemed to notice Jeremy’s death stare too towards Michael too, giving an awkward cough. Michael eyed Jeremy, but turned to Fritz. “So… how should I..?”
“Ah- feeling like neither today,” Fritz quickly picked up on Michael's unasked question, which caught the man off guard. Still, Michael gave a nod of understanding, and Fritz beamed.
“Good to know you’re not a fake,” Jeremy suddenly spoke, putting his arms on the table and leaning on them.
“A fake ?” Michael couldn’t help but sputter out, a bit shocked (and honestly, a little offended) at the accusation.
“I was worried you were lying for attention! Like, another night guard who went through that hell? That’s too good to be true,” Jeremy threw his arms around during his short rant, while Fritz's expression changed from their short lived joy to something a little more sheepish.
“Me… a fake ?” Michael asked, expression absolutely dumbfounded as he gestured towards himself. Come on , he was a walking corpse! And he had so much video evidence on his channel, completely unedited.
“SFX makeup and editing exists! We were worried you were lying, or- or one of those ‘analog horror’ series or whatever you call them,” Fitz threw their hand out as he spoke, a little desperate to defend themself.
“Excuse me, but is this everyone?” There was an almost cartoonish beat of silence across the whole group, before everyone’s head snapped towards the source of the voice (Michael excluded, he looked down so quickly at the table that he nearly headbutted it).
“Yes, ma’am,” Fritz spoke for the group, an awkward laugh shoved after his words. As he spoke, his hand ran through his dirty blonde hair.
“Great! What would y’all like to drink while ya’ wait?” She asked, setting down Michael’s glass of iced water in front of him (to which he mumbled a small “thank you,”) and within a second she already had her notepad in hand, ready to write down the group’s requests. One “iced tea, please,” from Fritz and a “Just water,” from Jeremy later, and the waitress said her whole thing, the group was finally left alone again. Slowly and awkwardly, the three turned their heads to each other.
No words came out. Fritz tugged at his shirt collar, Michael twirled a loose thread from his scarf in his fingers, and Jeremy’s fingers tapped against each other. “…we should probably pick out what we want, now,” Fritz took the fall of speaking first, sliding a menu from the middle of the table to himself.
“Good idea,” Jeremy took a menu of his, opening it. “Mhm,” Michael agreed with a nod, taking the last remaining menu and practically burying his face in it.
Another wave of silence washed over the group as they read through the menus, seeing if there was anything worth eating. Michael finished first, simply deciding on the cheapest thing he could find since he couldn’t really eat, and signaled he was done via setting the menu on the table. Jeremy followed soon after, and a minute later followed Fritz.
“So what’s with the smell?” Jeremy asked probably the worst question for a conversation opener, and Michael groaned, letting his head fall to the table with a thunk . He ignored Fritz’s poorly held back laugh.
“Is it really that bad?” The shame was apparent in Michael’s voice, even through the dual effort of the table and scarf’s muffling.
“I could smell it when I walked in,” Jeremy commented, snickers ending his sentence. Michael tilted his head up, eyeing Fritz.
“Please tell me he’s exaggerating,” The man pleaded.
Fritz slowly shook his head, fighting the smile threatening to form on his face as Michael’s face dropped back on the table. “It smells like the perfume department in the mall,” Fritz’s comment did not help Michael’s ever growing despair.
“So here’s y’all’s drinks,” the waitress was back already, and Michael didn’t even look up. He listened to the chorus of “thanks” and glass clinking to the table. “Are ya’ three ready to order?”
“Yes, and I would like the Cali Club Sandwich.”
Michael was still groveling in his own embarrassment, far too ashamed to lift his head. After Fritz’s order of “Lumberjack burrito, please,” Michael simply said “just a house salad, ma’am,” through the table. He was infinitely grateful that she didn’t ask if he was okay. She just took the orders, said her waitress things, and left. After her footsteps faded, he could feel Fritz’s and Jeremy’s stares. He still didn’t look up. He still wasn’t over the whole perfume thing.
“So why the perfume?” Of course Jeremy would ask. Of course he would.
Michael sighed, and finally lifted up his head. “Would you rather smell perfume, or rotting flesh?” He asked, sitting up as well.
“Fair point,” Fritz answered, raising his hand to adjust his glasses to comfortably sit on his nose.
Before another silence had the chance to loom over the group, Michael started to speak. He did not want another painfully awkward silence. “So are we actually going to talk about Fazbear’s, or are we all going to keep unsubtly avoiding the topic?”
Ah. Wrong move, apparently. Silence did indeed loom over the three, the only response to Michael’s question being an exchanged look from Jeremy and Fritz. God, the two were like twins.
“Well-“ oh thank god, Jeremy spoke. “There isn’t much to really… talk about, that I haven’t already said. We all went through horrible night shifts, Fritz and I without doors and more animatronics, and when I got moved over to the day shift…” Jeremy gestured to his scar. Ah, the infamous bite of ‘87. Still, looking at Jeremy’s scar just made Michael uncomfortable, his fingers suddenly retreating to his scarf to fidget and pull at, with his mind clouded over by vague memories of Evan. Thankfully, Jeremy’s continued explanation was enough to pull him out of it. “And you… have your whole thing -”
“Oh- oh!” Fritz cut off Jeremy with an exclamation coming from out of nowhere , but it gifted him with both Michael’s and Jeremy’s attention. “I got one: why’d you take your first night shift? I’ll go first! I was just following Jeremy around and copying whatever he did since I had no idea what I was doing,” Fritz said with a laugh. Michael couldn’t help but feel a smile form from underneath his scarf at the way Jeremy playfully shook his head.
“I needed a job and my sleep schedule was already screwed up from finals, so hey- why not night guard duty after graduation?” Jeremy answered, bringing a hand to his head in a facepalm as he sighed. “Stupidest mistake I’ve ever made.”
“At least you weren’t me,” Michael mumbled, expression already sour as he cringed. Jeremy and Fritz were now not so subtly leaning towards him, obviously interested in what he had to say next. “I liked how the employees got free pizza, and I’ve had experience with the whole company.”
“Ooh, what kind of experience?” Fritz hummed with curiosity, leaning even closer now, causing Michael to press himself against the back of his seat. He wasn’t the most… used to socializing after getting scooped. Jeremy was thankfully refraining, but he definitely had some sort of glint of curiosity in his eyes.
“My dad, uh… worked there,” Michael decided to leave our that work also included murdering innocent children. “And I have not had the best experiences with the place- before the night shifts, I mean.” Michael scrambled to imply what he meant, without actually saying it. As much as he burned to talk about everything that happened to him, everything he did, at the same time he just couldn’t . It was agonizing and endlessly frustrating, and even if it was the reason he started the channel he still couldn’t say everything.
Even with people who went through something so similar to what he went through, he couldn’t say anything! Because, how do you just say that your father was the one who half started the company that ruined their lives? The one who killed so many children, and got off scott-free with no punishment. The one, who sent you down into a goddamn bloody mineshaft giving you hope you could maybe? Just maybe see your sister again, only to be used and manipulated by her and other corrupted souls as a way out and the worst way possible. How do you even mention that your father’s bloodlust fucking rubbed off on you, and that you killed your younger brother, who you tormented because you were stupid and thought it was funny, and you only realized it when the blood was on your hands and you sent your father into a spiral he never recovered from.
“You okay there?” Fritz asked, bringing Michael back into reality. Concern was heavy on the dirty blonde’s face, and even while Jeremy said nothing, it was obvious he felt the same.
“Ye- yeah. I’m fine. Just spaced out,” Michael dismissed the topic metaphorically and physically with a wave of his hand. He didn’t want the two to worry about him, especially not on the first in person meeting.
“You’ve spaced out a lot,” Jeremy commented, slight sarcasm to his voice as he lifted a brow.
“It’s just a dead people thing,” Michael grumbled, half a lie and half a joke just to cover his own ass so they don’t start pitying him.
“…really?” Jeremy asked, resting an arm on the table while using the other to rest his chin. Michael spared a glance to Fritz, who looked slightly skeptical.
“Hell if I know,” Michael shrugged, leaning back in his seat. Why was this diner so slow?
“How about we talk about something else then?” Fritz suggested, shrugging their shoulders a little.
“Isn’t talking about Fazbear’s what we came here for?” Jeremy blurted out, taking the words right from Michael’s mouth.
“No, I thought we came here to get to know eachother better?” The dirty blonde hummed, and honestly neither Jeremy or Michael could tell if he was genuine or playing dumb to switch the topic.
Jeremy took the bait, not really caring either way. “Alright. What do you like to do in your free time, Mike?”
Michael leaned back, fingers tapping the table as he hummed in thought. In truth, he didn’t do much. Mostly just hunted down for any scraps of recent information regarding Fazbear Entertainment, and of course, managed his channel in the slim chance someone could help. Nobody ever did, nobody ever believed him. “Hmm… manage my channel mostly… though if there’s a rerun of Immortal and the Restless I’ll catch that,” Michael finally answered.
“… Immortal and the Restless? ” Fritz asked, and Michael glared at them as they raised a hand to cover his twitching smile as he tried not to smirk.
“Hey- it’s a good sh-“
“Even your taste is dead, dude.” Jeremy’s comment dried up and killed any of Michael’s defenses, as the corpse suddenly burst with life and laughter. He didn’t know why it was so funny, but god it got him good. Fritz’s hand fell and they allowed their laughter to finally crack, all while Jeremy beamed with pride at his joke (even if it wasn’t meant to be a joke and was just a comment).
“Okay- first of all, fuck you two,” Michael finally said after his laughter eased into light giggles. He sat back up, adjusting his scarf in case it slipped during his laughing fit. He couldn’t help but smile at the way Jeremy playfully rolled his eyes, and the way Fritz had to adjust his glasses from the way his laughing lopsided them. “If you two are laughing at the stuff I like, what about you two, huh? What do you two do?”
“I can do wheelies,” Jeremy answered, getting another poorly covered up snicker from Fritz.
“I meant a hobby,” Michael attempted to clarify, only for Jeremy to roll back in his chair and shake his head.
“I do it enough for it to count as a damn one, hold on- I’ll show you.”
“No, no, no, c’mon Jere-“ Fritz’s attempts to change their friend’s mind through giggles only failed, even as Michael chimed in.
“Jeremy, it’s fine, I believe y-“
“Nope, too late, not backing out of this now.”
Michael’s face began to crack with another smile and fit of giggles as Jeremy began to roll into the walkway, and just as he put his hands on the rear wheel and quickly snapped it forward, effectively performing the wheelie, the waitress had suddenly appeared with their food.
Michael could hold back a laugh as Jeremy stared at her (Fritz could not), still in wheelie position, but he couldn’t hold back a slow clap.
“ Sorry ma’am ,” Jeremy practically whispered, quickly setting his front wheels back on the ground and shamefully rolling back to the table which Fritz was practically beating with their hand as they tried to calm down.
Thankfully the waitress seemed to have a sense of humor, chuckling lightly as she set down the tray of their food. “Now, who had th’ Cali Club sandwich?”
“That was me,” Jeremy raised his hand, voice still quiet and embarrassed from the awkward experience just a second ago. Michael looked back towards the window as she handed him his food.
She was still sweet, the woman handed Michael and Fritz their plates, before continuing on with her job. However, after that there wasn’t much conversation. Unless you counted occasional comments and questions that never really went anywhere, as everyone was more focused on the (slightly below average) food. Michael only poked at his food, with occasional glances to see if Jeremy and Fritz were almost done.
But of course, the two were mostly focused on their food and finishing it, so nothing else happened. When they were finished and looked at Michael’s entirely full bowl, he only shrugged and said he would take a to-go box. There was a conversation, but it was only on how to pay for the meal and the three agreed on splitting it and each giving a good tip (mostly since the waitress managed to put up with them and was still so sweet).
But after that? That awkward atmosphere returned, and once they had stepped outside, it felt even heavier.
“…so…” Fritz hummed, not really sure how to start this. “See you again, soon?” They asked, reaching a hand out to Michael. He eyed it, looking from Fritz’s hand, to Fritz, to Jeremy, and back to their hand.
“It would be nice. I had a good time after all,” Jeremy added with a shrug.
Michael knew they couldn’t see it, but he felt himself smile under his scarf. “Sure. I had a fun time, honestly,” Michael answered. He really did hope they’d be able to meet more, just hopefully not in anymore public spaces.