arson is my middle name | m. afton

five

you've been good
you've been good to me
so sad like a comedy
yeah, i'm floating on an open ocean
do the dance, go through the motions

Saint Motel
The Moment

•••••

A Michael-orientated beginning, as a treat

TW: death, cremation(?), blood. its fnaf lmfao what else would u expect

  Michael wasn't meant to wake up after the fire. 

  If we're being technical, he wasn't meant to wake up after getting his insides forcefully removed, either. It should've been a straight road to his end. His grave should've already been dug as soon as that giant, metal claw pierced through the cavity of his chest.

But against everything that made the world turn, he didn't die. He was there when the robots used his body as a skin suit to escape the security system of their underground location, forced to watch as his body shuffled through shadows and hid in alleyways. Then, after the amalgamation of soul-infused robots removed themselves from his crumpled, broken, rotten body, Michael was left there in himself. He was still alive.

  ... if you could call a living corpse alive. Aware, then. Present still in his decaying self, possessing a zombified body. He was a cheap horror flick come to life. He was every B-grade special effects. And living like that was messy and gross and it fucking sucked.

But he definitely wasn't meant to wake up after the fire.

The Aftons had a habit of being overlooked by Death. Being hard to kill must run in the family. 

  The fire, though, he was sure it would carry his salvation in the licks of its flames. He, Henry and Charlie had poured over this plan again and again. Lure them in. Set the blaze. Release the souls. End it all. Rest, finally. Finally.

The plan had taken action. The generators had burst into flame within the bowels of the pizzeria Henry had ignited. Michael was content with his approaching, final end.

He walked in the burning abyss. Around him, writhing, twitching robots succumbed to the heat as the last shreds of the souls inside them were released. How many years had they been stuck inside them? How many years had Michael tried to save them? Finally, it had come to this.

He came to a stop at a room of which furious screams spiralled from. He watched from the door as his equally-dead-but-not-quite father crumpled within his melting, ruined spring-locked costume. Watching William keel over with his pained grunts and frantic shouting as he tried with fierce desperation to stay alive felt cathartic to Michael in every sense of the word.

  He moved on with a gentle smile, satisfied. The screams behind him faded.

It was bittersweet that Henry would go down in flames with him and the rest of the possessed animatronics that had been lured to this mousetrap of a diner, but he knew that he was content with and awaiting his death, too. They'd been through so much together, walked through hell hand-in-hand as makeshift father and son, and it was time for their story to come to a close.

Henry had a daughter awaiting him. Michael wondered if Evan would be there to welcome him, too. But maybe not. He wouldn't blame him if he didn't.