The JereMike Collection

In Care On Call

There was a reason why Jeremy had Mike on speedial.

They exchanged numbers around the third week of his employment, when Mike clocked into work one morning to find a uniform cap laying suspiously on the floor. The management hadn't arrived yet, so that singled Jeremy out immedietly. Suspious, Mike patroled the pizzeria, calling out for his co-worker, glaring at the innocently posed animatronics as he passed by.

He checked the office, of course. He wasn't there. Checked the party rooms. Not there either. The backrooms. No sign of him. Odd, giving the fact that Mike had to unlock the front doors to get in, Jeremy couldn't have left.

It began to really freak the fuck out of him, and he was two seconds second away from tearing open a couple of suits when a disheivled Jeremy stumbled out from the locker rooms, eyeing the man with worry and interest.

It probably wasn't the best idea to snap at him. Even after Jeremy explained that he had hidden in one of the lockers, Mike was still on edge, scolding the night watch that he wasn't to leave the office, no matter what the circumstances.

Jeremy tried to stutter some excuse, something about a shadow or whatever, but it fell on deaf ears, the guard already snatching the younger man's phone from his slack pocket and angrly punching his numbers in, mumbling something that fell around the lines of 'fucking kid can't follow directions' and 'gave me a fucking heart attack'. Other things were said too, but they came out more like incoherent growls than words.

Jeremy protested, of course. He didn't need anyone to baby him. He was confindent enough that he could handle the danger, the long nights, and the hours of sleep lost to the work. Mike already saw him as a irresponsible teen who's just desperate for spending money. He didn't need to lose anymore of his dignity if he called the man.

He took back everything that Friday, shivering underneath the desk, his phone pressed to his cheek as he held it under his mask. He still doesn't know how Mike was able to hear him through his panicked breath, and the sound of metal footsteps stomping. But he decided not to question it, relief flooding his system when those footsteps were replaced by much lighter ones, and a familer face rounded the desk with grim, tired eyes.

Never has Mike not picked up when Jeremy called. So why was tonight different?

He doesn't remember how many times he's pressed the send button. He doesn't remember the terrible misplaced notes coming from the now broken music box. He doesn't remember what time it was or how much longer he had left to live. But what he does remember was the sickening crack of bone, combined with the screech of a withered voice box and his own vocal cords.

Now that he thinks back on it, he doesn't even remember which animatronic attacked him. Had it been BonBon? Chirp? The Marionettte? Maybe one of the older models? The agony pulsing through his arm had been too great to pay attention. Which could also explain why he was much to distracted in his own distress to dodge when something wrapped around his neck, cutting off his source of his much needed oxygen.

What Jeremy does remember, however, was a speeding flash of red. Then nothing.

Next thing he knew it, he was here: In a hospital, a cast on his arm and an aching kink in his neck. Soft snores coming from beside him.

Everything hurt.

The moment he managed to open his eyes, he regretted it, letting out a pained moan as he inwardly cursed the hospital for investing in such bright lights. His throat cut the whine, too dry to produce noise. He was laying with his back propped at an angle, not sitting upwards, but not exactly flat either.

With his eyes sqweezed shut, he used his good hand to search around the hospital bed, hovering the over the many buttons that streamed across the arm rest.