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.

He was familer with hosiptals well enough. He knew what he was doing. Or, at least he hoped he did. The tubes he could feel running into his veins and the absence of what he would expect to be extruciating pain gave him the feeling that he was on some kind of anesthetic. Hopefully, not too much to make him delusional.

Fingers found the patient remote. Emergency-call button, Service button, Recline button...ah, there it was; the light dial. Jeremy fumbled with it, turning it in different directions until the burning sensation from the otherside of his eyelids declined. He opened them.

Vision fuzzy. Mind processing slowly. Jeremy looked down at himself. White hospital gown, white pants, white cover. He wiggled his bare toes, watching them dance underneath the sheet. Looking over the side of the bed, he stared at the wooden floor, briefly thinking about getting up before the ground seemed to stretched miles away from him. Now, it was like he was looking over the grand canyon. Did he just have a hallucination?

The white room looked grey underneath the dim lighting, the walls were mostly blank, save for what x-rays hung up on pins. Turning to the window, he took a deep breath. The sky was dark, the smallest of purple peeking out from beyond the horizen. What time was it? He didn't leave without finishing his shift, did he?

There was a cup set on a end table on the side of his good hand, with what he would assume was water inside. The dryness in his throat made it's self know again, and Jeremy licked his lips, reaching a hand out to grab hold of the drink. In his view, his hand hadn't of even reached the plastic before he heard something crash into the floor, spilling it's contents as it rolled away.

Something stirred next to him.

Instinctivly, Jeremy crossed his hand over to rest on whatever had awoken. His palm landed on something soft, and through the disortion he made the figure out to be human, half-way through the motion of sitting straight. "Mom?"

"...Not your mom, dude."

Jeremy's shoulders slumped in disappointment. The figure remained still, full attention on the teen, observing him carefully dispite the lack of light. "...How are you feeling?" They voiced, patiently waiting.

Jeremy tilted his head at the question, eyes half lidded and obviously zoned out. "...I don't know" Honestly, he didn't. The pain was gone, but it wasn't numbed either. It was more of a throbbing sensation, like a worm underneath the skin, waiting for the perfect chance to sqirm out. Or in other words, for the drugs to wear off.

The figure nodded, as if expecting the answer. "They said you thrashed a lot, couldn't get the cast on" Jeremy could hear the shuffling of fabric and felt his cover move upwards, hands coming around to tuck it back in. "Not surprised they doped you up..."

"Who are you?"

The hands froze, the air was suddenly cold.

"...What do you mean 'who?'"

Jeremy wasn't sure if the tone in his voice was an illusion or not, but it made him feel uncomfortable. Almost like he was being interrogated. Though, his voice was very familer.

"...I think I know you-"

"Yes..." He was inturrupted. The tone had transformed from something confrontational to something...frantic. "Yes, you know me"

So they knew each other, apprently. And it was male, so it obviously wasn't his mother or a nurse. Though, he doubt a nurse would be sleeping at his bedside. That'd just be weird. If Jeremy didn't know any better, he'd think it was his father. But the voice sounded younger, not raspy like a smokers would have been. Not to mention his father works at a bar on nightshift, like him. So that rules him out.

Oh right. Nightshift. Dayshift. Pizzeria. Freddy. Mask. Music box. Mike. Puppet. Flashlight-

Wait.

"...Mike?"

Once the name was spoken, the tension in the room practily melted. Mike let out a sigh of relief. "Yeah..." He relaxed, all traces of shock and worry washed away. "It's me" He whispered. "Mikey"

Mikey? That was new. "W-what are you doing here?" Jeremy asked, sparing a glance towards the window. The sun had yet to peek over the distant trees. It would be really helpful if this room had a clock in it somewhere. He could only judge by the impending sunrise, which didn't offer much help.

"Why wouldn't I be here?" The older man commented, having recovered from his intial scare. "Who else is going to take you home?"

The word home brought a funny feeling to Jeremy's chest. "M-my mother..." He whispered, looking down at his hands. He held them in his lap, squinting at them as they wavered in his view. Thats odd. When did he get more fingers?

"I called her" Mike voiced, looking away momentarily. "She didn't answer"

Figures. "H-how did...I get here" He turned to Mike, expecting an explaination. Instead, he received a confused, silent stare. Opening his mouth again to repeat, he found his voice had been reduced nothing more than a gust of dry wind.

He glanced at the ground, where the a puddle of water lay along with the cup, mocking him. "Listen, Jere..." Mike began, capturing the nightwatch's attention. "I'm sorry about not being able to reach your Mom" Jeremy could only blink in response, making the older man run a hand under his beanie sheepishly. "I have some explaining to do-"

The sound of footsteps approching and a knob turning. Both males turned to watch the door swing open wide, revealing a tall man with an warm smile. He held a clipbored and a small bag with scribbled writing on the front of it. Jeremy didn't even try to make out what it was. He couldn't even make out the Doctor's nametag. Besides, it could have been in that sterotypical foreign language doctor's always seem to write in.

"Good Morning, you two. I'm glad to see you're both awake" He shut the door behind him, walking over to the bed. Jeremy suddenly wished he was alseep again. "My name is Dr.Cawthorn. I'm here to make sure you're both set before dismissal."

Dismissal? He doesn't even know how he was admitted! A sudden ache pulsed in Jeremy; he grit his teeth doing his best to ingore it. Mike nodded. "How's he doing?" Dr. Cawthorn sat the clipbored and bag down at the end of the bed, gesturing towards the x-rays that hung neatly on the opposite side of the wall.

"The injury wasn't as serious as we had previously thought. The right arm only suffered a fracture, thankfully, and not a full breakage" Jeremy squinted, vision focusing in and out as the Doctor's hands glided across the scans, pointing to each specific crack. Mike watched quietly

"So...I-I can still work?"

He felt blue eyes turn and glare at him, but surprisingly, Mike remained silent. "Yes, though I wouldn't recommend lifting anything heavy for a while" Dr.Cawthorn answered, pausing. "...Or running. Anything that would speed your heartbeat, actaully"

Jeremy raised a brow. "Why?" The question didn't come from the nightwatch, but from his irritaitng co-worker instead. "I thought you said his arm would be fine" As cued with this comment, Jeremy ran a hand over the cast. It only led from the elbow down, so he could move it easily enough. Running a hand over it, he discovered it was covered in some thick adhesive. Real qaulity, unlike the make-shifts that him and Mike were so used to.

"And it will be. But I'm more concerned with the upper neck injury." Suddenly very self-aware, Jeremy raised a hand to feel faint bruising around his throat. His fingertips didn't detect any swelling, but considering the look Mike was giving the doctor, there was something he just couldn't see.

"In short, a vitality was constricted, and until it heals on it's own I'm afriad any sort of activty that increases his blood flow could overload that vein" Jeremy swallowed, trying not to picture himself in that predicament.

Mike bit his lip, sparing the nightwatch a glance. "Ok, so what now?"

Dr. Cawthorn's smile regained it's warmth. "That's where you come in. I trust Mr.Fitzgerald will be in home care until he has fully recovered?"

"...Something like that, yeah"

The doctor raised a brow, but didn't ask any questions. He picked up the bag, sticking his fingers inside and pulling out two pills. He held one out. "Chlorpheniramine-Hydrocodone-Pseudoephedrine" He held the other pill up. "and Ibprofen"

He was given blank stares. "Medication you're going to need" Dr. Cawthorn added. He turned directly to face Jeremy. "We had you placed on anasthetics earlier, and it would be best if we had you take these now so you wouldn't have to...adjust to the effect again" Although his smile was inviting, something told Mike that Jeremy really threw a fit behind closed doors. He wasn't sure if the doctor truly cared for his patient, or he was just putting up a front, eager to be rid of him.

Mike crossed his arms, giving the man a tired, uninterested glare. He was just as eager to leave, just not without Jeremy.

"I-Is't taking two medications together dangourous?" Jeremy spoke, or really, mouthed. His throat was the equivalent of the sahara desert, for lack of a better phrase. The other males in the room gave one another a quick glance, Mike coughing akwardly. "I'll uh...go get you some water"

"Oh, that won't be nessasary" Dr, Cawthorn beemed, sauntering over to a cabinet and swinging it open. He pulled out a small unlabled water bottle, which Jeremy eyed across the room with need. "We have these on hand as a precaution."

Without so much as saying a word, Jeremy reached his hand out as a silent command to give it to him. Mike raised a brow, stiffling a chuckle. Walking over to the bed, the docter held both the water and pills out to him. "The medcine's effects are fast-acting, and should kick in whithin ten minutes of dosage. You'll be very drowsy, delusional at the most, but it will keep your heart rate regular and speed the healing process. I'll need to evalute your physical and mental comprehension before you can leave. Do you understand, Mr.Fitzgerald?"

To be honest, Jeremy had toned him out involentarily. His mind was set on a much more basic need: water. So when the word 'understand' somehow reached his ears, he only nodded. "Good, let's get started then" Dr. Cawthorn unscrewed the bottle cap, plopping the two pills inside.

He finally gave it to Jeremy, who chugged down the liquid like there was no tomarrow. Mike's eyes widened at the action, giving a quistioning look to the docter. He only shrugged and mouthed something about a 'dry mouth side effect'. They waited until the teen had finished.

Once the bottle was empty, Jeremy exhaled deeply. The drink had been very refreshing. "T-thank you" He mummered, setting the bottle on the end table. Dr.Cawthorn nodded. "Your welcome" He turned to Mike, who's attention was held by his patient.

"Hold still, Mr. Fitzgerald" Jeremy froze, the feeling of something being woven out from his good arm. Cawthorn weaved the tubes out from his skin until the moniter powered down and Jeremy was fully disconnected. He gave him a reassuring look.

"I need to get something that will aid us in the evaluation. I'll be right back" Picking up the clipbored, he sauntered out the door wihtout another word, it clicking shut as it closed.

The room went quiet. Jeremy didn't want the quiet.

"Why didn't you answer my call?"

It flew from his mouth without a second thought, and from how Mike reacted, slumped shoudlers and a guitly look darting around the room, Jeremy wondered if it was really the right thing to say. Or if he should be saying anything at all.

"Don't be angry with me" Mike avoided Jeremy gaze, instead looking out the window as the sun made it's arrival. "I was really stupid"

He was really...what? Cupid? Jeremy blinked, shaking his head a little, instantly regretting it when a flash shot behind his eyes. Huh, were the walls always painted purple?

Mike was saying something, but it was getting harder and harder to listen. The explanation was cutting into bits and pieces, jumbled sentences and pauses. It was like he was speaking another language, through a walkie-talkie with no teeth. Jeremy leaned his head back agaist the pillow and closed his eyes. Something didn't feel right, not to have thoughts like that.

"I'm not mad"

What Mike was in the middle of, it stopped. "Your...not?" He questioned, his tone taking form of surprise. "Fucking hell, Jeremy...?" Mike clenched his fist, torn from being guitly and irritated himself. "You're fucked up because of me, and you're saying your not mad?" He dragged a hand down his face, stressed.

Jeremy exhaled, doing his best to focus on he conversation. The air around him was getting stuffy. "...I w-wanna go home"

The ceiling was spinning. The bed was spinning. Mike was spining. Everything was upside down, backwards, and inside out. The sunlight that had shined in through the window from break of day cut through the glass, landing on his sheets and dancing with the dim shadows of the room. Jeremy could of sworn he saw faces smiling in the figures. He smiled back.

There was a moment of stillness, then a hand came to rest on his own. "Jeremy...I-" Mike froze, watching as Jeremy slowly turned his head to see him with half-lidded eyes. A woosy grin on his face.

"Mikey...." He giggled. "Take me home..."

Mike gulped, lost for words. The door behind him swung open once more, out stepping Dr.Cawthorn with his clipbored still, a poster bored and what looked like a cased calulator. "Ready to begin?" He asked, setting them at the ends of Jeremy's bed.

He took a look at Jeremy's flushed face and his smile faultered. "Mr. Fitzgerald?" He called. The teen rolled his eyes over to the man, pouting. The docter sighed. "We're going to run some test; but before we begin, I need you to sign something-"

"Don't wanna..."

Jeremy interlocked his good arm with his cast, a mock of crossing his arms in a disobiedent fashion. He slouched in his bed, hair splaying across the pillow as he snuggled under the covers, giving the doctor a sleepy glare. "No" He stuck his tongue out

To his side, his co-worker was fighting an inner-debate wether or not he should be genuily concerned for the teen, or if he should whip out his flip phone and recored the session. Something told him the next couple of hours would be very interesting, and if he caught him on tape, there was no way he was going to let him live it down.

Alas, Mike resisted the urge to laugh. "I'll sign it" He interjected, pulling the best professional face who could muster. "I'm checking him out, anyways" Cawthorn thought for a moment, before willingly handing over the clip bored and pen.

Scanning over the waiver quickly, he noted some key points; By sighing this document, I hearby agree to take responsibility of my actions or the actions of others who are influenced by the effects of blah blah blah blah....Mike spied the name placement on the bottom of the paper. He wrote his name quickly before handing the paper back to the doctor.

Dr. Cawthorn eyed the scribbled name. Micheal Schmidt. Now why did that name seem so familiar?

He spared a glance to the other man's beanie in question before continueing on. "Great, now first we'll test your visuals." Taking the poster bored in one hand, he stepped to the far end of the room. "Mr. Fitzgerald?" He caught his patient's attention. "Can you tell me what animal this is?"

Jeremy huffed. "Bear"

Mike turned away from the doctor to stare at him, baffled. It was obviously a beaver, couldn't Jeremy see that? The doctor nodded, hardly emitting a reaction. He moved his pen to point at another picture. "What color is this bird?"

"....Puuuurple"