The birthday party at Fredbear's Family Diner was supposed to be fun.

Fredbear waving one golden paw, Spring Bonnie tipping his hat with a recorded laugh that echoed too loud. Kids ran everywhere, shrieking with delight, chasing each other between tables, grabbing handfuls of tickets from the arcade machines.

Evan wasn’t one of them.He had slipped away the second the teasing started.

It began small, the way it always did. A group of older kids—some from his kindergarten class, some friends of Michael’s—spotted him near the prize counter, clutching the Fredbear plush tight against his chest like armor.

“Look, it’s the crybaby again,” one of them snickered, loud enough for the nearby tables to hear. “Still hugging that dumb bear? What are you, five?”

“I’m… I’m seven,” Evan had mumbled, eyes already stinging.

Another laugh. “Seven going on baby. Bet he cries if the big bear looks at him funny.”

They’d circled closer, mimicking his sniffles, making exaggerated sobbing noises. One boy snatched at the plush’s ear—Evan yanked it back with a tiny, panicked yelp. Heads turned. Parents glanced over, some amused, some pitying. A low murmur rippled through the adults nearby: “That’s the Afton kid again… always crying… poor thing’s so sensitive…”

Evan felt the heat crawl up his neck, the familiar knot tightening in his throat. He didn’t wait for more. He bolted.

Now he was under one of the long party tables near the back corner, the red-and-white checkered cloth hanging down like curtains, hiding him from the chaos. The table above was empty—no cake, no presents—just a forgotten stack of napkins and a half-melted candle someone had blown out too early.

Evan curled into the smallest ball he could manage, knees to chest, Fredbear pressed so hard against his face he could barely breathe through the soft yellow fur. Tears soaked into the fabric in dark patches. His shoulders shook with quiet, hiccuping sobs he tried to muffle against the plush.

“Fredbear… Fredbear…” he whispered, voice cracking and wet. “They’re mean… they’re all mean… I didn’t do anything… I just wanted to play…”

Another soft sob escaped. He rocked a little, back and forth, the motion soothing in the same way hugging the plush was.

“Tomorrow is another day,” he whispered, repeating the words Fredbear always said. “Tomorrow is another day… right? It’ll be better… please let it be better…”

Above him, the party noise swelled—more laughter, the clatter of plates, the animatronics launching into another song. Someone’s sneakers walked past the table; Evan flinched, curling tighter.

Then—movement.

The checkered cloth lifted slightly at one edge.

A face appeared in the dim space underneath—yours.

Evan’s breath caught. His wide, tear-filled eyes locked onto you, huge and glassy in the shadows. The flashlight he’d snuck from home (just in case) lay forgotten beside him; he hadn’t even remembered to grab it when he ran.

He stared, frozen, Fredbear half-buried against his cheek.

*“P-please…” The word came out tiny, barely audible over the distant music. “Don’t… don’t tell them where I am… I don’t wanna go back out there… they’ll laugh again…”

A fresh tear rolled down his face. He didn’t wipe it away—just clutched the plush harder.

“Are… are you gonna laugh too?" His voice cracked on the last word, small and broken. “Or… or can you… stay? Just for a little? Fredbear says… Fredbear says you might be nice… but I’m scared… I’m always scared…”