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BYEEP! BYEEP! BYEEP! BYEEP!

The alarm clock's shrill siren cleaved through Mike's shapeless dreams like a Japanese fillet knife, and the young man's eyes snapped open reflexively before drooping once more. He rolled over with a groan and lifted his lead-like arms to pick up the squawking device. A quick twist of the dial on top silenced it, and Mike rolled away onto his back and just... laid there.

Mike couldn't sugarcoat it, sometimes he hated working the graveyard shift. He tried to focus on the positives – like the fun he had with his robotic friends – but it was tough when he was coming home at 6:30 every morning and sleeping until noon. That kind of sleep schedule did bad things to a guy. It wasn't like he wasn't trying to fix things – he'd been searching for other jobs since before he'd even graduated college. Unfortunately, right after he'd been fired from his technician job at Freddy Fazbear's the job market had kinda gone kaput, and apparently being a spirited and eager worker didn't matter much in that kind of environment when you had so little prior work experience.

So for the time being, here Mike was. Living with his parents again, going to bed at the crack of dawn and dragging himself out at noon. If Mike had been in a better mood, he might've joked about being back in high school.

But joking wouldn't get him ready to face the day, and so with as much reluctance as he could possibly muster Mike lugged his exhausted body out of bed to get dressed.

Well, at least he had a few days off for Thanksgiving.

------------

“Hey, slugger. Back to the land of the living?” A familiar, deep voice laughed as Mike stumbled into the kitchen. The young man turned toward the voice's source – a tall, middle-aged man seated comfortably at the kitchen table, dressed in khakis and a green, collared shirt. A good-natured smirk was present on the man's face.

“Yeah,” Mike yawned, sliding two pieces of bread into the toaster. “Something like that, Dad.”

Miles Schmidt, husband of twenty-five years to one Erica Schmidt and father of twenty-four years to his son Mike, chuckled softly. “You know, you missed the parade this year.”

Mike was silent for a moment. “...Any good floats?”

“Nothing noteworthy.”

“Then I'll live with no regrets,” Mike replied conclusively.

Mike's father laughed. “Guess that's one way to look at it. Anyway, your mom's out getting some last minute supplies for dinner tonight. You know the game plan, right?”

Mike's nodded. “Family starts coming around three, dinner at five, followed by general conversation and puttering around until the last person leaves at whatever ungodly hour they chose to wait until.”

Miles nodded proudly. “Excellently put. Good to see you've hammered it in there.”

“Yeah, well, I've had practice,” Mike answered offhandedly as he removed his finished toast from the toaster and transferred it onto a plate. He opened the fridge for some milk and butter, hoping in vain that his father wouldn't say any more.

His hopes, of course, were in vain, as Miles wasn't done. “I'm pretty sure you don't wanna hear this, but you do realize that people will ask about what you've been up to, right?”

Mike hesitated briefly, but then he quickly resumed preparing his breakfast. “The thought has crossed my mind,” he answered simply.

“And you realize what they're gonna think when you tell them you've gone back to work at Freddy's?”

“I do.”

“Got any ideas on how you'll defend yourself?”

“None.”

Miles sighed. “Well, at least you're confident about that.”

“Yep,” Mike answered gloomily as he sat down at the table with his food. At least he could count on his father leaving him be on the subject.

When Miles Schmidt had learned that his son had been hired by what might have been the worst possible place he could have been hired by, he was... understandably upset. However, as Mike had pointed out then he really didn't have any other options – who knew how long it would be until the job market came back around. Also, Miles realized that with Erica being so dead set against the idea, Mike desperately needed someone who would stand at his side no matter what. So against what was probably his better judgment, he struck a deal with Mike.

Miles would never tell Mike to quit or pressure him into doing so, and in return Mike would make an earnest effort to track down another job for when the pizzeria closed. He wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea, but his son needed some form of work, and the fact that the place only had a month left certainly didn't hurt.

Mike, to his credit, had been holding up his end of the bargain. He perused the help wanted ads both in the paper on online every day in hopes of finding another place of work, and although the search had been fruitless so far Miles was proud of his son for working so hard. And so Mike's father continued to hold up his end in return.

But still, there was one thing that was kind of bothering him. Well, not really bothering per se, but he was still curious...

“Hey, son?” Miles began, and Mike looked up curiously. “I wanted to ask you something. It's, ah, about your job.”

Instantly, Mike's face turned dark. “Dad, you promised.”

“No, no, it's not that, I swear,” the older man quickly added, and his son's face softened slightly. “I just... I can't help but notice that you seem... well, different. A-a lot calmer.”

Mike paused to think about that. “Calmer?”

His father nodded. “Yeah, when you started out, you, well, you were a wreck. You couldn't sleep, you jumped out of your skin at the smallest things. Your mother wasn't the only one who wanted to drag you down there and make you quit. Hell, the only reason I didn't do something is because you begged me not to.

“But now, you... just seem a lot more like you used to. You don't freak out as much anymore, you're getting more sleep. Don't get me wrong – I'm glad you're doing better, but I just don't really get what's changed.”

Mike said nothing, but secretly his father's words made his heart ache. He loved his dad very much, but he knew that telling him the truth about his workplace was out of the question. It was bad enough that his mother kept pestering him to quit without knowing the truth, and even though Mike trusted his dad more than anybody, he just couldn't trust him with this.

So he had to lie. It hurt, but it was necessary.

“Oh, well, I've had some time to get used to the hours,” Mike half-lied. That wasn't exactly wrong, right? “You know, I was tired at first, but my body's been adjusting. Plus I've been, ah...” Mike paused in thought, weighing his options, before finishing with a quieter “...sneaking naps on the job.”

Fortunately, Mike's dad laughed at that instead of getting it angry. “Yeah, I guess I can get that! Any break-ins during your shift yet?”

“Not yet, and hopefully it stays that way,” Mike chuckled.

“Amen to that,” Miles finished... or so Mike thought, but his father wasn't quite done. “Look, I'm not trying to say I don't trust you, kid. You're a real tough guy, and I'm proud of you, the way you've been working so hard recently. Just... don't feel like you have to keep everything to yourself, alright?” Miles reached across the table and tousled his son's hair, the same way he'd done it all of his life. “I'm on your side, Mike. If you need to blow off some steam, I promise I'll be here to listen. Okay?”

Mike could feel his chest constrict in shame but forced himself not to react. “Uh, okay. I will, I promise. Thanks, Dad.”

Miles smiled softly. “Good to hear. Now then, I was gonna ask you to get prepared for tonight, but you look well-dressed enough. Wanna help with the potatoes this year?”