A Guard's life

Metamorphosis

A/N:
I'M
IN
THE
FLOW!
A SUPER QUICK CHAPTER!
I basically wrote this a few days after the previous, but because I'd like to go back to publishing on the 14th, I'm uploading it now!
Also, I apologize for the very on-the-nose edgy title, but I didn't come up with anything better, despite trying.
As always I hope you'll enjoy it!

---

Where do you turn if you never amounted to anything?
If you're afraid, confused and knew you might soon would do something horribly wrong?
Jeremy didn't know anyone.
Burdening someone with his own problems made him feel sick to the stomach. It was wrong, it was egotistical, it was sick.
He'd rather die.
Because obviously, that would make everything better.
When the world seems so much worse than you first thought?
When every decision seems to suffocate you?
No, it is impossible to bear, impossible to go on.
Everything feels a glass wall that you shatter on. Over and over again.
Marion was in the other room, as requested.
He couldn't have left him there.
He couldn't have left him in danger.
Danger.
The thought of calling Freddy's that was bizarre, completely alien.
Slowly he dragged his fingers across the ground.
Clean.
Perhaps a little bit dusty, but that was all.
So he really stumbled into a murder plot, huh?
With people who thought it was a good idea to murder little children for- some god forsaken reason.
He sounded so convinced too, oh god.
And on the other side?
Actually brutal, hateful machines.
It was supposed to be easier. Things were supposed to be easy. To make sense.
How was he supposed to exist in a world that didn't?
Patterns on the floor.
Weird.
If he stared at him like that, they almost looked pretty.
A small snort escaped him, as slowly tears welled up in his eyes again.
What was he supposed to do?
What was he supposed to DO?
He wasn't ready for this.
He didn't have any ideas about stuff like that.
Was he supposed to confront them again?
They didn't even seem to care!
Was he supposed to kill them?
Could he even kill another human being?
He tried to think about it.
He tried to imagine picking up a large rock, slowly moving closer to them, his breath held, raising up the large rock and-
There was a second or two of complete sickness.
Okay. Okay, maybe not like that.
No. Not like that.
Perhaps he only needed to watch the situation. Just to set a few things in motion. Tell a few lies.
Put a few drops of the brightly green poison into the golden grail, you won't even be there when they vomit their organs all over-
Frustrated and in agony, Jeremy tried to suppress a pained howl.
He couldn't do this.
He couldn't do this.
Everything was a mess right now.
Where was he even supposed to start?
This might kill him.
He might actually get killed out here.
Not only that, they would hide the evidence.
Hide the evidence.
Nobody would know.
Lost in thought, his hand slowly wandered and he forced himself up.
Grabbing the phone.
Then slamming right back down on the ground.
It hurt his backside a bit, but that was nothing against the inner turmoil he experienced.
His breath was shaking a bit, but he dialed the number. A number he still remembered so well, despite barely ever needing to use it.
A number that always showed up on the lit up screen when he entered his home once again.
... he liked phones that made a noise.
It made numbers into melodies.
Not long. It never took long for him to pick up the phone.
"... hey dad. It's me"
Jeremy tried.
He really TRIED to put a smile into his words.
"Jeremy." Rough and scruff, his voice was low and constantly aggressive. As though everything was a disrespectful challenge to his authority. "So you ACTUALLY call. What is it? Money? It certainly isn't love for me or your poor mother."
The boy winced.
"... dad. It is. L-love I mean. I- I just got in a bit of trouble and... I- I don't know what to do."
"Trouble? Where. What did you do again?"
Hard words. More like barks.
"I'm-"
"Is it about that godforsaken restaurant?! I TOLD you, it's nothing but trouble. How are you even STILL working there?! Aren't there on your campus any job opportunities?! The place is cursed, and I-"
"DAD."
"DON'T INTERRUPT ME." Loud and booming, he was a man who always knew how to force those around him to close their mouths and step back. "... it is ungodly to make machines like that and I TOLD you, I damn well TOLD you to stay the HELL away from there! Now look at you! It probably didn't even do any good for your grades!"
"... I'm not studying, dad." Tiredly Jeremy mumbled.
"What?"
Jeremy couldn't decide what was worse. Him being quiet or him being loud. "... how is mom?"
"No, don't you dare-"
No, he really couldn't handle this, he was once more back to sobbing.
The man on the other side didn't take that well either.
"Why are you CRYING!? In the name of the Lord, do you have ANY reason to cry?! Your MOTHER has a right to cry, because you are BREAKING her heart-"
His sobbing turned louder. "... I- I just wanted to know- how you're- a-all doing- I- I'm fine-"
There was a bit of a pause.
His father slowly breathed out. "Jeremy. What kind of trouble did you get into?"
On the other end of the line was only silence.
"Jeremy. Give me your address."
"NO." Now, THIS evoked a reaction.
"You can't handle this. Trouble? I'm not letting you-" He broke off. "Your address."
"... no."
"Jeremy. You don't have a grip on the situation! You're a MESS. Tell me your address, I'm taking you home."
"I told you. I'm- I'm not coming home." Somehow, he had calmed down by now. This was his decision. He made a decision. He- this was his little place to control. "... how are they doing?"
"Don't give me that attitude. You're going to get yourself KILLED like that."
"You said the same thing when I left. And now I'm doing fine."
"You were LUCKY."
"Dad. I called because- because I want my family to know that I love them. I just- haven't heard from you all in a while."
"Jeremy-"
"And I do miss you all."
"JEREMY!"
"... but... there's a lot going on... and you know... I might... I wanted to come back for some Christmas... and... I might not make it."
"You need to come home. You are talking NONSENSE and if you-"
"If I WHAT? What do you think I'm doing, dad?"
There was a long, drawn out pause, silence that seeped into both of them.
Then Jeremy picked back up.
"... do you really think you're helping, dad...?"
"JEREMY. What am I SUPPOSED to do! You sound like you plan to- I'm- trying."
"I know. I think. But- I'm hanging up now."
"You're not going to- Jeremy, if you have PROBLEMS, don't-"
"... thank you dad. I'm doing fine. I've come this far. We'll talk again soon."
"JEREMY. I KNOW you're up to NO good and I won't-"
"Dad. I just called to tell you I love you. And mom. And Ellie. I wanted you to remember that. I know you like to think I don't. I know you feel like I don't know what I'm doing. But... I think for once I actually feel like I'm doing at least SOMETHING. I can't let you take that away from me. I promise, we'll talk again. Sooner or later."
"JEREM-"
Putting down the phone where it belongs, he let out a long, quiet sigh and looked up at the ceiling.
... he would manage.
He managed it through school.
Every year.
He made it out of the house.
Got himself a place to live.
Got himself a job in a place he loved.
He made it through the nightshift.
Night after night.
Slowly he looked at his fingers.
And now he was here.
Right here.
No, he didn't really think about things like this before.
Existing.
Just the sheer... magnitude of that.
Quietly he hugged himself.
... not a bad track record of the things he managed. That he managed anything was hard to believe. Yet here he was. Managing to... exist.
Slowly he breathed in and out, closing his invisible eyes to plunge himself in darkness for a moment or two.
In and out.
God, he must have... done a lot of this.
If he counted, would he already be in the billions?
That's a lot.
...
He knew it well, the weight on his throat, much worse as it still was sore from his sobbing.
He knew it well, the blackwater stream, grating him down slowly at the edges of his mind.
He knew it well, the hole below his thoughts.
It felt sometimes that he was sitting inside there, just imagining to be out for a short bit.
And now that he was... having to do such awful decisions-
Now it almost felt like it would be for the best to close it off completely.
Shut the lit, snuff out the light and wait for the end.
Billions of breaths.
Years of education.
Nights of working with probably outright vicious animatronics.
... all by simply walking forward another step.
By holding on for another moment, seeing what it held.
He made himself threads out of these things.
Every day, every second was another thread.
And if he would tie them together, he could make a little knitted ladder.
Thread by thread.
Slowly he stood up.
'Tomorrow is another day.'
That was what Fredbear said every day, his hand on the shoulder of one of his friends.
It didn't matter if it had been a good day. Or a bad day.
Tomorrow was another day.
What would wait for Jeremy tomorrow?
Nothing, except them.
And yet, he would go to work tomorrow.
Look into their eyes.
Stand in their way.
Even if it would cost his life.
Yes. That was okay.
He could deal with that.
If he would stay to rot in his hole, nothing would happen to him... and that was pretty scary too, in his mind.
Being forever stuck in nothingness...
His fingers went over the old wallpaper on his walls.
If he went missing, the newspaper would probably not even report on it.
And if, probably not mention his name anywhere.
A lot of people went missing before him.
Tired he dragged his feet towards the kitchen.
But that didn't MATTER. Would HE HIMSELF be satisfied?
Was it a good way to end story his life has laid down so far?
Those breaths? Those little drawings? The decisions he had made, be they good or bad? The setbacks and the things he did manage to reach?
Was that how the story could end?
... yes.
That way and no other.
As he reached for his drawer where he kept his kitchen utensils, he was abruptly grabbed and held back by a black claw.
Marion was behind him, towering slightly above him. He didn't need to turn to know that.
"What are you planning to do?"
For a moment, Jeremy couldn't help but chuckle.
Then he tried to look seriously offended and turned to huff at his friend. "Making a hot chocolate?"
Awkwardly his friendly slowly loosened his grip. "... don't-"
"Don't what?"
"Don't hurt yourself."
Finally.
Someone said it.
They all were thinking it.
But nobody wanted to say it.
As if acknowledging it would somehow speak it into existence.
He felt like not saying it would be the true thing forcing it out.
... of course, he didn't know.
But these words held a weird type of relief.
Something he couldn't really voice.
The boy smiled, then turned away again. "I don't make the milk THAT hot!"
"Y-you know what I mean!"
"Marion." He slowly started. "I'm not that weak. I knew what I was dealing with. I now know how much I... fucked up."
A bit he winced at his own swear, but he continued on.
"Yeah. I said it. I fucked up. There is no other word to describe it. I should have believed you. I should have. It's awful when someone you love just- pushes you aside. All your feelings, all these... being accused of being a liar, being stupid, or- being afraid and not getting-"
"Jeremy! I wasn't- it was okay. I... I did my fair share or... it was karmic, if anything."
"I don't care. Yes, you did awful things. But I could have been better. I should have been better. I liked this place so much. I finally had people who... respected me, at least somewhat. Who left me to deal with difficult situation, who involved me in dangerous schemes- I felt like one of them. I really liked Dave and Old Sport. Mr. Phone Guy too, he was so reliable and lenient, while always coming off as someone who could manage a situation calmly, the best way possible. And Mike- I know Mike doesn't like me, but he never- he was hard to deal with but at least I KNEW WHY. It didn't come from nowhere, it wasn't just me. I didn't want to believe you. That's why. I didn't want it to be true. I didn't want to entertain the notion."
Slowly he rubbed his face, coming to a hurtful realization about himself.
"... I guess you were right to lie to me."
"No, Jeremy, don't say that." Desperate the Puppet floated down a bit to hug him. "It's- it's gonna be fine, we will fix it."
"You... don't get it. I still don't- I can't help you. I'm too egotistical. The thought of having led to someone's death terrifies me. If I ever found out I directly or indirectly caused someone's death..."
Marion shuddered a bit at the poor boy's words.
If he knew.
This was a bad neighborhood. He couldn't have let these people lurk around when his friend was out.
Marion was very aware that he lost his connection to people and that it was wrong.
But he couldn't treat them as people. He didn't know them.
It's always been like this, hasn't it.
And if Jeremy ever found out...
... some things were better kept a secret.
Would Jeremy be able to bear being by his side if he would murder the psychopaths?
If he knew he had murdered people as a percussion?
If Jeremy knew he just wasn't that great of a person?
Perhaps.
But he didn't need to know it.
After Freddy's was dealt with- then he would be better.
He promised that to himself.
"... you don't- you don't have to help me."
Carefully Jeremy breathed out, a bit of a shakey laugh escaping him. "... I don't know if I should be happy about that, but... thank you."
For a moment he focused on cutting a little bit of chocolate into small pieces so he could mix it under the cacao powder. He wouldn't want to cut himself.
The pause wasn't uncomfortable this time around, but Jeremy still decided to break it.
"... what is your plan now?"
"I'm not sure. A lot happened now and Old Sport might- I'm- I have no idea." Rubbing over his plastic mask, Marion created a pretty uncomfortable sound. "There might be a way that would get them off our back, without killing them, but..."
"Please tell me about it."
"It's to hard to pull off." The machine admitted. "If we would rig the suits to go off on them... that is not enough to kill them. Not NEARLY enough. But it can immobilize them. Confine them. An eternal prison. The thing is... we would have to get both of them into their suit at the same time, or else the other one would know what is going on. And Old Sport really does not seem to like wearing his."
"... would it hurt them?"
"... not more than they hurt others, quite honestly. Not what they deserve."
"... is there anything I could do...?"
"No. Not really." Instantly the longer one dismissed the idea.
The panic was bubbling up inside of him too now.
He had nobody he trusted to help him. All the kids were gone, the current batch of souls was brainwashed, he on his own couldn't do much.
How was he supposed to BEAT them?!
A gentle, warm hand took his.
"Hey. We won't give up."
Despite everything, it was still "we".
"Let's sit down and watch some Fredbear&Friends! I want to show you one of my favorites!"
Letting himself be dragged along like a balloon on a string, the Marionette was quietly lost in thought.
While Jerry kneeled in front of the TV to start up the episode, the other being slowly reached into his own mouth, pulling out some long, viscous strings of a black liquid out.
What did the teen say?
Rotting?
Well, Marion always knew something was rotting inside of him. It wouldn't surprise him if that was where this was coming from. His old remnants that nobody bothered taking out...
... his fragile heart that he could swear was still beating behind his white buttons-
But what if he actually was living on borrowed time?
He tried hard to swallow, to force the sickening substance back where he suspected it was coming from.
His stressed out mind, desperate for a solution became more and more erratic.
What if he...
What if he ATE them?
What if he ate them, forcing them to be part of himself, becoming everything he hated bite by bite and then took everything out with himself.
Could you consume a soul?
Yes.
His gut told him yes.
So if he dug his claws into that rotten, regenerating flesh and ate it all before it could regenerate, if they were part of him, trying to get out of his head, reaching out of his fragile body, if he managed to get some gasoline, maybe then he would finally pay off what he has done, going down to hell with them-
The TV was still static.
Marion tried to speak, but for a second it felt more like a croak.
"... Charlie."
"... what?" Jeremy turned to look at him, concerned.
"Charlie. Charlie is my actual name. And it was all my fault. Everything that happened was my fault. I didn't just make more kids stay, I got my best friend killed. Because I thought- I thought I was clever. Because I thought I knew what I was doing. I told him to come along. I entered a stranger's house, because I was a little upset at my mom. Because I wanted to teach her a lesson. Because Henry made me feel like something special. Because I was an idiot."
"M-Marion, don't say that-"
"If it was someone else, it might wouldn't have worked. Maybe he would have given up. Maybe I could have talked to an adult and got him- got him watched. I don't want people to know I'm Charlie. I can't forgive me for what I've done then. I was a failure of a person. Henry always claimed he knew I was actually- happy-, that I WANTED to be what I was, that for once I actually mattered, was in charge and that it was something my former life could have never given me. I'm so scared Jeremy. What if he is right? What if I'm just messed up!? I did basically the same as him. What if I'm just- what if I was rotten from the start?"
The machine was choking on his words, as for the first time in almost twenty-five years he allowed himself to cry again.
"Charlie-"
"I used them. I used the kids. I used the guards. No- I- from the start- I used Lucas, because I didn't want to feel alone a-and he would do what I s-say and not c-complain, I TRIED to use HENRY, b-because I- I wanted my- I wanted my dad back, I w-wanted someone to make me f-feel-"
"BE QUIET THIS INSTANT!" Standing at his full height, which seemed oddly enough taller than usual, the young man stood in front of him, his voice booming.
It worked, the hunched together machine looked up at him, black streaks over the normal, purple ones. His eyes seemed to shining brighter than ever before.
Jeremy shortly paused to calm himself, but kept frowning, his words insistent.
"What the h-hell are you saying? YOUR fault?! Are you out of your MIND? Being MURDERED is not your fault! HAVING FEELINGS IS NOT YOUR FAULT. WANTING A FRIEND IS NOT YOUR FAULT! Did HENRY tell you these things?! WHY WOULD YOU LISTEN TO HIM? He's an- an ASSHOLE, that is what he is!"
It sounded so weird.
So dumb.
Asshole.
Of all the things to call that man.
Charlie couldn't help but have laughter bubble out his throat despite everything.
But it died down quickly again.
"Jeremy... sometimes I want to hurt people..."
"That is... that is okay. Wanting something- it's not the same as- DOING it. The world is HORRIBLE! Sometimes- A LOT! Of course you want... to just put it OUTSIDE of you! You don't want to be the only one... s-sometimes I want to hurt people too. But I know it wouldn't actually make me happy."
"... I don't know that."
"Yes you do. Or you would be doing it." Softly Jeremy sighed. "Please. NEVER say it was your fault again. Nothing is your fault. And everything is! You can't KNOW what happens. Never. You can try to prevent it- but once it happened, what are you supposed to do? Will punishing yourself now do ANYTHING? Is there ANYONE it will help? Directly?! In a way you can PROVE it?"
"I'm s-so sorry Jeremy." He started again. "I'm just so sorry for everything."
The boy rushed over, downright stumbling onto the other one.
"I know. I love you."
Clawing into the other one, Charlie loudly howled and burst once more into tears, hiding his face in his friend's shoulder.
They remained like that for a while, until all tears were shed.
Tiredly the Marionette mumbled. "... you really... have a good voice. When you get loud I mean. You could become a motivational speaker."
"O-oh. Thank you!" Surprised Jeremy responded, still cuddling into him.
"... or a politician. And then you will inspire a lot of people with your words."
"Haha, I-"
"And then you'll start a holy war on accident."
"W-WHAT?"
The spirit laughed and after a moment, Jeremy scoffed, smiling a little too.
Nowhere to be, nothing to do.
They remained together as the hours passed.
At least, until a phone call rang, causing Jeremy to gently free himself from the noodly hug and check.
Not his dad.
Curious he accepted. "Hello, Jeremy Fitzgerald speaking...?"
A familiar cursing voice was audible. "Oh thank fuck, you're alright."
"Mike!" Happily he responded. "Why are you calling?"
"To make sure you have my fucking money. WHAT DO YOU THINK WHY I AM CALLING?" The man snorted. "I realized we left you behind with two murders and was about to run in there, guns blazing, before Simon reminded me his head was a phone."
A third voice sounded, fairly clearly. "W-which WASN'T me telling you to, uh- use MY head to call him!"
"Shut up, it was. Also, you like that. Anyways, you're home safely?"
Jeremy laughed. "Ow, you were worried?"
A short pause.
"Of course I fucking was. Glad to hear you're okay. I'm sorry for just bailing, I didn't think."
Gently Jeremy looked at his phone for a moment, smiling, then returned it to the side of his face. "... despite everything... I think I never was happier. Even... even if these things happened. Because... you guys are with me. Because tomorrow is another day."
Finally, he felt... awake.
In his nose, the smell of concrete, after a rainy day.
"Geez, don't get fucking weird on me. I will send you to fucking therapy next if you snap on us." It was AUDIBLE how confused Mike frowned. "... though, I guess I'm glad to hear that. If you want to you can stay home tomorrow, but we'll be there."
Mr. Phone Guy spoke up. "W-wait, how, uh- how do YOU have the right to decide that?"
"Because I fucking know what you WANT before you even do. Call me Magic Mike."
"M-MIKE, YOU J-JUST SAID SOMETHING- I- DID YOU-"
Their squabble had turned confusing and Jeremy decided he didn't want to listen in on accident, speaking up to remind them he was still there.
"I'll be there, no worries! You can count on me. There are things to do!"
Mike seemed to move a bit on the other side, talking sarcastically. "... well if that wasn't ominous, Mr. Hyde."
Jeremy didn't really get what that was supposed to mean. "Mr. Who?"
Phone Guy snorted. "It's Dr-"
"DON'T FUCKING DO IT. Doesn't matter. See you then, alright?"
The line clicked and they had hung up. Not even waiting for a reply. Rude!
Jeremy returned to the sleepy puppet.
"Mike."
"Yes, I heard." Bemused Marion shook his head.
"... should I put on the music box?"
"Hm... no... you wanted to watch an episode with me, right...?"
"We don't have to!"
"But I would like to."
Jeremy nodded happily and proceeded to mess with the recorder again.
Though, while his back was turned to his friend, he quietly asked a question.
"... thank you for telling me your old name. Would you be okay with me using it...?"
Shifting a bit uncomfortable, Marion looked out of the window. "... I don't know. I don't... I wanted to escape that person for so long... I don't feel like it's me. Or ever was."
"You never had the chance to." A bit Jeremy nodded. "It's okay, I won't use it. If you're Marion now, if that's who you want to be-"
"No- I'm..."
"It's okay! Don't worry-"
"... you can- should call me like that sometimes. If it's just you- I'm... it's... just maybe I should remember a few things. I said I was Marion when I... did a lot of wrong too. Maybe Charlie can be forgiven. Some day."
"I'm glad. I would have mourned poor Charlie otherwise. He was just a kid."
Finally the screen flickered to life, ready to provide entertainment.
They cuddled together once more, enjoying a small journey into a world that was a lot more peaceful than their own.


In the restaurant, a quiet dance was going on.
Dave had returned and Old Sport had asked for it.
"A small thing before we go bake. For me!"
His smile.
Dave couldn't look at it.
Old Sport smiled with his teeth showing at every opportunity.
These lips were pressed onto each other.
Tense, always tense.
Perfectly measured up to show the emotion and as little else as possible.
And now.
Two steps forward.
One back.
Moving the other to the side, twirling.
His grip.
His eyes.
It all was too clean.
Too hard.
A clockwork.
A machine.
Old Sport always talked a lot with his body, the way he moved, how he vibrated on the spot, how he lounged over things, how he snapped his fingers or let his glance wander-
Yes, he was talking, putting his thoughts simply out there by the virtue of his physical presence.
But now, horrifyingly enough, Dave felt talked TO.
Every movement seemed deliberate. Planned. SUPPOSED to say something.
This wasn't the happy chatter he was used from Sportsy's behavior.
As if someone cleaned him out, put him on strings.
Dave looked at him, wondering, fearing, if this would have happened to him anyways, if the other side would have kept having their way with him.
The good guys, who used him before.
Did he make a mistake by taking him away? Or was this cruel fate?
This... puppet.
It didn't feel real.
Unnatural.
He wanted to get away.
He had to.
But he couldn't.
Not right now.
Not alone.
So silently they danced through the shadows, each shrouded in their own darkness.
Each on their own pair of strings.

-

A/N:
It wasn't really much, but it wasn't meant to be much either. Just some good old Marion facing himself for a little after having kept up the charade for long enough.
This is meant to be a bit of a transition chapter, what will follow is a minor time skip! So look forward to that I guess.