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superstar-nan · 18 days

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Fight Tooth and Nail: Ch 10

Summary: You and Michael go home and make up, but unfortunately don't make out.

Words: 3,894

Fun stuff: Toxic relationships, mentions of dead children, vague allusions to familial abuse, descriptions of corpses. Michael tries for reader, but old willy has their heart even if it's out of hate :> poor michael…

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It was strange how quickly you could fall into routine. In the last few hours of the night, you rotely rebooted the haunted attractions systems with such bland ease that you almost considered playing music in one of your earbuds. You didn’t for a number of reasons—you wanted to stay alert, your mind was too overstimulated from your newfound discoveries, and you knew it would upset Michael more than you already had that night—so your strange mix of restlessness and boredom remained.

Michael stayed silent, but occasionally glanced back at you. You assumed it was to ensure you wouldn’t sneak off and get killed by Springtrap, and honestly it was justifiable. Even as you sat there having barely escaped death twice that night, you were itching to search the attraction for any secret wall entrances or trapdoors.

After the fight you had with Michael, you’d be willing to wait one more night for any more adventure. You only had two or so hours left anyway, which might not be enough time to thoroughly search the floors and walls while dodging Springtrap. You told yourself that anytime you felt the sense of urgency to find your best friend, hungry and dehydrated and alone.

So, you were well behaved. You didn’t even look at the cameras for Springtrap, no matter how much you wanted to. If Michael was pleased by your good behavior, he didn’t show it. The two of you sat in comfortable silence for the rest of his shift. Even after his alarm went off, you just stretched, cracking your back and shoulders while wincing from the bite mark on your neck.

Michael handed you his jacket, and you raised an eyebrow at him.

“To hide the marks.” He clarified.

You looked at his arms, withered and decayed like some kind of horror movie prop. You didn’t want to upset him, so you said, “I could just say we’re really kinky?”

You could see the warm byzantium even from beyond his black face mask, “Just put the damn jacket on.”

You put it on and zipped it up to your neck. When the dayshift guard came, you hugged Michael’s arm to keep it hidden from sight while Michael angled his other arm away from the guard. It hardly mattered, the dayshift guard seemed more interested in the new markings on the window, which you played dumb to since Michael was as silent as the grave. You dutifully performed the role of Michael’s partner as you hurried out the door before the dayshift guard noticed anything in the dim lighting. The guard had to believe Michael had some kind of skin condition or something...

Michael drove again, citing your bite as reason for him to drive, but at this point you think he just preferred driving. It wasn’t that important to you. You liked leaning your head on the window and looking outside while you let your thoughts run, organizing what questions you wanted to ask first. There were heavy and dark clouds in the sky. Though they looked weighted, you didn’t think it would rain just yet.

When Michael pulled up to his place, he opened his car door and said while stepping out, “I’m surprised you haven’t bombarded me with questions yet.”

You followed him in suit, “I want to.” You said, honestly. You opened your mouth to start-

“Whatever’s holding you back, keep listening to it.”

You closed your mouth. What an asshole.

He stepped through the doorway and threw his keys and backpack on the table, stretching his arms until they made a decidedly unnatural popping noise. He groaned as he rolled his shoulders before heading straight to the pantry. You hopped up on the table, crossing your legs. Maybe if you were patient enough, he would hear you out just to get you out of his peripheral.

He pulled popcorn out of the pantry and put it in the microwave. After pushing a few buttons, he glanced at you and scoffed in a way that sounded half laughing and half mocking. There was another rare smile from him—if you could call it that, maybe a smirk would be more appropriate. You weren’t charmed by this one, just annoyed. “Am I ever going to see you sit on a chair?”

Huh. You didn’t realize you never sat on chairs around him. “If you’re lucky,” You said.

Michael rolled his eyes, and it was a wonder to behold given how undead he was. He leaned against the counter with his arms crossed. He was staring at your neck. “You should bandage that now.”

Your fingers grazed the bitemarks. It didn’t throb as much as it did before, but it still stung ever so lightly. You didn’t want to bandage it up, but you didn’t have an excuse anymore. You swallowed as you nodded, “Yeah. I should.” You took Michael’s backpack that was behind you and started shuffling for the bandages.

Michael took a few steps closer to you, “Let me.”

You waved him off dismissively, “I’ve got it.”

Regret pitted at the bottom of your stomach the moment you caught Michael’s expression. For the briefest of moments, he looked wounded; a vulnerable insecurity revealed raw. He masked indifference just as quickly. That didn’t stop your anxiety from jumping to your worst fear: he thought you were disgusted by him earlier and didn’t want to touch him again.

“Actually,” You feigned nonchalance. “You don’t have a hand mirror, and it’s hard just using my phone. Can you do it?”

Michael didn’t respond, just exhaling through shredded, worn lips. He stepped closer to you and took the bandages, however. You had no idea whether you relieved any of his pain.

You took his large jacket—which you were still wearing, you now noticed—and let it pool at your elbows. He began measuring out where to bandage you, and he was close. You could see the details of his abrazed skin this close; peeking at his white teeth and blackened gums through the abrasions in his cheeks, realizing his dark brown furrowed brow must have been artificial like his hair, and watching his concentrating hollow eyes encased in shadow darker than the midnight sky. Like Springtrap, you found Michael more alluring with his death than without.

Michael tugged lightly on your sleeve. You realized he was trying to bandage you without touching you. Your heart felt heavy. “Should I take it off?” You asked.

Michael didn’t answer you right away, “I can work around it.”

“That seems harder than it needs to be,” You said bluntly. “I could... use the jacket? If you’re uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable isn’t-” Suddenly, the microwave timer went off, interrupting Michael with loud, annoying beeping—ones that oddly reminded you of red-flashing-blaring. You saw the corpse set his jaw through his abraded cheeks, and what wouldn’t you give to know what he was thinking. “Do whatever you want.”

You took off your shirt slowly—to keep from irritating the bite wounds too much, and you still ended up wincing—while Michael busied himself with the bandages. You zipped up the jacket to where it covered your lower chest, leaving the sleeves hanging off your shoulders so he would have full access to the wound.

Michael looked back at you. His void eyes widened and they scrolled your body, trailing from your eyes, down your neck, across your chest, and then settling on your bare shoulders and collar. Your brow furrowed. Was the wound worse than you thought? But that didn’t explain the warm byzantium shade sporting across his neck and ears. Was he really flushed? Or was that just the dingy lighting...? He swallowed, and it was thick enough for you to see it.

Your brow twinged lightly in concern, “What’s wrong?”

Michael’s eyes lowered as he bit his tattered lip. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Maybe it really did look worse than you originally thought, and you were too blinded by your hate-passion to realize it.

Cold fingers touched your shoulder and you shivered, a small and quiet gasp passing your lips. That surprised you... and that stung. It seemed he was done avoiding touch, and you were glad for it despite your visceral shudder. He was methodical and slow while bandaging you, each gentle wrap being accentuated by decayed fingers sliding between bandage and skin. It was a steady and deliberate gesture; he ignored your every hiss of pain as he glazed over fresh cuts and your every soft sigh of relief when he left them.

You couldn't place it—he was helping you, his hands were gentle (though firm), and he hadn't said anything—and yet, you felt like his ministrations were driven by agitation. You couldn't puzzle out over what, though. Was it because of you touching him earlier? Was it your fight? Was it something else entirely? You truly had no idea, and Michael was the furthest thing from an open book to spell it out for you.

When Michael was just about finished, you decided to speak, "...I'm lucky I met you." You said, softly.

Michael stopped. You hoped he realized that you were referring to your outburst earlier, because you already felt too vulnerable being the first to admit being wrong.

"The rest of this... I'm not so lucky, but meeting you?" You sighed, and it was heavy with the weight of everything you've had to bear these past three nights. "I'm glad we met."

You met Michael's eyes. He was staring so deeply into yours, it was hard not to get lost in his stare. An endless, bottomless, void-like gaze... You saw the slight furrow in his brow and the way his void eyes shook with uncertainty, and you knew he was battling with something. Michael returned to bandaging you, and though physically it was the same, somehow it felt gentler.

"You're not... completely inept."

Wow. That's how he apologizes in return. You said something super sweet, and he says you're not completely inept. God, he needed to be wacked in the head... Though, to be fair, you didn't exactly apologize either.

"No, I'm not," You agreed nonchalantly as Michael was finishing up the last of your bandages. He tucked the end of the bandage underneath his dressing, and you pretended like you didn’t wince. "Some might even say I saved us last night. You're welcome, by the way." You mimicked his gravelly voice.

Michael's mood soured, and not in the usual-fun-grumpy way, "Yeah. You saved us with your bizarre psycho-sexual relationship with my serial killer dad. Thanks for that."

Psycho-sexual. Your face grew warm with a deep blush, and void eyes hardened when he saw it. You scowled, pulling away from him abruptly and coming down from the table, "What are you talking about?"

"You’re gonna play dumb?” Michael crossed his arms and shrugged, “Fine.”

“I’m not-!” You exhaled sharply while running a hand over your scalp. You didn’t want to fight again. You just made up, “I just don’t know what you’re referring to.”

Michael raised his eyebrows, unimpressed, “My dad drew a heart in the glass.”

“We already knew he was psychotic,” You growled.

“You used a box cutter to try and... break it? What were you doing?”

"He was mocking me!" You snapped your head toward Michael, "I was mad!"

"Were you mad when you stared into his eyes and sighed like a lovesick schoolkid?" Michael’s voice sharpened with a harsh venom by the end of his sentence.

You remembered exactly how you felt coming down from your hatred, Springtrap just beyond the glass, and imagining the torture he went through. God, you felt mad and sick at that, but you also knew Michael wasn't wrong. It felt nauseatingly good to be wanted so intensely, and you hated that about yourself, "I- I wasn’t-” What could you even say?

“You’re blushing.” Michael’s gaze was as sharp and cold as his voice.

You felt your face with your palm. You were so warm. That wasn’t good. You leaned against the table, rubbing your temples, “I think I’m going to be sick.”

"How do you think I felt? You don’t-” Michael cut himself off and you could hear the anger he was trying to quell. You couldn’t begin to wrap your head around what Michael must be thinking... and you didn’t know if you even wanted to. “You don’t actually think you lov-?”

“No!” You had to snip that train of thought in the bud right away, “No. And don’t even say it, or I will strangle you until death decides to take you after all.” Thank god you meant that honestly. You knew you were losing your mind, but at least your head was screwed on enough to not fall in love with Springtrap.

Michael blew out air between his teeth. He rubbed his void eyes as he held the countertop with the same exhaustion you held the table with. Despite how tired he looked, his shoulders relaxed slightly and the tension left his fists. “Alright. What is it, then?”

You raised your hand and dropped it in weak exasperation, “Does it matter?”

“It matters,” He said, and of course it mattered. It was why you are still alive.

You exhaled and rubbed your temples, "Look, Michael. I'm not... super well... psychologically, right now."

"Who would've guessed?"

You threw the bandages at him, which he dodged, but you continued, "I don't know where my best friend is, if- if they're even alive, every night might be their or my last, I've been hit in the head a few times, I've hardly gotten any sleep, I just found out ghosts are real-!"

"Okay," Michael cut you off. "I get it."

You sighed, shaky and soft, "I'm... not myself. I know I might do or say something weird that I-... Just know I hate Springtrap. I truly hate him.” Who knew hate could be so passionate? “I want to kill him. Whether we find my friend or not, that’s my goal. I’m assuming that’s what you want, too.”

Michael didn’t say anything as he mulled over your words.

“That’s what you want, right?” Why else would he keep going back there? To play hide-and-seek with his psychotic dad all night long?

Michael folded his arms, leaning back against the countertop, “... I’ve been thinking about why the Spring Bonnie animatronic acted the way that it did.”

“That couldn’t have been less natural.” You said, annoyed.

“Do you want to know my thoughts on Spring Bonnie or not?”

Damn... You sighed, “Alright, what do you think its deal is?”

Michael scratched the back of his neck, “It’s been a while—those spring lock suits were old even in the 80’s—but I think there’s some sort of protocol for returning customers. Something in their code that has them give special treatment or priority to people who regularly showed up to Fredbear’s—er, the diner they’re from.”

You nodded, slowly, “I thought it might be something like that... That’s pretty advanced for the 80’s. That’s pretty advanced for now.”

Michael half-laughed, half-scoffed as he pulled the popcorn from the microwave. It had to have been cold by now. He didn’t seem to care, pouring the cold popcorn into a large bowl. “You should have seen them yourself,” He said, and his voice was almost wistful. “It was... it was like they were real, sometimes...”

You perked up at the promise of Michael-lore. “I’ve seen some videos...” You said, keeping your voice casual.

He shook his head and you followed him out of the kitchen and into his living room, “It’s not the same.”

“Tell me about it.” You sat down next to him on his couch, fully facing him.

Michael took one glance at you, before scowling and throwing popcorn in his mouth. “Don’t look at me like that,” He said with a full mouth. You forced yourself not to cringe as you saw popcorn and butter chew to a pulp from beyond his abraded cheeks.

“Like what?”

Michael threw more popcorn in his mouth, before pointing at you accusingly, “With stars in your eyes and excitement written all over your face. You look at me like that whenever my past gets brought up.”

“I’m curious!” You said, offended. “Even if you weren’t-” Michael gave you a hard look, and you wisely decided against bringing up the fact that he was dead, “-a security guard, I’d still want to know about your past.”

Michael exhaled, exaggeratedly and annoyed, before using his remote to turn on the TV. Whatever was playing was arbitrary and unimportant, so you ignored it regardless of Michael’s eyes glued to the screen.

“Come on,” You leaned your head against the couch as you faced him, a playful smile breaching your lips. “Staying mysterious can’t be that important.”

Michael turned up the volume of the TV.

“I’d love to know where you learned your shitty manners.” You said, blandly.

“Maybe I don’t want to talk about my past because it sucked. Terribly.” He looked at you pointedly, “Because growing up with a psychopath for a father tends to ruin your childhood. Ever thought about that?”

You bit your tongue. You knew Michael wanted to stun you into dropping the topic; which he did, but not in the way he intended. The thing was, you had thought about that. You were curious about Michael, that wasn’t a lie, but the weaker part of you wanted to know exactly how William treated his son. You wanted to know just how far he took his abuse. You wanted to know every evil word or every raised hand, all to add more coal to the fire that was your hatred. You could chalk it up to morbid curiosity, but you knew yourself better than that.

Guilt washed over you in a wave. You shouldn’t want that, you shouldn’t want to know that. So you decided not to ask anymore, for your own sanity. The less you learned about William—about Springtrap, the better. You turned to the TV, your eyes glazed over. The screen could have been static, and you wouldn’t have noticed.

Michael must’ve seen your face and believed you felt guilty for a much more altruistic reason (and you would never tell him otherwise), because he sighed, seemingly exasperated, and said, “I spent a lot of time at Fredbear’s growing up. It was basically my second home.”

Michael was a goddamn jezebel. You just rallied the strength to not pry into his (and, by proxy, his father’s) past, and he was going to offer it to you on a silver platter? You couldn’t stop yourself from turning to fully face him, pulling your legs underneath you and nodding at him to continue.

Michael tried to hide his blush with a scowl at your attention, “My mum... wasn’t in the picture.” You wouldn’t have been surprised if William killed her. Or if she just left him; you don’t imagine child killers make good husbands.What was more surprising was that he managed to get a kid or three out of her before she left or died. “And... My dad worked at Fredbear’s, so I spent every day after school there. Even when I got old enough to take care of Elizabeth and-” He stopped, dropping his gaze. “-my sister and my brother, I still hung around Fredbear’s. That’s where all my friends were, and-...”

Michael looked away from you, his shoulders oddly stiff and somber. He ran his fingers through his hair and his hands were shaking.

“I stopped hanging around Fredbear’s just a few years before my dad killed all those kids.” His voice quieted. You wanted to know why he avoided Fredbear’s if it wasn’t because of the murders, but the melancholy in his voice stopped you from asking.

“...But you ended up working at a few Freddy’s places later?” You asked.

“It was complicated.” He said.

You hummed in thought. He wasn’t telling you everything, but you didn’t mind it. “Was it fun? Being at Fredbear’s all the time?”

“Sometimes. It was what every kid dreamed. It was fun and loud...” He said, and you pictured Spring Bonnie from the picture: pretty and bright and wonderful. “What almost every kid dreamed. Sometimes... It was a lot. Sometimes you just wanted to get away from the bright lights and the loud noises.”

“Sounds overwhelming.”

“Sometimes...” Michael trailed off.

“What were your siblings like?”

Michael brought his void eyes up to meet yours, and you worried you overstepped. Then, his gaze settled on your lap, distant and somber, “Childish. Both of them, in different ways. My sister was a bit spoiled, but well meaning. She cared so much about stupid stuff. My brother... he was soft-hearted. He cried about everything. He hated Fredbear’s.”

Though Michael hardly said a kind word about either of his siblings, the tenderness in his voice spoke volumes. “...Are they-?”

You didn’t even have to ask the question, “They’re dead.” Michael said, and his voice hardened with the cold words. “Both gone before they even got to grow up.”

“Oh,” You lowered your eyes. You had wondered as much, seeing the little boy and girl both disappear from Michael's pictures, but it was more somber hearing it from him. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” He said, though you didn’t believe it was actually fine. “It’s been a long time.”

Michael’s hand was next to your legs. You gently placed your hand over his hand and rubbed your thumb along his skin. Michael was frozen for a second, before he turned his hand over and held yours.

After a comfortable space of silence, Michael spoke, “What about your family?”

“What about them?” You asked.

“Tell me about them.”

You felt strange talking about your family, especially since it seemed like bragging since—no matter your family situation, it was still better than a child-murdering father. But, it was only fair since you pestered him about his past, so you told him about yours. You told him about your childhood, your family, the things you liked and the things that were hard. You told him how you met your best friend and how you came to be friends. Your voice started to waver as you talked about them, so you stopped. Michael still held onto your hand, even as you shoved cold popcorn into your mouth to keep yourself from crying.

“I’m starving. I wish you had real food,” You said, choking on popcorn.

"...I'm sorry," He said. You knew he wasn't talking about the popcorn, but you made yourself believe he was so you wouldn't have to think about your own grief.

You leaned your head on Michael's shoulder, watching the TV. You honestly had no idea what was happening on the screen; you weren't paying attention and you doubted Michael had either. It didn't matter, though. It was something to focus on that wasn't important.

So you watched melodramatic vampires and theatrical reactions like you didn't have to go back to Fazbear's Fright tomorrow. You sank into the couch like you wouldn't have a new injury the next time you returned here—if you returned at all. You leaned into Michael like you weren't hatefully enraptured with his father, dreading Springtrap as much as you craved to face him. You relaxed like you weren't losing your mind, craving wicked things that took your closest friend from you.

You fell asleep like you had no worries at all.

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superstar-nan · 27 days

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Chapter 9 of FTaN be like

It was a mirage, wasn't it?

#springtrap #fnaf #not mine

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superstar-nan · 1 month

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I want to cuddle with Springtrap. Obviously because of my affection for him.

#fnaf #springtrap #not mine

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superstar-nan · 2 months

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Fight Tooth and Nail: Ch 9

Summary: You and Michael get in a fight, and it's kinda loud...

Words: 3,480

Fun stuff: Slight violent imagery and description of dead bodies. Toxic relationships. Michael's meaner than usual, Reader's teetering on the edge of losing it, and Springtrap kinda just loiters around for once.

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You finished up cleaning the bite marks, closing out of the reverse camera on your phone with a click. You were starting to come down from your excitement and ‘hatred’ high, leaving you only with the dull throbbing pain of your injuries. Confronting and outwitting Springtrap was thrilling, but damn did it always leave you in a world of hurt. If only you could best him without having to leave with a bruise around your neck, a body fried, or a bloody gash in your shoulder. Though, you supposed it was a small price to pay for your life...

“I have bandages in there, too.” Michael whispered. He must’ve caught a quick glance at you when you were looking into your mirror camera, because his void eyes were trained on the cameras now.

You tapped the reboot audio button, “I’ll bandage it later.”

Michael’s brow twinged slightly, barely noticeable if you hadn’t been looking at him, “You should bandage them now.”

You paused. What should you tell him? If you told him you were too tired or in too much pain, he would take over the control panel. Maybe he would understand if you told him it was your accolade of bravery, proof that you could stand your own against a robot killer. But probably he wouldn’t care, if he didn’t call you bluff. Instead, you decided to tell the partial truth, “If Springtrap sees it, it could stall him—give me enough time to escape.”

Michael’s shoulders stiffened, “...What?”

“It happened before. With this,” You pointed to the bruise around your neck, which Michael briefly winced at. “He could’ve killed me before, but he didn’t because he was too busy staring at his own handiwork-”

“It’s not handiwork,” Michael’s voice startled you with how loud it was. That was well above a whisper, “You’re hurt-”

“Shh!” You put a finger to your lips, and Michael was deadly silent. You couldn’t see his face; his cap and dipped head casted a heavy shadow over his eyes. Every click of the camera seemed marked with taps. You rebooted the ventilation. “You’re upset.” You said, almost gauging to see if you were right.

Michael didn’t respond to you, continuing his rigid camera checking.

You sighed and returned to your rebooting, tapping on the screen with heavy fingers. If he didn’t want to tell you what was wrong, you wouldn’t push him... Mostly because you had other things you wanted to ask him. “Spring Bonnie did something weird,” You said.

“I thought you were calling him ‘Springtrap’ now,” Michael punctuated his quiet words with more sharp taps on the cameras. Yeah, he was upset about something.

You ignored his obvious frustration, “Not Springtrap, Spring Bonnie. The robot.”

Michael’s void eyes cast you a quick side glance. That got his attention. “What do you mean?”

“When you played the audio que, it just...” You tried to formulate the right words to make sense of what happened and why it wasn’t typical, “Stared at me. It didn’t leave right away.”

“It was probably my dad fighting for control,” He said, almost instantly and with the monotony of small talk.

“It wasn’t,” You said, and you had to try to keep from sounding too annoyed. “I already saw him fight for control. This was after.”

Michael was silent for a moment, flipping through cameras. “It’s old machinery,” He said. “It was probably just stalled.”

“It wasn’t stalled,” You insisted. “It was staring at me.”

“How would you know?”

You opened your mouth and closed it, unable to quite compose how you knew it was staring. “I just do,” You said. It was frustrating how quick he was to dismiss you. It wasn’t even the first time this had happened.

Michael scoffed, and it was a hoarse and scratchy noise, “Just like how you know it wasn’t my dad? Or is it just like how you know my dad likes you?”

The way he said that made your cheeks burn. As if you were delusional. As if you had no clue how dangerous it was to be desired by him. As if you didn’t have the proof of it bleeding on your neck. But you wouldn’t address any of that, because then he would know it bothered you. “No. Just like how I knew I wasn’t hallucinating before. You didn’t believe me then either.”

The corpse huffed, “A broken clock is right twice a day.”

Forget Springtrap, you were going to kill Michael. “Why don’t you believe me?” Your voice was sharp even to your own ears, but you didn’t stop, “Any idea I have you immediately reject. It’s belittling.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” He turned to you with venom on his rotting tongue, “Should I list off all the times you’ve lied to me?”

“That’s not what I was talking-”

“If it’s not the lying, then it’s your ego. You’ve been here for three days and you think you’ve got this whole place figured out,” Michael’s voice was cold as ice, and his void eyes were twice as chilling. “Everytime you go out on your own, you barely escape with your life, come back with a new scar, and that’s after I save you. And yet, when my back is turned, you get the bright idea to waltz back out there like a—what did you call it again? Oh, yeah—a carrot on a stick for my serial killer father, and then I have to save you again.”

Your blood boiled in your veins and you were shaking. You hated that you kept having to be saved by him. You hated that he threw that fact in your face. You hated that he was right. You hated that he was using it to make you feel stupid and naive. You hated this. “I never asked you to-!”

“No. You didn’t. But it doesn’t matter, because I’m going to keep saving you anyway. You know that and I know that. And how lucky for you?” He sneered in a way that was cruel. It surprised you. He had been blunt and harsh before, but never intentionally cruel. “Because I keep saving you, he likes you and you’re fun.”

Your hand SLAMMED down on the desk, “If I was lucky, you would have saved my friend and I never would have met you!”

RED—FLASHING—BLARING—RED—FLASHING—BLARING—

All the anger washed away from you in a flood of panic. Both you and Michael scrambled for the control panel. Everything needed to be rebooted. Clumsy fingers bumped into each other as you both tried to reboot the ventilation. The only thing louder than the alarms was your labored breath, heavy with dread.

RED—FLASHING—BLARING—

Michael wrestled the control panel away from you, an action driven purely by adrenalin not hostility. Your hands were frozen out of fear, anyway.

RED—FLASHING—BLARING—

“Michael,” You tentatively put your hand on Michael’s shoulder. Your voice was steady but small. Michael was frantically fumbling with the control panel. He swore under his breath, but you couldn’t take your eyes off the window.

RED—FLASHING—BLARING—

Michael had set the ventilation to reboot. The alarms were still blaring, and they would continue to blare until it was done rebooting.

“Michael,” Your voice was more firm. You squeezed his shoulder.

RED—FLASHING—BLARING—

Michael first looked up at you, then he followed your gaze to the window. “Shit,” His breath was sharp.

Springtrap stood beyond the glass. You both had to crane your necks up to meet his cold lifeless eyes.

He was bathed in red light. Then, shrouded in complete darkness. Then, red light. It was impossible to see him when the lights diminished. With every flash of red light, you feared he wouldn’t be standing there anymore.

The alarms were white noise to you. Springtrap’s eyes followed your arm. You hadn’t noticed, but you were gripping onto Michael’s shoulder in your fear.

Just as quickly as you saw it, silver eyes snapped back to you. Then, it was dark.

It was red. His hand was to the glass. Your heart spiked against your chest, your pulse so quick you could feel it in your head. Should you try to escape in the vents? Should you just grab Michael and run?

It was dark. You tightened your grip on Michael’s arm.

It was red. Springtrap was still there. As much as terror ruled your mind, your brow furrowed in confusion. The sharpened metal of his raw fingertips were scratching something into the glass window. The noise, even above the blaring alarms, screeched like nails on a chalkboard.

It was dark. You held your breath.

The alarms stopped. You stared at the window. You let go of Michael.

It was a heart. He drew a heart on the glass.

Bile burned in your throat and you tasted iron as you stared into silver eyes. He was mocking you. Or maybe he wasn’t. It didn’t matter. Either way, hell was in your blood. You wanted to rip the animatronic and corpse into bones and scrap metal. You wanted to tear his metal jaw from its hinges and make the corpse swallow it. You wanted to see him in pieces, and all the rage you felt from Michael’s ranting was fed into your hatred.

In a moment of madness, you scanned the office for anything sharp. You snatched a box cutter and climbed over the desk. With both hands, you poured your anger into scratching the heart in half. Your face burned as you scraped the glass over and over. In your mania, you wanted to see the glass break.

The heart was scratched thoroughly, scathes repeated over the middle of the heart over and over to cut it in half.

Your sanity returned to you when you looked up. Springtrap was staring at you. He was always staring. You were kneeling on the desk to reach the heart but even then you had to look up. There was a hair’s distance between you, the glass, and him. He was so close, and it was strange being so close to him without the threat of violence looming.

You found yourself mesmerized with the animatronic. He was haunting, revolting, and wrong, but you couldn’t find yourself disgusted or horrified now matter how hard you tried. You were entrapped by his gaze. Silver eyes stained with time, always staring. You saw Spring Bonnie as he was in the photograph; charming and lovely and bright. He was none of that now, and yet you were more enraptured with his deterioration.

Thirty years in isolation. Thirty years without human contact. Thirty years without a soul to speak to or a body to touch. Thirty years in the dark. Thirty years trapped in a bleeding, broken body trapped within another rusting, broken body. Thirty years of utter torture. He was depraved before—he must have been to have killed children so heartlessly—but there was no way there was even a shred of sanity left in him now. Did sanity work the same when you were dead? You hoped it did.

You found strange fascination and pleasure in his pain. You wished you could have catched a glimpse of his torture. Did he scream for help? Did he try to tear at the walls to escape, or try to free himself from his animatronic suit? Did he feel his body decaying? Or did he just twitch helplessly, a prisoner of his cheery suit?

A quiet, wanton sigh left your lips at the thought, and your breath fogged the glass.

Silver eyes made minimal movements, scanning your face. The bunny’s head tilted, sharp and jagged in its motion. That snapped you out of your trance, and you pushed against the glass and off of the desk, your lips curled in a vicious snarl.

“Why aren’t you playing the audio?” You snapped, but you didn’t mean to.

Silver eyes followed your arm again. You were holding Michael’s shoulder, subconsciously. There was nothing but apathy in those silver eyes, as if it were the robot not the human in control, but you knew better. Thirty years was a long time to go without physical contact.

“It’s—” Michael swallowed, and he couldn’t take his void eyes off of the animatronic. Michael, it seemed, was invisible to Springtrap. “The cameras are rebooting, then the audio. He just—” The corpse hesitated. Then, he lowered his voice as if to hide it from the animatronic. “We need to keep him in place until then.”

Michael said ‘we’, but you both knew he meant ‘you’. For once, Michael was useless. Springtrap’s attention was solely focused on you, never even sparing a glance for his son. There was a tragedy in that, one that made you sick and angry. But then, you wondered if he was ignoring Michael on purpose. You would’ve been a fool to think Springtrap’s insanity interrupted his cleverness.

Your grip tightened on Michael’s shoulder, and silver eyes were unable to resist following your grip. Why did you love playing these mind games with him so much?

“I can keep him in place,” You said, and you let go of Michael’s shoulder, walking behind his swivel seat. You couldn’t take your eyes off Springtrap as much as he couldn’t take his eyes off of yours. Then, in a moment of softness, you whispered to Michael beside his tattered ear, “Is it okay if I touch you?”

“...What..?” Michael was breathless.

“Nothing too much or too intimate,” You whispered with a cold, conspiratorial smile. Your shadowed eyes were on Springtrap as you leaned against Michael’s chair, purposefully positioning yourself closer to Michael. Springtrap didn’t move. “You can tell me to stop if it’s too much.”

Michael paused. You couldn’t see his face from behind him, though that didn’t matter anyway since you couldn’t tear your gaze from Springtrap. You half expected Michael to refuse you outright—and that was fine, you had other ideas—but instead, a shaky exhale came from Michael. You wondered if he was weighing his options. Finally, he said, “...Neck and shoulders only.”

Fingers as light as a feather slowly trailed from the base of his skull to the apex of his spine, and Michael jumped at the touch. With your other hand, you moved smoothly over the skin above his collarbone. Michael’s breath hitched. His skin was rough and squishy, like an old sponge used too many times. He had many scars, and the skin was tougher there but you still lightened your touch anyway when you passed over them.

Springtrap stare shifted. Apathy slowly slipped from silver eyes and starvation took its place. He was entranced and he was furious. Your grin widened. His glower was dark as the pit and dangerous as a viper. He twitched in a robotic way that mimicked short-circuiting and his mechanical, silver eyes were shaking with starvation. And yet, he couldn’t turn away, you knew, not even to enter the room.

Thirty years was a long time to go without physical contact.

You... enjoyed this too much, you thought detachedly.

Michael flinched when Springtrap’s claw SLAMMED against the window, but you didn’t. The slow, screeching sound of his claws being dragged down the glass was a birdsong to you.

Michael wore his uniform loose, you noticed, so your hands slid under his uniform to gently caress the knots in his shoulders. You did this thoughtlessly, eyes solely on Springtrap’s thirst, but when you felt Michael shake underneath your fingertips, your attention was finally torn from the animatronic.

Michael’s cheeks, ears, and neck were a deep, sweet byzantium shade. His breath was haggard, like he was having difficulty controlling it. His void eyes were lidded, seeing nothing in front of him as he shook. You hadn’t touched him much, but he felt as though he was falling apart underneath you.

Your eyes fell to the maintenance panel. Everything was rebooted. Had Michael not seen it? Or had he seen it and chose not to do anything?

Thirty years was a long time to go without physical contact.

In a moment of clarity, you furrowed your brow lightly. Your eyes flitted from the envying animatronic’s eyes to your shaking byzantium friend to the camera controls.

...What were you doing?

All at once you let go of Michael, shooting your arm out for the audio on CAM 2. You heard a faux child’s greeting from the other room. Silver eyes glazed with machinery in lieu of rage, void eyes snapped to cognizance, and you took a second to catch your breath.

Springtrap didn’t move. Even robotic and mechanical, its eyes stayed on you as you leaned back from Michael’s control panel.

You couldn’t help but give Michael a knowing look, nodding to Springtrap and raising your eyebrows. Michael’s face was flushed and he lowered his cap until it shadowed over his eyes. You swallowed and looked back at Springtrap. Maybe now wasn’t the time to say ‘I told you so’.

Michael pressed the audio que again, and only then did Springtrap march away with heavy mechanical steps.

When the animatronic was out of sight, you listened to the fading of mechanical steps detachedly. You felt out of your mind, like you weren’t quite yourself. Why did you do that? Why did you do that to Michael just to see Springtrap suffer? You ran a hand over your face when you grabbed your control panel. God, you loved to see him in starving, hateful agony. Why did he make you worse?

You slid to the floor next to Michael’s desk. Michael had pressed a few more audio cues, and you ended up rebooting the audio after he did so. He was angling his face away from you, and you were filled with gut-eating guilt.

“I’m sorry,” You bit your lower lip, looking at the control panel. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“...You were keeping him distracted.” His voice and gaze lowered.

“I should have done something else. It was,” What could you say? You shouldn’t have used him to torture Springtrap? You shouldn’t have put him in that position in front of his psychotic father? You didn’t know how touch-starved he was? You would gladly hold his hand or hug him or whatever it took if he asked? “It was too much.”

Michael was silent for a moment, the sounds of cameras clicking filled the room. “I didn’t say it was too much.”

“But it was, and I’m sorry.” You said, resolutely.

Michael’s head turned slightly to you, but he kept his void eyes downcast, “It’s okay. I... I’m sorry I-”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” You cut him off. You sounded harsh... You cleared your throat and softened your voice. “When I, uhm, get my shoulders massaged, I also tend to... melt.” Don’t say that, you’re putting a spotlight on the fact that he melted over a shoulder rub! “Not that you were... Uhm, well your skin felt nice anyway-” Why would you say that!? That sounds so creepy! “Not that it was different from-” DON’T POINT OUT HE’S DEAD HE HATES THAT! “Er, well, if you ever wanted me to give you a proper shoulder rub...” WHY ARE YOU OFFERING HIM A MASSAGE WHEN YOU CREEPILY FELT HIM UP AND THEN SAID HIS SKIN FELT NICE! “I used to give them all the time to my best friend when-” DON’T MENTION THEM, NOW YOU’RE SAD! “Uhm...”

Michael was staring at you. Your cheeks warmed.

You smacked his knee with the control panel, “Focus on the cams!” You whispered, harshly, “Otherwise, Springtrap’s gonna come back and kill us!”

Michael growled and swatted you away, but he did return his focus to the cameras, “Don’t hit me with that, you’re going to break it.”

“Whatever...” You rebooted the ventilation with a grumble.

There was a beat of silence as you two focused on your control panels. The ventilation started up and buzzed an ambient drone in the room.

“But you saw Spring Bonnie staring at me, right?” You turned your head toward Michael.

Michael groaned, rolling his void eyes, “This again?”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t see it.”

Michael exhaled, sharp and annoyed, “I need to focus. Unless you want ‘Springtrap’ to come back and kill us.”

“Hmm,” You smiled, mischievously as you rebooted the cams. “That’s so interesting that you didn’t deny it. Sooooo interesting.”

Michael growled your name as a warning.

“Well, I won’t go into how I told you so,” You said, off-handedly, before turning to him and leaning your head against his desk. “What do you think it is? Is it something in the coding?”

He said your name again, this time sharper, “I need to focus.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose. You were frustrated, but you knew he wasn’t just telling you this to avoid the topic. You sighed, this time drawn out, and said, “After six then.”

Michael took a sip of his drink and mumbled, “After six.”

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superstar-nan · 2 months

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Got the fnaf coloring book and main stage really said fuck foxy

#seriously foxy is never with the main three in the book for some reason #also they put baby with glamrock Freddy and Monty for some reason #and then put og Freddy with the toy animatronics #smh my head #five nights at freddy's #fnaf #fnaf coloring book #five nights at Freddy’s coloring book #still worth 20$ tho

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superstar-nan · 3 months

Text

Fight Tooth and Nail: Ch 8

Summary: Springtrap finally gets some action, and it only took 8 chapters.

Words: 4,869

Fun stuff: Gore, violence, and blood. Descriptions of undead bodies. Swearing. Toxic relationships. This one's heavy on the toxicity, but it's mutual toxicness.

───── (\ /) ─────

Something cold and spongy stroked your head. The touch was slow and tender; you were warmed. You stirred just slightly, leaning into the gentle touch, but that stopped it. It withdrew from you and you sighed against the pillow.

After a few moments, a weight left your side. You didn’t know how much time had passed, but it was dark when your eyes fluttered open.

You were better rested than you thought you’d be. You sat up in Michael’s dark room. The bathroom and the living room were obscured by shadow, and Michael was nowhere to be seen. You checked the time.

1:37 AM

That bastard left you.

You bolted up with life, stumbling into your shoes and snagging your cell phone. You rushed into the living room and swung your heavy tote bag over your shoulder. You checked your pockets and bag for your keys. You flipped on the light, shielding your eyes from the brightness for a moment, before checking the counter. No keys.

You opened the door. Your car was gone. That bastard left you and took your car.

You slammed the door shut, the force shaking the whole living room. You ground your teeth as you pulled out your phone. If Michael thought for a single second that he could dissuade you from facing Springtrap by stealing your car , he had no idea how stubborn you were.

Or how easy it was to call for an Uber.

───── (\ /) ─────

You were still seething in the back of the Uber by the time it pulled up to Fazbear’s Fright. Your arms were crossed as you glared out the window.

“...This is where you want to be dropped off?” The driver said, tentatively.

“Yeah.”

She looked at your mysterious heavy duffle bag through the rear view mirror, then to the abandoned building, “Okay...”

You made sure to tip her very well.

You stood in front of the building with your duffle bag over your shoulder as you waited for the Uber to drive out of sight. It was as unexceptional as ever, lights flickering with a dull buzz. You couldn’t stroll through the front door. It was locked and you doubted Michael could abandon the panels long enough to let you in without Springtrap murdering him. And that would be if he’d let you in at all.

Though, while Michael couldn’t let you in, you knew who would.

You unzipped your duffle bag and pulled out your axe as you made your way to the back door. You were as still as a statue as you stared at the entrance. It was only your third night at Fazbear’s Fright (which was already shocking, it felt like your eighth night at least!), but with each night your apprehension waned. Instead, something strange was slowly replacing it: a dark and grim excitement. That in and of itself stalled you.

However, your feelings were never the forerunner of your actions. If they were, you would have never returned to this place.

You knocked on the door.

You held your breath.

The dull buzz seemed quiet compared to the pounding in your chest.

The lights flickered just a touch too long.

The door clicked.

Your stomach flipped. You would be a fool to rush for the door now, and yet you wanted to. You were being hunted again —you knew this. But this time, for some unknown ungodly reason, it felt like a game. You looked at your tote bag, filled with all kinds of traps and tricks to hurt him, and you knew it was a game. A deranged, dangerous, sure-to-end-in-someone-dying game, but still a game. Maybe it was always a game for Springtrap. Now, it was your game as much as it was its.

And it wanted to play even more than you did.

You pulled out your best friend’s phone out of your pocket. Your resolve hardened when your eyes landed on the shattered background of the two of you. You tapped on the tracking app and hovered your thumb over the earbuds icon.

It was still here at Fazbear’s Fright... The audio would likely attract Springtrap to it—the killer or the robot. As much as you’d love to plunge your hand into his chest again (and you really would love to do that), you didn’t imagine you could pull that off a second time without getting caught by someone at the attraction or Springtrap’s deadly claws. You would have to start and stop the audio as you approached it, estimating where to find it... and maybe where you’d find your...

You swallowed, thickly. You tapped on the earbuds icon. You grabbed the door’s handle and pulled it open in one quick, wide swing.

There was no sound.

You used your hand to soften the noise of the door closing behind you and then checked your best friend’s phone again. A small picture of earbuds hovered over Fazbear’s Fright, and a little audio que was right next to it? There should have been a noise playing, but you were only met with the static buzz of the poor ventilation system.

You quickly and quietly moved away from the exit. You knew how the game was played. You played it before. You set down one of your toys, silently, as you moved deeper into the attraction.

Listen, scan, step, listen, scan, step—

Your heart beat was drumming wildly against your chest. Where was the sound? Could the animatronic have already found it? No, that wasn’t right. Even if it had, you would have been able to hear it in his chest.

You gently put down another toy— Listen, scan, step .

The app showed that it was here . It was here, somewhere in the building. It just... It just had to be too quiet. That was the only explanation that you could think of: it was too quiet and was drowned by the buzz of the ventilation.

Listen, scan, step, listen— Speaking of too quiet...

You weren’t far into the attraction, but you already felt like you were losing. You were too distracted. Too comfortable , if that was possible. Sweat dripped from your face. Every shadow was a monster and every sound was a threat.

The pressure was heavy. Your breathing, no matter how much you slowed it, felt too fast. You swallowed, dry as sandpaper, to calm your nerves. And then you remembered your toys.

Even if you didn’t know where he was, you still wanted to try them out. Oh, how you wished you could be there to see him fall for it, but even your bravery had its limits. You slowly pulled out the remote of the first toy you set down.

Just like the night before, a childlike song played, muffled with distance. You didn’t hear mechanical steps trudging toward it, no matter how you strained. Fear struck like a spear in your heart, but then you heard heavy movement in the vents, slowly dragging toward the song. Still, your brow furrowed. The song shouldn’t have been much louder than the noise from the earbuds. Where was it?

You were startled by a distant but loud SNAP , then immediately a striking ZAP . Your smile widened.

Even as you passed the Chica head, the presents, the arcade machines, the dangling stars, the Bonnie torso , you heard only the droning of the ventilation. And when the ventilation turned off, you heard nothing. Each step you could feel yourself losing focus for panic. It didn’t make any sense! It couldn’t have been in the vents, you would’ve heard it echoing across the walls and floors and-

... Inside the walls was somewhere you hadn’t checked. They looked thick. Maybe thick enough to hide noise. It didn’t make too much sense, how could something get in the walls in the first place? Wouldn’t an employee notice a hole in the wall? Though, a spark of hope lit in your chest. Your best friend, clever and quick, could have hidden in the walls to escape the animatronic, and their earbuds just slipped out while they were hiding. Or, they could still be there , trapped somehow behind a soundproof barrier. That would explain their disappearance. That would-

You were grabbed, violently . Pain burned against your neck and your arm from behind you. You swung your axe with everything you had with your free arm, burying it into a rotten, metal foot. Something vicious and rasping hissed behind you, and you were let go.

You grabbed the axe with two hands and pulled, tumbling forward. You whipped around. You weren’t paying attention! You should’ve listened closer! You should have set another toy off! You should have been more alert, how could you be so stupid! You should have-

Springtrap, rotten and evil , was holding your tote bag. Your face paled. Your palms tightened around the axe in your hands. It was your last defense.

He dumped the toys, remotes, and tools out on the ground. His grin never moved—it couldn’t—but Springtrap’s silver eyes bore sharp and annoyed daggers into you, if being annoyed could be so cold. It was fantastic .

A bitter grin stretched across your face, “What? Were my toys too shocking ?” God, you were hilarious. You looked at the toys you rigged to electrify scattered across the floor, and your grin turned into a vicious grimace, “I hope it hurt. ”

You wanted to see it furious. You didn’t care how dangerous it was, you wanted to see rage in those too-human eyes, not just cold annoyance. You wanted to provoke its anger, but you hadn’t. Instead, robotic eyes scanned you soullessly. Subtle clicks of metal ticked behind its silver eyes. Your breath quickened. The longer it looked at you—burying its unrelenting and vile eyes into you—the more difficult it was to hold onto your rage in place of fear.

And then it took one loud , mechanical step. You couldn’t stop yourself from startling. Your warmth and bravery drained from you. You stepped back. You could’ve sworn the thing’s grin widened somehow. Fear crashed through your veins. You tightened your grip on your axe.

Another loud mechanical step. You stumbled back again. Your face grew hot. Silver eyes looked pleased . That was the last thing you wanted. It wasn’t fair the fear this thing instilled in you. It wasn’t fair that your anger couldn’t overpower your fear. It wasn’t fair that with all your hatred and fury, you couldn’t weaponize it.

One last mechanical step, and you bolted. You pushed off the floor as fast as you could away from Springtrap. You weren’t fast enough. It grabbed your arm and threw you against the wall. You slammed against it hard , breath forced out of your lungs. At the first sight of dingy green, you used both arms to swing your axe downward. A sharp, piercing hiss stung your ears.

Somehow, you cut something—his arm. You didn’t get a moment to celebrate. You lifted the axe again, and he grabbed your arm. Suddenly, the world spun around and you felt nauseous. Your arm was twisted painfully behind you. Your axe clattered to the floor. Your back was to Springtrap. You were kicking and clawing at him to let you go, twisting madly to loosen his grip. You vaguely heard an artificial child’s laughter in another room, but that didn’t matter. You were making too much noise. Even if you weren’t, now that Springtrap had you it could just drag you with it.

Your struggling all stopped when a large, rotten set of claws lightly grazed the sensitive skin of your collar. You froze, deathly still. You stopped breathing. Your heart hammered wildly in your ears. You were certain he could feel it, too. You heard the whirring of machinery behind you. It was worse that you couldn’t see him.

Metal nails like daggers trailed up your jaw. You tilted your head up, conceding to the claws so close to puncturing your skin. You shuddered against its touch; too light to give you the reprieve of pain but too heavy to let you forget. The mechanisms in the suit behind you clicked and burred. You slammed your eyes shut as you swallowed against his claws.

Two sharp clicks sounded beside you. A strange, crackling and vintage noise came and then fizzled out beside your ear. You furrowed your brow. It was only when it came and failed a second time that you realized it was Springtrap’s voice box.

The grip on your arm tightened, and you winced. Instead of trying to speak a third time, sharpened claws idly and softly drew something onto your skin. You didn’t respond after he finished—how could you? You were too busy puzzling out what he was doing—and that was a mistake. He twisted your arm painfully behind you. You inhaled sharply against the bend and strain, contorting your back in a strange arc to alleviate the pain. You felt your bones creak under your flesh. You went pale at that.

The animatronic didn’t slacken his iron and immovable grip or move to give you any relief. Instead, it slowly began drawing again. The threat was clear: pay attention or he will snap your arm in half. You paid very close attention this time.

Its “drawings” were letters:

“ Beg? ” You said, and your breath was gaining weight. Subtle gear clicks came from the animatronic behind you. He didn’t make any move to lessen the pressure on your twisted arm, but it didn’t matter. The pain was completely lost to you. You were no longer pale, you were hot. You saw red . You could have laughed—as if you would ever beg! As if he could EVER do ANYTHING to make you beg for HIM! But you were too angry. You couldn’t even let out a chuckle.

You tilted your head completely up to where you could look the animatronic in those cruel, vile, silver eyes of his. At least seven feet tall, Springtrap towered over you. Its eyes looked expectant. Impatient even, like you had taken too long already. You felt venom on your tongue.

“You’ll see hell before you ever hear me beg.” You hissed between your teeth.

The animatronic didn’t look angry or surprised. Instead, there was a pretend disappointment—lidded eyes slanted in faux sympathy, a slight tilt to his head, gentle clicks of metal mimicking tuts . He was a parent scolding a child instead of a monster terrorizing victims. His mockery made your blood run hot.

Suddenly, he forcefully tilted your head to the left, a sharp pain shooting along your jaw. Cold, putrid, impossible breath tickled your exposed neck. There was no way it needed to breathe. He was trying to scare you.

It worked.

You started to thrash against him, renewed urgency fueling your fire. But no matter how much you kicked and scratched and twisted and fought, you couldn’t shake its iron grip. You heard more whirring machinery, and then a strong, loud click.

You froze at the sound of decayed flesh against metal. You were so close to him. You could hear the corpse inside the suit. Sticky, wet peeling and squelching with mechanical ticks. You felt sick.

And then you felt pain.

You screamed. Lacerations like fire made you lose your mind. From your arm to your neck, pain stabbed into you. It throbbed in a shredded anguish. You convulsed against it, but that only deepened the piercing pain. Tears rolled down your cheeks as your scream crumpled into a weak cry. You opened your eyes. The rotten rabbit’s head was beside yours. Blood soaked your chest.

He bit you. He bit you .

The pain numbed and burned, and you were crying and you hated that you were crying. When your body stopped twitching, its teeth released you in a wet, slick squelch. It hurt sharp and quick. You swallowed a sob.

...He bit you, so why were you not dead?

Your head was lowered as the animatronic supported your weight. In the blinding pain, he had let go of your twisted arm, now his large metal claws keeping you upright by your waist. His other hand was gently holding your arm, the arm he bit that burned and throbbed . The way he held you was strange. Before, he was clutching you like an animal to be slaughtered. Now, he was soft in a facsimile of affection; your body a fragile doll to be handled with care.

As if to mock the point forward, he caught your tears with soothing, rotten fingertips. Even as tiny sobs left your lips, he wiped the tears away soft enough to be caring—or rather, a twisted imitation of caring.

You leaned into the touch, and the animatronic froze.

You let out a soft, shaken sigh against his fingertips. You caressed his hand in turn, your fingers so small compared to his giant rotten claws. You let your breath warm the cold of his metal and rot, gently rubbing the tears from your cheek on his slitten, soiled palm. You leaned softly into his grip on your waist. In your weakness, you melted into the false affection from the terrible, vile creature.

Machinery clicked and ticked in a way that seemed stunted. His body didn’t move, only letting you lean into him as invisible mechanisms maneuvered beneath his second skin. You vaguely heard the crackling of his voice box, popping as though it was short circuiting.

You surprised him. Good. You would surprise him again.

You slammed your jaw down as hard as you could around his fingers.

After spending so much time with Michael, you were used to the rancid smell of decomposing flesh. What you were not used to was the taste. Putrid and foul, mold seeped onto your tongue and you were tasting disease incarnate...with a hint of iron. It was so awful, you started to retch against your bite. However, when Springtrap flinched, he became the best thing you ever tasted.

Springtrap grabbed your arm and threw you to the floor. Your teeth were sore from being ripped away so forcefully. You scrambled back, kicking one of your toys so that it slid across the floor far away from you. You didn’t dart off the floor in a sprint, no matter how much your legs begged you to. Instead you kept your eyes trained on Springtrap—tall, rotting, and terrifying—as he stalked toward you, one loud mechanical stomp after the next.

You didn’t make any effort to hide the fear in your expression as you backed away from him, as silent as you could. As much as you wished it were an act, it wasn’t. He truly terrified you. Of course he did, and he wanted that. You knew he needed your fear. He was entranced by it; drunk off it. You didn’t think you would ever see so much desire in someone as you did Springtrap when you were afraid. You didn’t think anyone could want you as much as Springtrap did when you were covered in blood, cowering from him.

And so he took his time, his jaw dripping in your blood and hanging low, hinting at the corpse beneath the suit. He was drawing out your fear with each anticipatory step just like he had your first night at the attraction. Your back hit a wall and you pressed against it; it was a support to you. From the moment he slowed his steps that first night, slamming against arcade cabinets to taste your fear, you hated him. Now, you still hated him, but his slow steps weren’t frightening you. They were buying you time.

His fingers were inches from your face when you pressed the remote in your hand.

Springtrap froze when the toy you kicked away lit up in bright colors and loud music. A grin stretched across your face, your fear giving way to smug satisfaction. Even the throbbing of your bloodied neck and arm couldn’t wipe the smile off your face, and it only widened when his fingers shook—desperate to stay in control.

You weren’t safe. William could somehow wrestle enough control to grab you. He was holding out pretty well, struggling to remain in place despite the music loudly singing behind him. That couldn’t stop you from gloating. You feigned surprise at the noise, a hand coming to your silent gasp. You overacted a pout, as if you were so sad to see him go, waving him goodbye.

Silver eyes were livid . Rage emanated off of him like smoke . You could see how desperately he wanted to bury his hands into your organs—to soak in your blood.

It was incredible . Your head felt light from his madness, and you would have laughed if you could. If your fear made him drunk, his anger was your drug.

An audio cue from Michael in the same direction as your toy was Springtrap’s turning point. Human eyes became robotic ones; anger ceded to coding. Curiously, the robotic eyes scanned you once over, and it was enough to wake you from your satisfaction. You furrowed your brow as eyes that held nothing human stared at you intently. Why wasn’t it moving? You hadn’t made any noise. Was there something else in its coding that you didn’t know about, or...?

You got a weird feeling.

Finally, it turned, forced and unnatural. Its eyes stayed on you as you slipped away quietly, using the animatronics loud steps to mask your own.

Your steps were nothing more than quiet taps against tiled floor as you hurried to the front office. As much as you wished you could continue the search for your best friend, your wound began to burn fiercely without the adrenaline of fear and excitement. You needed to assess the damage in a safe place.

You tried not to think about Spring Bonnie’s bizarre pause, but you couldn’t help how nervous it made you. You shouldn’t have been separating Spring Bonnie and William in the first place; they had been fused together so long they were a new creature. But it made dissecting Springtrap’s behavior easy, so you did.

William was predictable: he wanted to scare you, hurt you, and then kill you in that order. Spring Bonnie wanted to play and to be where the party was, so why did it ignore the party for so long? You knew for a fact that it wasn’t William staring at you; if not by its robotic eyes, then by the lack of sweet rage in its features. Did it... want to keep playing with you? Could the animatronics gain favoritism? You would have to ask Michael when you get the chance.

You held your shoulder. You looked at your hand, coated in blood. God , Springtrap was so disgusting. You would have to dump a bottle of hand sanitizer on your wound just to keep it from getting infected. Hopefully, Michael kept first aid supplies with him and not just by his bedside.

You heard your toy shatter in the distance, but no zap. You ran faster.

You flew past the office window, spying Michael ducked in front of the camera panel. You didn’t realize how tense you were until the relief of seeing him washed over you like cool water. You hurried into the office.

“ What are you doing here?! ” Michael’s harsh whisper stung almost as sharp as the bleeding wound on your chest. So much for relief.

You ignored his venomous whisper as you went to grab the control panel, but just as you were about to take it, Michael snatched it away. You looked at him, offended, but he kicked his backpack to you.

“Bandages. And antiseptic.” He couldn’t take his void eyes off the screens—frantic scanning and stressed swiping.

You grabbed the control panel anyway, and he almost stopped his focus just to grab it back, “I can do both.” You said, and you really could. It wasn’t that hard to tap reboot every couple of seconds, especially when you weren’t concentrating on playing hide-and-seek with a killer.

Michael narrowed those sallow eyes of his, dark and glancing, “You’re covered in blood.”

You sat down by the trash can. You tapped the panel to reboot the audio and then dragged Michael’s backpack to you. “Thanks for the heads up,” you rolled your eyes, your tone a little sharper than you anticipated, but who could blame you. You were bleeding out, afterall. “Also, you stole my car, asshole.”

“You should have stayed home,” He said, eyes darting from camera to camera. For a brief second, you found it odd that he referred to his place as ‘home’ instead of ‘my home’ or ‘my place’ . You didn’t know why that stuck out to you.

You shuffled through Michael’s bag. You pulled out a large bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a few cotton swabs. You didn’t want Michael to know you were glad you came. Yes, you had disgusting, throbbing gashes all along your neck, chest, and arm—that wasn’t great. But you figured out a theory of where your best friend could be, you successfully tested out contraptions that gave you the ability to outmaneuver Springtrap, and—most enthralling and terrible of all—you made Springtrap boil with rage. Besides being bitten into, the night was a success. And even being bitten wasn’t so...

You rebooted the ventilation before inspecting your wound. You hissed when you used your fingers to prod at the gashes. They weren’t that deep, but they were deep enough. You took out your phone and used the reverse camera to get a better view. You were almost startled at what you saw. There wasn’t just one set of teeth marks, but two . One large set of uniform-like marks encircled smaller, jagged and uneven ones right at the crook of your shoulder.

It wasn’t just the animatronic that bit you. The corpse did too.

You waited for the rage to wash over you, the anger to burn like a fire through your veins. It didn’t come, however, and you were beginning to understand why.

“How...” Michael had briefly glanced at you, a slight crease to his dark brow. You looked at him, your expression without cold or heat. You rebooted the audio again, before returning your gaze to encourage him to continue. “ How are you not dead? ”

Your eyes widened slightly. Michael had so many secrets and knew so many mysteries that you were shocked you knew something he didn’t. You dabbed antiseptic on cotton as you said, “Isn’t it obvious?”

Michael shot you a quick, annoyed look. You ignored it as you began to wipe the blood from your shoulder with a hiss of breath. It stung, sharp and sour. It was better that it burned than festered, however.

“I’m fun. He likes me.”

Another sharp glance came from Michael, “I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” You could see how your statement sounded like a joke. However, you knew it was true, and you knew it because you weren’t angered by two rows of teeth marks. “Spring Bonnie likes to play and your dad likes to chase. I’m terrified of him, but I still take risks. I wander the attraction like a carrot on a stick, but I keep escaping death just in time. I’m fun . He likes me, so he wants to keep playing the game.”

Michael looked horrified —his brow twisted, his mouth open in shock, and his void eyes blown wide. You had never seen an expression so clearly written on his decayed features, but underneath the horror, you could see understanding in his eyes. He knew his serial killer father, and he knew you were right.

He didn’t know how right you were, however. As you dabbed at your stinging wound, you knew that while everything you said was true, it wasn’t all of it. You were fun to it and he did like you, but there was something more; the reason you weren’t angered by two rows of teeth marks.

There was... a strange intimacy between you and Springtrap, one you were loathsome but compliant to admit. It was an intimacy that replaced romance with hatred and sex with violence, but the desire and elation remained. It was why your head felt light when thinking about him in pain, and why you didn’t hide the scars he left on you. It was why you weren’t acting when you leaned into his touch, caressing his claws as they dabbed at your tears. You believed he wasn’t acting either when he gave you faux tenderness.

And the icing on the twisted, corrupt cake? While you were in deep (too deep for your liking and sanity), Springtrap was in deeper . You knew this because of one simple fact: You were alive . He had the chance to kill you when he took a bite of your neck, and he didn’t . You had no doubt, no hesitation that if you had the chance to kill him, he would be dead where he stood .

That was his weakness. He wanted to keep playing, but you wanted to win.

You knew this ‘intimacy’ was poison. Yet, you couldn’t stop yourself from drinking it. Your anger was a fire, and you would happily be consumed by it if it meant so did he.

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superstar-nan · 4 months

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If yall are so free today, why don't yall schedule a meeting with your therapist

#happy valentine's day

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superstar-nan · 4 months

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Fight Tooth and Nail: Ch 7

Summary: You search your best friend's phone for answers and contemplate your hatred while looking at old photos again.

Words: 4,232

Fun stuff: Descriptions of undead bodies and slight gore. Strong swearing. Feelings of grief, toxicity, hatred, and dependency are explored. Oh, also Springtrap gets named finally. It only took 7 chapters.

───── (\ /) ─────

“You’re unbelievable,” Michael said, his British accent and shredded vocal chords adding an extra bite to his tone.

You weren’t even looking at him as you plugged your best friend's phone into the outlet by the night stand, “I was in and out so quick.”

“ You’re unbelievable, ” He repeated, this time sharper. “You lied to me again. ”

“No I didn’t,” You said, pointing to a bag of food while still focused on the phone. It was taking a while to boot up and you were waiting with baited breath.

Michael opened the bag, before throwing his hand up in frustration, “This isn’t even what I asked for.”

You waved him off dismissively.

He exhaled, exasperated, before plopping down next to you, “Where did you find it?”

You paused. “In the vent,” You said, after a beat of silence.

Michael scoffed, “Where did you really find it?”

He was getting wise to you. “In Spring Bonnie’s chest.”

“ What?! ”

“And I’m fine! ” You huffed, finally taking your attention away from the sluggish reboot. Focusing on something else helped curb your impatience. “I was careful. I am careful.”

“Getting close enough to touch him isn’t careful, ” He said through his teeth.

“It was broad daylight!” You argued, “What was he going to do, kill me in front of everyone and-?”

“He could have.”

“But he didn’t.” You said, pointedly, while turning back to the phone. It was still restarting. Anxiety began creeping in your stomach. You might have to take the phone to a specialist if it didn’t start up properly.

“But he could have ,” He said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the bed frame. “I could tell them the truth, about you breaking in. That would keep you away from the attraction.”

“Oh, there’s an idea,” You hummed, before turning to him with a smug grin. “And then you can explain to them why it took you so long to tattle.”

Michael’s void gaze hardened on you and you could see him grit his teeth from beyond the abrasions in his cheeks. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

You turned back to the phone, “No one likes a snitch, Michael.”

“No one likes a liar, either.”

You would have been more annoyed by that, if your best friend’s phone didn’t light up. The screen’s light reflected onto your face, lighting your eyes with a mirror of the screen. The screen was heavily cracked, to the point that it was difficult pressing the passcode you had memorized, but when you finally managed it, you were greeted with a homescreen of you and your best friend laughing together. Your heart felt lonely, suddenly. Your brow twinged and your eyes were heavy. You wouldn’t cry though, not yet. Not in front of Michael (though, you already had who knows how many times now).

Pushing your sorrow down, you searched your best friend’s phone for anything that might point to what happened to them: photos, text messages, emails, recent locations on maps. You avoided their browser history for their sake, but also because you felt Michael leaning over you, watching the screen with you. He was close, very close to you; so close you could hear his shallow breathing. His arm propped himself up next to you, a hair shy from your thigh, and his jaw was next to your ear, above your shoulder. You were sure it was to get a better view of the phone, but you welcomed his presence anyway. You needed the support, even if it was just the close proximity of grumpy, nitpicking Michael.

You saw that you were the only person your best friend called that night. No relevant text messages were sent out to anyone, but in their email there was a short draft. It was written for a long string of emails between them and management at Fazbear’s Fright:

Dear Management, I would like to bring your attention to concerning working conditions I’ve encountered during my nighttime shift. I am just as excited as everyone else about the new addition to Fazbear’s Fright. However, I have noticed that since the recent addition of the old Bonnie animatronic, unusual incidents have occurred after hours. I believe the night time protocols of the animatronic cause it to act unusually. I hear strange noises in the vents and see the animatronic in different places on the camera frequently. It stares at the camera. It only responds to audio cues. I don’t believe this to be normal for the animatronic. I would like to request an engineer to further examine the animatronic to ensure the safety and well-being of employees and future attendees when Fazbear’s Fright opens. Best Regards,

To Our Well-Valued Employee: Thank you for bringing this matter to our attention. Your safety is important to us, which is why we’ve added more audio cues throughout the building. Unfortunately, this also means that the audio will need to be rebooted more regularly with the maintenance panel. Please let us know if you have any more questions! Sincerely, Fazbear’s Fright: Horror Attraction Management Team

Management, That’s not what I requested, I requested an engineer to examine the animatronic. In fact, having to reboot the audio more frequently has made it more difficult to manage the ventilation, which is already difficult to manage on its own. Sending a professional to evaluate the animatronic can significantly reduce the risk of any accidents and prevent expensive lawsuits. Please respond soon,

There was no response from Management.

Management, I’m inquiring again about getting an engineer to examine the Bonnie animatronic. The animatronic is becoming more active each night. I’m not saying it's unsafe for the public, but it could be . I would also like to request a second nightguard. It’s becoming extremely difficult to manage the maintenance panel and keep an eye on the animatronic. Respond soon, To Our Well-Valued Employee: Thanks to your email, we have contracted with a freelance engineer to evaluate the Spring Bonnie animatronic, who has deemed it safe for the public. Thank you for your concerns, and please let us know if you have any more questions! Sincerely, Fazbear’s Fright: Horror Attraction Management Team

Management, How could you have possibly contracted with a freelance engineer in the one hour since I sent that email? There’s something wrong with the animatronic, it needs to be evaluated for safety. And please hire another security guard for the overnight position. Respond soon,

There was no response from Management. Your best friend sent several more emails that were essentially repeats of their previous emails. There was no response from management for those, either. The drafted email was only partially completed:

Management, I am uncomfortable with my working conditions. I have sent several emails regarding my concerns with the Bonnie animatronic, which have been either ignored or lied to. I have also requested a second security guard for my shift, which has also been ignored. I regretfully will be quitting immediately. I am concerned for

That was it. There was nothing more written. They were going to quit. They were so close to quitting. Maybe one day earlier and they wouldn’t have had to call you. One day earlier, and this would have been one big outrageous story of workplace negligence they could’ve told you over ice cream. Why couldn’t they have quitted just one day earlier?

“You’re bleeding,” Michael took your hand. You were bleeding. You dug your nails into your palms.

You unclenched your fist with a set jaw. You wanted to set Fazbear’s Fright on fire and watch it burn to charcoal.

Michael opened the bottom drawer of his bedside table, where he kept a diverse array of bandages and antiseptic. You furrowed your brow. You thought it was strange that he kept so much first aid by his bed, until you realized he might have to bandage himself often; being undead and all. He gingerly took one of your hands, and you let him. He dabbed at the bleeding so softly, it almost was like he wasn’t touching you.

Void eyes briefly glanced up at yours, and any emotion you tried to gleam from them was hidden when he returned his focus to your palms, “Typical corporate negligence, and even more typical of Freddy’s. Not even its horror attraction is free from it.”

“ Typical corporate negligence? ” You scoffed, your fingers twitching under his handiwork. “My friend might be- ... They’re missing.”

Despite your harsh tone, a small smile played on Michael’s scarred lips. A smile— an actual smile! On Michael! The corpse who never smiles! You were right, he did look better with a smile. And it wasn’t a charismatic charming one like in the wrong photo, but a gentle subtle thing, lost to those who weren’t paying attention. “Hate to say it,” He said, that soft smile decorating every word. “But this is tame compared to other Freddy’s places I’ve worked at.”

You were so stunned by his smile, you forgot you were angry. You softened your voice and stilled your hands, like his smile was a butterfly and you were frozen to keep it from fluttering away, “Yeah? Like what?”

His smile faltered for a second and you worried you scared him off. But then he took your other hand and began bandaging it, and his smile returned, “There was one place I was working at... I only worked there a day. They had me work a night shift alone... when one of the animatronics took a bite out of another guard’s head earlier that day .”

“ What?! ”

His smile widened just slightly at your reaction, and it was strange seeing sunshine come from a corpse, “Yeah. He lost his frontal lobe. He lived, though.”

You blinked, looking at the floor as Michael finished tying the last bandage, “The animatronic did that?”

He nodded, and with a tight tug of the bandage, he gave your hands back to you.

You tested out the bandage, stretching your fingers. You didn’t think you needed them that bandaged. You had little moons on your palms, that was all. Your shins on the other hand... You kicked up one of your legs onto Michael’s lap. His smile was gone, replaced with a confused blush (one that you could easily see now that you’ve recognized it once), and then an annoyed scowl. “Please? I need my legs bandaged more than my hands.”

He grumbled something annoyed and British below your earshot, but took the antiseptic and dabbed it onto a cotton ball.

“Was the animatronic who bit-” You hissed in pain when Michael dabbed at the wound, “-who bit the guard also haunted?” Michael didn’t slow or acknowledge you when you flinched, which your pride appreciated but your sensitivity didn’t

Your words, however, did slow him. He blinked, his brow furrowing just slightly, “With that one... I’m not sure.”

You let out a small, breathy laugh, “I was joking.”

“Oh,” Michael said as he began wrapping your wound. He didn’t make eye contact with you.

“Are there more haunted animatronics?”

Michael didn’t respond.

“You’re kidding.”

“I didn’t say anything,” He said, finishing the knot on your leg bandage.

“There are more? ” You were shocked, inclining closer to him. “ More murderous robots?!”

He hoisted your other leg onto his lap, putting you off balance. He began dressing the other leg as he said, “ I didn’t say anything. ”

“Come on,” You huffed out a sharp exhale. “What, are you a ghost hunter? Is it your un-life’s mission to find every last haunted animatronic and solve their unfinished business?”

“You’re being ridiculous,” He said, his tone as cold as ice.

“ That’s where you draw the line at ridiculous? There are multiple giant, haunted, killer robots!” You paused in thought for just a second, “Is it...” You stopped yourself, swallowing.

Michael tied the last bandage on your leg. You set your legs down, testing them with small bounces of your leg. The bandages felt comfortable, surprisingly.

“What.” He grumbled. It was less a question, and more a demand that you tell him.

“Are they ghost children? The ones who Spring Bonnie killed and...” You tried to think of a gentle word, “...put in those suits?”

“ ‘Spring Bonnie’ didn’t kill those kids, my dad did. And they weren’t ‘put in those suits’ , their corpses were stuffed in. Violently.”

“ I was being sensitive! ” You snapped, “And I’m not going to call the murdering psychopath robot ‘your dad’ ! We can call him something else like...”

“ For fucks sake .”

“Like!” You smacked his arm, “... Springtrap.”

“Springtrap?”

“Yeah. Springtrap.” You said, “Because he’s trapped in the Spring Bonnie suit.” A small smile graced your lips when you said trapped. You don’t know why that made you feel giddy.

“... That’s stupid,” He said bluntly, and you smacked him again.

“It’s clever,” You grabbed your best friend's phone and began tapping it with the tips of your fingers. “Now, shut up. I’m about to solve a mystery.”

He leaned over you again, once again within inches of your face looking over your shoulder. “I thought you didn’t find anything.”

“Not anything they sent, no. But...” You tapped the app with the icon of a radar display. You held up your wrist, revealing your best friend's watch, “Their watch is with me, and so is their phone, but they would never go anywhere without their earpods.”

Michael was silent as he watched you tap the label for their earpods, getting their exact location. As the app loaded, you held your breath. It didn’t have to be close. It didn’t even have to be in the same state. It just had to not be at-

Their earpods were located at Fazbear’s Fright.

Your heart dropped. Michael opened his mouth.

“ Don’t . Say. A thing. ”

Michael closed his mouth.

Tears threatened your eyes, but you refused to cry. You let your eyes burn as you poured your focus into explanations that eased your denial. Their earpods, like their watch, could’ve fallen out of their pocket. There. Easy. There’s no reason that couldn’t be the case. Even if they were dead still at the attraction, where could they have been? You searched that place up and down, there was no way their corpse they could be anywhere without you seeing them.

This was just another setback. Another mystery needing to be solved. One more mystery. You could do one more mystery.

“I can play a loud audio recording from the earpods.” You sniffed. You couldn’t look at Michael. “Not now, but tonight I could. To see where they are.”

Michael said your name. You dragged your eyes to him. His expression was neutral, as it always was. You suppressed a sigh of relief. If he pitied you, you would’ve erupted on him—something he of all people didn’t deserve.

“Be nice,” You said, staring daggers into him.

He nodded, thoughtfully considering what you said, “I’m choosing my words carefully. You need to prepare for finding answers you don’t want.”

“Haven’t we had this conversation already?” You said, more bite to your tone than you intended.

He wasn’t offended by it, “No, what I mean is you’re avoiding reality.”

“I’m not, I’m just-”

“You’re in denial.”

Those were his carefully chosen words? You dropped your hands onto your lap in defeat. He was right, but he couldn’t be right. He couldn’t be right, because if he was, you’d fall apart too soon. You couldn’t fall apart, not while there still was a chance and not while you needed revenge.

“You’re right,” You said, and your voice cracked. You cleared your throat. “But... Not right now. Do you understand?” You couldn’t explain yourself.

If Michael understood, you couldn’t tell. His void eyes were impassive, his face unmoving. Not a single indicator of an expression crossed his features, and he was as still as if he were carved out of marble. You wondered if he was even breathing. But he nodded anyway, whether or not he truly understood remaining a mystery.

Your shoulders relaxed, “Thank you.” You looked down. You didn’t realize it, but you were holding his hand. You gave him a soft squeeze, before letting go. “I don’t think I can sleep, but I was thinking about grabbing some caffeine for tonight?”

“Is that another excuse to go back to Fazbear’s Fright?”

“No!” You protested, “Twice in one day? That would just be embarrassing.”

He looked at you, skeptically.

“Seriously! Plus, it would be too loud to find my friend’s airpods. It would be drowned out by everyone working.”

“Mm-hmm.” He obviously did not believe you.

“Good lord, okay here.” You sent him your location on your phone, “There. Now you’ll know exactly where I am. Good?”

He looked at his phone. His eyebrows raised slightly, but other than that, he just said, “Grab me a pack of gum while you’re out. And a coke.”

You wrinkled your nose. Gum and coke didn’t sound like a tasty combination together. So that was where his sickly rotted sweet smell came from. “Will do.”

───── (\ /) ─────

You didn’t just pick up caffeine and treats. Plastic bags stuffed with remote controlled toys, tasers, and other tools and equipment filled your hands when you returned. You were sure if Michael was awake, he would be insistent you didn’t need the toys and lecturing you on how dangerous it is to wander the attraction. You were glad he was asleep.

You began tinkering with the toys, opening them up on the living room floor and transforming them into things more useful—they worked so well the night before, you were sure you just needed to make a few adjustments. As for the taser... you could only think to wear more rubber. And you’d have to save it for emergencies. You shuddered at the memory of lightning surging through your veins underneath the animatronic.

You pulled out a fireman’s axe from the grocery bag. It was light enough to feel comfortable in your hands, while heavy enough to put some power in a swing.

You gave the axe a few test swings. Your heart fluttered at the thought of burying it deep into Springtrap’s torso, excitement tingling in your fingertips. You flexed your hand—the one you plunged into his chest earlier that day. You reveled in the memory of foul rot and mildew buried between your fingers, your nails scratching at the metal and bone ribs deep in his chest, and hearing the sick crunch as you ripped out of him.

And then the claws, sharp and foul, around your throat. Not even tight enough to trap you.

Your brow twinged lightly as you pulled out your phone to see yourself in the front facing camera. A thin line of red was framed by deep blues, purples, and yellows in the shape of a large hand. When you first saw the bruise, it made you sick. It didn’t make you sick now, though you weren’t sure why. Even when you were repulsed by it, you had done nothing to hide it. Maybe it was an accolade; proof that you had survived an undead animatronic serial killer not once but four times now. Maybe it was a twisted form of penance for not being there for your best friend when they needed you most.

It was probably both, and maybe something else you didn’t recognize, but one thing was for sure. It certainly wasn’t healthy. But you were glad you didn’t hide it. You wondered if the animatronic would have plunged his claws into your chest—as you did his—instead of viewing his handiwork if you had kept your neck hidden. You didn’t doubt he could, and the motion would have taken the same amount of time and strength. But instead he and it stared at your neck, stretching your chin up with a pointed thumb to get a better view.

Hatred burned in your chest—a fire so hot it hurt . That would be his mistake; not finishing you off when he had the chance. Being so obsessed with his own wounds inflicted, he let you go free. You would make him regret it. You needed him to regret it. Your whole body itched to fill him with regret, anger, fear, hatred —anything other than hunger and delight .

Your grip tightened on the fireman’s axe at the thought of the delight in those silver eyes when you wore your hatred on your sleeve. Strangely enough, you understood his delight—undead madman that he is. If he looked at you with furious, lashing hatred, you too would be delighted.

...You didn’t want to think about what that said about you.

You idly rolled the axe in your hands. Springtrap had a habit of taking your weapons and using them against you, but you couldn’t imagine being torn apart by his claws was any safer than him swinging the axe at you. And the fantasy of getting just one good swing at his skull was too good to pass up. It might not kill him (you would have to ask Michael later what could kill him), but it certainly wouldn’t hurt to try.

You placed the axe in your duffle bag, along with the altered toys and tools. Revenge sparked something powerful in you. It banished your grief the way the sun banished the moon—it was still there, but you could let yourself forget.

Once everything was packed away, you went into Michael’s bedroom. There were still a few hours left until you two would leave for work. Michael was as still as the dead (in more ways than one), curled away from you. Even as you got closer, it didn’t look like he was breathing. It wasn’t until you were close enough to touch that you noticed the small, faint rise and fall of his chest. You were transfixed with the minute movement, and you wanted to brush the hair from his eyes to get a better look at him.

You thought better of it, however. It was creepy to watch people as they slept, even undead grouches.

Instead you turned to the bedside table. You opened it as quietly as you could, checking over your shoulder to see if you had roused Michael. When he didn’t move, you continued opening the drawer and pulled out the pile of photos.

You couldn’t resist the pull Michael’s past had on you. Curiosity compelled you to understand what happened to him, and something darker gripped you to understand what happened to somebody else.

As you slowly paged through each photo (decidedly skipping over the one with Michael’s charismatic father), you realized the gloomy boy stopped appearing in the pictures after a certain age—Michael couldn’t have been older than fourteen when you stopped seeing the boy. He had looked so moody and angsty in the pictures with the gloomy boy, and then... he looked troubled. Eyes that were once filled with defiance and braze were then downcast and lost. His posture was hunched and closed off in the following photos, similar to his posture now. Then, the little girl stopped appearing in the photos as well. There weren’t many more photos after you stopped seeing the little girl. You hoped that she hadn’t actually disappeared, but that the few photos just happened to not have the little girl in them. The haunted expression from Michael in the later pictures gave you the hunch that wasn’t the case.

You looked at the framed photo of Michael and the two children. Were they his siblings? What had happened to them? What happened to his mother, who hadn’t appeared in any of the photos? And then, there was the greatest mystery of all, why was he a corpse now?

You flipped through one last photo, and your heart skipped a beat. It was Spring Bonnie and the little girl. She looked overjoyed and bright as she held his hand, but your eyes could only focus on the animatronic. He was exactly as you imagined when you first saw the rotten Spring Bonnie: golden and warm and a delight to children, tied with a purple bowtie.

Somehow, you knew William was in the suit, but it didn’t matter if there was anyone in it at all. You hated Spring Bonnie as much as you hated William. It didn’t make sense, but emotion rarely did. You were overwhelmed with a strange desire, maddening and bizarre: you wanted to cut out the Spring Bonnie image and paste it over the one with William. Then? Stab it, burn it, cut it up, stomp on it, crumple it up, throw darts at it-

Michael shifted in his sleep and you were torn from your strange dream. Seeing Michael, the macabre melancholy corpse, softened something in you. Perhaps it was pity or even compassion, but it was a balm to the poison that was your hatred.

With an amount of strength you didn’t know you had, you put the photos back and let the somber feeling douse your anger. You closed the drawer and laid down beside Michael, his back to you. You closed your eyes and leaned your forehead against his back, the smell of spoiled sweet enveloping you like a blanket. You could feel the subtle movements of his breath this way. You might’ve been able to hear his heartbeat, if his heart beated at all. Instead of straining to listen however, you closed your eyes and let his subtle movements and the melancholy lull you to sleep.

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superstar-nan · 4 months

Text

Fight Tooth and Nail: Ch 6

Summary: You argue with Michael, find a crucial clue while looking at old photos with him, and decide to drop by Springtrap for a visit.

Words: 4,957

Fun stuff: Descriptions of undead bodies. Not many warnings this time around (for once).

───── (\ /) ─────

You woke strangely well-rested. Even in the haze of waking up you knew you should’ve felt exhausted and depleted, but you were oddly energized.

You sat up, propping yourself up one arm at a time. You looked up at Michael, who was tapping away, engrossed in keeping you two alive. You looked at the clock. It was almost the end of his shift. After being electrocuted, you passed out next to his swivel seat. That was disappointing, since you found nothing. You searched the entire place and found nothing .

Well, you didn’t check the other vent, but you weren’t that stupid.

Or were you...

No, you weren’t. At least not tonight.

You reached back aimlessly and snatched the control panel. Michael looked annoyed, but too busy to stop you from helping him. You began tapping on the panel, and you took a little pride in seeing the corpse’s shoulders ease in tension. The least you could do was to help ease the burden, even if just a little.

After setting into a comfortable rhythm, you noticed the dull aches in your arm and legs. You rolled your arm experimentally, the one you had twisted to pull the taser against the vent, felt pulled but not strained. You were happy about that. You were less happy with your legs, who were crusted with dried blood from where the rotted Bonnie had grabbed you with his claws. Inspecting them, the wounds weren’t deep but you would still scrub them endlessly. Plus, you would have to get a tetanus shot.

Then your gaze fell to your other hand. The one the animatronic held gently in a mock form of intimacy. It wasn’t injured in the slightest, but you wish it had been. You wished you could burn the skin off your palm where that featherlight touch held you, and you wished that after setting your own hand aflame it would somehow start his, burning him to death. Metal and rot interlocking your fingers filled your mind with angry obsession and it was the only thing you could think about. Metal and rot and metal and rot and metal and rot and metal and-

“Audio,” Michael whispered, and it snapped you out of your hatred. You tapped the ventilation with the hand that was burning with the animatronics.

You let out a sigh and leaned your head against Michael’s thigh. Michael’s own tapping stalled for a second, and his flesh depressed under the pressure of your head like memory foam (which should’ve caused flips in your stomach, but you were getting used to Michael’s state of undeath). You wondered if you were hurting him and almost lifted your head, but he resumed his checking, so you did as well.

You knew all this anger and hatred wasn’t healthy, and the fact that the killer enjoyed your hatred was even more of a warning. But it was easy . You had all this grief and fear, and if you didn’t weaponize it then it would eat you alive. You couldn’t think of the fate of your best friend because you were too busy looking for them. You couldn’t have your heart broken by their disappearance because your heart was being used to spit hatred at the one who hurt them. You couldn’t fear for their or your own safety because you were too busy fighting the thing threatening them in the first place.

In a sick twist of fate, you were glad that the animatronic was there, and wasn’t some murdered child you had to pity or a robot with no sense of morality. He was terrible, and that meant you could hate him instead of hating yourself for missing your best friend’s call when they needed you most.

The ding-dong of Michael’s alarm startled you. You looked up at the corpse as he turned off the alarm. His shift was over. You lived another night, and were still no closer to finding out what happened to them.

“You lied to me,” Michael whispered.

You checked your phone, head still resting on Michael’s thigh. The new security guard would show up soon. “You want to talk about this now? Can’t we talk when we get home?”

He scoffed, “You don’t seriously think I’m going to let you stay with me again?”

“Why not?” You tilted your head up to match his void eyes, “I’m going to keep coming back, whether you help me or not.”

He growled under his breath, a low rumble deep in his throat that sounded more discontent than threatening, “There’s the honesty...”

You went back to tapping your phone, “You wouldn’t have told me what was going on if I said I was coming back.”

“ Obviously! ” He snapped, jostling you from your ‘pillow’, “To keep you safe! ”

“I came prepared,” You stood up, stretching your legs and popping your shoulders. “You can’t say my toy distractions weren’t clever.”

“Oh yeah, so clever,” Sarcasm dripped from his tongue like acid. “So clever, in fact, that you weren’t almost killed in the vent.”

You wanted to be grateful he saved you, yet again. You wanted to make it up to him or show him your appreciation, you really did. But he was making it unbearably hard. “I had that handled.”

He was so dumbfounded, he stopped putting on his mask and turned to you. You tried hard not to sweat.

You broke under the pressure of his stare, “I almost had it handled.”

He put his mask down—you really must’ve made him annoyed if he would ignore the risk of being seen just to prove a point—and forcefully pushed a few buttons, before hitting one final button and leaning back in his chair, looking at you pointedly.

You tilted your head in question, then he nodded to the camera. It was the vent, but it was empty. The timestamp said 0:54 with the seconds counting and the day’s date.

Then you heard your own voice, “CLOSE THE VENT MICHAEL!”

He stopped the tape and crossed his arms. Well, that was embarrassing.

“...The security footage is taped?” You asked, “Can I see previous nights?”

“ Not the point ,” He hissed through his teeth. “ You are so blind to-! ”

“Whoa, lovers quarrel?” The day shift security guard knocked on the door frame. Good thing, too. You were worried a second there that your recorded cry for help would attract the animatronic, even after the night shift ended.

Michael swiveled away from the day shift guard, rushing for his mask, while you stood up to block the view. “Honestly, he’s so mean to me. He doesn’t like my taste in breakfast diners.” You said in a playful tone, “You should tell him to be nice to his partner.”

The day shift guard laughed sociably as Michael stood and grabbed his backpack, “I’m sure the diner they picked isn’t that bad, Mike.”

Michael hummed noncommittally while you interlocked your fingers with his. You held his hand with the untouched hand, with the hand the animatronic didn’t caress with violence and hunger. You did that on purpose.

The day shift guard cleared his throat, “Or maybe their taste isn’t so great...” That seemed like it had double meaning.

“See you tomorrow,” You waved at the day shift guard as you left with Michael, who stared daggers into you. You raised your eyebrows at him in response.

When the door shut behind you, the sunrise was too bright but welcome all the same. You felt the relief of fresh air and warmth that you missed while in the building. Somehow, it even relieved you of your hatred, worries, and grief—if just for one moment.

Michael swiped his hand back, “ ‘See you tomorrow?’ ” He said, his voice like gravel and ash.

“I’m coming back,” You said adamantly, your eyes narrowing at him as you stuffed your hands in your pockets to fish for your keys.

He growled your name in a warning tone, but you interrupted him.

“ I’m coming back. ” You settled your voice to be more firm, “And I’ll keep coming back, whether we work together or not.” You pulled out your keys. “We could help each other. I could help you kill-”

“You don’t know what I want.” He interrupted you, and you closed your mouth. He was right, you didn’t know what he wanted. Maybe he didn’t want to kill his dad at all? From the way he talked about him, there didn’t seem to be any love lost, but maybe you misread the situation? Or maybe he just didn’t know how?

“You’re right. I don’t,” You swallowed, “But if you told me-”

He exhaled, exaggerated and annoyed, grabbing the keys from your hands. You held up your hands in offended confusion. He nodded down at your legs. They were covered in crusted blood and five superficial lacerations each, one for each rotten claw.

“I can still drive?” You said, appalled by the audacity. Sure, you definitely needed him to drive when you had a concussion, but some scratches on your legs? You had worse injuries from using a cutting knife.

He didn’t even acknowledge your protest while he opened the door to the driver's seat, muttering, “They’re gonna think I abuse you.”

When he closed the car door, you saw your reflection in the window: the bruise around your collar like a necklace. You smothered the flame of rage in your heart as you stalked to the passenger’s side, slamming the door closed behind you.

───── (\ /) ─────

You handed Michael his soda you picked up on the way back to his place, which he snatched out of your hand and practically dropped on the counter.

“If you’re not going to leave Fazbear’s Fright alone, you need to follow one rule,” He crossed his arms as he leaned back against the counter, staring at you with stern voids. “It’s getting exhausting having to save your life every night.”

You held your hands up to surrender as you sat on his table, crossing your legs. “Alright, fair enough.”

His first rule was quick, “Don’t wander around the pizzeria.”

Your response was quicker, “No.”

“Do you want to die?” He snapped.

“No,” You uncrossed your legs and leaned forward. “But the rotted Bonnie-”

“ Spring Bonnie .”

“-Whatever! Has my only clue to my best friend’s disappearance.”

“Here’s your clue. Your friend is-” One piercing look from you, and Michael decidedly changed what he was going to say, “-not at Fazbear’s Fright.”

“Exactly, and that phone is the only clue I have for what happened to them.”

Michael groaned, “It’s like talking to a brick wall.”

“I can help you too, you know.” You said, “There’s a reason you haven’t left Fazbear’s Fright. Let me help.”

“You want to help me?” You nodded, “Stay in the office and work the maintenance panel.”

You could’ve hit him in the head, but you didn’t, gracefully . Instead, you hopped off the table and said, “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Don’t use all my soap this time,” He said, his void eyes following your leaving figure.

You just waved him off in response.

As steam fogged the mirror, you looked at your hands. They were covered in filth and grime, and one of them you wanted to burn away. You clenched them into fists as you looked up to your blurring reflection.

You pulled out your phone. You replayed the voice message aloud, and your heart felt like it was caved in. Could you have done anything if you were there? Probably not, but it did make you wish you could’ve been Michael for them. That you could’ve saved them with the two of you narrowly escaping the haunted attraction, horrified but joyously hugging each other in the morning sun. You imagined recounting sides of the story to each other and wondering who would ever believe you two. You imagined pointing out golden bunnies on Easter and giving them a knowing look. You imagined helping them move far far away from this town, to somewhere the rotted— Spring Bonnie couldn’t get either of you.

But that was a fantasy. And you couldn’t carry the weight of your memories being the last you may see them.

“ Don’t use all of my hot water! ”

You swore and turned off the voice message, swiping your tears away quickly, “ I’m not! ” You wished you could come up with something more witty or biting.

You couldn’t decipher whatever Michael grumbled from beyond the door, and that was probably for the best. You made sure to use as much soap as you wanted.

When you were done in the shower, you noticed there were no clothes on the floor like last time. Now that you thought about it, it looked like he cleaned up a bit since you were last here. Unfortunately, that left only your clothes you spent all night in.

You knocked on the bathroom door.

Micheal grunted in response.

“Can I borrow some clothes?” You asked.

You heard shuffling from the other side of the door. Then a knock came.

You opened the door. You had a towel, but Michael was decidedly looking at the floor. He held out the same hoodie you wore the day before and a pair of pants. You muttered a thanks, closing the door and slipping them on. When you came out, Michael was sitting on his bed, idly filling out what looked to be a logbook of some kind. He changed out of his security uniform into something more comfortable, which somehow looked even more out of place on his corpse-like body.

He glanced at you briefly, “You're wearing pants today.”

“Despite it all,” You said with a stretch. The clothes he gave you looked too big for him, and Michael had to be over six feet even with his poor posture. Wearing an oversized hoodie with no pants never harmed anyone.

You idly looked around Michael’s now clean room. You didn’t notice before, but he had a framed photo on his bedside table.

Michael put down his logbook, ��Ready to talk about your ‘approach’ to Fazbear’s Fright?”

God, he could be condescending. You ignored him and picked up the framed photo. That seemed to still Michael, him shifting his position. It was a picture of three kids: two boys and a girl. They were all smiling except for the teenager, who looked annoyed to be there. It looked as though the picture had been cut, cropping out the parents from the photo.

“Cute,” You smiled, holding it up, pointing to the teenager. “Let me guess, this ones you?”

Michael stared daggers into you in response.

You opened up the bedside table, “Do you have more pictures?”

Michael slammed it shut, his hand over yours. Needless to say, you saw a pile of old polaroids in the drawer. Of course, he’d be the type to just keep loose polaroids around. “Don’t go looking through my things.”

“Oh, come on,” You said. “What could be more embarrassing than angsty-teen-Michael?”

He said your name as a warning.

“How about this,” You offered, slipping your hand from his and holding yours behind your back as you leaned towards him. You noticed how he subtly leaned away from you as you did so, but you weren’t offended by it. “I promise I will have a serious discussion about whether or not I wander Fazbear’s Fright after dark if you let me look through your photos?”

His brow, purple with decay, furrowed, “Whether you wander Fazbear’s Fright at all. And I don’t want to discuss it, I want you not to do it.”

“Would you even believe me if I did promise that?”

“No.”

“Okay, then I’ll promise to have a serious discussion about it.” You give him your most innocent smile, “Deal?”

He scowled and grumbled something under his breath, before letting go of the drawer. Your smile widened just slightly.

You picked up the polaroids tenderly, not wanting to ruin them, as you sat on the edge of Michael’s bed. Your smile widened at seeing photo after photo of a gloomy boy, moody teen, and excitable girl. In one, teen-Michael was wearing a Foxy mask. In another, the little girl was yanking on his arm with a toothy grin. Another, the girl and the boy were playing with toys. Another, Michael was barely an adult and wearing a new security uniform.

“These are ancient!” You said, and Michael stiffened in response. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Are you done yet?” His whole body was tense as you looked through the photos, despite how he tried to play it off as nonchalance.

“You were such a cute kid.” You said, and Michael prickled at that. You turned to him, leaning closer, “And a handsome young man, too. But I think I like the way you look now, better.”

Void eyes went wide. Michael opened his mouth to say something, his voice stuttering out a few broken syllables, before croaking, “ What? ”

“You’ve got a macabre beauty going on,” You said while you tilted your head, speaking more matter-of-factly than anything else. “A haunting kind of handsome for sure.”

You noticed for the first time Michael’s abrassed cheeks warmed a dark byzantium shade; something that was barely noticeable against the rot of his skin—making you wonder if you could’ve just missed that warmth before. It validated your statement that he was hauntingly handsome, and right after you realized that he was blushing.

Then, a scowl marred his blush, and he physically turned your head back to the photos with his spongy hands, “Finish up already.”

“Maybe you’d be a bit more handsome if you smiled more.” You teased, “Not a single smiling photo of you-”

You stopped at a picture of a much older Michael wearing a smile that looked stunning. In this picture, he was dripping with charisma; his usually bent posture straightened and eyes that sparkled with both invitation and promise. His dark hair was just starting to gray at his temples, and his body filled out his uniform well. Even from just the photo, you found yourself charmed by him.

Your grin widened with mischief, “Here we go! I was right, you look so much more charming when you smile.” You held up the picture to him.

Michael stilled, solemn and quiet. You tilted your head at his sudden change in demeanor, and then he said, “That’s not me. That’s my dad.”

Your eyes went wide. You looked back at the photo. Sure enough, there were very subtle differences between the two, but he looked just like him. You turned the photo around. Writing in old smudged ink read ‘William Afton, 1983’ .

Your hand came to your throat, fingers tenderly grazing the bruised flesh, and your eyes hardened. You shoved the photo deep into the back of the pile, “I changed my mind. You look much better when you don’t smile.”

Michael didn’t respond to that, and you were glad for that.

You flitted through the last few photos idly, having a bitter taste in your mouth from the last picture, before one caught your eye. A child was with the little girl from Michael’s photos. A child who looked familiar to you.

“This kid,” You pointed to the photo of the child with unkempt brown hair. Michael came to your side at your inquisitive tone, “I know them.”

“Charlie?” Michael asked, “How could you... Oh.”

“Yeah, I told you I wasn’t hallucinating!” You said, before looking back at the photo, “But this photo is ancient... was she one of the victims?”

Michael nodded, solemnly.

You raked your nails along your scalp with a heavy sigh, “Good lord.” You should’ve guessed the child you kept seeing was a ghost, but seeing her alive and healthy in the old photo made it more real . She was just a kid...

“Why can you see her?” Michael asked, more to himself than to you.

“Oh! She kept-” You stopped yourself for just a beat. If you told Michael she stabbed the toy phone into her chest, he’d never let you look for it. You had to come up with something else, quick. “-appearing as some sort of tall, skinny thing.”

Michael furrowed his brow. If he noticed your pause, he didn’t comment on it. He gingerly took the pile from your hands and swapped through a few photos before handing you one. He pointed at a familiar tall, odd looking puppet. “Is this what you saw?”

You nodded.

“I thought so.” Michael sighed, and the weight of it prompted you to take a closer look at him. He looked fatigued. Not just physically, but there was something heavy in those hollowed eyes of his. He carried a burden that he wouldn’t reveal to you. Regret, misery, and sorrow; all hidden behind a mask of apathy, one that cracked just enough for you to glimpse behind it. You couldn’t begin to imagine, but it looked too much for one person to bear, even for a zombie.

You placed your hand over his. When he turned to you, his mask cracked again and you could see another burden: loneliness. He looked at you with a tragic longing. You wondered when was the last time someone held his hand or joked with him or spent time with him at all. His state of undeath undoubtedly warded off most people. You didn’t want to pity him—he saved your life multiple times, he deserved more than your pity—but you couldn’t help what you felt.

Just as quickly as the mask slipped, it was sealed, and Michael pulled his hand away. He coughed, his gaze cast to the floor, before saying, “You done with the photos?”

You nodded, and he put them away. You stood up.

“Wait,” Michael closed the bedside table while looking at you, his brow furrowed. “Where are you going? You said-”

“I’m just gonna pick up some food,” You said, slipping on your shoes. They were swallowed by the large sweatpants Michael gave you. “I can’t be persuaded on an empty stomach. We can talk over din-... breakfast.”

He grumbled, leaning back against his bed frame, “I have food here.”

You rolled your eyes, “I’m good on the popcorn and junk food stuffed in your pantry. What do you want? My treat.”

Michael exhaled, exaggerated and exasperated, “I don’t know... Just give me your number, I’ll text it to you.”

You handed him your phone. It was probably for the best that you had his number, anyway, with the whole ‘trying to avoid getting killed by his serial killer robot dad while fulfilling your own agendas’ thing. Still, you wished you had swapped numbers after you had picked up food.

Because you weren’t just picking up food.

───── (\ /) ─────

“Oh yeah,” The guy you talked to on the phone gave you a thumbs up, “You can totally take pictures!”

You had swung by the department store to pick up some normal clothes and a quality camera, which was now hanging around your neck. This trip was getting expensive... Good thing you didn’t have to pay for a hotel.

“Just, uh, just make sure not to get any pics of the ventilation... or the employees... or anything that might look flammable-”

You interrupted him, “I’m only interested in the decorations... and the animatronic.”

“For sure!” He grinned, “That’s perfect then. Uh, do you need someone to-”

You interrupted him again, “I remember my way around.” You waved at the day shift security guard, who waved back.

“Sweet, sweet...” The guy you talked to on the phone looked from the security guard, back to you, and then back to the security guard, “You know him?”

“My boyfriend works the night shift here.” He gave you a strange look, and you said, “That’s how I found out about this place, remember?”

“Right! Right, you said that before,” No you didn’t. “Well, go right ahead! And hey, mind if I check out the pictures after?”

Great. Now you’ll actually have to take pictures. “Of course.”

“Awesome! I’ll be around, just give me a holler when you’re done!”

You liked the attraction much much more when it was well lit and filled with people. Halls that terrified you were now bustling with conversation, and haunting decorations were now tacky in the light. You took snapshots of the empty costume pieces strewn about the attraction, and briefly you wondered if you had to make some poor minimum-wage worker clean up after all of your shattered toys.

It was strange knowing that there was a murderer hiding just out of sight, and yet people instinctively knew to avoid it. Before, you wanted people around you when you first saw Spring Bonnie. Now, it was better you were alone.

You held the camera in one hand as you approached the room Spring Bonnie was in. Before, the first thing you noticed was the smell. Now, the first thing you noticed was how still the air was. Nobody was here to fix this or that, so nobody—not even Spring Bonnie—was moving. The air was stale.

You clenched your fist, determined to quell any shaking. You had a theory the animatronic would have more difficulty moving during the day, or at least the threat of being seen by the cameras would keep you safe, but you still couldn’t suppress the visceral fear screaming at you to run. Even when you believed the thing was just an old oversized toy, you had that fear.

You were getting better at facing your fears, however.

There was Spring Bonnie, alone and illuminated by dull, droning lights. Your grip on your camera tightened. You looked back at the hall. There was no one.

“Hi, William.”

Silver eyes flicked to you. You almost flinched. You forced yourself to steel your gaze. He wasn’t bolting for you. That had to mean something.

You were bold enough to step closer. His eyes watched you. He always watched you, so carefully. He watched you as he hunted you down, as he choked the life out of you, as he made you choose between your hand or your life, as you demanded answers from him. And now, all he did was watch.

Your eyes quickly darted to the security camera. You couldn’t tell if the security guard was looking at this cam or not. Just as quickly, you retrained your eyes on Spring Bonnie. Taking your attention away from him for too long was basically asking him to murder you. “Heard a bit about you from Michael.”

A noise that sounded like mechanical gears turning came from the animatronic, but he made no movement other than that. You took courage in that.

“Thirty years in that suit must've been pretty painful,” You stepped closer. You were baiting him on purpose. “And alone? Did you lose your mind—what, ten years in?”

Even taunting him, he didn’t move. You prayed that was proof he couldn’t. You swallowed. You set down your camera. Each movement you took was incremental. Deliberate. The slightest of motions would set you off screaming and running for others.

You felt invigorated by this sudden power. You could move and he couldn’t. Your head felt light from the relief and arrogance. “Do you still feel the pain?” You dared to say.

His eyes clicked, focusing on you as all he could do was watch. All he could do to you was watch . You would make him watch as you eat his heart.

You were close enough for him to grab you. As close as you were in the vent. He didn’t move. “Did it hurt last night?”

He only watched.

You stepped closer. As close as you were when he choked you. He didn’t move. “I hope it did.”

He only watched.

You stepped closer. He didn’t move. “And if it didn’t.”

He only watched.

“ I hope this does. ”

You plunged your hand into his chest, and suddenly a claw was around your neck. Your breath and power were gone. Replaced with terror . You waited to be torn to shreds.

You waited...

Fingertips sharp as knives poked at your skin, but your neck wasn’t being squeezed. You looked up at Spring Bonnie, sweat dripping down your face. His silver eyes were so close, his permanent grin, and you could see the outline of a corpse deep inside. If he felt anything other than deep, encompassing hunger , you couldn’t tell. You swallowed, and your throat bobbed against his claws.

He didn’t move. His claws framed your bruise, showcasing it in a haunting display. His silver eyes, both mechanical and human, stared at it hungrily; his own handiwork mesmerizing to the robot and the killer. You didn’t know how he managed to get a claw around your neck. Maybe it was painful or provoking enough to let the killer take control if for only a moment. Maybe he could move all along and he was toying with you. You hoped it was the former.

You peeled yourself away from his grip, wincing as the claws sliced your skin, lightly. You touched the lacerations. Blood. When you were free, you ripped your hand out of his chest.

With your best friend’s phone in your hand.

A huge grin stretched across your face as you took steps away from the animatronic. You waved it tauntingly at Spring Bonnie, who’s silver eyes followed it devotedly, before snatching up your camera and running into the hallway.

You got it! You got it! Shattered, smelly, and all; you got your best friend’s phone back! And now, you were one step closer to finding them. Or... finding what happened to them.

Your own phone pinged. You pulled it up. It was Michael.

‘what is taking so long??’

Even Michael’s nagging couldn’t deflate your elation.

25 notes · View notes

superstar-nan · 5 months

Text

Fight Tooth and Nail: Ch 5

Summary: You look for clues in the vents. You're not unprepared, but neither is Springtrap.

Words: 3,060

Fun stuff: Descriptions of undead bodies (per usual), canon typical violence, mild torture, descriptions of electrocution. Big surprise, Springtraps still trying to murder you and you still wanna murder him.

───── (\ /) ─────

The sun had set long ago and your car was off, encasing you in complete darkness. Your hiding place calmed your wired nerves. When you were hiding like this, it was as the hunter instead of the hunted. You had to drive yourself into that mindset: that you were the hunter. That you weren’t the one that needed to be afraid. It was the only way to keep yourself steady.

You peaked at your best friend’s watch, which you donned on your wrist. The hour crept, but it was getting closer to when the dayshift security guard should be leaving. You grabbed your backpack and your duffle bag, shuffling it on your lap awkwardly as you watched the building.

You were not going in defenseless this time. You were not going to need to be saved. You were not going to be hunted. You would not let it win.

The dayshift security guard left through the back of the building, and you watched him carefully as he swung his keys around while whistling, not a care in his world. You envied and hated him. Why didn’t the animatronic kill him instead of—

No, you didn’t know if they were dead or not. No matter what Michael repeatedly said, there was no body. It would be too difficult to hide a corpse in the fragmented ruins of the animatronic suits at the attraction, so that couldn’t be it either. There was still hope, however small it may be, and you were clutching to that hope with an iron grip.

When the security guard’s car was out of sight, you quickly and quietly slipped out of your car and to the back entrance. You would only have a short amount of time until Michael arrived for his shift and you would be fooling yourself if you thought you could solve the mystery of your best friend’s disappearance in fifteen minutes, but Michael (despite his prickly nature) seemed goodhearted enough not to call the cops on you immediately. Hopefully. At the very least, it didn’t seem like he would lead his undead serial killer robot dad to you out of pettiness.

You pushed your weight on the backdoor. It was locked.

You tried to inconspicuously make your way to the front of the attraction, but you didn’t doubt that if anyone was watching you, you would look very clearly suspicious. Thank goodness there weren’t any cameras outside of the building.

You pushed your weight on the frontdoor. It was also locked.

You had forgotten that what you were doing wasn’t just dangerous, but also illegal. And there were preventative measures to keep people from doing illegal things. You swore under your breath as you stomped around the building, losing all pretense of sneakiness and hoping to find a window that you knew didn’t exist. You wondered if you could slip in after Michael. Could you do that without him noticing? There was no way with how much he checks the cameras, but maybe you could convince him—

The backdoor clicked. You paused. You slowly walked to the backdoor, testing the handle. It opened. Ice chilled your veins.

That certainly didn’t help the feeling of being hunted. You steeled yourself with the thought that it—that he was underestimating you. Or were you overestimating yourself? You wouldn’t allow yourself to think it was anything else. He was underestimating you .

You swallowed and opened the door with the screech of metal on metal. You readjusted your duffle bag on your shoulder.

Returning to the attraction was like willfully returning to a nightmare after you had been gifted wakefulness. It was dark; darker inside than the midnight outside. The smell... it wasn’t as abrasive as it was the first time you came. You worried you were getting used to the smell of death.

As the door shut behind you, you didn’t waste a moment, deftly moving through the halls as silent as the grave. He was here, but he wasn’t omnipotent. And you had outmaneuvered him before. You just had to listen carefully, watch attentively, and move breathlessly. You didn’t allow yourself to dwell on your fear, pouring all of your focus into action. Listen, scan, step, listen, scan, step, listen, scan, step —it was a diligent ritual that would kill you if you didn’t perform it perfectly. At every corner, you placed a different toy softly and quietly. For every toy you placed, you had a different remote ready to animate the toys to loud, obnoxious life. You even made sure to hide some of them quickly, behind gift boxes and arcade cabinets, if that could help at all.

Listen, scan, step, listen, scan, step, listen—

The slightest of noises stopped you. The smallest mechanical click, a slight deviation from the ventilation. The hair of your arm stood on end. You didn’t move. Where did the noise come from? You wracked your brain to remember, and then you heard it again.

You slowly slowly moved your hand into your pocket, found the right remote, and pressed play. In an echo of manufactured childhood, the toy—far away from you—reverberated in the hall. You let out a heavy breath of relief when you heard loud, mechanical footsteps move away from you and toward it. It worked.

Only a few steps forward and you heard the echo of the toy being destroyed—a strained plastic SNAP followed by scattering pieces scraping the floor. You swallowed and it felt like sandpaper. Your clever trick wouldn’t last forever.

You needed to act fast. Your search for your best friend’s phone and anything else that might point to their disappearance now became part of the ritual, which you were now doing twice as quickly. Listen, scan, step, search, listen, scan, step, search— You had to use two more of your toys before you had even searched half the building, which were destroyed immediately— Listen scan step search listen scan step search— There was nothing, you couldn’t find anything! Where was it?! Another toy used and shattered— Listenscanstepsearchlistenscanstepsearchscanstep-!

You forgot to listen. You knew the moment you could smell him. Your eyes scanned the darkness, but you couldn’t see him. You couldn’t see and you were hyperventilating. It was too dark. Breath. Breath!

You took one gulp of air too loud and then held your breath. You scrambled silently for the wall, pressing your back into it. It was too dark, but that hid you. You grabbed one of your few toy remotes left.

You saw him—the rotted Bonnie animatronic, the serial child killer, the monster of your nightmares—stalk across the hallway at the end of your own. Your body raced at you to run, but you forced yourself to freeze. Its eyes, pinpricks of silver reanimated life, scanned the hallway in front of it for life. For you . Lights flickered as it walked. Each step was slow. Deliberate. Quiet. Dangerous. Watching it was mesmerizing. If you weren’t so terrified, you would want to watch its strange mechanical and strained movements for hours.

It was gone and your lungs burned. You let out your breath as quietly as you could. It wasn’t quiet enough. You should have waited.

You had only closed your eyes for a moment, a brief relief from the nightmare, and it was at the end of the hallway when you opened them. You couldn’t stop the gasp that left you. Its silver eyes trained on you, shifting slightly in its focus. It took one, loud mechanical step, and you were fumbling for the remote. You pressed the button with a shaking thumb.

Loud music echoed, and you saw once again the war it had with itself. He wanted to chase you. To kill you. It wanted to follow the noise. After realizing your own safety, you broke out into a relieved, arrogant grin. You would have laughed if that wouldn’t have killed you.

Your smile faltered for just a moment when your grin reignited the war in the animatronic, its mechanical bones straining under the weight he was pulling. Silver eyes burned with desire to kill you. It made your heart stop for just a second, but the animatronic won. The torso turned, twisted and wrong, toward the noise. If the killer could feel pain, that had to hurt.

You couldn’t help yourself. You waved at it as it took begrudging steps just to rub it in. Its silver eyes, even as its body twisted and walked, never left you.

That felt good. It shouldn’t have, you only encouraged it to hunt you down more and you still were no closer to finding your best friend’s phone or any clues to their disappearance. Still, you took your small wins when you could.

Regardless of your “win”, you were running out of time. And worse, you were running out of places to search. The only places left were around Michael’s office (which you doubted the rotten animatronic would hide it in a place so safe) and—

You swallowed when you looked at the vents. They were big enough for the rotten animatronic to squeeze through. You had already spent hours in them. Large sections of the vent weren’t on the cameras, which would be the perfect hiding space.

...

You really didn’t want to go in the vent.

Your hands felt cold as you clambered into the cold, metal coffin. It was dry and freezing; the air stale despite being moved forcefully. Despite your already frigid palms and fingers, the metal of the vent sapped any heat you might’ve had left from your hands and knees as you crawled. The darkness was impossible to see through, so you took out your phone and used it as a flashlight. Despite your misgivings about the vent, you hurriedly crawled deeper into it. The vent gave you a false hiding place. Its enclosure tricked your psyche into believing you were safe from the animatronic, and you needed the courage.

You traversed the cold, enclosed vents slowly and awkwardly, shuffling quietly forward a little bit at a time as you occasionally alternated which hand held your phone. The light reflected off of the metal from all sides in an odd way that strained your eyes. If you were remembering Michael’s cameras correctly, there should be three main vents, one of which was only a yard or so long. That meant you only had to search the vents twice, which was a relief. Only a few minutes of crawling, and it was already aching your hands and knees.

You peered down a corner, shining your phone. It was a long metal tunnel with a whole lot of nothing. Was there a branch at the end of this vent? You remembered this was the one that led to Michael’s office, but you couldn’t remember more than that. You could also see the outline of where the vent could close, just a few feet ahead of you. Maybe you should turn around, so you don’t have to lectured by a zombie for lying—

Your phone slipped from your hand, bouncing in a noisy, clamoring rattle. You slammed your hand over it, stopping the racket abruptly. The phone was face down, snuffing the light out, but you didn’t dare move it.

You were in darkness. You didn’t move an inch. You strained to listen for any noises. You could hear every creak, every groan from those ancient vents, but you still couldn’t trust you’d hear him. You swallowed. With all the bravery you could rally, you lifted up your phone.

You almost screamed. You only caught a glimpse behind you before you were barreling forward. Your body was filled with adrenaline to rush faster, but you could only crawl . You wanted to kick up running with full force, but you could only crawl. If you could just get past where the vent can close—

You did scream when your leg was grabbed. Thick, painful sharp claws punctured your left calf. Then your right. You were dragged backward, your fingernails digging into mercilessly smooth metal. Your phone had dropped, and when you turned around on your back, you could have screamed again. The animatronic looked demonic under the flashlight, every ghoulish detail illuminated in a light too bright. The rot was graphically etched too close to you. And now that you were looking for it, you could have sworn you saw glimpses of a corpse’s outline hidden under the metal, fabric, and plague.

You were so petrified by the thing, you noticed too late when its silver eyes shifted away from you. You flinched when it SLAMMED—one-two-three times against the vent. You looked down. Three toy remotes shattered to pieces.

You only had one hope left. You didn’t know if it would help or make things worse—if it would put the robot out of commission, leaving the killer alone in charge—but you had to try. You grabbed your taser from your belt and thrusted it towards its chest.

Volts crackled, but the taser never reached its chest. Claws veiled in putrid fabric dug cruelly into your wrist, enough to hurt but not enough to break. You held a sharp gasp. The rotten Bonnie stared merciless holes into you. It was above you as frozen as you were, drinking your fear like rich wine. You thought your heart would burst before it killed you. You released your thumb off the button, but the moment you did, the rotten Bonnie’s crushing grip tightened until it was unbearable . As its fist compressed around your wrist, your bones creaked in agony under the pressure.

Your other hand flew to try and tear him off of you, “ Stop! Stop stop stop!” He would break it! He would break it!

It was only once you pressed the button on the taser that he loosed his grip to just a dull ache. Hot tears you hadn’t realized you shed fell over your temples, but you didn’t dare take your thumb off the taser. As tiny lightning crackled in your hand, so did the rage crackle in your chest. Your eyes burned with hatred, grinding your teeth you wished were around its heart. Oh, how you wanted to destroy him; to tear it apart for the agony it put you through. You didn’t just want him to die (again), you wanted every piece of the rotten Bonnie scattered and burned.

It didn’t seem perturbed by your loathing. In fact, it seemed enlivened by it, as if it breathed your hatred. Silver eyes glowed in the dark lighting, its locked grin somehow seeming wider—and, stranger than the nightmare you were living, its other hand pinned yours to the floor firmly but gently . Too gently, in some kind of mock intimacy that made you want to vomit and scream and tear out his eyes. You didn’t do any of that, unfortunately.

Because it began slowly lowering the taser to your heart.

Panic set in your eyes, and if you thought it was enlivened by your hatred, it was indulged by your terror. Suffocating exhilaration spilled from the monster as horrifying as the electric death descending on you. You let go of the button, but a warning squeeze had you pressing it again. You were forced to choose between losing your hand or losing your life. Even blinded by terror, you knew better. You knew you would be dead either way.

Your eyes, constricted and rapid in panic, scanned the vent for anything to save you. There was nothing. Only aluminum. Your eyes fell to the animatronic. It also looked pretty aluminum.

This was going to be extremely painful. Hopefully, more for him than for you.

As the rotten Bonnie plunged the taser into you, you pulled with him, but rolled as much as you could, twisting your arm in a way that made you cry out while jerking the taser onto the vent.

Suddenly, the whole vent around you was alight, bright as the sun. It was beautiful, and then it was excruciating . There were bees stinging your entire entire body from the inside out, but it wasn’t just pain, it was everything all at once. You had no control of your body, no way to pull your finger off of the button. You just felt everything . And then, not of your own volition, your finger came off of the button.

Your head smacked hard against the vent floor, but you hardly felt it. You didn’t even feel relief. You just laid there as if your body was resetting. You smelled something burnt. You figured it was probably you. Or the rotten Bonnie.

The rotten Bonnie!

You shot up (too quickly!). It was frozen locked in place. Smoke was seeping off of it and you heard a dull crackle, like cooked meat. You could have laughed with how relieved you were that it worked; that the animatronic looked like it took the brunt of the electrocution. A large grin stretched across your face. Did you do it? Did you kill it?

Silver eyes slowly started to glow to life. Nope, it wasn’t dead.

You grabbed your phone and scrambled around, twisting your body forward. You clawed past the vent’s edge and screamed in a crackling hoarse cry, “CLOSE THE VENT MICHAEL! “

SLAM! behind you. You didn’t want to know how close it was, but if the screeching clawing on the closed vent told you anything...

You hobbled, out of mind but still alive, through the vent. You weren’t even looking for your best friend's phone, but it wasn’t in the vent anyway. Only aluminum walls. Your mind was scattered and fried, but what else was new?

Turned out there was a branch at the end of the vent. It was just a small one, only a few yards long. You looked through it, dazed and disoriented. There was that skinny tall figure—no wait, not tall. It was a child, right. There was that child again, the toy phone brutally sticking out of their chest right where they left it. When you were about to say something, the rotten Bonnie animatronic was past the vent, and the child was gone. Then the vent shut loudly, startling you.

You continued to crawl until you rolled out of the vent and onto the floor, steam coming off of your frazzled body. You knew to whisper, “Thanks, Michael.”

“I could kill you,” His whisper was harsh and distracted.

“‘preciate ya.”

18 notes · View notes

superstar-nan · 5 months

Text

Fight Tooth and Nail: Ch 4

Summary: Michael takes you home and you have a long chat about what the heck is going on around here

Words: 5,077

Fun stuff: Descriptions of unusual self harm from a child, mention of child murder, graphic descriptions of undead bodies, canon typical violence, and mild swearing. Michael heavy chapter; he's still sassy and you're annoyed by it.

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You barely even registered when you were done vomiting your guts out. Your head was lead, your fingers and toes were tingling strangely. The room was spinning again, and you felt out of yourself. Michael was saying something you didn’t catch, his voice startled and raspy, and looking at his face made you retch again.

The ringing in your ears waned and you could understand Michael, “Oh, gross! ” You wished you could go back to not understanding Michael.

You looked down. The trashcan was made of crossed wire, so your vomit leaked out and onto the floor. Despite how it really was gross, you still couldn’t smell it over the spoiled rot in the room. You clumsily kicked the trashcan away from you (coincidentally, toward Michael, who scooted away from it), and stumbled back against the wall.

It was strange, knowing that you were out of it but not knowing what to do about it. Everything was just a bit out of reach, even the decayed hand snapping in front of your face.

“Hey, you okay?” He didn’t sound worried, only slightly impatient with his typical drone.

You swatted his hand away, “I’m—”

“ Shh! ” That time, you really were talking loud, but you didn’t realize that he was quiet until he shushed you.

“I’m fine.” You looked at the panel. Did they all need to be rebooted? Or none of them?

“Really?” Why was his voice like low, buzzing wasps? Just another thing to add to the list of unsettling things about him. “Because you’re tapping the ‘ reboot all ’ option over and over again.”

Oh. You were doing that. “I’m making it easy for myself.”

Your chin was pulled up. When did Michael get in front of you? He tilted your head from side to side, and you didn’t fight his whims. At this closeness, you couldn’t avoid looking at him, and it gave you a visceral chill traveling from the base of your spine up your back. Though peculiarly, you didn’t want to avoid looking at him. His features held a grip of morbid curiosity over you, like watching something you were forbidden to see—or rather, that was forbidden to exist. The more you looked at him, the less unpleasant he looked. Not that he wasn’t still a little horrifying to look at, but his features held an... odd, haunted allure to it. You had the sudden impulse to hold his face in your hands, to brush your thumbs lightly along the death under his abyssal eyes, and to know the grim reaper that wouldn’t take him. Would he feel it? Can he still feel?

The corpse cursed under his breath, “Your pupils are different sizes. You probably have a concussion.”

Ah. Maybe that was why you were getting poetic and strange impulses. “I’m probably fine.” You retorted, grabbing his wrist. He let you go, but he didn’t look convinced.

“Can you tell me what year it is?” He asked.

“Uh,” Come on, you knew this. “2023? 2022? No wait, 2015.”

“Yeah, give me that,” He swiped the control panel from you long before you even knew it left your hands. Suddenly, a cold, wet gas-station soda cup replaced it. “Don’t fall asleep.”

You took a long sip and almost choked on it, “It tastes like how you smell.”

Michael stiffened. When did he get back to his desk?

You kept drinking anyway. Despite the taste, the cool liquid felt good on your bruised throat. Your head lolled to the side, facing the door. You should have been dead. Multiple times now. That thing —the monster would have killed you twice over if it wasn’t for someone else being there, someone who knew what was going on.

What the hell was going on? Was your best friend wrapped up in this crazy place too? Also, why was there a figure in the doorway?

For a moment that was both an eternity and nothing at all, you thought it was the animatronic and you could have screamed. It wasn’t, though. It was too skinny, but just as tall. You couldn’t focus right at first, but when you did, you noticed it wasn’t skinny or tall at all. It was a child. Small and shrouded in darkness; they couldn’t have been older than eight. Their wild brown locks obscured most of their face, and little fingers touched the edge of the door frame.

You smiled and waved at them.

They waved back, though you couldn’t if they smiled through the shadows. You wanted to ask them their name or if they were lost, but in a vague moment of clarity, you realized that a child shouldn’t be here. Your head started to pound, or was that your heart? The child lifted up a toy phone—the same one the animatronic fooled you with. You opened your mouth to speak, but you couldn’t make a noise. Just like when you were being choked.

The child stabbed themselves in the chest with the phone.

Red—Flashing—Blaring—Red—Flashing—Blaring—

Was it blood? No, the child was gone. Michael was swearing, scrambling across the different cameras. You grabbed the panel and quickly restarted the ventilation. The corpse tried to swipe it back from you, but you pulled away just in time.

“I got it,” You said.

Michael opened his mouth to argue, but his eyes couldn’t tear from the cameras for long. Whatever argument he had for you was lost the moment he returned his focus, frantically swapping through screens. You restarted the audio, and couldn’t stop yourself from looking at the cameras. Not that you could make out the monster animatronic if you tried. You didn’t have the strength to consider why it was so good at hiding from the cameras. Or why it was so good at hunting you.

Your eyes burned when you blinked. You dragged your focus to the clock. 5:47. You couldn’t tell if the night was gone too quickly or not gone quickly enough. You bit your lower lip. Without any idea of what happened to your best friend, you decided the night was gone too quickly. It was unfair.

“What time is your shift over?” Even though your voice was a whisper, it still sounded torn to shreds. You rubbed your throat. It didn’t hurt now, but you knew it would soon. Damned rotted bunny.

Sallow eyes flicked to you and back to the cams just as quickly as you leaned on the back of his chair, “You’re cognizant now?”

You tilted your head from side-to-side, testing the pain in your head. Yep, it was still painful; throbbing, dull and heavy. Though it was difficult to tell how cognizant you were, since the whole night had been a nightmare straight out of a terrible horror movie. You decided to flick the back of Michael’s ear in response. It was spongy to the touch.

Michael half-heartedly swatted at your fingers, but couldn’t keep his hands away from the cameras for long, “Six.”

You swallowed, which was functionally more difficult than usual. You restarted the cameras. “What time does the other security guard get here?”

“Six.”

How inconvenient. You restarted ventilation. “The last security guard left fifteen minutes before you came.”

“If I did that, I would die.”

He was right, but he didn’t have to be so sardonic about it. Not when you were almost killed twice, not when your best friend was still missing, and not when your only clue was in the hands of a... Wait, the kid had the toy phone just a second ago, but you shattered it early. Were you dreaming? Hallucinating? Obviously, you were...

“There was a kid here...” You mentioned, anyway.

“You were dreaming,” Even though you came to the same conclusion, you didn’t like how dismissive the corpse was.

“I didn’t fall asleep,” You said while rebooting the audio.

“Then you were hallucinating,” He said, also preoccupied with swiping and selecting and switching and searching.

You wanted to hit him again. You bit your lip.

Michael’s eyes flicked to you for a fraction of a moment before returning to the cameras. You could only imagine how chaotic you must’ve looked: body shaking with fatigue, eyes red from crying and exhaustion, lips chapped from vomiting, and you didn’t even want to know if the bruise around your neck formed yet. However you looked, apparently it was pitiful enough to make the corpse sigh and say, “The ventilation in this place—something in the air, makes people see things.”

Very briefly, you wondered if the whole night was just some gas-induced nightmare. God, you wished it was.

You rebooted the ventilation. It didn’t need it, but you did it anyway.

As you watched the cams flick through one and the next and the next, you tried to muster the motivation to attempt one last search, to do one last sweep of the place for your best friend’s phone even if it was only with your eyes on the cams. But even if there wasn’t a seven-foot tall monster of a robot hunting you for sport, you didn’t have the life to keep searching. You put your hand in your pocket and felt something smooth and cool. Your best friend’s wrist watch. You wanted to cry, but you didn’t have the life for that either.

Pushing through the exhaustion and misery, you willed yourself to look for the rotted animatronic. You didn’t care how tired you were or how broken you felt, you had to find it. You had to. If only to pour every last emotion caving in your chest into hatred, to point it outward so it at least wasn’t in you. You didn’t follow Michael’s eyes, you wanted to find it on your own.

You found it, but not through perception or wit and that burned you. The rotted, foul thing was standing right where it had been when the night started. As if it was a being with the cognizance to deceive the day shift, and by now you would be a fool to believe it wasn’t.

You were startled by an alarm going off. You quickly checked the panel, but it wasn’t yours. Instead, the alarm was the sound of a grandfather clock, and Michael’s phone was lighting up. 6:00 AM. You could’ve thrown confetti.

A bright light blinded you briefly from outside the office. It was the day shift security guard.

“Hey, Mike. Just finishing... Hi?” He said, once his eyes laid on you.

“Hi,” You replied. Michael stood up, shuffling his things. You didn’t know when, but Michael had slipped on a black face mask, hiding his more grotesque features.

“Uh, who are you?” Oh yeah, you were doing something illegal.

You looped an arm around Michael’s, leaning your body into his cold lifeless one, and he stiffened, “Michael’s my boyfriend. I’m just here to pick him up.” As you leaned into him, you were hit with a waft of spoiled cake that you promptly ignored.

“You’re, uh—to him ?” The guard seemed to be trying not to offend either of you, but it was very obvious he was shocked Michael pulled you. Good to know that even in your disheveled state you were still a few leagues above a zombie.

“Yep. Ready to go—” Your voice caught in your throat when you looked at Michael. His hollowed eyes bore into you with an unknowable emotion. You were reminded of his haunting allure you noted earlier, but fleetingly it was just haunting enough to frighten you, a small flip upturning your stomach. He didn’t take his eyes off of you even as you swallowed and managed to croak out, “ Sweetie? ”

It was deadly silent. Why didn’t the animatronic murder you when it had the chance?

“Yeah, I’m ready.” Thank god. He played along.

You gave the dayshift guard a small wave and a smile, holding Michael’s hand as you left the god-forsaken horror attraction. His flesh was cold to the touch and depressed under the pressure of your fingertips. You ignored the more visceral flip in your stomach at the realization you were touching bone.

The moment the door closed behind you, Michael swiped his hand back, but you were filled with too much relief to be offended. The air was clean, healthy —something you didn’t know you desperately needed until your lungs were filled with vitality. You felt drunk on the morning rays of light and colors that weren’t dull greens and browns. You hadn’t realized you were in hell until earth felt like heaven.

You lowered your eyes after you were able to breathe. Michael was already walking, so you followed him and said, “Thanks.” You meant it for more than pretending to be your boyfriend

“No problem,” He said, and it was strange hearing his (brittish) voice in something other than a whisper. It was raspy and scarred low but still held weight. Like a smooth narrator who had his voice shredded in a cheese grater. “You’re actually going to give me a ride home, though. The bus takes forever.”

You wondered if it was the wait or the staring from other passengers that he wanted to avoid, “Okay, sure. But I also actually need a place to stay.”

He stopped and stared at you. For the first time, you could finally discern his expression clearly. Annoyed disbelief.

You gave him your best innocent smile, which might have ended up a grimace with how exhausted you were, “I thought I’d only stay one night so I didn’t book a hotel.”

He rolled his eyes (something that was fascinating to watch since his eyes were hollowed out voids), turned around and resumed walking. That wasn’t a no. You jogged to match pace with him and when you reached him, he held out his hand. You stared at it, before Michael snapped you out of your stupor, “The keys.”

“You want to drive?”

“You’re sleep deprived, had a concussion, and look like you might fall over.” His hollow eyes scrolled you up and down briefly as he walked.

In a more stable and coherent state, you might have been offended and argued with him. Though, if you had the strength to argue, you had the strength to drive. You put the keys in his hand.

The drive to Michael’s place passed in a blur. Scenery melted across your window as you dully pressed your arm against it, your face resting in the crook of your elbow. Your muscles felt atrophied into the passenger’s seat, your mind was numbed to a dull buzz, you stared out the window and saw nothing, and after all of the impossible things and complicated mysteries that needed explaining, you could only think collapsing into bed. Your eyes were lidded and your breathing was slow. The car’s drone was just ambient enough to calm your fused mind. The relief was enough to make you sigh.

It was only when the car came to a stop that you realized you were half asleep. Michael wordlessly got out of the car, closing the door with enough sound to wake you up completely, and you followed him mindlessly.

You hardly had the energy to take in your surroundings, but even exhaustion wasn’t enough to keep you from wondering how a corpse lived. The answer? Incredibly boring. His flat was small, just enough room for one person, and minimally decorated. No pictures, no aesthetics or ornaments, no personal touch—you might as well have been in a stock photo if it wasn’t slightly messy.

Michael dropped his backpack on the bills scattered across his small dining room table. He took off his mask and hat, his dark brown hair ruffled slightly, and tossed them on the table as well. As he opened the fridge he pointed nonchalantly to the bedroom door.

“Shower’s on the right.”

You guessed that meant you needed a shower.

Michael’s bedroom had slightly more personality to it, emphasis on slightly. A few pieces of clothing were strewn about the floor, the bed was rushedly made, and empty soda cans piled in the trash bin. Though the bed called for you, you forced yourself to the bathroom anyway.

Your reflection was haunted, just as you imagined, but you didn’t look as bad as you thought you would. Eyes bloodshot and dark circles for days, but the worse feature was the ugly yellowing bruise beginning to form around your throat. It would turn blue and purple before too long, and you swore you could make our large, thick fingers in its shape. You swallowed and turned to the shower. You didn’t want to think about that.

Steam filled the bathroom after a minute of letting the hot water run. Michael didn’t have any shampoo or conditioner. After snooping through his bathroom quickly (in case he kept them somewhere weird—and because it’s fun to snoop) you found a few dark brown wigs instead. That made sense; his hair was his most living feature. He did, however, have an endless assortment of different soaps. None of which able to mask his smell, unfortunately.

You wondered if you would end up smelling like him? You picked the soap in your favorite scent and lathered your body in it.

Stepping out of the shower, the motion of peeling back on the clothes you sweated, cried, and vomited over was too much to even think about. Instead, you picked up a hoodie off the floor, one that seemed slightly too big for Michael, and slipped it on. Whatever damage you mended using the soap was undone the moment you put on the hoodie, but you were too tired to care.

You could hear the TV playing from beyond Michael’s room. You couldn’t wait for him to finish whatever he was watching and you didn’t have the energy to discuss where you’d be sleeping, so you collapsed on his bed.

You were out the moment your head hit the pillow.

───── (\ /) ─────

You woke up disoriented, aching, and somehow still drained. Weren’t naps supposed to make you less tired? Your disorientation only grew when you didn’t recognize where you were, your vision teetering back into focus.

The fog of sleep cleared when your hand touched something spongy and cold. It was Michael’s hand. Your memory of last night (morning?) came back to you. You rolled your head over to the nightstand and instantly hissed in pain. Your neck hurt like hell and just turning made it enough to throb with pain. When the pain subsided, you slowly opened your eyes. 6:42 PM. You slept twelve hours. Your head felt like you slept three.

You rolled your head, this time slowly and carefully, back over to Michael. He was sleeping in the bed with you, lying on his back with an arm nestled behind his pillow. For some reason, he was wearing his wig to bed. That couldn’t be comfortable.

You didn’t know when he came to bed with you or if he got a full night’s (day’s?) rest, but you couldn’t wait around for him to wake up. You poked his shoulder. “Michael.”

He grumbled, sleepily. He turned his head away from you, revealing parts of his jawbone visible through abraded skin.

You poked his shoulder again, “Michael.” You insisted.

He swatted at you.

You smacked his shoulder, “Michael, wake up !”

He cursed, grabbing his shoulder, “ What? What—?!” Michael’s voice caught in his throat when he turned to you, his void eyes going wide. You had to be only inches apart as you stared at him, unphased by your closeness. He awkwardly shuffled away from you, scooching inch by inch to put some distance between you too. You blanked. He was the one who decided to sleep in the same bed as you, what did he have to be bashful for? “What is it.”

“What is it?” You sat up, fistfulls of blanket in your hand as you ignored your pounding head. You tried to keep your tone controlled, but you nearly bit your own tongue in your frustration. “ What is it? A seven-foot massive bunny robot tried to kill me twice and—!”

“Rabbit,” Michael interrupted you. “Bonnie is a rabbit, not a bunny.”

“I’m gonna kill you.”

“Can’t this wait until after breakfast?”

You swiped the pillow out from under his head and tried to smother him with it. After just a second of struggling with it, he easily pried it out of your hands.

“Alright, alright,” He sat up with a groan, rubbing the back of his neck. “But coffee first. No discussion.”

Your jaw tensed, but you forced yourself to relax with a worried sigh. You stood up, “Okay. How do you take your coffee?”

The corpse collapsed back into bed, swinging the pillow behind his head with closed eyes, “Four sugars, two cream.”

You managed to navigate through Michael’s kitchen—which only had the bare necessities: minimal cutlery, meager pantry, an air fryer but no toaster—well enough to make two cups of coffee, one prepared exactly how you like yours. You organized your thoughts, figuring which questions you should ask first and how. You were having trouble sorting out the mad hell that happened last night, let alone figuring out what happened to your best friend. First you needed to know what was going on, then you could take steps on finding them.

You sat on the bed and handed Michael his mug. He mumbled a thanks and took a few gulps, despite how scalding it was. You once again couldn’t tear your eyes off of the window in his cheeks revealing liquid rushing down his throat.

“Alright,” He said with an exhale, setting his three-quarters empty mug on the bedside table. “Who are you and why did you break into the pizzeria?”

You almost started yelling at him again, but you stopped yourself. He saved your life twice, the least you could do was go first. You lowered your eyes as Michael watched you intently, his expression betraying nothing. You pulled out your phone and played the last message your best friend sent. Michael listened without saying a word.

“Someone I care about worked the night shift before you,” You locked your phone and kept it face down in your lap. You didn’t look Michael in the eyes out of fear you might start crying. “I need to know what happened to them.”

“They’re probably dead.”

Your eyes were storms as you stared daggers at him, tears forming thick droplets, “ You don’t know that. ” The venom in your voice was tempered by its tremble.

Michael was silent as you swabbed at your tears with his hoodie you were wearing. When he spoke next, he was slower, as if treading carefully, “ If you find any answers, you won’t like them. And that’s if you don’t share their fate. Go home. ”

“ I won’t, ” You said through teeth tight enough to grind. “I won’t. Not until I find them, or-or I find what happened to them and-and—”

“And then what?” Michael challenged, “What are you going to do once you find out?”

You waved your hands in the air, frustratedly, “I’ll figure out what I want to do when we get there!”

Michael sighed, long and tired. He grabbed his mug, swirled it around for a bit, and then downed the rest of his drink. He exhaled when he was done, “I’m not going to help you get yourself killed.”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” You said, stubbornly.

“Yes, you did,” He put his mug down on the bedside. “You asked me to keep him on camera eight.”

There was that ‘ him ’ again. “Okay, but I don’t need your help.”

He raised a brow, unimpressed, “Yes, you do.”

Now was the time to change the subject, “Why do you keep calling it ‘ him ’?” As if startled by your own question, you realized you hadn’t asked the ones you planned. “In fact, why is it alive? Why are you alive? And why is it trying to kill me? What happened last night?”

Michael set his jaw while you gained your breath, just realizing how worked up those questions made you. “What do you think happened last night?” He asked.

You opened your mouth while your eyes scanned the floor, as if the dingy carpet held the answer. Your brow knotted in confusion, “You call it ‘ him ’ because it’s Bonnie. Its programming makes it seem alive. You’re just really sick. It has faulty wiring. Last night was a horrible horrible accident. That’s what I was telling myself.” But even saying it now, you didn’t believe a word of it.

“Good,” He said. “You’re right.”

You trained your eyes on him, “No, I’m not.”

“For your sake, you are.”

“No.” You insisted, more determined. “I’m not.”

He exhaled sharply, “You’re too stubborn.”

“I was honest with you,” You pleaded, softening your expression in an effort to appeal to his conscience.

He set his jaw again (you could even see the grind of his teeth through his worn skin), and though his expressions were nearly impossible to read, you were starting to recognize his tells. “Don’t come back to the attraction.”

“I can’t—”

“ They’re gone. ” He said, and he didn’t know how cruel he was being. You couldn’t even tell if he felt guilty when new tears fell down your cheeks. “Be satisfied that you didn’t share their fate.”

You wiped your tears, shaking with anger and grief. You hated Michael for saying that, for pointing out something you feared more than anything. “There was no body,” You said, weakly. Even you knew it wasn’t a great defense.

“It was probably stuffed in a costume,” He said, heartlessly. “Or in an animatronic torso. He’s anything if not consistent...” The last part he said more to himself, but you didn’t miss it.

You found your voice, “What does that mean?”

When his eyes met yours, he sighed, “Don’t come back to Fazbear’s Fright, okay?”

You bit your lip and stared holes into the floor. You took a deep breath, closing your eyes and clearing your mind. Then, you nodded, tentatively.

“What do you know about the kids that went missing at the pizzeria? The one Fazbear’s Fright is based on?”

You looked back up at him before furrowing your brow in concentration, “I know a little. A bunch of kids went missing in the 80s. A lot of people thought they were murdered, but their bodies were never found. I know someone was charged, but they never found any evidence.”

“That’s because they couldn’t find the bodies.”

You swallowed.

“They were stuffed into the animatronics.”

You couldn’t help but stare, horrified. Michael was patient with you as you fumbled through your next question, “How do you know that?”

“Because my dad did it.”

You almost reeled back in shock, “Oh my god.” You said, incredulously. Maybe a serial killer dad shouldn’t have shocked you. Afterall, you were sitting and chatting with a zombie. You still couldn’t help the surprise coming from a national cold case solved. “Wow. Uh. God.”

“Yeah,” Michael was as nonchalant as ever.

“Okay,” You said, slowly nodding. “So this old Bonnie animatronic is... is one of these kids? Or their ghost or...?”

“No,” He said. “It’s my dad.”

This time, you did reel back. “ What? ”

“Yeah.”

“... What? ”

“Yeah.”

“No, I need you to explain,” You said.

“I’m not sure,” He scratched the back of his head. “That suit, the Spring Bonnie suit, he used to lure kids. It’s a springlock suit—” He shifted when he saw your confusion, “Part animatronic, part costume, held together by sensitive spring locks that snap shut. It looks like they went off while he was still inside. Can’t say he didn’t have it coming. Too bad he didn’t stay dead.”

“Oh my god,” You wrung your face with your hands. “That’s-That’s unbelievable. I can’t-... I’m in a horror movie.” You turned to him, “ He’s still in it? ”

“Yep.”

You shook your head slowly, “How is he still alive?”

Michael shrugged.

“How are you alive?”

Michael soured, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

You didn’t push him, less for his sake and more for your own. You don’t know if you could take any more ghost stories. “A child killer is- is reanimated in the seven-foot-tall rabbit suit he killed and died in, and now wants to—What? Haunt the haunted pizzeria attraction?”

Michael shrugged, “I guess.”

You threw your hands up in the air exasperatedly, before dropping them loudly on the bed.

“He’s not... himself.”

You sighed, “What does that mean?”

Michael shrugged again, but this time more unsure, “You saw it yourself. What serial killer would stop mid-kill just because they heard a child’s laughter?”

You almost shivered at the memory of it—monstrous creature over you, crowbar in hand, eyes distorting and twitching— but he was right, “There was something strange in its— his eyes. They looked too human, which was eerie enough, but when you... when you played the audio clip, it was like the robot was battling for control.”

Michael hummed at that, “I don’t think it’s just my dad anymore.”

“Your serial killer dad.” You said, more to mention the absurdity of the situation.

Michael wasn’t pleased by it, “Yes. My serial killer dad. Apparently he’s been stuck behind a plastered wall for thirty years, so maybe he just lost his mind. Or maybe the suit has some leftover code that he can’t control. Probably, it’s a bit of both. But...”

You waited in anticipation for him to finish.

He shook his head, “It doesn’t matter. What matters is he won’t stop until he gets what he wants, and he’s not lucid enough to listen to reason.”

“What does he want?”

“To kill.” In Michael’s low, shredded voice, his grim warning sent a shiver up your spine. “So it’s good that you're not coming back, right?”

“But what are you doing here?” You asked, “Are you trying to stop him?”

“You’re not coming back, right? ” He bore holes into you with those unnerving, hallowed eyes of his.

You swallowed, “Right.”

───── (\ /) ─────

Wrong.

You parked your car off to the side where Michael wouldn’t be able to see; in the shadow of Fazbear’s Fright.

At least, now that you knew what you were dealing with (a serial killer in the metal body of a giant rabbit—that still felt absurd) you could be prepared for it. And just like the rabbit, you wouldn’t stop until you got what you wanted. Answers. And if the answers hurt too much...

Revenge.

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superstar-nan · 5 months

Text

Fight Tooth and Nail: Ch 3

Summary: You get to know the local zombie before trying to get your best friend's phone back

Words: 3,568

Fun stuff: Descriptions of rotting bodies, canon typical violence, asphyxiation and blunt force trauma, and mild swearing. Springtrap's still the worst and Michael's a bit harsh but he has a good heart.

───── (\ /) ─────

Hours or minutes or an eternity passed; you didn’t know. Your eyes burned and your head was too heavy with your oscillating emotions. You mindlessly tapped on the panel when it yelled at you, and it quieted just as quickly. Your body ached desperately for a comfortable bed to rest in. Earlier that night, you had spent hours folded in a vent. Now, the hard floor didn’t make a good cushion, the desk didn’t make a good pillow, and the corpse didn’t make good company.

Or maybe it was you that didn’t make good company. The corpse seemed busy, tapping and switching and scanning and tapping again. You were less busy and you wore your misery like a blanket.

You could feel the bags gathering under your eyes. You didn’t know if it was the crying, the fatigue, or the smell that was making your eyes burn. You rubbed them. Unlike the murderous animatronic, the corpse’s smell was more difficult to get used to.

Your blood started to move again at the thought of the rotted bunny. It had baited you and you fell for it. You wished that you hadn’t dropped the crowbar and that the corpse hadn’t stopped the monster, just so you could play out a violent fantasy of tearing and smashing and gnashing and breaking— Rage was filling you with life again, but you were too exhausted to light anything but a spark.

You sighed, quiet and weary. You tapped the panel as it angrily made noises at you.

The corpse didn’t turn his head to look at you, but he spoke and that made you wonder if your sigh drew his attention slightly. “What’s your name?” He said, his voice low and quiet and british. You didn’t notice before when he was harshly whispering at you, but the corpse was british.

You dragged your eyes over to him, then to the clock. 2:17 AM. “What, we can talk now?”

“Quietly,” He answered, either ignoring or oblivious to your spite.

You didn’t like looking at him for too long; you could see his teeth through his cheeks. You dragged your gaze back to your panel as you told him your name. He hummed in response.

“What’s yours?” You asked, your voice flat and coarse. Your eyes were lidded with fatigue; you could see your lashes.

“Michael.”

If you had any energy, you’d laugh. Instead, you restarted the cameras before it yelled at you. “Michael the zombie.”

For a fraction of a second, the corpse’s— Michael’s sallow eyes flicked to you. Even in your fatigue and your unwillingness to look at him, you saw his fingers twitch slightly. Just as quickly, his eyes flicked back to the screen and he was tapping and switching again. He said your name, and added, “...The criminal.”

You didn’t have the tact he had. “I’m not a—”

“ Shh!” He interrupted you.

You gripped the panel a little tighter. Your voice wasn’t even barely above a whisper. You lowered it anyway, “I’m not a criminal.”

Michael took a sip of a gas station soda cup wet with condensation. You fought the urge to stare in case the soda was visible through the holes in his face. “You work here?”

You were quiet.

“Didn’t think so.”

You would have been more annoyed if your head didn’t feel like it was exploding. “I don’t have to explain anything to a corpse.” You wanted to sound biting, but your voice was just tired.

Michael stopped, frozen as he stared at the monitors and his decrepit fingers locked. Then, he resumed his flipping and clicking. “Audio.”

“It’s loading.”

He didn’t respond, silently keeping watch and playing childrens noises that nagged at you, haunted you. You bit your tongue, partially out of contemplation and partially in an attempt to wake yourself up. You decidedly turned your head and looked at the camera monitors. Even as you squinted and flicked your eyes from monitor to monitor, you couldn’t spot the animatronic anywhere. Everything looked the same as it always did, a mediocre haunted establishment.

Michael then selected the audio on CAM 7. Even then, you struggled to see anything. It wasn’t until you looked at Michael’s eyes, decayed as they were, and followed exactly where they fell that you saw it.

Two pinpricks of reflected light in the shadow. An edge of fear brought life back into your breath. You swallowed and your brow furrowed. Your lip trembled slightly underneath your teeth. How could a piece of machinery as big as the rotted Bonnie stay so hidden? You recalled the thing’s silent footsteps when you tried to leave. You shivered.

“The ventilation.”

You tapped on the ventilation, but didn’t take your eyes off the reflected pinpricks. You thought it might disappear if you took your eyes from it for a second. “What’s it doing?”

“ Shh, ” You weren’t nearly as bothered by the corpse’s shush, entranced with watching the pinpricks. You couldn’t tell if they had moved slightly or if it was just the static of the old cameras.

“What is it?” You whispered. The pinpricks were glued to the camera. It was watching the camera. Your heart dropped at the possibility of it watching you. It couldn’t, not through the camera obviously, but the thought was enough to fool your heart for just a moment.

“I don’t have to explain anything to a criminal.”

You stared at the back of Michael’s head, unkempt hair just a bit too shiny underneath his security hat. You were just tired enough and just emotional enough to consider bashing in his head with the crowbar.

You turned back to the screen. Your breath hitched. The pinpricks were gone. Michael was swiping through the cameras so quickly, you couldn’t even follow which rooms he was flicking through. It didn’t matter though, because the animatronic wasn’t hiding.

CAM 8. There were the gift boxes you had scattered in your escape. The rotted Bonnie’s silhouette was complete shadow as it eclipsed the lighted chica head behind it. The shadows and the static couldn’t hide the rotted notches and nicks in the animatronic’s decaying body. In fact, the light behind it only accentuated its deterioration. The rotted Bonnie turned its head to the camera in a broken and jagged fashion, both too fast and too slow in uneven movements. Its eyes glossed over with reflected light, like two unnatural, hostile moons. It slowly began raising its arm.

“Audio.”

You ignored Michael, your eyes glued to the screen. The movement of its arm was smooth, cleaner than the turn of its head. Too clean, so even it looked wrong. Its silhouette was wholly encased in shadow. The object it was holding up for you was encased in shadow.

Undead eyes flicked to you, “Audio.” When he saw you were entranced, Michael tried to swipe the control panel from hands, but you pulled it away just out of his reach. Even then you didn’t tear your eyes from the screen.

The animatronic slowly lowered the object onto a gift box. Only its arm moved, once again too smooth to look right. Its eyes never left the camera and neither did yours.

“How did it know I was watching?” You whispered, more to yourself than to the corpse.

Michael cursed under his breath and swiped the panel out of your hands, fumbling to restart the audio. The animatronic’s eyes glossed again with that reflected light. It turned away even before the audio had finished restarting and receded into the shadows. Michael switched to CAM 9 and played the cursed child’s laughter. Though, even without being able to see it, you knew the rotted Bonnie was already there.

The control panel was shoved into your hands again, grounding you back into the office. You began rebooting the ventilation.

“He’s baiting you,” Michael whispered, as if you didn’t know that already—as if you hadn’t already fallen for it. He flicked between cameras again, seeing something that you couldn’t. “Sit back down away from the cameras.”

You ignored him, watching the cameras as you leaned slightly against the back of Michael’s chair. “Did you see what he set down? Was it the phone?”

“I said, he’s baiting you. ”

“I know!” One sharp look from the corpse and you immediately lowered your voice, “I know, but...” You bit your lip as you watched the screen. Your grip on the back of Michael’s chair tightened. “There’s no way that-that thing will leave it there all night.”

“That’s the point. He’s b— ” Michael stopped whispering when he looked at your expression. You must have been an open book, but his expression had more subtleties you had difficulty deciphering. Maybe it was because his face was rotting away. He turned away from you. “Don’t fall for it.”

Your grip tightened even more, and then you let go of Michael’s chair all at once. You turned away from the cameras as you sat back on the floor and leaned against the desk.

You stared at the control panel in your hands. There was silence only interrupted by the sound of the clicking and switching of the cameras. A child’s laughter not quite right, the damned child’s laughter , played from Michael’s direction. Even after the switching-clicking resumed, the laughter echoed in your head, followed by the last words your best friend ever spoke to you: Come... Come to... Hurry .

Your gaze fell on the worn down wheels of Michael’s chair. Your chest felt heavy. “Did you meet the security guard before you?” You asked, quietly. Even quieter than Michael had been shushing you for.

The corpse paused. He, as always, didn’t turn toward you. “No.”

You clenched your teeth and your breath was trembling from your lips. You rebooted the cameras.

There was more silence. The hum of the vents turned on, filling the room with an ambient drone. The hum drowned out the buzz of the sickly yellow lights, which you hadn’t noticed was buzzing until the vents smothered it.

Michael was the one to break the silence, “I’m not sure what he took from you.” You could barely hear him over the ventilation. “Though I can guess. With him... he makes it hard to show restraint, but you’ll be glad when—”

You almost felt guilty when he turned around only for you to be already standing and setting the control panel next to him.

“... Or not.”

“You can keep him away from camera eight, right?” You said, giving your best smile. Your stomach did horrified flips when Michael scrunched his rotted face up (possibly in annoyance? you couldn’t tell) and the lesions in his skin contorted. You swallowed and prayed your expression didn’t show your horror.

He rotated his seat back to the cameras, “You’re gonna die.”

“I’m not saying draw him to you, just keep him closer to Foxy’s head or something.” You said, tapping on the control panel to reboot the audio one last time. You grabbed the crowbar and turned to the office door.

“You’re gonna die.” He repeated, “And whoever you think he killed, they’re probably dead too.”

You didn’t like that. Your grip tightened on the crowbar and you tasted iron in your mouth. You unclenched your teeth. You walked past the office window, pointedly not looking past the glass.

After you passed the office window, your steps slowed. You didn’t dare use your phone as a flashlight. The rotted Bonnie knew you were coming. Hell, it planned for you to. You only hoped Michael didn’t see you as a lost cause—or even worse, bait— and would actually keep the rotted Bonnie from you.

Slowly, your movements became deliberate. You stilled your breath nearly to asphyxiation. Sweat tickled the back of your neck. Each step was weighed like concrete, your fear fighting you for control. The dull buzz from the lights covered your soft steps against the grimy checkered floor. You kept to the shadows as best you could, hugging dirty walls and corners.

You dared to peer past the hall where the foxy head was mounted. If the rotted bonnie was in there, you couldn’t see it. You swallowed, thick and coarse.

The sound of your own heartbeat seemed to echo in the hall. You slipped into the hallway where stars dangled from the ceiling. The arcade box you had hid behind should have illuminated your path. It was off now. You didn’t know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. You gripped your crowbar with two hands.

Your heart was too loud. Your breath was too loud. Even when you held your breath you were too loud. The hallway extended endlessly and was too short. Was it behind you?

You pivoted, crowbar over your shoulder. No one was there. You turned slowly back. You kept the crowbar raised.

An artificial child’s voice startled you. You pressed your back to the wall and you heard it. Mechanical steps forced to trudge toward the noise. The animatronic’s march even in the darkness casted a large, terrifying shadow; massive tattered torso hunched, torn bunny ears bent across the ceiling, open rotting maw revealing blunted teeth, sharp protrusions poking out like claws where soft fingertips fell away. After agonizing seconds, the shadow marched across the wall and was gone.

You waited until you could no longer hear mechanized trudging. Even when there was nothing, you waited just a breath longer. Then, you slowly turned the corner. It wasn’t there. You quietly, quietly, please let your footsteps be quiet , moved forward.

You were close. You just had to turn one more corner, and you would be there. Just one more corner. It would be there, on the gift boxes. Just one more corner. Just one more corner .

You were shaking when you peeked past the corner, before swiping back just as fast. It didn’t see you. It was turned away from you. It was massive. It didn’t see you. You just had to keep telling yourself that. It didn’t see you. It was so massive. It didn’t see you.

You heard nothing, but you didn’t dare move. You held your breath and brought the crowbar level to your eyes. You didn’t know if you could even do any harm to it with the crowbar, but it was your lifeline.

The hum of the vents declined. You had to bite your lip to keep any noise from passing your lips. Your lungs burned for air, but you wouldn’t breath. You tasted iron again. When your lungs couldn’t take anymore asphyxiation, you opened your mouth wide, wide enough that you could breath slowly without making much noise. You still cursed the small noise you did make.

After too long, you peeked past the corner again, slowly. You were alone. You prayed you were alone.

You slipped past the corner. It was dark, but you could see it. A phone, there on the gift box, right where it left it. You cautiously checked to see if it was going to jump out at you. When it wasn’t, you rushed for the phone.

LOUD artificial music—FLASHING rainbow colors—You nearly jumped out of your skin, before throwing the toy phone on the ground, shattering it to pieces. It wasn’t your best friend’s phone on the gift boxes. Just a freddy toy, set to lure you in like a lamb to the slaughter.

Rage started to seep into your cheeks. It was a ruse, and you should have known it was. Michael knew it was. Did your best friend fall for these tricks when they were being hunted? Your teeth grit and your knuckles paling under pressure. “ Bastard. ” You seethed quietly.

-Click- from behind you.

You poured all your vengeance into one swing, every last bit of bitterness and madness. It didn’t do anything, of course. Decaying hands of metal and fur caught the crowbar with one hand, and how unfair it was that you couldn’t destroy it. With your fear forgotten, all you wanted was to tear each soiled scrap with your teeth and bury your fingernails in its too-sentient eyes. It would be right if that did happen, but when was anything ever right?

Instead, a hand of metal and rot grabbed your throat.

You couldn’t scream, you couldn’t breathe; pain and strength constricted your throat. It was strong, so strong! Who designed these things to be so strong?! You writhed as you clawed into its arm, scraping decay under your fingernails.

You kicked, you scratched, you pried—nothing you did even phased the animatronic, the monster whose eyes were too-alive more than ever. Eyes that looked delighted to watch you thrash and suffer, its permanent grin somehow looking wider and more gleeful. Was that just how the animatronic was supposed to look?

The pain ebbed into something dull. Your head started to feel light. Your kicking and beating slowed. Tears pin pricked in your eyes, but your vision was already fading. You slammed your eyes shut. Both your hands came to its iron grip, summoning whatever strength you had left to pry its claws open.

By some miracle, they did open, and you collapsed against the wall. You hadn’t noticed you were pushed against the wall. Your lungs filled with air too cold and wet; you coughed violently and it burned in your chest. You sucked in air in gulps, and it was gone too quickly.

Your throat was seized again, and this time you could feel it pinning you against the wall, lifting you to your toes. You dug your nails into its arm again, your other hand beating against its arm, its chest, anything . This time, you tried to cry out, but nothing could sound but a faint wheeze. Tears dripped down your cheeks as you grit your teeth and kicked and kicked and kicked—

You were feeling dull again; light and heavy at the same time. Your head throbbed and soon it was the only thing you could feel. Your eyes closed. You tried to tear at its grip, but your fingers felt too weak. Then, you couldn’t feel them at all...

In a gasp, you were released again, and you wasted no time gulping for air. Your hands came to the wall. You were shaking as you stared at the animatronic. It looked as horrifying and expressionless as it always had, save for its damned human eyes. It tilted its head, too alive and too curious. You felt small, like a rodent backed into a corner, being batted at by the claws of a creature bigger and hungrier than it.

And then you were seized again. Again! You wanted to question it, to scream at it, to shove the absurdity of its actions in front of it, but you couldn’t. You could only struggle fruitlessly under its entertained, human-like eyes. Eyes that would haunt you until your death. Though, perhaps writhing wasn’t the only thing you could do.

You slowed your struggling, weakening your own grip as you attempted to pull it off of you. Despite your body screaming at you to fight for air, you closed your eyes and let your body slowly fall slack.

It released you, and you didn’t waste time breathing. You dove out from under its arms, crashing to the floor next to the gift boxes. You tried to get up to run, but it was fast . It was already on you and before you could even scream—

SLAM

There was a ringing. Your head throbbed with pain. Your vision skewed. You tried to speak, but your throat was still raw. You were turned around.

You saw three—five? No, three—of the rotted Bonnie. Its body sounded like something sticky getting peeled away under all the mechanical clicks. You tried to focus when it held something above its head.

It was the crowbar. It was going to kill you.

You hoped your best friend had a gentler end than this.

“ Hello? ”

The ringing slowed. A child’s laughter. The rotted Bonnie’s eyes flickered with light, struggling between sentience and programming. You knew if you stayed quiet it would have to leave, so you froze as still as you could manage.

You were right. It stood up, one foot after the next in monstrously metallic thumps, from its kneeling position over you. Then, it turned around and marched away.

You rolled onto your stomach, taking in quiet gulps of air. The floor was spinning, but it was beginning to stabilize. Not unlike the monster trying to kill you, you stomped one foot after the next to stand. You stumbled into a wall and slammed your eyes shut.

You needed to go. You needed to go. Go. Go. Go!

You stumbled through the attraction, much less quiet than you had been, but it was too difficult to focus on anything else other than reaching the office. You steadily gained proprioception and picked up speed, before you were running through the halls again. The floor started to level. The walls weren’t closing in on you anymore.

You were back at the office door even before you realized you passed the office window. The smell was abominable, but you didn’t care. You stumbled to the desk and slid back down to the floor. You felt your head. There was no blood. That was good...

A control panel was dropped into your hands. “You’re alive.” Michael took a sip of his soda cup, “You're welcome.”

You grabbed the trashcan and vomited.

21 notes · View notes

superstar-nan · 5 months

Text

Def been thinking about making some oneshots for security breach ruin characters

#something something neurotic obsessive dca #something something engineer!reader fixes monty #something something put a head back on that prototype freddy so we can kiss him or something something #security breach ruin #nan chatters

2 notes · View notes

superstar-nan · 5 months

Text

Fight Tooth and Nail: Ch 2

Summary: You wait until after hours to investigate your best friend's disappearance. It's kinda spooky at night, but good thing that old rotten Bonnie animatronic is there to keep you company.

Words: 3,425

Fun stuff: Moderate swearing, Michael makes his first appearance that goon, Springtrap's bad bad monster man but also doesn't talk, and as always gender neutral reader.

───── (\ /) ─────

You really underestimated how much it would suck to stay hidden in a vent for hours.

First, you were freezing ; the vent kept blowing cold air on you every fifteen minutes. You ended up tucking your arms and legs under your chest when the air was turned on. If you were going to come back a second night, next time you’d bring a jacket. Second, it was extremely uncomfortable and your legs, no matter which way you tried to relax, were growing achy against the hard metal. Third, the boredom was numbing.

Nobody wanted to go anywhere near the rotted Bonnie animatronic, so your peace of mind led you to scrolling on your phone to pass the time, but even that grew tiresome after a while. If you weren’t so uncomfortable, you might’ve been able to fall asleep. But you were uncomfortable, and that led you to listening to music in one ear with your head down against the vent’s metallic floor.

Hour by hour passed and the commotion of people working started to die down. Talking diminished, busy rushing turned into casual walking, and groups of five or six were reduced to one or two. You turned off your music as the time approached eleven, trying to listen closely for people leaving.

Closer to 11:45 (much later than what you hoped), the busy attraction had diminished to dead-silence. At the sound and shake of a pair of footsteps, you peaked through the slim openings of the vent grate, light painting your face in thin lines.

A voice gradually became comprehensible, “...na be here in about ten to fifteen... Yeah-yeah, I know...” For a brief moment, you saw someone in a security uniform pass the area you were in. “I’ll just lock the front and be headed towar...” The voice began to fade out of understanding. He must’ve been talking on the phone.

The attraction was still. The silence was overwhelming.

Unable to take the vent any longer, you pushed the vent’s cover open and stumbled out. If there was another security guard, they definitely would have heard it, but you were too sick of the vent to care at that moment.

Your legs felt both great and awful stretching them. You groaned as you stretched your arms, popping your back and neck in a few places. You put the vent grate back.

The building’s lighting was dimmed now that it was night, and if you didn’t crack some great conspiracy before the place opened, you think it would’ve been smart to keep the lighting at that dim setting when the place opened. It was much more terrifying when the fake grunge and artificial grime was obscured in shadow. Much more haunting.

Much much more haunting...

You suppressed a shiver. The rotted Bonnie hadn’t moved, but you couldn’t stop thinking about what the man who showed you around said—that nobody had seen the thing move, but it would appear in different places at times. What did he say those suits were attracted to? Children's sounds? You held onto that thought with an iron grip.

Nothing moved to arrest or murder you, so you pulled a flashlight out of your bag and turned it on. “Looks like it’s just me and you tonight, Bonnie.” You said absently, and the conversation with the admittedly terrifying animatronic did seem to ease your anxiety. “At least until the guard shows up.”

You only had about five to ten minutes to search the office or anything else you might need before the night guard showed up. Maybe you could make something up about being a dayshift worker and talk to the guard about the night shift, but you would have to cross that bridge when you get there.

Your quickly paced steps pitter-pattered in an echo throughout the empty halls. The retro arcade games flickered with an unnatural light, too blue for the sickly green luminosity of the rest of the building. The tiled floor and walls gave you the impression of being trapped, and the loose wires and lighting structures hanging down from above you on the ceiling put a stone in your throat. Your flashlight illuminated a disassembled Bonnie torso, one that was corny with company but now held a lifeless eeriness to it.

You shook away your apprehension, tempering your fear with determination. You were here with a purpose, and the crafted horror of the place wouldn’t stall you.

When you slipped into the office, passing the flickering red light of the large EXIT sign, you started looking for the overhead light only to realize it was already on, just dulled like the rest of the building.

You began shuffling through the trash and papers scattered in the desk, knocking over a tiny toy Chica. You opened the big drawers of the desk, revealing unorganized files and toy-animatronic shells. Skimming the files showed them to be useless and even unnecessary for the company. You slammed the desk door shut before turning to the camera. You stared at it intently, your eyes scanning for any signs of abnormality, but everything just looked like it did when you explored it that day.

You let out a frustrated huff. You don’t know what you expected to find. A clue maybe. Proof of foul play. Evidence of your best friend not clocking out, but the attractions records were so disorganized you were surprised they knew enough to pay their employees. Anything.

You kicked the desk in your frustration.

THUNK.

You peered over the desk. Something just fell from behind the furniture. You circled around it, before placing your hands on the desk and pushing it with more than a little effort.

KA THUNK.

A phone, completely shattered and dead—but also completely familiar, clacked onto the floor. You picked it up. It was your best friend's phone.

Your mind reeled with possibilities. Was this where they disappeared? Was this where they called you? Were you the last person they ever called? You couldn’t fathom them just leaving their phone behind the desk, even if it was shattered. They would have grabbed it. Unless something happened to make them leave it behind.

White noise brought your attention to the security monitor. You pocketed the phone and leaned close to the screen. It was on CAM 10, the camera on the exit farthest from you, you were sure. Did something flash across it? You couldn’t tell, it could’ve been more static... Or it could’ve been something shiny reflecting light.

You flicked through the cameras one at a time. Everything seemed normal, nothing new to the place and nothing out of place. You flicked through them again once more, just to be sure, until you came to a realization. A horrible horrible realization.

Where was the rotted Bonnie animatronic?

Your throat went dry. You quickly swapped through the cameras, looking for it. Was it ever on the footage in the first place? The animatronic was off your mind, but if you had seen it on camera you were sure you would’ve noticed it. Did it move, or was it out of sight of the cameras before? You didn’t think so, but you couldn’t be sure.

You tried to reassure yourself by looking at the situation logically. Even if it did move, it probably just marched to its coding to where a birthday party might be or to one of the other animatronic shells. If it was near you, you’d be able to hear it by its heavy footsteps or at least be able to recognize its smell. Its smell you were somewhat used to.

You grabbed your flashlight. You didn’t have much time left anyway before the night shift guard showed up, maybe now was the time to leave. You would have to consider talking to the guard another night, a night after you charge your best friend's phone to see if there were any calls or clues that could tell you about the night they disappeared.

You pushed against the door with the big red EXIT sign. It didn’t budge.

You hammered your shoulder against it just in case. It still didn’t budge.

Did the day shift guard say they locked the front entrance or the back? You didn’t know, you couldn’t remember right.

You slowed your breathing. It wasn’t a big deal. You had already done it by daylight, there was nothing different about walking through the attraction at night. The place was made to scare people, what you were feeling was reasonable and sound, but there was nothing to be afraid of.

There’s nothing to be afraid of, you repeated to yourself in your mind as you marched forward through the building’s halls. There’s nothing to be afraid of.

There’s nothing to be afraid of . You passed the hall where stars dangled from the ceiling.

There’s nothing to be afraid of. You ignored the flickering buzz of the arcade games.

There’s nothing to be afraid of. You willed yourself not to look where the rotted Bonnie should’ve been.

There’s nothing to be —

Just as you extended a hand toward the door to the entrance—the red light a beacon from heaven and twice as relieving—you stopped. You hadn’t looked at the entrance too closely when you were investigating. You knelt down and picked up a torn wristband. Even in the ambient red lighting, you recognized this design.

It was your best friend’s wristwatch.

A putrid smell, invasive and wrong, awoke you from your stupor. You knew that smell.

Your head shot up. You went rigid as stone.

The rotted Bonnie animatronic stood at the end of the hall.

Your core went cold. Your breath grew erratic. You willed yourself not to make a sound. You’d been told it reacted to noises, but something was terribly wrong. More wrong than an animatronic’s faulty code. You knew it deep in your core. You knew it in those robotic eyes trained on you. You knew it in your racing heart, its pumping louder than the fluorescent lights.

It tilted its head. Your breath hitched. Nobody had seen it move before. Nobody who wasn’t missing.

It took a step forward. You took a step back. It took another step. So did you.

Your hand grazed the exit’s handle. The animatronic’s eyes looked at your hand and then back to you. It, in a motion that was too sentient, nodded to the door. Daring you to try it. In a lapse of judgment, you did.

You slammed your full weight on the door, ramming against the metal bar, and you swore when it didn’t budge. In a flash, you dove to the floor just as the monster lunged for you. You scrambled to your feet and into a sprint. You wouldn’t dare look behind you.

Your shoes pounded against the tiled floor, decorations and boxes passing you in a blur. You stumbled over a pile of gifts, but you forced yourself forward in your fall. You braced yourself with your forearms, before throwing a glance behind you. It hadn’t reached you yet. You quickly scanned the room, looking for any place you could hide. There were more boxes, the arcade games, and another hallway. You wedged yourself behind one of the arcade games and placed your hand over your mouth.

You tried to quiet your breathing. Adrenaline raced through your veins.

KA-CHNKK. KA-CHNKK. KA-CHNKK.

Its footsteps were slow. Loud. Deliberate.

Your brow furrowed as you came to a realization. It wanted you to hear it coming. It wanted you scared. How could that be possible? How was any of this nightmare possible?

You winced as a shrill screech, the sound of metal scratching metal, struck your ears and made them ring. It was getting closer to you.

KA-CHNKK. KA-CHNKK... KA-...CHNKK...

You held your breath now. You ignored your burning lungs. Sweat dropped down your cheek. Or were those tears?

You flinched when a loud SLAM! came from the arcade game furthest from you.

Your heart rate was frenzied in a racing badumpbadumpbadumpbadump . Maybe it already knew where you were. Maybe it was drawing your fear out on purpose.

SLAM! went the next arcade box.

Your eyes scanned around you frantically. There was only one more arcade game before you. You wouldn’t go without a fight. You couldn’t ! You never got to find out what happened to your best friend! You never got to see if they—!

SLAM!

This was it. Your last chance. You wrapped your hands around a pipe in the wall and braced yourself to rip it off. You didn’t know if you had the strength to do it or if hitting the animatronic would even do anything, but you had to do something. You had to do something.

There was a long pause. One you felt was purposeful. One that did exactly what it intended. You were hyperventilating. Every second that crawled by was hell. You heard the monster’s claw scratch along the arcade’s screen.

And then, a miracle happened.

“ Hi.” A child’s voice. No, that wasn’t a real child, but an audio of some sort. “ Hello?”

There was silence. Stillness. And then, it was quiet but you knew the animatronic was gone. You breathed again, gulping up air that you so desperately needed. You swallowed a quiet sob. You had to get out of there before the monster returned.

You peeked past the arcade games. The room was empty. You quickly swabbed your tears away with your palm and pushed up to your feet, your legs trembling beneath you. You took a few tentative steps at first, unable to tear your eyes from where the animatronic left. Then a few tentative steps turned into a quiet jog, then a quiet jog to a reckless sprint. You dashed without caution past the disassembled Bonnie torso and down the hall, the horror of the attraction blurring with your tears and rush. When you reached the window to the office, you stopped in both relief and surprise. You were so relieved you let out a breathless laugh.

The security guard was here.

You collapsed into the doorframe, your breath in heavy pants. You didn’t realize how much your throat and heart burned from exhaustion. You swallowed dry. “Oh, thank god! ” You said in between weighted breaths. “I thought I was—”

You retched . It was a good thing you hadn’t eaten anything, because you would’ve puked. A thick, putrid scent hit you like a wall. A wall made of mold and bile and rot and everything you would not want to find dumpster diving. And if the layers of curdle and decay weren’t foul enough, there was something sweet under it all. Something like spoiled ice cream or cake that’s been left out a few decades too long.

You held your wrist to your nose, your other arm supporting you against the doorframe. “What is that—?!”

“ Sssh!” The security guard shushed you abruptly, putting a gloved finger to their lips, and you were stunned into silence. You didn’t see his face, only his unkempt brown hair under a security hat, because his attention was fully on the cameras, swapping through them carefully.

You swallowed again as your breath was catching up to you. You took a big gulp of air and then walked into the office. Whatever died in there was worth tolerating if it meant safety from the rotted animatronic (who somehow smelled better than the room).

The security guard seemed to relax, as he said in a whisper, “There. We should be safe for now...” He turned to the control panel and your breath, despite the smell, hitched.

Eyes so sallowed, they were pitch black . Flesh deeply gaunt in places you could see bone . Hands not gloved, but purple in their rot and spoil. The guard was no guard; he was a walking corpse .

You stumbled back. His eyes, if you could call them that, widened. He held up his hands, “Don’t freak out!” He whispered, harshly.

You grabbed a crowbar next to you, your knuckles paling in your tight grip. You swung with all of your strength down at him, but the corpse bolted out of the chair, slamming loudly against the desk.

“Stop! Stop! He’s gonna-!”

All that fire you built up from hiding behind the arcade box fueled your hands and you only saw red. The corpse cursed under his breath before he ducked to the floor right as you whipped at the air above him.

“ Shit! Just listen to me-!”

You stopped with your crowbar midair. But it wasn’t because of the corpse whisper-yelling at you to.

It was because of the animatronic standing right outside the office window.

Your fire was extinguished and you felt cold again. It wasn’t moving. It was just standing there . Staring at you with half-lidded eyes that were too human and too hungry. As if it was waiting for you to make a move. You swallowed and it felt like sandpaper down your throat. You very gradually lowered your crowbar. You couldn’t look away from it.

The corpse, even being unable to see the thing, must’ve read your expression, “Listen to me very carefully .” He whispered to you.

In that moment, you didn’t care if he was a zombie, you’d do exactly as he said.

“Pull up Cam 2,” He said, and his whispers were salt on your tongue. “ Slowly. Keep your eyes on him.”

You did as the corpse directed. The animatronic’s eyes were locked onto yours, and you wouldn’t look away if the apocalypse happened behind you. Moving your hand blindly to click on the control panel, you watched the animatronic’s eyes slowly glide down your arm and to the panel, before clicking back up to your eyes. Why did it feel like a predator? It was too unnatural, too manufactured in its movement to give you the impression of an animal stalking its prey. And yet, you knew you were being hunted, methodically. You tasted iron in your mouth, and you realized you bit your lip too hard.

“ Good, ” The corpse whispered, who—despite directing you—you almost forgot was there. “Now click the audio file.”

You fumbled blindly for the audio file.

The animatronic slowly raised its hand. For a confusing moment, you thought it was waving at you. Then, you noticed what was in its hand.

Your best friend’s phone.

The fire returned to your stomach. “That’s mine.” You said, and it was barely above a whisper at first.

The corpse swallowed, audibly, “ Click the audio file. ”

You could’ve sworn the thing’s grin widened.

“That’s mine! ” Your hands slammed so hard on the desk, your palms went numb. You and the animatronic didn’t flinch, but the corpse below you did. “Did you take them?!” The words hissed through your teeth.

The animatronic slowly put its hand holding your best friend's phone behind its back, and you felt your blood boil.

“ Click the-!”

“Did you kill them?!”

Suddenly, everyone moved at once. You broke eye contact first, your hand grasping for the crowbar. The animatronic lunged for the window, its palm slamming a spider web’s crack into the glass. The corpse shot up to his knees and swiped at the control panel.

A child’s laughter, one all too familiar and artificial, stilled the three of you. The same laughter from your voicemail.

Suddenly, the animatronic’s eyes weren’t human. You watched with heavy breath as the animatronic turned—all robotic and all coding—and stalked away from you. Taking your one clue with it.

You dropped the crowbar. It clanged against the floor.

The corpse seemed completely focused on the cameras, clicking and swiping and selecting, as he sat back into his swivel seat. You slid to the floor against the desk.

Suddenly, a second control panel was shoved into your hands, “Reboot the audio.” The corpse still spoke in a whisper.

You looked at it, shaken.

“ Now! ”

Startled, you did as you were told, taping on the device. It slowly started to blink, and when it finished, the corpse next to you relaxed his shoulders, continually clicking and swiping and selecting and swiping again, undead eyes flitting from camera to camera. The corpse didn’t need to order you into action when you saw the ventilation needed rebooting; you began the upkeep all on your own. With heavy questions weighing on your heart, the embers of your adrenaline and rage waned in your blood until it was nothing but ash and exhaustion.

20 notes · View notes

superstar-nan · 5 months

Text

Fight Tooth and Nail: Ch 1

Summary: Your best friend goes missing after working a shift as an overnight security guard for the upcoming horror attraction Fazbear's Fright. You masquerade as a journalist to investigate their disappearance and find yourself with more questions. Questions that only a murderous animatronic intent on killing you has answers to.

Words: 3,586

Fun stuff: Springtrap/Reader/Michael, gender neutral reader, cannon typical violence, vv slow burn and romance is more implied kinda?? I'm very aromantic and the characters have complex relationships. william and michael are very much corpses and very much gross. Uploaded from my Ao3.

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Your eyes flitted from the hastily scrawled note in your hand to the crumbling building in front of you. You knew it was supposed to look rundown to add to the scare-factor, but even from the back Fazbear’s Fright seemed more likely to receive several health code violations over screams. Maybe it was the broad daylight, or maybe it was the metal beam that collapsed in front of you right at that moment, but you couldn’t imagine the horror attraction gaining as much attention as the newspaper clipping led you to believe.

You hesitantly opened the back door, praying another metal beam wouldn’t collapse on top of you. It was unlocked, just as the man on the phone said it would be.

“Hello?” You said, before reeling back into the fresh air outside. The stench coming from inside wafted in a plume of rotten eggs and sweat. You gagged, taking in a couple gulps of fresh air, and then steeled yourself as you entered the building. The door shut with an uncharacteristic soft click behind you.

“Hello?” You called out again. You blinked a few times, trying to adjust your eyes to the dark interior.

“Over here!” A hand waved out of a room to your right with a dim, ghastly yellow-green light spilling from its doorway.

You walked into the room; an office filled with grime (possibly decorational), loose wires (hopefully decorational), and trash (definitely not decorational). A young man with a nonchalant grin swiveled on his chair to face you. He said your name and you nodded.

“Awesome,” He held out his hand in a wide, informal handshake, which you returned. His grip was loose and a bit sweaty. “I was the guy on the phone.”

“Oh,” You said as you distractedly looked around the office. There were big boxes filled with Fazbear Entertainment merchandise along with character posters plastered on the walls. “It’s nice to meet you in person.”

“For sure, for sure,” He started clicking through security footage, drawing your attention.

You noticed there were quite a bit of people throughout the building, all splattering blood stains or grimming-up corners to make the attraction just a touch more spooky. You bit your lower lip. Would any of them be willing to reveal some information to you, or would they keep you from investigating anything useful?

“Welp,” He clapped his knees and stood up, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Why don’t I show you around? You can get the gist of all the best scares of the place for... uh, who’d you say you write for again?”

“Scary Attractions Monthly,” You said, taking out a pen and notebook. It was a fake name for... something. Maybe a magazine or blog. You didn’t put too much thought in it and apparently neither did he.

No, you weren’t here to write a glowing article on a mediocre, somewhat distasteful, and very unsanitary hazard of a horror attraction like you said you were.

You were here because of a call. A call you received at four in the morning. A call you didn’t pick up, but you wished you did.

“Right, that,” He said in a way that told you he was going to forget it again. “Well, you’re gonna love the place, we found some real legit relics!”

You just hummed as you followed him out of the room.

“The attraction opens in like a week, so everyone’s been working extra hard to make sure everything works, and nothing catches on fire.” He stopped in front of a disassembled torso of Freddy. “Uh, not that anything would, that was, uh, “off-the-record” .”

“Right.” You said, pretending to cross something out.

“Yeah, so when the place opens, people will come in at the opposite end of the building, and work their way towards where you came in; that’s the exit. We’ve got some totally vintage relics, man. Like this foxy head, super authentic.”

You squinted at it.

“Like, it’s not a crappy cosplay for sure .”

That made you think it was a crappy cosplay.

“But it’s not just these totally authentic pieces that make the place, the whole place is rigged super vintage.”

You stepped to the side as two employees rushed past you, holding a heavy box of miscellaneous mechanical parts, “What do you mean?” You asked.

“Like, the whole place is built like it’s 1987, just like from the missing kids stuff,” It felt a little insensitive to refer to that tragedy as the ‘missing kid stuff’ . “The ventilation, the electronics, even the cameras and stuff, all for that authenticity.”

You swallowed, “So there’s no security footage?”

“Nah, but we’ve got a guard on around-the-clock, even overnight, so it’s perfectly safe.” You already knew that. Your best friend was an overnight security guard.

Suddenly, a pipe burst, spewing some white, cloudy vapor rapidly at an employee who was struggling to get the pipe under control.

“And is the ventilation perfectly safe?” You asked.

“Heheh,” he started to sweat. “Basically, I mean. He’s probably fine. Here,” He turned you around to a different hallway, “Let’s go this way, you gotta see the coolest part of the attraction.”

You followed him to an area with no one present. It was an odd feeling going from a busy part of the attraction to this place of complete emptiness, and you finally found the creeping horror of the attraction. With the molding tiled floor that was once bright, the low-ambient lighting flickering on-and-off, and the decades-old child’s drawings interspersed on the walls, the place really felt haunted.

Then, the smell of rot and decay hit your nose in a crashing wave. You held your nose and gagged. It was worse than when you walked into the attraction, and then you knew why this area was so empty.

“You gotta get that pen out because you’re not gonna believe this,” He said. “We got one, a real one!” He looked back at you gagging and coughing. “Oh. Yeah, the smell is, like intense , but you get used to it quick.”

“What do you mean...?” Your sentence was lost on you as your entire focus was drawn to figure in the corner.

A very large figure in the corner. A rotten bunny animatronic that towered in the shadows.

Chills danced up your spine in your visceral fear. You were stalled by some animal instinct you didn’t know you had.

It was large and lumbering and fully intact—ruined and soiled with time. It had to have been nearly seven feet tall, even as it stood motionless in its hunch. It looked almost half a century old, and even in its decayed state you could still see the design of what it once was: a golden Bonnie suit now corrupted a dingy green by age and rot.

Your heart beat slowed when you realized it wasn’t moving. It was just an animatronic; part of the attraction. Even as you followed your guide towards it, its eyes flashed with reflected light in a way that was perfectly terrifying. This really was a great find for the attraction.

“So cool, isn’t it?” He said, knocking on the animatronic’s mildewy chest, and though logically you knew that wasn’t dangerous, you couldn’t help the drop in your gut as he touched the thing. “It’s like it was made for this place.”

“No kidding.” You said, and you meant it. Honestly, that animatronic might’ve been the scariest thing you had ever seen, let alone the scariest part of the attraction. You dared to take a few steps closer to it. You weren’t able to pull your eyes away from it, almost as if you did it would lunge at you.

Its eyes looked too human. You wanted to throw up.

“Yeah, so spooky.” He also was transfixed, but not for as long as you were. “You wouldn’t believe how long it took to find it! We found some vintage audio training cassettes with it. We’ll probably have them playing, like over the speakers while people walk through the attraction. It’ll make the place feel legit .”

The cassettes didn’t even cross your mind, “Does it still work?”

“Uh, yeah, probably.”

You were finally able to pull your eyes away from the rotted Bonnie. “Probably?”

“Well, I’ve never seen it move, and no one else has either, but nobody moves it and sometimes it’s not in the same place so probably. The cassettes mention something about the suits following kid noises, but I haven’t seen that either. And uh, we’ve got a guard checking the cameras all the time, so it's not dangerous.”

He said that so nonchalantly you were baffled, “Are you sure about that? Didn’t somebody get bitten by one of these things years ago?”

He started to sweat, “Oh ye-yeah, that’s something uh, we’re working on this week. We’re grabbing a mechanic or... There’s a week until the place opens so, you know.” He trailed.

Your face blanked. Well, it wasn’t any of your business how dangerous these things were anyway. You were only here for one reason. “Right,” Your eyes wandered back to the animatronic.

Your heart dropped. You held your breath.

Its eyes were looking at you. Eyes that were too human.

It wasn’t looking at you before, was it? You would have certainly remembered it looking at you. You swallowed as you took a step out of its sight. Its eyes didn’t follow you. You must’ve imagined it.

Turning away from the rotted Bonnie, you put your pen to your notebook, “Having overnight guards is a good safety precaution.” You said, and his shoulders visibly relaxed when you said it. “And it’s pretty authentic to the original Pizzeria.”

“Oh, for sure, for sure,” He said. “That’s what we’re trying for, authenticity and all. Plus, they’ll also be a part of the show to really get that feel of a pizzeria!”

“The place hasn’t opened yet, but do your guards run into any trouble at night?”

“Nah, or at least I don’t think so.”

His nonchalance irked you, “You don’t think so?”

“Well, nobody’s mentioned anything to me yet, so.”

“Hmm.” You tapped your pen on your notebook before setting it back down, “I heard a rumor that one of your night guards disappeared on the job, is that true?”

“What?” He started to look nervous again, though whether it was from the pressure of saying the wrong thing or the guilt of having done something wrong, you didn’t know. “Oh uh, I don’t really know anything about that, where did you hear that?”

“Somewhere online.” You said, casually.

“Well, it’s not true, somebody would’ve said something or—”

“But if there’s only one person on the night shift, how would somebody be able to say something?”

A click was heard behind you. Almost like the sound of a gear. Both you and the man you were talking to turned toward the rotted Bonnie suit. It didn’t move, or at least it didn’t look like it moved. It was still. That didn’t matter. You and the man you were with were deadly silent for a few moments.

“We should, uh, we should talk in the office, right?” He said, and it wasn’t a balm that he was anxious as well.

“Yes, that’s a good idea.”

The two of you left the area with the animatronic, and you felt the air around you lighten. It seemed he was right when he said you’d get used to that rotted smell, because you didn’t notice how much it was a relief to get away from that thing.

“Anyway,” He said as the two of you walked. “I don’t know anything about a night guard disappearing. Yeah, a night guard quit suddenly without any notice a few nights ago.” The two of you ducked as a vent dropped nearly on top of you, barely being stopped by two employees who grabbed it just in time. It didn’t slow either of your gaits, “And yeah, this is not the first time that’s happened and is eerily similar to events that happened thirty years ago. But there’s always a bad string of luck before grand openings, typical exciting attraction stuff. So...” The two of you slipped into the office as a group of employees brought in a string of large boxes, “Probably don’t mention any of the rumor stuff in the article.”

You eyed him head to toe as he sat in the office chair. He was sweating a little under your scrutiny. He wouldn’t give you anything if you antagonized him, so you smiled and he relaxed, “Of course, it’s typical. Especially for haunted attractions.”

“Heheh, yeah, ‘course,” He swallowed and sniffed. “Well, uh, what other questions can I answer?”

“Tell me a bit about the security guards' role in the show.”

He leaned back slightly in his chair, “Oh yeah well, this is where they will be, in this office. When the place opens, people will come in where I told you before, and work their towards this office, and pass them, and out the exit.”

You wondered if your faux-enthusiasm was believable enough, because it felt as stiff as the disassembled animatronic pieces, “Oh, very cool.”

“Yeah! Just like a real security guard from a pizzeria.” He said, “Or well, they are real security guards, but you get what I mean.”

“Absolutely,” You said. “Can I see the cameras? They’ve got such a neat 80s vibe to them.”

“Oh yeah, for sure,” He rolled his chair over so you could look over his shoulder. “I just click the camera here and... one sec.” He pulled an old panel with a few technical reboot options on it, before clicking one. You leaned your arms on the back of his chair as you watched the cameras fizzle from white static to a poor resolution of video footage. “There,” He said. “Pretty legit, huh?”

“Very legit.” You paid very close attention as he flitted through the different cameras, or rather what the cameras didn’t catch.

“Yeah, in trying to make the place feel more vintage we have overdone it a bit, heh heh. Some of this equipment is barely functional!” His eyes widened slightly as he held up his hands, “But still functional, of course.”

“Of course,” You said. “Well, I thought I might take some more notes on the attractions and then I can let myself out in the front?”

“All the way to the other end of the building? Sure, if you want.”

“Thanks,” You held out your hand. “It was great meeting you.”

He smiled and shook your hand, and you almost felt bad for lying to him. He was just a guy excited about horror attractions doing his job. Even if he was brushing the dangers of this place under the rug; brushing your best friend's disappearance under the rug... No, nevermind. You didn’t feel even a little bad.

“It was awesome meeting you too,” He said. “Can’t wait to read about us in...” He forgot your fake journalism blog/magazine/whatever. “A few days or whenever you get around to writing it.” What a save.

You threw him one last smile before making your way through the busy preparations. You pretended to take a few notes, gave your best impression of someone interested in an empty Chica head, and attempted to talk to a few employees. Talking to the people who were working was more fruitless than you hoped. They either were too busy to talk to you or were skirting around certain subjects like the man who’d shown you around had. You attempted to find real evidence and real clues as well, but that was just as fruitless. Fake blood and artificial claw marks fooled you every time and you had to pass it off as admiration and journalism.

No, if you wanted to know what really happened, you would have to get into that office. Look at it more closely and see if there were any traces or clues left by them. Or even if you could take a look at the cameras more closely, see if a bird’s-eye-view gave perspective. You could only hope that maybe there would be an hour between the day shift and the night shift that you could look around and do some real investigating.

First, you needed to find a good place to hide. Somewhere the cameras couldn’t see, but employees wouldn’t spot you either. From what you saw, the cameras even extended to the vents, which was insane to you. However, not all of the vents were monitored. In your mind, you imagined some big locker or box you could hide in, but there was nothing like that, so the vents would have to do.

Your stomach dropped. Hiding in the vents also meant you couldn’t be seen tampering with them, which meant you had to go to the area with the least amount of people. You rubbed your eyes. You were an adult. You shouldn’t have been so hesitant to be around what was basically a giant toy, a decoration. A nearly seven foot, moldy, possibly dangerous decoration that could crush you just by falling on you. You swallowed.

Steeling yourself, you walked toward the area with the rotted Bonnie.

There it was. Unmoved in a way that mocked your fear. Just as horrible to smell (was it really that ruined by mildew? Did someone stuff food in there? Did some poor animal die in there?), but you were getting used to it quickly. After a quick moment of choking.

You wondered briefly what it must’ve looked like on stage, alive with music and light, warm in color and a delight to children. That must’ve been such an exciting thing thirty or forty years ago. Now it wasn’t even a shell of what it once was, it was a perversion. Twisted and moldy in such a way that its wires looked like guts and its endoskeleton was dulled like bone. Its smile that must’ve been cheery at one point now looked like a permanent, malicious grin. Its eyes—ever too human for your liking—and teeth were nearly the same dingy color of its mildewy fur. You realized this Bonnie was missing his bowtie, and that made you sad for some reason.

You cursed under your breath, “What happened to you?”

You hadn’t realized how close you had gotten to the rotted Bonnie. Not unlike the sickening smell that you had adjusted to, you seemed to have adapted to the initial fear the animatronic instilled in you. Suddenly in a morbid curiosity, you were wanting to poke and prod at it; to test how rusted its joints must’ve been or to try peeking for rot inside. You shook your head of the impulse.

You turned your head to look at the way you came. There wasn’t anybody passing by just yet. You looked at the camera, which didn’t seem focused but you couldn’t be sure. Lastly, you looked at the vent against the wall.

In an effort to alleviate the tension beating against your chest—caused by a fear of getting caught, a fear of not finding anything, and a fear of the rotted Bonnie themself—you threw the animatronic a wink and said, “Keep an eye out for me, will you?”

You hurried to the vent, throwing a cautious glance behind you. You knelt in front of it, fully prepared to use a piece of shrapnel you found to undo its screws. However, you found the screws had already been pulled loose, interestingly enough. You briefly wondered who could have the strength for that as you quietly shifted the vent open and slipped in, gently and silently putting the vent back.

You laid there on your stomach for a few moments as your exhilaration began to calm down. You hoped this place’s ventilation system wasn’t so “vintage” and “legit” that you’d suffocate or get some noxious gas spewed into your lungs.

As your heartbeat fell slower and slower, you cast your eyes downward. You had a long evening of waiting ahead of you. You shuffled quietly until you could get a hold of an earbud in your pocket. You took it out along with your phone, putting the earbud in your ear. You tapped on your most recent voice messages.

Maybe you’d be able to recognize something in the voice message... or maybe you just wanted to remember why you were doing all of this.

You tapped on your phone until their voice message began playing in your ear.

Silence.

Shuffling.

Heavy, muffled breathing.

More silence.

Your name in a shaken whisper.

“...Come...” Their voice was hushed so so quiet. “...Come to...”

A child’s laughter, not quite right.

“...Hurry...I-”

The sound of the phone dropping.

-Click-

Your finger hovered over the option to play the message again. Your best friend was working at Fazbear’s Frights the night you got that message. They were supposed to meet you the morning after. They didn’t. After giving the message to the police, Fazbear Entertainment reported that your best friend had clocked-out at 6AM that morning and that there was no incident during their shift. You didn’t buy it. Whether there was some big corporate conspiracy, or whether something happened and Fazbear Entertainment just didn’t want to delay the attraction’s opening, you didn’t know. But a body hadn’t been found and that was something . Something to hold on to.

You would get to the bottom of it.

You rested your head on your arm as you played the message again.

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