Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Freddy Fazbear Pizzaplex was hiring, and you scored the job by taking a couple of online surveys and a video-call interview that lasted for maybe ten minutes before they asked your size in uniform, asked to come in Monday in plain clothes for a tour, then Tuesday as your official starting date.

Today was Monday, and you’re standing at the front doors and starting to wonder if you might risk hating it here.

It’s not the pay and you doubt it’s going to be the coworkers, given that most of the staff was replaced by automations and what little human staff did remain held rumors that they kept to themselves. Most human employees did the things that robots couldn’t do; customer service, building maintenance and repairs, troubleshooting sound systems, and other fine-tuned or messy work that is either impossible for an automation to do, or dangerous. Besides, some folks get a little creeped out being surrounded by robots with no living worker in sight, so it wasn’t unusual for the ticket busser to be a pimply kid who’s working a summer job.

Yours will be…something like that. The pay is $30 an hour with benefits. That’s not something you can afford to pass up on. You could deal with the snotty kids and overbearing parents if it meant rent was paid and you could chip away at your student loan debt.

The only catch is that you may be doing a little bit of everything. By 'a little', it’s pretty much all of it. From janitorial work to stocking kitchen shelves to refilling paper in the play passes machines; if there was a job you were capable of doing, you were expected to complete it. Did you qualify for a lot of the more advanced work? No, of course not. But the company can’t afford to have their best mechanics busy plugging something back up that fell out of a wall outlet, so that leaves the meager repairs to you along with some occasional manual labor. Robots couldn’t pass the human verification captchas on most of the equipment’s computers anyways

So you are staff. Simply: Staff. The ‘jack-of-all-trades’ employee with mediocre at best skills and specialty in none. Starting today. Well, technically tomorrow.

You’re starting to think for the pay and work the opportunity is almost too good to be true until you walk inside, and the entire place is buzzing with action. Immediately, there are children screaming, some of joy and others of a tantrum, while parents are consoling them. Some teenagers are goofing off in the distance, mocking some janitorial bot that rolls by. The whole place is neon-lit, bright colors against a darkened atmosphere, and you understand now why Fazbear Entertainment preferred to keep the inside of their pizzaplex dim even when it was the middle of the afternoon.

No one greets you, which is strange considering you were requested to arrive at this specific time and place. You stand awkwardly in your spot for a moment taking in the scenery, briefly entertaining the idea that maybe they didn’t hire you, and just forgot to send you a good ole fashioned e-mail of rejection when a staff bot rolls to the front of you. It stops a few feet away, and the two of you lock eyes.

Its oddly painted face starts to creep you out after a moment of silence. “…Hello-?”

“Take a map.” It thrusts something towards you. A paper baggie, neatly rolled with a Freddy sticker on the front. Its eyes seem very focused, repeating it’s phrase. “Take a map. Take a map. Please, take a map.”

Creepy thing. You hold out your hand for it and it drops it into your palm, looking closer inside. Your shirt uniform, a map, (obviously), a small key, and a tiny rectangular pin with your name printed on it. Oh goodie, it recognized you as an employee already. You’re not going to question how it already had your information in the database so quickly and the dystopian implications of it. “Thanks?”

The staff bot straightens and assumes a posture of theatre. “Thank you! Welcome to Fazbear Entertainment, home of Freddy Fazbear and his friends. Here we serve award-winning pizza, music, and various entertainment in a safe fashion for kids of all ages along with relaxing and engaging activities for entire families. Are you ready to be a part of the Fazbear family?”

You look behind it towards the entrance. There are bots standing at attention while a couple of teenagers are busy punching holes into kids’ passes. Past the security bars was a grand statue of Freddy Fazbear himself, along with some other grandiose decorations. Gift shops were situated to the sides, logical spots to wring more money out of families as they’re coming and going. You look towards the closest one. Perhaps there’s a clerk or someone in there that can point you to-

“Are you ready to be a part of the Fazbear family?” The staff bot repeats itself. It rolls forward a few inches. “Are you ready to be a part of the Fazbear family?”

Oh, it’s still talking to you. “Uh, yeah.” It continues staring at you for a moment. It’s strange, so you try to put a little bit more excitement in your voice. “Totally ready. Siked to be here. You know, working. Here. At my job. Yeah.”

A couple of parents are looking over in your direction with a mixture of expressions between pity and bewilderment. You’re considering just walking away when it rolls back, turns to the side, and gestures for you to follow. It speaks in an automated voice. “Here at Fazbear Entertainment, we strive to be the best in customer satisfaction and employee safety. You should have received an email about company policies regarding dress code, code of conduct, emergency procedures, information about PTO, and other employee concerning relevant information. Follow me, I will give you a tour-”

Ah, so they sent a robot to give you a tour and brief you before your first actual day. Not a human person. Got it.

Looking towards what little human employees there were doesn't help, they don’t even seem to notice your presence. Turning back to the staff bot, you realize it’s several paces ahead of you and moving onwards without any indication that it knows you’re being left behind, so you’re forced to do an awkward jog to catch up, following it further into the pizzaplex.

Overall, the place was pretty freaking cool.

This was, for certain, a kid’s dream wonderland of neon lights, greasy food, and overpriced plushies of animatronic characters. There wasn’t anything like this when you were younger. Well, there was, but it couldn’t live up to the absolute magnitude of this place. It was huge, and you’re not even halfway done with the tour yet, much less gone through all the employee-only spaces that you’re certain you’re going to have to utilize if you wanted to navigate this maze effectively. Not to mention you couldn’t imagine the amount of electricity this building uses. The arcade section must be racking up thousands of utility bills by itself.

Nevermind that there were spaces that were damaged just out in the open. The stage play area had crashed floorboards. The neon lights in the maze area were flickering and you don’t even question it when the bot rolls right by Monty’s room. The signs and closed curtains speak for themselves, but you still notice the small cracks in the glass. It was obvious they installed some pretty heavy-duty glass to handle strong impacts, always to prevent kids and other troublemakers from bursting into the animatronics room without the proper permissions. But as you walk away, you note claw marks near Monty’s room’s entrance door, scraped around the doorframe, and start to wonder differently.

No wonder this job came with such good pay. There was so much here that could go wrong, small gears in a bigger machine that higher-ups needed a scapegoat to toss the responsibility onto. Some of the meager tasks you were expected to fix didn’t come with failsafe or safety nets. Which...may explain the amount of waivers you had to sign on your digital employee contract, not like you actually read through them anyways.

It’s easy to tune out the staff bot eventually, letting it ramble as you followed it through hallways, room to room, and attraction to attraction. Occasionally it will stop, gesturing to the attraction or room or whatever location it’s moped you to and go on an edited spiel about Fazbear’s history and its goal to make this the happiest place on the planet before it gets to the point and explains it’s function. You almost envy its rollers when your legs were starting to hurt.

Okay, actually, your legs were really starting to hurt. You needed to take a break for a moment, maybe stand or sit in one spot and process all the new information you’re being bombarded with.

You stop walking for a moment, and instead of saying anything, you just watch the staff bot out of curiosity as it keeps moving forwards without you. Its stream of talking never ends and it gets further and further until it turns a direction and you lose it behind a wall. Ah, well. You had a map. You could probably figure out your way around and just google Fazbear’s history later.

You’ve stopped just outside of an open door, leading to a smaller office or gift shop inside. A sign decorated with clouds and pastels glows neon at the top. The Daycare Pick-up.

A couple of parents are talking amongst themselves here and there, but it’s mostly empty with plenty of space in-between them. (Except for the giant statue of some characters in the middle. In a daycare pick-up office? Really?.) No screaming kids. Not perfect, but a good spot for some reprieve. You can hear the faint music of the Glamrock animatronics play over the building’s speakers. Most of the older kids would be in the main area, enjoying the show, leaving the younger ones too small for the big stage to play here instead. Dimmer in here, too. Most of the light was streaming in from the bright room connected to this one; see-through glass and grate separated the two with its entrance being a slide to one side and a set of stairs on the other.

The faint sounds of children’s laughter echoes up from the lower floor. You rest against the window’s sliding to peek through the glass.

A handful of kids from toddlers to a little bigger were cramming themselves into small spaces. You spy a few tucked away into the tunnels of the jungle gym, one hiding behind a fake cutout of some grass and another sinking into the ball pit, trying to cover himself up as he giggles out of view.

Hide-n-Seek; and they seem to be enjoying themselves. You search for the seeker in faint amusement, but feel your face fall a bit when you don’t spy a child that isn’t trying to hide.

A glance towards the other side of the room reveals a security desk, but the chair was empty. You scan again for an adult on the bottom floor, squinting to see maybe a uniform darting about in the playpen or jungle gym, but nothing appears. Do they really have all these children down there unsupervised? Their parents don’t seem concerned, whichever ones were still here in the office talking amongst themselves. Those kids can’t be older than four or five, give or take, and they were down there alone? Who makes sure the kids get picked up? And by the right parents-?

A small (delighted) scream breaks you from your thoughts. Your eyes dart to the source of the noise, landing on a small girl giggling as she’s pulled (pulled? hello?) out of the tunnel. From your angle, all you see is a child being dragged out from her ankles, but going by the wide smile and bubbly laughter, this was perfectly fine.

A blur of colors and movement shift through the jungle gym until it exits into the open area. The girl laughs, clearly unbothered as she’s twirled and danced with by her capturer. The seeker tosses her gently into the air and catches her again, letting her hang off of its arm until she’s placed gently on the playmat, ushering her towards a collection of toys and plushies. It moves gleefully, darting away to presumably search for more hiders while giving you a proper full view of itself.

It’s a yellow, bright, and gangly thing.

…and it’s a robot. Go figure.

If the mechanical features and design catered to its surroundings didn’t give it away, its height surely did. That thing was tall, and its limbs were slightly longer to its body than compared to human proportions. It looked like it could hold full-sized toddlers with one hand and then some. It seemed to be sun themed, with a warm and yellow color scheme and flaps (or, what you’re assuming to be flaps, but they sink into its headpiece slightly when crawling into a tunnel, so they must be made out of some sort of plastic or metal) that act as ‘sun rays’.

Hell, it was even dressed as a jester. Moved and played like one too.

You watch as it finds the children one by one for a few minutes, gathering them together in the middle of the play area and letting them hang off its outstretched arms. Its middle swivels around 360 degrees, delighting the children that get to whirl around with it. After a few minutes, it says something you don’t catch, and all the children scatter again. They giggle and scamper into little hidey holes as the robot covers his face, ‘counting’ you presume, as they play again.

You smile at the sight, narrowing your eyes at the robot’s design before turning away to look around the rest of the room. A couple of posters sported its look, as well as some plushies and the massive statue in the middle. A few promotions of energizing candy, and one that puts you to sleep. You almost chuckle at your delayed realization.

It’s the Daycare Attendant. Duh, why didn’t you realize that earlier?

Some other posters sported its counterpart, with a cooler color scheme and a ‘moon’ design. You only saw one robot though. Maybe the other one was reserved for evening time.

You turn back to the daycare area as the last of the children have found their hiding spots. You search for the seeker (the Daycare Attendant, you realize; Of course Fazbear Entertainment would sink money into a robot nanny than a team of human beings who each need a living wage) and count each child in its place. The robot is still standing in the same spot, the counting having been finished by now.

But it hasn’t moved to search for children. Instead, you find that its head turns to look up at you.

…um. Awkward.

You blink at blank white eyes staring back at you, a permanent smile on its face. It has no expression to gauge what it’s feeling, and its body language was not very telling either. Not that you can trust a robot’s body language to be as reliable as a person’s, but still. It’s looking at you, standing ridged and unmoving as you’re uncertain of what to do.

You tilt your head in confusion, and to your surprise, it mimics you. You tilt it the other way, and it follows that too, like a watchful puppy. A creepy one with an unreadable gaze. It’s scoping you out just as much as you were it, and there’s no telling how long it’s known you’ve been watching. Curiosity gets the better of you. You raise your hand and wave, timid and careful to test the waters.

Suddenly its posture straightens, hand raising upwards and giving you a very enthusiastic wave back. A smile cracks on your face as its arm practically blurs from the movement, the sight of small bells jingling rapidly along with ribbons. You think for a moment its smile has brightened, though its gaze doesn’t break. It’s friendly. Whatever ‘test’ this thing had just conducted, you seemingly had passed it.

Then, a soft thud from the ball pit area and a child begins to cry. The animatronic stops its waving immediately, attention torn from you and seeking out the crying child with rampant speed. You watch as it cradles the girl, whispering comforts and cooes that you can’t hear from behind the glass as children slowly start to exit their hiding places to see what all the ruckus is about. It even pulls a bandaid out from a pocket in its pants, showcasing it to the girl and putting it gently on her elbow as she wipes her tears.

Freaky robot. The kids really seemed to like it, though.

You’ve been resting here long enough, it’s time to get back to that staff bot, or at least map your way out of the pizzaplex so you can prepare for your first day tomorrow. You sit up, sparing one more glance towards the robot and its charges before exiting the daycare’s office and walking in the general direction you last saw the staff bot roll off to. If it noticed you leaving, you wouldn’t be able to know.

You have to search for a bit, even ducking into a few employees-only areas, but the staff bots there don’t seem to mind even with you in plain clothes and you chalk it up to your face being in the employee’s registry already. It’s probably why that Sun bot was staring at you too, just for database reference.

You eventually find the staff bot standing in front of a hotdog stand giving a history lesson about Fazdogs to an empty space, and decide to go home and wing it for later.

Your first actual work day you are given a short shift, nothing extensive, just to test the waters. You spend most of the day exploring than doing any of the actual repairs and attending to the tasks that's needed, and due to the lack of human supervision over your position you find yourself ending up with a lot more free time than you expected.

The staff bot greets you the next day as well, giving a prerecorded compliment on how you look in your uniform and a small reminder that any damages to your uniform will result in money being taken from your paycheck for the proper replacement. It handed you a walkie-talkie, and you almost get excited at the idea of someone human trying to reach you for any reason before you hear an automated voice speak on the other end telling you that someone threw up in the men’s bathroom and you were expected to be there to clean it.

As the jack-of-all-trades employee, you will not have set shift hours. You may work mornings one day and nights the next. Tonight, you worked from six to closing, which put you at the end where the pizzaplex, while still lively, was easier to navigate as you tried to find your way to the tasks that need to be done. They did send you an email in the morning with a curt greeting that listed a few damages around the building and stated your job performance would be judged by whether or not you had completed them in a reasonable amount of time, or at least by the end of the week.

So you spent your shift fixing guard rails in Monty’s golf, adjusting steering wheels on go-karts in Roxy’s raceway, and cleaning up messes that the staff bots are either too stiff to get to, or simply incapable of removing. You’re not sure how kids even got slime on top of the Freddy statue, but you’re really hoping they don’t get the idea to throw any more up there while you climb your way to its shoulder and peel the sticky layer off of the top hat. Parents tended to ignore your presence and kids would sometimes laugh and point, but you were left well enough alone unless someone needed directions to a specific attraction, and even then the Map bot would interrupt and take care of the conversation for you.

The animatronics were…nice to you.

They weren’t rude. At least, not all of them. Monty completely ignores you; doesn’t even acknowledge you when you enter to roll in more plates and silverware to the birthday party they’re having to cater. (A shame. In your own childish way, you think the alligator is pretty cool, and you almost had half a mind that you’d get to talk to the band members at least once since now you work here.)

Chica gives you a friendly wave and smiles at you with a beak full of cheese, and you smile and wave back. She’s a bright-faced chicken, popular at parties. From across the room, she tilts her head towards an open pizza box and it takes you a moment to realize she’s suggesting you take a slice. You’re not sure if that’s her robot programming or an attempt to actually greet you, but you shake your head with a smile, pointing to your badge to indicate that you’re on the clock, and her face never changes from her smile in what you hope is understanding. If she’s even capable of that.

You don’t really talk to them, there’s not really a need to, but it’s nice to at least be acknowledged. You don’t introduce yourself and allow them to get back to their birthday party.

Roxy, surprisingly enough, acknowledges you, if only to frown and tell you to hurry up when you’re tasked with vacuuming the carpet of her stage room. You try to do it as quickly as possible, seemingly an invisible nuisance to the wolf that sits at her vanity inspecting her hair. She mumbles something about it losing its bright color and needing a touch-up soon. You wonder if she’s talking to you or simply out loud to herself, but you respond out of habit anyway. “There’s some green water-based spray paint in the janitorial closet. It was in a box with a bunch of other different colors.” You say, remembering you saw it earlier. “You’d look great with other colors too.”

She doesn’t turn to face you fully but you can see her half-glare, half-confused look zeroing in on you in the mirror. You finish your work quickly, pack up the vacuum and leave her alone for the time being.

Freddy is busy nearly always. He is the favorite, the face of Fazbear and the band, the one that all the children liked to flock to when first coming around before they branched their interest to the other animatronics, and he looked like he greatly enjoyed his job too. You haven’t seen him alone not once today, always tailed by a gaggle of kids or families trying to pose for photos. Constantly bombarded with attention seems so stressful as a job, but he handles it with ease and a smile. You don’t want to distract him, so you don’t introduce yourself to him either.

It’s nearing the end of your shift and closing time for the facility when your stomach starts to growl. Your employee badge secures you one free meal at a shop per shift, within reason, and you use it to check out a sandwich, bag of gummy worms, and small carton of orange juice. The food isn’t a lot and the menu is obviously catered more towards children rather than working adults, but it was free so you can’t complain.

Now you just needed a spot where you could eat it. Employee break rooms were not scattered about the facility, (you think that has something to do with the lack of actual human staff) and you didn’t feel like walking all across the length of the building just so you can sit in a predesignated chair, so you search for a different quiet spot.

Most families are starting to pack up, usually walking in the direction of the gift shops or the front doors as it hits 9 o'clock. You walk in the opposite direction as them, watching as crowds and bundles of people grow thinner until there were only a few stragglers here and there that wanted to milk as much time in the pizzaplex for the amount of money their entry passes cost them. The noise quiets a bit, save for the ever faint music playing over the building’s speaker, and you find yourself outside the main entrance of the daycare.

It looks empty and the door was shut and probably locked, but the lights are still on. You don’t see any kids running around so at least you know the parents picked up their kids already, which meant a room full of relative silence and calmness as the evening settled. Luckily for you, there are a couple of empty cafeteria tables situated nearby. You plop down in one of them, placing your food on the table and absentmindedly checking your phone. You have another hour until your shift ends and the building closes, so you munch your sandwich on company time and mindlessly pick at the mysterious purple stain that you find on the knee of your pants.

You sit there in relative silence, scrolling away when you get the sudden burning feeling that someone is looking at you.

Uncomfortable, you look up from your screen and scan the surrounding area. All the patrons have left, making you the only living soul in the room. The stairs and top half were empty as far as you could see and most of the shops were closed by now, so there couldn’t have been anyone lingering.

Mouth half-full of sandwich, you ignore the feeling and return to your scrolling, if only to immediately look back up again because the feeling seems to have intensified. Great, now you’re scanning the room to think maybe a lost plushie is somehow giving you the stink eye, gaze trailing across until it looks through the Daycare glass-

That Sun thing is at the glass, staring directly at you, hands clasped together and you jump from your seat. “The fuc-!”

You fall off the stool and land on your ass. Good going. Now the rest of your sandwich is ruined on the floor and you just made a fool out of yourself in front of a literal robot jester. Its head tilts, watching as you curse as you scramble to your knees and dejectedly gather the remains of your dinner, plopping it back into your paper lunch bag as trash. Swallowing down the rest of your mouth full (You almost choke, but you’re trying not to look any more stupid than you just did), you sit back in your stool and ignore the feeling of embarrassment.

It’s just a robot. Not like it can judge you anyways.

Except it kind of feels that way. It’s still staring at you, ridged with its hands politely clasped together, head tilted to the side as it takes you in through the glass.

You busy yourself with trying to open the bag of gummies and find that it’s really hard to ignore the thing when it’s right there. Against your better judgment, you make eye contact with it and find that its white eyes are just as creepy as you found them yesterday.

“Uh.” You don’t even know if it can hear you through the glass, so you raise your hand in an awkward greeting, just as before. “Hi.”

That apparently seems to do the trick. The animatronic becomes animated, almost jumping in its spot and returning the wave with strong enthusiasm that’s kind of scary to see in a being that's so big. Seriously. It looked like it had one, maybe two feet of height over an average adult. Why Fazbear Entertainment needed a Daycare Attendant so damn tall was beyond you, but you suppose it was so it would be easier to see in a gaggle of children or to scan the daycare for wayward young ones better.

It stops its waving, smile forever etched on its face and seems to bounce in its spot, kind of like how a human would when they could hardly contain their excitement. They did a good job mimicking human body language in this one, then again you don’t know what you expected from a company that’s been making animatronics for decades.

“So you’re the Daycare Attendant.” You speak to particularly no one, chewing on a gummy.

You have no way of knowing if it can hear you, but it seems to nod and you can’t tell if that's by coincidence, or if that thing has the capability to read lips. “Cool.” You’re not sure how to talk to it. You read everything about the Fazbear band members and their respective personalities being the main attractions of the pizzaplex, so you had an idea of what to expect or how you would approach them. You knew nothing about the yellow jester that was making hand motions to you through the glass. “So uh, guess we’re coworkers?” You pause for a moment, motioning to the top of your own head. “I like your…flaps. The sunray things.”

The hand motions continue. It’s a very excited, jumpy thing, you realize. It pauses every now and then to wait for your reaction, but you’re awkward enough to just stare as it stares back, and tries again, making specified and calculated movements with its hands. It repeats itself several times, and it finally dawns on you that it’s using sign language. Neat! You’re not as proficient in it as you’d like to be, so you quickly grab your phone to do some quick research.

It pauses in its movements as your attention directs to your phone screen, angling its head as if it was trying to see what exactly you were googling for. You find your answer, search up a diagram and a small guide, and turn back to it so you can mimic what you think the meaning is. It watches with abrupt attention as you attempt to sign. “New friend? Is that it?”

Your response is its immediate excitement, returning the motions with quick and giddy speed. New friend.

It starts to sign at a rate that you can’t possibly keep up with, so you raise your hands and give it a small smile. “I can’t hear or understand what you’re saying.” You speak, watching as it pauses and ever so slightly starts to deflate. “Sorry, buddy.”

It shuffles on it’s feet for a moment, almost in uncertainty. You don’t even entertain the idea of opening the Daycare doors because of how close it is to closing time, and you’re not sure if you even had the authority to unlock them. Given the cameras situated around the pizzaplex, you didn’t want to be written up or fired on your second day if you were caught. So instead you stare awkwardly at each other until you have the sense to check your phone for the time, unsure of what to do.

When you look back up, the Daycare Attendant is gone. “Oh. Okay, bye then.” You’re a little disheartened, but it’s fine.

You’re chugging the orange juice carton and debating on packing up and making your leave when a blur moves out of the corner of your eye. You turn back to the glass, peering into the well lit daycare center as you search for the movement. There, just behind a cardboard cutout of some clouds, you spy it. Or really, the sun rays that peak out from behind its hiding place. You blink as the Attendant’s face slowly rises from out behind it. You make eye contact, and it vanishes again, darting behind cover.

It repeats this. Popping out of somewhere you can’t see, disappearing again just to reappear behind something else. Sometimes when you catch it, its head would rotate in a playful manner before it disappeared. You track it with amusement, gummies and orange juice have now been forgotten as you sit there and watch as its head pops out from a tunnel, hands covering its face before revealing itself. A grin finds its way onto your face and its response is a giddy twirl, hopping and disappearing behind something else just to repeat the same motions.

...Was this thing playing peekaboo with you?

To further solidify your theory, it pops out from the ball pit, arms up and excited. You cannot hear it through the glass (a smart idea, soundproof glass that prevents other families enjoying their stay to be unbothered by screaming and playing children) but it looks happy, and you have a feeling that it’s laughing.

It’s kind of endearing.

You glance around the room. There were no families around given the amount of time until the building closes. You’re not sure if the cameras were live and part of you wouldn’t care even if they were.

Whatever. The security guard could laugh at you for all you care. You wait until the animatronic disappears behind something else before you bolt from your seat, running up to the entrance of the daycare where the large doors and cloud décor around it gave you ample cover. You hide from its view. The angle from here should conceal you from it completely, and you peek carefully to see that you were right.

The animatronic pops out of hiding once more, excited and giddy just to freeze. It stares at the spot where you were sitting, the abandoned food left over on the table. Its head tilts and its arms slowly lower. You think you read confusion and disappointment in how its body starts to sag, and you almost feel bad. Then its gaze starts to roam the room in search of you and you quickly duck behind cover, crouched to make yourself smaller.

This was childish, but you can’t remember the last time you did anything this silly. Just pure, innocent fun. You’re almost giddy yourself as you prepare to move. As quickly as you can, you pop out from behind your hiding place to face the daycare with a wide smile-

-just to have the Daycare Attendant pop out right in front of you, wide smiles and inches from your face with only layers of glass separating you. You let out an (undignified) yelp as you stumble backwards in surprise. The Attendant’s grinning face is spinning, its hands outstretched in play and watching as you recollect your composure. For a moment, it stills, watching as you recover.

Your momentary shock melts into soft laughter at your own ridiculousness, and its giddiness returns, coming out of hiding fully to dance and bounce and bound around.

“Okay, okay-” You chuckle, holding up your hands in mock surrender and trying to conceal your fluster. “Alright, you win-”

The intercom interrupts you. “The Pizzaplex will be closing in five minutes. Please collect all your children, your belongings and your complimentary drink refill tickets at the front desk. We hope you had a great time, and we’ll see you back here tomorrow!”

The announcement cuts and you let it sink it. That’s probably your cue. With a sigh, you gather your abandoned food and trash into the remaining paper bag, pocketing your phone and double checking your badge was in your pocket so you could clock out in time. Turning back to the daycare, the animatronic is still watching you, but it looks…nervous. Its hands fidget and it’s slightly slumped over, (whoever programmed these things to have such human-like body language needed an award because it was getting oddly too realistic). More than likely, it heard the announcement from its end as well.

It looked…nervous. Lonely?

(Why? It’s a robot.)

“Hey, don’t worry.” Your tone is soft though it cannot hear you. It cocks its head to the side as it reads you anyway. “I’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll wave at you if I see you.” You punctuate your sentence with a small wave goodbye.

It responds with its own, the never-ending smile appearing strained now. Weird.

You should leave before you get in trouble, so you bid it goodbye again and turn on your heel to leave. Lights are turning off as you walk, bathing the hallways in neons instead of fluorescents. You turn back around to see if it’s still watching you as you go, but the daycare’s lights have been shut off, and there’s no one standing at the glass.

You awake that morning to an email detailing a list of tasks that needed to be completed by the end of the day with a note at the bottom that reads you’re not scheduled to come in until the night shift. Meaning: midnight. The early hours of the morning. Great.

After the initial groaning and stuffing your pillow back over your face (maybe an inconsistent schedule was a bad idea after all) you sleep until the late afternoon in hopes you won’t be dead tired when your shift rolls around. You wake up disoriented, slightly peeved off now that you’ll have to cram your studies for later and skim over the rest of the email as you're heating up a microwave dinner.

The tasks look fairly simple, shorter than yesterdays. You’re only working half a shift it seems as there’s so little to do. Check underneath all the tables in the cafeteria for bubble gum and other undesirable sticky things. Replace the complementary Fazbear diapers in changing stations. Fix the hinge on one of the kitchen freezer doors that hold all of the ice cream as it wasn’t shutting properly. Buff out the scratches around Monty’s room wall (in parenthesis, it emphasizes doing this particular task quietly.) and fix one of the flickering lights in the daycare.

The last task has red letters bolded typed underneath. Under no circumstances are you to turn off the lighting or electricity in the Daycare. The Daycare Attendant may offer to help you fix the lights. Do not allow him. Fazbear Entertainment is not responsible for any bodily or emotional injury caused by employee negligence. Please see your employee contract for more details.

…Nice. Not only did you have to climb up to a notable height to even reach the damn lights, but you run the risk of getting electrocuted as well. At least they provided health insurance.

You eat, get dressed in uniform, pack, and make your way to the pizzaplex. Your key opens the front doors and secures with a click locking behind you, raising the shutters, and allowing you inside.

First of all, it’s much darker at night, save for the neons and the slight glow of advertisements. Second of all, the quiet is what gets to you. You don’t see another night shift worker. At least, not a human one. There are a few staff bots scattered about mopping floors and wiping off counters, another couple of security bots roaming around with flashlights. One points it in your direction, carelessly into your eyes (What the hell? That hurts, you know!) staring at you for a minute before continuing on its way. Creepy.

With a deep breath, you start working.

The shift goes by pretty mundanely. You refilled all the diaper stations in the building by an hour in and gave a quick scan of all the tables to look for gum, goo, and anything else that would leave a smell. (You find a couple of Mr. Hippo magnets stuck under there. No idea why.) while putting any sort of family belongings in the lost-and-found bin on your way out.

Turns out the freezer with the broken hinge wasn’t actually broken. Rather it just had something stuck in between the space of the door not allowing it to shut completely. You pull out another Mr. Hippo magnet (Seriously? Did kids and staff hate these things? They’re everywhere.) and toss it in the bin, satisfied when the freezer door shuts tight.

Next was Monty’s room. You’ve put that off towards the end for obvious reasons, but it was probably quicker and easier to do than the Daycare’s task, so with a heavy chest, you make your way toward his room with a small sander and paintbrush.

You’re nosy, so you check out their rooms out of order just because you can, totally not because you’re procrastinating Monty’s room. Chica is rocking out with her guitar in her room as you pass her by, oblivious to you, and you’re not keen on interrupting her fun just to say hi.

Roxy is at her vanity again, though you can’t hear what she’s saying. She sees you in the reflection of the mirror and turns her head if only to wonder what you’re doing here so late at night before turning away with a huff. You notice her hair is brighter, freshly done with new strokes of dye or paint making the white brighter and the green saturated. You throw a smile and a thumbs up to her mirror. Her eyes dart to your reflection but you’re already passed when she double checks.

Freddy’s room has the curtains closed, but you see him through the cracks doing something with the plushies of himself. He’s stacking them up together. It’s really cute. He almost notices you peeking through the curtains, looking up right as you step away before you can get caught.

Monty’s room is still closed off with the curtains drawn, much to your relief. You hear…something happening in there. Loud noises and bangs that don’t spell good things. Quickly, you work to buff out some of the scratches around his room, starting with the ones that are near the entrance over to the front of his room, just underneath the glass.

You’re almost done when the sounds suddenly stop, stomping coming closer and the sound of curtains being pulled roughly back. Monty stares down at your wide-eyed figure. Not knowing what else to do, you raise the small sander up in greeting, mouth pulled up into a toothy smile. He glares at it. The curtains shut closed with more force than what was necessary.

Geeze. At least you understand now why he was popular with the troublemakers.

Now that all that was taken care of, the last was the Daycare lights.

You smile because you think of the sunny animatronic. You frown when you realize you’re going to have to lug a giant ladder all the way down to the daycare and back when you’re done with it.

It sucks. After retrieving it from the utility closet, you sigh at the absolute length of the ladder. One of those tall, extension-based ones that you see used more on firetrucks. It’s heavy and dragging across the carpet in a way you’re pretty sure because it wasn’t meant to be carried by less than two people, but you manage.

It clacks against the tile as you arrive at the Daycare’s front doors, one hand on the ladder and the other shuffling for your keys to unlock it. No one comes to greet you, and the silence is only penetrated by the sound of the ladder scraping across the floor. The lights are still on, you notice, making it probably the brightest room in the building. It also makes it infinitely easier to see the flickering overhead light in the main area, just above the play mats. The ladder will have to be dragged over there, then. Lovely.

You don’t see the Daycare Attendant anywhere, which was…disappointing. You were kinda looking forward to seeing it again.

...him, again. The email referred to it as a him. That’s oddly sentimental.

You’re so caught up in your own musings you accidentally misstep, which would have been fine if the side of the ladder didn’t whack painfully against your ankle. With a hurt yelp, you lose your footing and fall right into the ball pit, flailing as you go down. “Motherfucker-!”

Curses spew as your shoulder smacks against the bottom of the pit’s play mats, which hardly cushions your fall. “What the hell? C’mon, what the-” Colorful plastic balls are swarming you and in a moment of disorientation and embarrassment, your arms are out swinging like they’re going to drown you, a bundle of limbs and awkward movements when every time you try to stand up, there’s plastic ball underneath your foot that slips you back under. “Fucking, stupid ass balls and their stupid ass, motherfucking- son of a bitch, what the hell is sticky in here?!”

You go down face forward screaming when you trip over the edge of the ladder that has also fallen into the ball pit with you. Lucky. You hope whoever the fuck is on security duty is out doing rounds instead of watching the cameras. But forget being embarrassed, you’re fighting for your life in the ball pit. “I fucking hate-, stupid ass balls and your stupid pit of sticky shit and -motherfucking shit-!”

You think you’ve almost got your balance to break free when something hard wraps around your waist (oh god, another employee? A staff bot maybe?), and you are promptly pulled out kicking and screaming at the unknown assailant. “Oh, no no no you motherfucking-, don’t you FUCKING touch me! Don’t-don’t make fun of me, I’ll fucking kill you-!”

You’re pulled from the ball pit flailing, yelling and kicking your capturer in the chest. “What are you, the fucking lifeguard!?”

The Daycare Attendant holds you quietly with outstretched arms above the ground with ease. White eyes and a blank smile stare back at you.

You freeze, your foot slipping slowly off its center chassis and inwardly cringing at the small shoe mark it made. “Ahhahaha.” Nervous laughter. It holds you like a nanny holding a tantruming child to do damage control. You finger gun at it. “Ahaha. Haha. Ha…Hi. Hi there. How’s it going?”

“New friend.” He speaks, and his voice is loud even speaking lowly. “Bad language is not allowed in the daycare!”

You strain a smile, your feet dangling off the floor. “…Sorry-?”

You’re swung back to solid ground and dropped to your feet with an oof, the animatronic immediately animated the moment you leave his hands. Before you even get a word out, it’s talking quickly, completely up in your face and your personal bubble and holy shit this guy was tall. “You’re sure up late! Oh! Are you planning to stay the night? Oh, oh! I looked for you today, yes I did, but I didn’t see you!” His head rotates as it talks, the sunbeams around its face spinning with it. This is both cute and lowkey terrifying at once. “We can do all sorts of things, like! Storytime! Coloring! I have lots of pens you know, not just crayons. And we can do arts and crafts, watch movies, play hide-and-seek, and tag-that’s one of my favorites-we can dance and drink fizzy faz and stay up all night!”

You’re scrunched up in his hold, wrapping your head around the situation. “Uh-”

“Oh, friend! Did you lose something in the ball pit?” He lets you go, leaving your arms sore and darts back over to the ball pit. Your jaw almost drops open when he sticks his arm into it, pulling out the ladder that took you considerable effort to drag down here with one arm and holding it for you to see. (Of course they’d make the robots oddly strong. How do you think they’re able to wrangle and pick up so many children at once?)

He inspects the metal ladder, which looks like it weighs more like toothpicks in his hands. “Here it is! Why would you need something like this? Doesn’t look very fun, no no. Not safe to be down there though. Someone could trip!”

“Hey, uh.” You try to break his monologuing, but he is in the middle of a long spew of the safety of tripping hazards and the importance of keeping your surroundings clean less your accidentally trip and hurt yourself. “Daycare guy-”

“-And it’s very important that you tidy up after yourself! Leaving things like this around could get someone hurt! You couldn’t even see it down there, what if someone stubs their toes!”

“Daycare Attendant,” You try that name, and it sounds too awkward and off that you’re not surprised he doesn’t answer. “Uh, Sun..guy. Sunny? Sun?-”

“That’s me!” His head cranes forwards towards you, bouncy and excited. “I already know your name! Oh, no no don’t get a weird look, it’s in the database! And right! Here!” He pokes at your nametag on your shirt with every pronunciation. “It’s so exciting, we-I never get to see any new employees anymore, no people! No, no. But you’re not a mechanic, are you? What are you doing here? Are you trying to find somewhere to take a lunch again? Are you hungry? We have candy and soda and some bubble gum if you like bubble gum-!”

“I’m just here to fix the lights!” You speak quickly, shoulders tense and pointing up towards the ceiling. Sun goes quiet, face plate following your pointer finger to where the flickering light was and tilts his head. “I’m uh, not on break. I’m here to fix that light. It’s the last thing I have for the night.”

The animatronics’ moment of silence is an odd change from the rambling coaster it was a few seconds ago. “Oh, right! Of course!” He suddenly falls back, keeping a respective distance between you two, dropping the ladder and bringing his hands to clasp together. His expression doesn’t change, but his voice and the way he politely sinks in on himself pangs something in your chest. “So sorry to have bothered you! So sorry, please! Please do what you need to! Let me know if you need any help, okay friend?”

(Okay. Who programmed anxiety into the robots?)

“Right.” You trail off, looking above you to the task. It was a simple overhead fixture, probably flickering because a wire wasn’t connected properly. Something that wouldn’t take too long as long as you were careful about it. “Right. Um.” You shuffle on your feet, a weird silence settling over you. In all honestly, this would probably go by even quicker with his help. “Can you…help me set up the ladder?”

Sun pipes up if only a little. “Yes! Here, allow me!” Before you can even grab it, the ladder is picked up and trotted over underneath the spot of the light, the animatronic setting it up with ease and motions too smooth that you can’t keep up with. It’s already halfway extended by the time you walk over there. He rambles even as “I’ve been telling them to fix this light for weeks! Weeks! But they just brush me off. Oh, they’re all very busy, I’m sure. The others, I mean. And I can’t get up there myself, no. Well, I can. But I don’t like flying, and they won’t let me touch the lights anyway! No, no they don’t trust me. Which is so mean-”

Sun pauses in his speech and you pause in your footsteps. His head rotates to look at you. “You’re not going to turn off the lights, are you?” You open your mouth to answer, but he continues in a lower voice. “It’s against the rules. The rules. You keep the lights on.”

You blink, meeting his gaze with a teasing look. “ What? Are you scared of the dark?”

Sun doesn’t answer, so you’ll take that as a yes. Probably some hard encoded feature to keep the lights on for the kids, regardless of electrocution risks for its employees. You offer a soft smile. “Don’t worry. The lights are supposed to stay on.”

The animatronic pipes up. “Good! Good.”

It finishes setting up the ladder. You swallow at the height it’s extended to, patting down your go-to tools in your pants pocket like it’s some sort of comfort. The ceiling of the Daycare was tall, at least two or three stories high considering the Daycare itself was on the first floor with an open design up to the second. As you stare up at the ceiling, a hand comes down above your head, patting you gently. “If it makes you nervous, I can do it for ya instead!”

You’re not entirely confident you want to go up that high for something that might shock you, but you give a confident thumbs up to him regardless, even though he’s still barely tapping your head with the tips of his fingers like some extremely gentle encouragement. “No, it’s fine!” Your laugh comes out nervous. “Besides, if I fall, you’ll just catch me, right?”

You’re joking of course. But he nods his head furiously, even mocking a salute. “I’ll catch ya!”

See? No worries here. The super tall, loud, gangly animatronic that watched you throw a temper tantrum in the ball pit a minute ago is promising you he’ll prevent you from splattering against the daycare floor if you oh so happen to slip and fall from way up there. Totally manageable. With a deep breath, you turn to the ladder and begin to make your climb.

Looking down will only increase your nerves, so you focus on the task at hand; reaching the light above you. Its flickering is more obvious as you get closer to it. Not very noticeable from the floor of the daycare, when all the other lights are on as well, and honestly probably not something worth paying attention to unless it goes completely out with a few others. But if this is what you’re getting paid to do, then you need to do it. You’re fine. You got this.

Your heart leaps into your throat for a split second as the ladder suddenly wobbles, then stills. Letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, you call out below to let Sun know you’ve reached the top. “See? I’m fine up here.”

Sun is making distracting fidgets below you, mumbling nervously. You can’t see him without looking down, but you think he has a hand on the ladder to keep it steady. “Hey, friendddd-” Sun trails off, a waver in his voice that’s unusual for a robot. “That doesn’t seem very safe! Y-you know I can take care of that for you! Really!”

“It’s fine, Sun!” You’re speaking more to yourself than to him, unscrewing the light board with the screwdriver you kept in your pocket, and letting it sit on the top step as you pulled down the wires. They’re the industrial type, meant for long usage. Although there were small divots and engravings on them that shows you where to reconnect them, you know you’re still not technically qualified for this. “You know animatronics aren’t allowed to mess with this sort of stuff anyway.”

You find the wire that’s causing the trouble, flayed at the end like rats have been chewing on it. It’s still active but as long as you don’t touch the fine end, you’ll be alright. Connecting this light’s power to one of the ones around it should work for a temporary fix, nothing a little electrical tape couldn’t handle.

This might be easier than you thought. Pulling down the faulty wire, you turn to give a reassuring thumbs up to the animatronic below. “Don’t worry, this is my job anyway! I’ve got it handled-”

A sudden sharp pain in your hand. You flinch backwards, hissing and letting go before any real damage is done. A flash of light and electricity as the light’s power surges, somewhere in the room you hear a bulb burst and the AC unit go quiet, the wire dangling wildly and sparking as the Daycare’s lights go dark and the metal underneath your feet wobbles with your momentum. Gravity flips sideways, air rushing past you and you take a sharp intake of breath as you fall-

You're caught falling into arms that slip under your back knees perfectly, taking most of the momentum and stopping your fall pretty hard. It takes a moment for your brain to catch up to your heart but you realize that you are not splattered against the playmats like the images running through your brain had you believe. The adrenaline rush was making you dizzy.

“Holy shit” You shudder, taking deep breaths. You pat down your body, your face, placing a hand against the hard chassis against your side just to doubly make sure it was there before letting relief take you over fully. “Holy shit. Fuck.” Wiping a hand down your face, willing your pulse to slow down. Your hand rests on the fingers gripping your side (tightly, uncomfortably) as a show of thanks, and let out a sigh of relief.“ Nice catch, Sunny.”

No answer. The fingers gripping you start to dig into your skin and you wince. “Sun-”

Looking up there is no light, no white blank stare. Red pinprick eyes glare down at you from within the dark, barely illuminating the face plate’s smile. In the dark, you barely see the sunrays are gone, replaced by something that looks like a nightcap. You recognize this face from the posters. His head tilts unnaturally to the side, eyes never leaving you.

“Oh.” You stare back into the abyss. “You’re not Sun.”

The Moon’s smile seems to stretch.

Suddenly, the light flickers overhead, some leftover electricity sparking above you. The thing holding you screams. You’re unceremoniously dropped to the floor. You waste no time scrambling backwards, as you watch it-him, no, them? claw at its face in agony, sun rays popping out of its head rapidly in and out and pushing the nightcap askew as it writhes in pain.

“Rulebreaker, rulebreaker.” Its voice sounds corrupted, two of them, low and angry and pained and confused. “You must be-you were warned. I warned you, I warned you! Naughty, nau-no no no. Get out!“ A voice full of glitches, it hisses at you. ”Get Out!”

You don’t need to be told twice. You make it to your feet, running towards the Daycare door. It’s been left open, and you pass that threshold without another thought. (Why were you running? It’s only a robot? Why are you scared?) It’s too long to push them closed and fumble with your keys to lock it shut, catching your breath only when you’re in the clear, your face illuminated by the neon lights that dawn across the pizzaplex.

…What the hell just happened?

A steady silence takes you over. You don’t know what else to do, so you wait. You stare through the glass and expect either a horror scene where something comes flying at you from within or something happier like Sun popping out from behind the cloud décor. You’re not sure if your heart can take him playing peekaboo right now, but you wait for a minute. Then two. Then a few more.

Through the Daycare glass, the room is pitch black. Only your reflection stares back at you.

You remember you left the ladder inside, and the lights were fried as well. There’s nothing else you can do here. Maybe write up a complaint and forward it to management, assuming you’ll still be employed come tomorrow morning.

You highly doubt it. Your job is toast. (Just like those lights. Ha)

…Maybe it’s best if you just go home and get some rest.

There’s stinging in your hand and soreness like bruising on your sides and legs, but those are problems for a future you. Right now, you’re walking through the building, passing by each room and ignoring the weird looks the other animatronics give you when you pass them by (a male voice calls out to you, but you pretend not to hear it, or the mumbling that commences when you’re almost out of ear-shot) and instead makes for the door, clocking out on the side and locking the pizzaplex behind you.

Chapter Text

You wake up the next morning to an email stating you had a shift from six till close as an extra janitorial unit. There is no statement about last night’s incident, mention of lights, or the Daycare and its attendant at all.

You debate on messaging back about last night’s incident, but you hesitate. Security may have seen the whole thing on cameras, but maybe not if they weren’t even being watched live or left to the bots. But there’s no mention of it, or about the power failure in the Daycare or even you leaving a heavy ladder around. Part of you wants to file a complaint that you were nearly electrocuted, but knowing Fazbear Entertainment and its law team, you would never stand a chance in court. Besides, you kinda needed this job. You weren’t fired, at least not yet, so you don’t say anything to the email’s rather lacking message.

It does, however, tell you that outside of wearing your usual uniform and gloves, you have to wear a headband with Freddy’s ears on the top to keep a ‘fun’ appearance to guests while you’re picking up trash. Great.

The day goes by fairly quickly. There’s a staff bot at the door when you arrive that locks onto your face as you enter, spewing the same ‘Welcome to back to work, valued employee.’ automated speech you’ve tuned out by now and holding out a headband for you. You wear it without argument, and while it does look kinda cute on you, some parents give you a strange look until they notice your employee’s nametag and leave you be, essentially fading back into the background.

Some janitorial bots are out for maintenance, so you’ve been tasked with handling the small things that the remaining ones can’t prioritize. Meaning you’re cleaning all sorts of gross messes. Some kids threw up in a photo booth because they ate their pizza too quickly, someone stuffed candy wrappers into the arcade’s coin slots in an attempt to frazzle the system, and someone thought it would be a great idea to put Mr. Hippo magnets in their socks, swing it at some staff bots minding their own business ( and arguably not sentient enough to understand what the kids were doing) to stick them on before giggling away to find their next victim.

You spend the majority of your time wheeling around a cart loaded with trash bags and peeling off magnetic socks off of staff bots. They don’t even thank you as you toss the offending items away. One of them digs through its pouches and hands you a Monty sticker before rolling off though. Cool. You stick it on the back of your phone case and move on.

It’s around seven when the pizzaplex starts to thin out with families preparing their children to leave. You find yourself wheeling your cart past the daycare office, and you stop. You didn’t question it all day, and there was no sign saying the Daycare was unavailable or out of order that you notice. Even from the doorway, you see a father buy his kid a plushie at the counter, checking her out of the daycare via the automated card system. There is no human at the desk, just a staff bot working as a cashier for the gift shop.

Curiosity from last night gets the best of you, and you wheel your cart inside. No one bats an eye, and if they do, they take one glance at your uniform and cleaning cart before returning back to what they were doing.

Peeking through the window, it doesn’t take you long to spot him. Sun stands near the stairs, a young child in his arms. There are other children around him too, vying for his attention while a few were off in a small group happily coloring or playing with toddler toys.

The child is sucking her thumb, cradled by the oversized robot that makes her look so much tinier than she already was. A woman comes to the top of the stairs at the gate and waves her hand, and you watch as the child looks from her mother to Sun, who gently pats her head and lowers her to the floor. You watch as Sun waves to the parent as the child runs up the stairs, eyes lingering on her even as the woman takes the girl’s hand and leaves without so much as giving him a thank you outside of a dull glance.

You read this in an advertisement somewhere. Fazbear Entertainment’s Daycare Attendant has top-of-the-line facial recognition technology to ensure that your children are picked up only by authorized adults, and are fully equipped to protect children and contact the proper authorities should the need arise.’ or something like that.

So the robot doubled as Daycare Security? Smart.

Sun’s head follows the woman and her child up past the gate as he waves goodbye, eyes trailing off until it reaches the office past the glass and his eyes fall on you instead.

You smile at him. His hand stops waving mid-air, freezing. There is a moment of eye contact.

Then, he turns away. Spinning on his heel and ‘skipping’ back to the remaining children who have yet to be picked up by their parents. Your smile falls flat and there’s a weird pang in your chest akin to guilt. Well, that was…not rude. Just, not a good feeling. He was such a happy and friendly character when you met him, it’s kinda weird that he didn’t greet you. He doesn’t even look back towards the glass as he settles down with the children, allowing them to scribble onto his fingers like they were pretending to paint his nails.

Ignoring the odd jab it gives you, you return to your cart and wheel out of the Daycare. It most likely has something to do with last night. Maybe you can talk to him about it later.

Half past eight, your cart gets stuck in between a security barrier and an arcade unit. It’s totally not your fault (it totally is) because you had to swerve to miss a kid that darted out in front of you and the last thing you wanted was a lawsuit detailing about you how ran over some ten year old with a cleaning cart. So here you are, jostling this oversized wagon while a couple of parents usher their children away from your curses and frustrated kicks at the wheels.

Fifteen minutes later you are still trying to unstuck it when you stub your toe trying to kick it out of place. In a fit of frustration, you throw down your headband and curse into the empty arcade. “Fucking shit-”

A shadow appears and a deep voice follows. “Would you like some help?”

Great, now you’ve got some poor customer trying to step in while you look like an idiot. Probably some dad that heard his kids were getting blocked off from the arcade by some crazy employee who can’t steer a cleaning cart. You crack a smile as you turn around. “No, that’s okay! I’ve got it…here…”

It’s Freddy Fazbear. The Freddy Fazbear, the celebrity himself, and he’s looking down at your predicament, to the bear ear headband laying dejected on the floor, and turning back to give you a gentle smile. “Are you sure? It would be no trouble.”

Your face starts to heat up. This just got way more embarrassing. “You don’t have to do anything, really! I just, uh-” You turn back to look at the cart and inwardly curse your incompetence. He watches as you scratch the back of your neck and sigh. “...For the record, it was either this or hitting a kid. I think I made the right choice.”

His eyes turn upwards and he gestures toward the cart. “I think you did so too.”

Stepping to the side, you allow him to the front of the cart. Freddy grips the sides of it while you stand back, arms to your side in a nervous fidget. Then, with hardly any effort, he pushes the heavy arcade machine to tilt as he wretches the cart from its position, lifting it up off the ground and carefully setting it to the side.

You know it’s impolite to stare but you do it anyway. That thing you’ve been pushing around is heavy, and not even mentioning the strength it would have taken to lift that whilst holding the arcade machine to a tilt. It would have taken several human beings to do something like that. Then again, you don’t know why you expected anything different from Fazbear animatronics.

“How are you liking your job so far?” Freddy asks, breaking you out of your trance. He even waits patiently for you to recollect your sentences as you search for the correct words.

“It’s great!” You’re a bit too cheerful in your response, but how else are you supposed to respond? What if he was spying on you for some sort of job performance or something? “I mean, there’s been hiccups here and there. Just newbie stuff, nothing a little experience can’t fix.” With nervous laughter, you offer a thumbs up. “Everything’s peachy!”

“Glad to hear it! Chica said she was very grateful for you cleaning out her room earlier! All those food bags can really pile up, you know.” His smile never leaves him, always with a soft deep tone. “She wanted me to tell you that, by the way.”

You try not to let nervousness in your voice. “Yeah! No problem, glad to help.”

There’s a moment of silence. Freddy’s smile just softens as you practically twiddle your thumbs. What exactly were you supposed to do? You just made yourself look like a fool and an idiot in front of the pizzaplex’s most famous and beloved animatronic, who, mind you, is still standing there like he’s waiting for you to say something. It must not be awkward for him at all, you think. Robots and their understanding of human emotion and social standards and all that. Then again, if that were true, why did Monty have such an attitude? Why would Chica want to thank you? The extent of their sentience was a mystery-

“Do you plan on staying long?” Freddy asks.

It snaps you back to the conversation. “Oh, uh. Yeah. My shift ends at closing though.” You don’t know what to do with yourself, so you try to rest your hands casually against the cart. It rolls away when you lean on it and you almost stumble until you catch yourself. You meant to do that on purpose, totally. “I just have a few more places I need to clean up. You know, kitchen, check the maze for trash, the Daycare’s bins...” You fade off at the last bit, mind traveling elsewhere. Freddy stands patiently until you blink back to the conversation. (He doesn’t like to interrupt. Noted.) You wave a hand to trail off your sentence. “You know, stuff. Just…cleaning.”

“I see. You’re doing a great job so far!” His tone carries encouragement that’s programmed into him, or maybe just the years of working with young children. “But…I wasn’t asking about your shift. I was wondering if you’ll be staying with us longer as an employee.” He bends down to the floor, picking up the bear-ear headband and dusting it off with a metal hand. “I understand if this work might be...complicated, or too difficult for you. We won’t take personal offense if you want to leave.”

Oh please don’t let this be a trick and he was looking for a reason to fire you. Could Freddy even have the authority to fire you? He’s the figurehead of the business, surely he has the authority, right? “No, no not at all! I like it here!” You start off a little too quickly. “I mean, the pay is really good, and the work isn’t all that difficult. It’s not like I’m a technician or anything like that. The schedule is flexible and no one really bothers me. Customers hardly even notice me here.” You wave him off as casually as you can muster. “Really, I plan on staying, if that’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay.” Despite being made of metal, his smile seems to brighten. He opens his mouth to say something else, but a child’s playful yell cuts through the otherwise quiet noise of the hallway and echoes into the arcade. Even though the pizzaplex closes soon, you aren’t surprised some kids want to get in some last minute gaming.

Freddy seems to think so too, and you share a knowing look with him. “Just be sure not to overwork yourself. Oh, and employees get fifty percent off at our gift shops. They don’t tell you that in the employee welcoming emails.” He winks at you, and you feel the tension start to ease a bit, just to start again with his next sentence. “And please…don’t mind Monty. He can be very-” Freddy seems to search for the proper word for a moment. “Intense. But I assure you that he has a good heart. Roxy already likes you, too. But don’t tell her I said that, alright?”

Now you know why he’s everyone’s favorite. You feel your spirits lift just in the short time talking with him than you have had all day. “Thanks, Freddy.”

You hold out your hand for the headband, but he ignores it. “Of course. You let me know if there’s anything I can do for you, Superstar.” He moves forward, sliding the headband onto your head and adjusting it himself. You blink as Freddy steps back, nods at his placement and his tone remains friendly, though something a tad more serious dips in it when smiles. “Don’t be afraid to ask for help.”

You stand for a moment, churning those words, and open your mouth to ask him to clarify before a delighted scream pierces the silence. A gaggle of children are at the entrance, pleasantly surprised to see the one and only Idol Freddy Fazbear in the room and quickly scampering up to grab at his attention. The animatronic flashes you an apologetic glance before turning to the newcomers with warm smiles and hellos, immediately falling back into the role of Fazbear Entertainment’s prized performer.

You fade into the background as well, pushing your cleaning car away (avoiding any children or possible obstructions that could put you in a bind again) and exit the arcade.

Well, that whole interaction was a bit…odd.

There’s not much more for you to clean outside of a few corners here and there. You make the Daycare your last stop for the evening. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re dreading confrontation or because you wanted more time to figure out what you were even going to say to Sun when you see him. It’s something you dwell over as you tidy up and realize that you’re finished everywhere else, and the pizzaplex would be closing in an hour and a half anyways. You should probably get going to the Daycare.

You pass by Monty’s room on your way. There are brand new scratches around the door and side, right over the ones you had just buffed out. You sigh and mark that down for a redo later.

When you roll your cart up to the Daycare entrance, you find it empty. It’s nearing closing time again, and while a few families lingered and stragglers lingered in the outside shops, it looks like parents have picked up most of their children by now. Good for you, you’ll be able to clean out the bins and tidy up any remaining messes in peace.

Which there are a lot of messes, more than what you were expecting. Outside of the trash bins you were going to empty, there were toys and art supplies, and paper doodles still scattered all over the playmats when you arrive. You feel a crayon roll underneath your foot and are thankful for your hold on the cart’s handle when you do, scooping up the bits that littered the spot and settling them neatly (well, as neat as you could make it) into the container sitting at the security desk.

This was unusual. Didn’t the Daycare Attendant give you a lengthy lecture about keeping things clean last night?

Speaking of which. “Hey, Sun?” You call out. Only your voice echoes back to you, plus the daycare’s music playing faintly over the speakers. “Sunny? You here?”

No answer. You look around the daycare for a sign of Sun rays or bouncing around, but there’s nothing. A frown forms on your face and you glance up at the tower high up in the wall. He might be in there, maybe in rest mode or something. Or maybe he’s avoiding you because of what happened last night. Probably the latter.

You call out to up there anyway. “Hey, I’m not mad or anything! Really!” Mad probably isn’t the correct term. Freaked out? Yeah, but that wasn’t going to get you answers. “…If you’re upset about the lights, it was an accident! I didn’t mean to mess it up.”

No response. Silence is not a fitting sound for inside the daycare. A twinge of guilt and confusion sits in your chest but you try to ignore it as you’re picking up Chica plushies out of the ball pit and tossing them into their proper toy bin. (You’re a terrible shot, by the way, so they bounce off the side and you have to walk over to properly put them away.) You think you’ve gotten most of the stray messes tidied up in the Daycare. You're nearing finishing your excuse to linger, so you call out once more. “I got to meet Freddy today, you know! He’s a pretty cool bear.” You speak to the empty daycare. “Made myself look like an idiot, though. Got my cart stuck and had him pull it out. Go figure.”

Again, no response. This was really starting to damper your mood. Dejected, you push the cart further into the room, picking up plushies and candy wrappers as you go. Sure, maybe you were a bit standoffish at times, but you didn’t think you were that ridiculous. It’s kinda hard not to feel a little hurt by the animatronics’ absence after last night’s fiasco. And you still didn’t have any clue what sort of transformation you had just witnessed-

Your cart accidentally knocks into a box toy tower, toppling it over. You’re about to turn and right them upside when you hear a small noise sound out from behind you, like scuttling on plastic.

You turn your head quickly. There’s only the jungle gym behind you, nothing but monkey bars and tunnels kids use to scamper around in. Nothing out of the ordinary, save for the scuff marks at the edge of one of the tunnels. They’re too deep, scratching at the paint on the plastic, nothing a kid’s shoes would have done but easy enough for something heavier…and probably made of metal, too.

Walking over, you dip your head to peek into the tunnel and gasp. “There you are!”

Sun is scrunched up in the tunnel, all gangly limbs and looking quite nervous. His knees are bent over his head and his body is twisted in a way that’s not possible for a human being, all to fit inside the small space made for children. That can’t be comfortable.

He stares back with wide eyes as you lean further into the opening with a grin. “I was calling for you. Didn’t you hear me?” You block the light when you peer into the tunnel, your shadow casting over his face. He shrinks back from it. Your smile falters in the slightest. “Why are you hiding?”

His fingers fidget, tapping on the plastic in inconsistent, nervous patterns. “Hello, friend! I-I wasn’t expecting to see you today!” His voice cracks uncharacteristically for a robot. “H-how are you feeling? Fine? I hope you’re fine! I understand if you’re not fine though, not that we don’t want you to be fine, no no. But I figured after that fall yesterday you might be a little jostled! Or confuzzled! Or-“

“Hey,” You cut him off, squinting at the odd movements the nervous robot seems to be making as if he’s trying to squeeze himself further into the tunnel and farther away from you. “Are you…stuck?” You crawl forwards, reaching out a hand. “Do you need help-?”

“NO! No, no no. I’m dandy, friend, no worries here!” The animatronic cuts you off, speaking quickly and waving his hands in such a small space to ward you off. You watch as he inches backwards even further now, the sun flaps on his head are bending at an odd angle. “I’m just…relaxing! Yes! I’m taking a break! It’s nice and cozy in here and I’m simply sitting…here…D-doing nothing! Don’t mind little old me, ha! Just keep cleaning! Make sure to tidy, tidy, tidy it all up!” He’s basically shaking, but you’re not sure if that’s a normal part of his excited code or due to something else. He seems bothered that he can’t tidy up the Daycare himself. “Don’t you worry about me!”

Relaxing, really? Because it looked like he was combining a method of avoiding you whilst also putting himself in some sort of mock of ‘time-out’. Any attempt to coax him out of his hiding space doesn’t look like it’s going to be successful invading his space, so you back away with a faint smile and stand at the tunnel's entrance. Despite his need for everything to be clean, the leftover messes alone weren’t going to be enough to bring him out.

You feel bad. An anxiety-ridden robot that behaves like it’s afraid you’re going to lash out at you does not sit well in the pit of your stomach. He still owed you answers, of course, after last night’s scare…but he also did save you from splattering onto the playmats when you fell.

…Well, maybe not him, but someone did.

How exactly does one coax an anxious, inhuman creature out of a small, cramped space anyway?

The idea comes to you in jest, but you give it a try anyway. Bending down but out of the direct exit to the tunnel, you hold out a hand and make soft calling noises. “Psssp Pssp Pssp Pssp”

You hear a small crick of metal gears turning like Sun was tilting his head at the odd noise. At your voice, his head slowly moves forwards into view, still shielded in the tunnel the sound of his body scraping along the plastic sides were unmistakable. “What is that? What are you doing?”

“It’s a noise people make when they want their pets or little creatures to come to them.” You clarify, giving him plenty of room at the entrance as you continue making the sound. There are no families around, the room is empty, and thus you do not care if you seem a little bit silly. You wiggle your fingers. “Pssp pssp pssp pssp”

A single sun ray pops out, then another, until Sun’s head is poking out from the tunnel and tilting at you at an unnatural angle. He seems to take you in, all bear ears and the silliness of an adult making cat-calling noises to a nearly 7ft animatronic that stashed itself away in a plastic playground tube. His voice is wavering as he speaks. “You’re really…not mad, then?”

Your smile widens. “No, I’m not.”

“Oh, goodie!” He leaps out with blurring speed. You don’t even have time to blink before the hand you’ve outstretched is taken in his own, another arm coming to wrap around your torso as you are twirled in a circle as the Daycare Attendant dances with joy. “You have no IDEA how worried I’ve been, we’ve been! Oh, it was just an accident, a mishap, a mistake -that’s what happens when you break the rules, you know- and I was scared you were hurt!  Or mad! Or both!” He spins the both of you, prancing around the empty daycare. It’s actually pretty fun, save for the part that he was leagues taller than you and you’re pretty sure your feet leave the ground with every other step as he makes a turn. “And I thought maybe you wouldn’t come back and that would have been so sad, so so sad but you’re here! And you’re not angry and you’re not hurt-”

He pauses mid-dance, which is unfortunate for you because at that moment you were mid-spin and so you were left with your feet dangling in the air until he suddenly drops you to your feet. Two metal hands slap lightly on the sides of your face, squishing your cheeks until you have fish lips as Sun’s faceplates get a little too close for comfort. “You’re not hurt, are you? Not at all? No scratches? Bruises? Anything broken? Did you hit your head when you fell? Did you sleep okay? We have Band-Aids! We have Chica Band-Aids and Monty Band-Aids a-and Band-Aids that have ME on them-!”

“I’m fine! I’m good, really.” You grab onto his wrists, avoid the bells wrapped around there, and lightly pull away his hands from your face before he can squish it into an even more unflattering expression. “I think you’re more freaked out about it than I am.”

It’s only half of a lie, but Sun gives off a dramatic shake of his head to refute you. “Frieeend. I really didn’t expect you to be here! That was quite a shocking fall you had!”

Lovely. Sun likes to use puns.

“Yeah, well.” You look up towards the ceiling, specifically toward the light you were working on yesterday. The panel has been replaced, the light now functioning without any flickering. There’s no sign of the ladder or any trance of what happened last night. “I didn’t expect it either. I thought after messing up they would have sent me a termination email or something, or maybe fire me when I clock in this morning.” You scratch your cheek, looking away from the distance between the floor and the ceiling. “At least you caught me, right? Thanks for that, by the way.”

Sun’s form goes ridged for a moment. Not strange to see in a robot, you don’t expect it to make micro-movements like breathing or the fidgeting a human does, but it’s still strange for such an animated being to be so lively one second and then freeze like a statue another. “Catch…?”

You cock an eyebrow. “You caught me-?”

“OH! The lights! I took care of that for you, friend!” He cuts you off, mocking a salute with all strange behavior dissipating in a matter of seconds. The mood swings were going to give you whiplash. “I told you I could take care of it, see? No more flickering! I should have done it ages ago, yes, yes, but they don’t like it when I try to fix anything by myself. And I was super careful! Cleaned up too! It would have been so bad if you went splat, so messy. Not that’s the important reason why not to go splat! But wouldn’t want blood stains on the playmats, no, it’s hard to scrub out. Kids scrape their knees all the time and they pick their noses and their scabs-“

Ignoring the rather morbid reference to your near injury, you try to clean up as he rambles. You hum as he talks, bending down to pick up a few more stray toys to put them in their place. Sun follows along, long arms darting out to grab toys up by the handful much faster than you were and putting them in their respective places while you worked at half the speed. He was helping you! At this rate, you’ll be done within five minutes.

“Even the ladder?” You snort as Sun remanences about how he cleaned up after your mess, remembering how you spent a good five minutes fighting for your life in the ball pit because you tripped over that damned thing. “What? Did you lug that heavy thing back all the way across the pizza plex?”

His hands are placed on his hips like a child proud to tell you how they’ve cleaned their room all by themselves. ”We put that ladder back in the storage closet! It’s not good here, doesn’t belong, unsightly dirty thing-so it’s right where it needs to be!“

“I didn’t know you could leave the Daycare.” You toss the remaining plushies where they needed to be, the clean ones in the toy bin, and a couple with some unidentified stains get put in the laundry bag to be cleaned later. Sun’s head swivels back to face you from where he was picking the dried play-doh off of a Roxanne plushie when you continue. “I was wondering if you were stuck in here? Restricted, I mean.” You shrugged as you tie the bags together. “The other animatronics have free roam, but I never see you leave the daycare or show up anywhere else.”

“OH, no no no. Leaving the Daycare is against the rules!” He jabs a finger in your direction like he’s scolding a child. “It’s safe and happy and bright here. I’m perfectly fine, and you can just come to visit! All the children come and visit and they know just where I am."

Well, that doesn’t seem entirely fair to Sun if he wasn’t capable of leaving the daycare when all the other animatronics were given free roam. You can’t imagine staying in such a brightly colored and chaotic environment was healthy for the brain, though you knew nothing about a computer one. Maybe that’s why his personality is so scrambled.

Still, that means someone else had to lug that damned thing around and you probably owed them an apology. “Gotcha. So, uh. Who took the ladder back? I kinda owe them an apology-”

“That’s alright, friend!” The tips of Sun’s fingers come town to pat atop your head gently, missing the bear ears, a gesture he seems to be forming a habit with you. “Moon understands. Now you’re both even and we can all be friends!”

Your eyebrows furrow together, sending him a look. “Moon…?”

“The Pizzaplex will be closing in five minutes. Please collect all your children and your belongings. Any magnetic socks thrown at staff personnel are confiscated and are not returnable. We hope you had a great time, and we’ll see you back here tomorrow!”

Sun’s body goes tense at the announcement but you ignore it. “Moon can leave the Daycare?” You question. You weren’t in a rush, you had the proper keys and badge to get through security and the front doors once you clocked out anyway. Sun appears to be bothered though, anxious twitching in his fingers as he clasps them together, standing at his full height. You push further. “He was the one that took the ladder back? How come no one told-”

“Uh oh! Time for you to go-go!” Sun’s chirper voice is suddenly plagued with urgency. You open your mouth to protest but the animatronic has grabbed your hand, holding it outwards and placing another on your lower back, and you are pulled into a half-dance, half-drag as the Daycare Attendant all but forces you towards the doors. “So sorry, friend! It’s lights-out after ten!”

“Sun, dude-” You struggle to right yourself to no avail, him effectively pushing you past the boundaries of the door. “Wait! What about the cart-”

“Taken care of, no worries, no stress!” Even as he lets you go, he gives you light pats and pushes on your shoulders, keeping you at bay and away from the entrance. His feet do not pass the doorframe line, but he still has no problem keeping you past it. “I’ll have this Daycare cleaned up, spic-and-span, no filthy mess!”

He sing-songs when he speaks, you note. Maybe out of anxiety but at least it rhymes. You make a grab for the ruffled collar and curse the animatronics’ ease at dodging questions at the perfect time. “I’m not done yet!”

“Don’t be sad! You’re not banned.” Sun reassures you, one long arm outstretched and a hand placed on your head to keep you from reaching him. It’s stupidly effective. Curse his height. “Come back tomorrow! I’ll bring extra candy and hide it away for you!” He pushes you back a few feet, pulls the doors up until it’s opened by an inch and smiles at you through the gap.

“Goodbye, sunshine!” His smile twitches, and he inches back further into the Daycare. “Nighty night.”

And with that, the doors slam closed in your face. You hear a mechanical lock fall into place and watch through the glass as the lights shut off one by one throughout the room until it’s pitch black and only your reflection in the glass peers back at you. You tap on the glass even. No response.

Congratulations. You’ve been kicked out of the daycare.

With a sigh, you dig in your pocket for your keys and badge and head towards the exit.

Later that night, you receive an email stating you were scheduled for an early opening shift the next day. You’re expected to get to the pizzaplex an hour before opening to tidy up a few places and buff out the (ever-increasing) scratches forming outside Monty’s room since some mother complained about how unsightly they were. There’s nothing stating you have to wear the bear ears again, so you leave them at home.

You mourn your loss of sleep before it even happens, not to mention that this is the worst time. You have an exam the day after, and you’ve been slacking on your studies, hoping to cram it all before the test but instead keeping your mind occupied with silly details from your new job. (Specifically speaking, the strangeness of a Daycare Attendant that gives you more questions than it answers.) It barely gives you time to recuperate but the shift is short, barely three hours on the schedule, so you suppose you’ll survive your two shifts being so close together.

They didn’t expect you to be there long, so they probably won’t have a problem with you bringing your textbooks just in case you get some free time. You pack them in a bag and it aside for the morning before trying to get what little sleep you could manage.

When your alarm clock goes off, the sky is still dark outside and you feel like screaming into your pillow.

God, you’re tired. But money is money, so you pull yourself out of bed anyway. It’s one of those days where just putting on your uniform properly feels like a difficult task. There won’t be any families or customers at the pizzaplex, and the only human beings you could think of that could possibly be there would either be security or a teenager who shows up way too early for his shift for some reason. Robots don’t count. They won’t judge you if you look disheveled. Probably.

Except they do. Roxy makes a noise similar to how she would blow air out of her snout in a snort when you walk into her room, dragging your bookbag behind you and half dragging your pride with it. “Yeesh. Have another fight with the cleaning cart? I guess it won.”

...Lovely. They all know about that.

She snickers at your appearance and her own joke. You don’t even have the energy to respond properly and walk to the cleaning closet without batting an eye. “G’morning, Roxy.”

The wolf doesn’t return your standard greeting. “I mean, seriously.” Two claws come down and pluck something off the shoulder of your uniform. Roxy holds a rather impressive lint picking in between her fingers and gives you a deadpan look.

You just blink at her. Out of synch, actually, one eye after the other. You’re lacking energy for this.

She frowns, yellow eyes scanning you up and down. “If we had a zombie attraction here, I’d think you’d fit right in.”

Ignoring the obvious insult, you carry on with your cleaning duties, moving past her and wiping the mirror of any residue (spray paint and metal polish, it looks like.) “Yeah, I think I’d nail the whole zombie thing down, too. I get to look wicked as hell and just walk around all day groaning and biting people. ” You talk lighthearted, though she squints at you while you work. You scrub a particularly rough stain out of the wood of the vanity and wonder why a robot even needs purple lipstick when they can just have it painted on in the first place. “Don’t think I’d be able to do the kind of attractions you guys have to though. I’ll leave the good looks and talent to you.”

The space behind you falls silent, and you’re careful not to look up into the mirror in case she’s watching you. Instead, you finish cleaning her vanity and step back to admire your work when Roxy pipes up again. “There’s a spare Fazbear jacket in the employee's room down the hall. Someone left it behind and no one’s claimed it, so it’s free if it fits you. It’ll cover up your shirt's wrinkles. I think there’s a coffee maker in there too. Maybe.”

You pipe up at the idea of caffeine and smile. “I didn’t know, thanks!”

“Whatever.” She makes a gesture towards the door, sitting down at her newly cleaned vanity. The pizzaplex is opening in a few minutes, and while that didn’t mean all the attractions were available, it meant the animatronics were going to start roaming around until their noon shows. She must want to get ready. “Get out of my room.”

You bid her a goodbye that she barely acknowledges, and leave to the promise of coffee.

...

The breakroom’s coffee maker is broken.

The breakroom itself is poorly maintained. It’s pretty bare. There are a few posters on the wall, mainly talking about employee rules and procedures, lockers, a sofa, a fridge that looks like it hasn’t been used in years, a countertop with rust on the handles, and a foldout table and chairs in the middle of the room. Then, of course, there’s the coffee maker, which looks like it’s been sitting here forgotten for half a decade unplugged and with a broken pot. There wasn’t even any coffee to put in here.

Fazbear Entertainment is famous for having plenty of robot employees and staff whilst keeping very few human ones. You can’t say you’re surprised at the lack of maintenance for human-needed break rooms whereas animatronics needed no such thing as caffeine.

You did find the jacket though. It’s a simple one, varsity style with the Fazbear head logo on the back. It’s not very special in anyway way but it gives you an extra set of pockets when you wear it, so you take up on the universe’s offer and accept the mysterious jacket left behind. Lucky you.

As you exit and finish a few miscellaneous short tasks, the daunting one of Monty’s stage marks looms over you. You look at it from a distance with despair, and despite not seeing him anywhere, dreaded buffing out all those scratches just to have that work ripped up anyway.

As if to spite you, Monty exits his room as you’re glaring at the fresh scratch marks. The two of you make eye contact, he opens his mouth and you spin right on your heels and start dragging yourself and your book bag towards the Daycare. You’ll deal with the alligator’s attitude later, right now you needed a study break.

The Daycare is dark when you arrive, still black beyond the glass. Of course they are, the daycare doesn’t open for another thirty minutes. The automated lighting system wouldn’t have turned them on by now. The doors aren’t locked, however, as you push lightly on the wood and it gives away to a creak, the light behind you flooding into the room. Sticking your head inside, you call out to the darkness. “Good morning!”

The darkness does not answer back. It’s quiet enough you can hear your own yawn echo back to you when you take a few steps inside the room, the light from the windows and doorway letting you see only a couple of feet further into the enclosure. “It’s okay if I sit in here for a little while, right?” You hold your bookbag up to your chest for show. “I need to study. I brought my textbooks.”

Something metal clicks in the room and you scan for the source. Nothing is there, not even light. Rubbing your eyes, you curse your lack of sleep and start to feel for the light switch against the wall. “Sun, I’m turning on the lights. Sorry if you’re sleeping.” You pat around for it, blindly walking further into the room and away from the light that pools out from the doorway.

You bump into the security desk in the darkness and curse as you fumble your way back to the wall. “Fuck.”

Somewhere above you, you hear a chuckle.

You follow the laughter. Two red pinpricks in the dark, way high up towards the ceiling, and they’re resting on you. You can’t see anything else, just the barely noticeable red glow that seems to soar high up in the air far from the ground. Your heart skips a beat, you think, as you make eye contact just as your palm runs over the light switch and you flip it on so you can get a better look-

Bright light comes suddenly and you’re forced to blink. The red eyes disappear, and instead a blur from that spot falls. The color blue lasts for a split second before turning yellow and falling several heights-

SLAM! The metal body slams face-first into the ground.

You nearly drop your books running over with a mouthful of curses spewing. “Oh, shit shit shit shit shit-!”

“Nobadlanguageinthedaycare!” Sun’s muffled voice groans from the floor. His head was without sunrays, bare until one pokes out right as your hand leans down to touch him, then another, until the rest of them slowly peek out, and the animatronic peels his faceplate from the playmat, eyes rolling in odd directions as he recovers from the impact. When he recollects himself, he steadies his vision on you, limbs still twisted at an odd angle. “Bad language is FORBIDDEN in the daycare!”

You don’t know what to do with yourself other than sit with fidgeting hands as the animatronic’s limbs creak and bend themselves to the correct positions again. “Sorry! Sorry, I had no idea I didn’t realize-” You inwardly flinch at a metallic snap. The back plating of Sun’s headpiece has fallen off, but you watch with mild horror as the Daycare attendant casually pops it back into place, like he’s done this millions of times before. You sit stunned as the robot spiders himself into sitting cross-legged beside you. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t-”

“Gooooooood morning! You’re sure here early friend, you’re not usually here until later!” Sun’s neck creaks for a final time as he clicks something back in place, his faceplate spinning a full rotation before stopping to spring it towards you like an excited puppy. “Did you get any sleep? It hasn’t been that long since your last shift. Did you eat breakfast? I have candy! It’s not very nutritious, but it’ll it’s a good pick-me-up if you need it!” To emphasize his offer, the robot starts digging through his pants pockets.

You stop him with an outstretched hand. “…I think watching you hit the ground was enough to wake me up, thanks.” Plus, guessing on the advertisements on those things, you’re not sure if you can trust it’s just caffeine that they put in those candies. “Are you…okay? That was a pretty hard fall-”

“Bright and dandy!” Sun exclaims, two hands waving beside his face to emphasize his excitement. He pinches at your cheeks, pulling the corners of your mouth upwards into a smile. “Rising and shining, sunshine, the day has just-” He freezes, taking you in. A metal thumb comes up to brush underneath your eye where dark circles have settled deeper than they were before. “Golly Goodness. You don’t look like you slept at all.”

Great, now a second robot was remarking on your tired appearance, but at least he seemed okay. Pushing away his hands, smile and hope that your exhaustion isn’t evident in the lines of your face. Judging by his strange silence, apparently, it was. “I’m just a little tired. I actually came down here to get a little break before finishing up and clocking out.”

His head tilts further, a forever-etched smile thinning a bit. “To...sleep?”

“No, just to read.” You wave him off, pointing to your textbooks. His gaze falls from your dark circles to the written text on the cover, scanning the title as you continue. “I have an exam coming up, so I need to study while I get the chance.”

“Oh!” Sun bends his legs over his shoulders and reverse jumps up from his spot. (You’re not sure how a being made of metal and plastic is capable of doing such a thing but never doubt Fazbear robotics.) He clasps his hands together. “Oh, fun! This is just like Storytime!”

You doubt it, but he follows you to the security desk and bounces as you settle in at the chair available there anyway, laying out your textbooks and notebook to catch up on some past due studying. He doesn’t follow you past the security desk, though. Instead craning over the front to look down at your papers with innocent curiosity. “I just needed somewhere quiet to be able to study, if that’s okay.” You repeat, despite having already settled in. You’re hoping he takes pity on your exhausted appearance and keeps the volume to a minimum. “I promise I won’t be long. Just an hour or so.”

“NO, no, no you take as long as you like! Don’t mind me. You just focus.” He reassures you, reaching a hand out and tapping on the top of your noggin. “I’ll be getting ready for the children. Do your best!.” He leaves with a salute, off to pick up stray toys here and there and setting them out in specific spots. You watch It appears his work for the day has begun. You check the time; the Daycare is officially open, but you doubt a parent would be right at the door until a little later. Still, Sun works on preparing for their arrival with heartwarming dedication.

Turning back to your textbook, you try to read the important parts that might be on the exam and commit them to memory.

Ten minutes later, you’re failing at it, mind occupied somewhere else...

Well. Specifically to a ‘someone’, with plural dubitability.

…Light determines whether or not the Daycare Attendant transforms into ‘Sun’ or ‘Moon’.

That explains...quite a lot, actually.

Assuming it’s two beings in the same robotic body, it would explain Sun’s avoidance and nervousness yesterday after the ladder-fall situation. The lights flickering causes a painful, half-transformation (their screams still feel fresh in your mind, and a pang of guilt that has settled in your gut has yet to dissipate) and sudden change in lighting can cause a quick transformation, hence you accidentally sending Sun into a free fall. (Again, yet another thing to feel guilty over.)

Sun is very adamant about keeping ‘Moon’ at bay and you’ve no idea why outside of the few minor encounters you’ve had with him, the fact that he’s listed as the ‘naptime’ attendant in the employee logs but there’s no naptime procedures for the daycare schedule as far as you’ve checked, and Sun’s persistence to keep you out of the dark and into the light. Or at the very least, away from him when the lights go out. Strange-

“I brought you some glitter highlighters to help you study!” Sun’s voice breaks through your thoughts. A handful of multicolored highlighters are thrust into your vision. “Here!”

You blink down at the offering, selecting one of your favorite colors and setting others to the side. Your smile returns. You should really try to keep studying. “Thanks, Sunny.”

At the acceptance of his gift, Sun beams in his spot, folding his arms behind his back and looming over the desk as you reread the same paragraph you’ve been trying to memorize for the past ten minutes and copying it into your notes. He’s still there when you flip to the next page, and then to the next, and remains there even as you start to feel a little bit nervous. For a robot who had such puppy-like excitement, he could be a tad creepy sometimes.

You look up to him after a few minutes. “Do you need something?”

“Just watching!” Sun chirps. He’s very still, and quiet otherwise. He’s actually not disruptive, but his presence looming over you alone was enough to steer your nerves out of focus. This was getting a little ridiculous. It’s been half an hour and you’ve barely gotten anything memorized, especially with a freakishly tall jester bot hovering over your shoulder and watching your every move.

With a sigh, you lean back against the chair and take in the Daycare. Empty. No children to attend to, he was bored and you were the only being here with a pulse to keep him company. Scanning the daycare through all of its jungle gyms, the toys and the posters, you’re starting to wonder who’s cruel idea to program in a robot’s ability to feel loneliness, or if it was all just a chance mistake that turned into that way.

“I used to have eyes like that, you know,” Sun speaks up. “I know I look a little different, but it’s me, really!”

Blinking, you turn back to the animatronic who returns your gaze. At his hesitance, you turn back to where your eyes had drifted off to. It was a poster; a cartoon version of him with notable blue eyes. They don’t match with reality. You turn back to the blank, white gaze of the animatronic himself. He beams at you even under your obvious inspection, arms still crossed behind his back like he’s waiting for you to ask. Excited even.

Curiosity fuels you. “What happened to them?”

It’s not the most tactful way to ask, but he responds cheerfully enough regardless. “Oh, the children!” He starts with a tone full of mirth. “They always want to get up to mischief when I wasn’t looking. One day, some rascals figured out they could do whatever they wanted if they knew I wasn’t looking at them! Push someone, wipe boogers on their seat, steal candy-” He trails off with laughter. “So my old eyes with pupils were removed. Now no one can tell where I’m looking!” His head swivels at an angle as he leans closer over your desk. “I think this pair is much better than those old googly eyes!”

As if for show, he rolls them as if he were performing a trick to entertain a child. It’s kind of unsettling, but you give a slight smile anyways. You turn back to the poster and its counterpart along the wall with it. On it is illustrated a figure just like Sun’s own, with some notable key differences. It was obvious who the picture was.

Still, you hesitate before asking. “And Moon?”

At this, Sun too, seems to hesitate. He stills his trick, his head cocking at an angle.

He says nothing, so you rephrase your question. “What did Moon think about it?” You wave a hand in his general direction, pointer finger to his gaze. “The whole…you know, eye thing.”

“…He likes it.” Sun says. There’s a slight edge to his voice, unsurprising. “He likes the infrared vision. It’s very annoying when it’s activated, you know.”

You twirl your pen in between your fingers, looking at and squinting at the animatronic. He doesn’t move or breathe, a strange statue perched over your desk scoping your reaction. This was not a detail you were made aware of. Then again, management sorta threw you to the wolves on your first day anyway. There’s a lot of things you don’t know. You’ve barely even just met one of them. “Moon has infrared vision?”

His fingers tap one by one on the desk and pause with them crooked towards you. “We do.”

“Cool.” You grin at him, genuinely impressed. Fazbear entertainment pulled out all sorts of bells and whistles for their animatronics, huh? His head tilts at an angle as if confused at the action. “That’s pretty wicked-”

A bell chime sounds out. Sun’s body straightens up immediately (you didn’t realize how far over the desk he was leaning until all the available space was made empty again. Rest in peace; your personal space) and gives you a small wave. “Excuse me!”

The animatronics’ head does a 180 towards the drop-off doors, bounding over with great speed. He trips at some point, turns the fall into a cartwheel, and finally a barrel roll until he reaches the doorway.

A child is standing there with his (less than impressed, and rather disturbed) mother, previously nervous but now giggling at the sight of the Daycare Attendant’s antics. The first daycare attendee has arrived. Amazing how Sun could immediately make a child feel at ease.

They exchange greetings at the doorway and all that relevant information while you sit back, pulling out your phone and checking the time. You had about thirty minutes until you were expected to clock out, and you still had Monty’s scratch marks to buff out. Suddenly the promise of getting home back to your dim room and your warm bed was too enticing, so you pick yourself up from the chair and walk past to the doorway, sending Sun an apologetic look as you leave.

The animatronic is holding the newcomer as he verifies the information. You can just barely hear the conversation as you pass by, though you try not to eavesdrop. He notices you, glancing up briefly over the mother’s shoulder to see you wave goodbye. For a moment, his face stills and looks like he’s going to call you back over, but the child coos in his arms, and by the time he looks up again, you are already down the hallway and out of sight.

There are a few families walking around by the time you get back to the main hallway. You’re hoping with customers slowly pouring in that Monty is off entertaining children or preparing for the show elsewhere. Just your luck, he’s not. In fact, he’s literally right where you didn’t want him to be; standing off to the side of his room near a cutout of his own figure with a couple of kids who looked like they eat dirt for breakfast. You’re going to have to sand down those scratches and hope to god they ignore you.

They do, for the most part. You kept the sander and paint in a nearby storage closet specifically for this part of the stage, and no one comes up to you and complain about the tiny bit of noise you were making as you were doing repairs. Some kid kicks the ‘out-of-service’ sign put in place so they don’t bother you or get hurt while you’re working (a total savior when it comes to potential lawsuits) and instead of telling him off, Monty laughs as the little robot spins in a circle. He flashes a sharp-toothed grin at your disapproving frown, and you work quicker.

You finish the job. It’s not as smooth or nice as you’ve made it before, but you didn’t care to make it look perfect if it was just going to get scratched up again. Putting away the equipment, you pull out your phone and take a picture of your handiwork. Just in case. Didn’t want Monty getting any ideas and somehow getting you fired by claiming you weren’t doing your tasks at all.

Speak of the devil, a blur of green appears in your peripheral vision. The family is satisfied with their photos and has gone elsewhere, leaving you as the lone employee in the presence of the alligator himself.

He stands to the side, observing your work with his mouth nearly pulled back into a sneer. It’s within the silence you realize neither one of you has spoken a word to each other since you started working here. You go first. “Hi.”

Sunglasses snap to your face, mouth opening as if offended by your greeting, then stops. Monty’s eyes fall down to your phone, back up to you, and his mouth falls shut.

There’s a moment of tense silence before he grumbles. “Nice sticker.”

You blink, raising a brow. He pushes past you, disappearing into his room and slamming the door behind him. You check your shirt for any stickers a child may have stuck onto you while you weren’t looking, then your pants, then your phone and you find it. The Monty sticker that the staff bot gave you yesterday is stuck to the back of it.

…Okay, all of the robots in this place were weird and you really needed a nap. You’re going home.

You hit the bed as soon as you walk in the door and pass out within minutes. It’s not the most comfortable sleeping in your uniform, but it’s a well deserved nap. Much needed rest before a big exam the next day, which you still needed to study for.

You wake up late at night and inwardly mourn that your sleeping schedule has been ruined. At least now you’re rested enough to cram studying until-

…

...You left your textbooks in the fucking daycare.

On the eve of your FINAL EXAM.

After screaming and cursing into the pillow, staring at your Fazbear employee badge and keys with intense consideration and weighing your options of dropping out or possibly taking the risk of getting fired; you throw on a hoodie and grab your car keys.

You’re not going to be there long. Just get in, grab the textbooks, and get out. You were an employee, the exam was tomorrow and this really couldn’t wait.

For your own sake, you hope the security bots remember that you peeled socks off of them for an hour.

Chapter Text

The building looks rather intimidating at night when you pull up. The large neon sign with Freddy’s face plastered on the front glowers down at you as you park (out of sight from any parking lot cameras you hope) and scuttle up to the front doors.

Telling yourself your justifications just makes you look stupid standing at the glass doors for five minutes. From the outside, you can see the shutters have rolled closed, but your employee badge should have the authorization to open them. Entering and sliding it through the reader proves your theory right. It’s loud as it rises, and you cringe at the sound, quickly crouching and darting underneath. The shutters rise to the heights, then by pushing a button they fall back down again, closing the entrance behind you.

Well, you’re inside! Officially trespassing! How does it feel to be a criminal?

The inside is dark. Some neon lights from nearby shops and attractions bounce off each other and barely illuminate the way. You pull out your phone and turn on the flashlight, lighting a few feet in front of you. It’s not like it was dark enough that you couldn’t see far enough ahead, but you’d rather not risk tripping over something stupid and having that scene be the evidence used in court when Fazbear entertainment eventually charges you.

But your final exams are no joke, you’ve been slacking on your studies and surely management would be understanding if an employee accidentally left something very expensive and vital behind? Maybe they wouldn’t even know if you were quick enough. Just get in, get the books, get out. And even if you did get caught, maybe the repercussions wouldn’t be too terrible if you just explained yourself. It’s not like you were a stranger, you worked here. That should be enough, right?

You should really find the security guard on shift and make your case before anything else, but all you’re seeing are a couple of security bots rolling around in defined areas. They look pretty focused on their task, flashlight shining in hand, but they aren’t human enough to have the sense to look up from their designated spot and look in your direction, so you should be able to pass by them easily enough.

The Daycare wasn’t too far from the entrance. A solid idea, since it would be smart for parents to drop off their toddlers right away after entering. You didn’t need a daycare pass or anything like that since your employee badge gave you access to practically the entire building, so you bypass the machine for it. Walking quickly, you make your way through the pizzaplex, walking faster past the rooms that house the band animatronics.

Luckily, their curtains are all closed. A thin slit allows you a quick glance on the inside, and you can barely make out a blur of Roxanne in her own space. The rest are shut tight, and Monty’s room is dark as usual. It’s not easy to tell if they’re actually residing in their respective rooms or not, but you’re not going to be brave enough to pull them and check. The last thing you wanted was for the animatronics out of all things to rat you out and get you fired, (or, at least, scold you. Freddy might be nicer but you’re not sure how the others would react if they saw you here outside your shift.)

You’ve just made it past there when a sudden beeping startles you from your thoughts, and a bright flashlight shines directly into your eyes. “What-?”

You cut yourself off, hands raised to protect your eyes from the light. A second passes and it’s lowered, the obnoxious beeping comes to a stop, and you squint into the dark to find the assailant. It’s a security bot, and its blank eyes bore into you with all the unfeeling emotion of a robot that makes your skin crawl. Congratulations. You’ve been here barely five minutes and you’ve already managed to get yourself caught.

A moment passes and you’ve just been staring at each other. There’s no telling if this thing has remotely called the cops or some sort of backup, or if it’s even capable of doing such a thing, but you test your luck and work up a nervous smile at it anyway. “Don’t…call the cops. I just left something super important.” You start off. You wish this thing had eyelids or something so it could at least blink at you, but its gaze doesn’t break and its body doesn’t move. “I, uh...I just need to grab it from the Daycare and then I’m out. Promise.”

You half expect the security bot to apprehend you somehow, or maybe start blaring those loud beeping noises again, but it just stares. It’s very uncomfortable. Then, the bot’s head tilts upwards towards the ceiling and its flashlight follows with it. You follow its line of sight, but there’s nothing above you. There’s nothing but darkness, and you can only hear some gift shop music still playing on low volume somewhere in the pizzaplex, the AC units humming above and the single sound of a faint bell jingling, probably some toy another staff bot rolled over.

Confused, you look back down. Its face remains passive like it was expecting you to react in some sort of way. You don’t think these things can talk outside of their predesignated scripts, though.

For a moment, there is just continued staring before its body rolls 180 degrees to face the opposite direction, the head slowly turning away after and moving off into the dark, flashlight poised and at the ready.

Relief settles in your chest as it rolls out of sight. If that was the staff bot’s way of saying it was ‘turning a cheek’, you weren’t going to argue.

Your luck only lasts for a moment however when you round the corner down another hallway, and you lock eyes on yet another robot. This time; stuffing something greasy and papery into her beak, you gasp in surprise before you can even remember to think quietly. “Chica?”

She gives a startled squawk, muffled by the bits of cardboard, old food, and plastic forks she’s shoved into her mouth. This is certainly not the sight you expected to see of one of the main casts; leaning over a garbage bin with hands full of trash, some smeared on her beak and the shock in her eyes illuminated by your phone flashlight. She too looks equally as stunned and makes out a word after swallowing a crumpled box that should not be possible for a robot. “You-!”

You cut her off with a loud whisper. “W-What are you doing eating trash?!”

The animatronic fumbles with her words for a moment, the sound of metallic coughing that mimicked choking on her food as she drops what she held back into the bin and straightened her posture. “What are you doing here?!” She exclaims, a manicured metal finger pointing in your direction. “The Pizzaplex is closed! You’re not on the schedule to work for the night, you’re not even in your uniform! Your trespassing!”

The two of you stare at each other in silence, her finger remaining pointing at you while your phone’s flashlight illuminated the absolute absurdness of the scenario you’ve found her in. You think she’s maybe going to call for security or tell you to leave, but she looks just as cornered as you do, and the ridiculousness of the situation starts to churn in your brain as you feel nervous laughter bumbling in your chest.

A huff of air escapes through your nose. Chica’s beak twitches, then the both of you burst into a fit of giggles and laughter. “You’re eating TRASH?”

Chica waves her hands in a fidgety fit of bubbled laughter, a crumpled plastic water bottle and part of a pizza box in her grip. “I-It’s an acquired taste!“

You cackle. “CARDBOARD?”

“I was hungry!”

You fight to keep your giggles to a low volume and take a deep breath. The lightheartedness was a welcome relief after the anxiety that comes with being caught not once but twice in the last five minutes, and it’s nice to have a moment of joy, even if it comes from the realization that the two of you now found each other in rather compromising situations. “Okay! Okay, jus-” You clear your throat, steading your flashlight and try to appear professional. It doesn’t work, a wavy smile still on your face, one that Chica mimics. “One question: Why?”

“Don’t you pretend you’re not being weird too!” Chica points the water bottle at you with a snicker in her accusation, and you swallow the chuckle in your throat. “You’re not even supposed to be here! What’s with all the sneaking around, hmm?”

She’s got you beat there. You take a deep breathe, and Chica waits patiently for you to explain yourself. (Her eyes dart to the garbage bin like she was eager to get back to her meal, though, and you try not to point it out for her own embarrassment’s sake. You raise your free hand in a mockery of surrender. “Okay, before you call security, hear me out-”

“Very illegal,” Chica adds on, with a slight hum to her voice. She was teasing you. “I’m like, totally supposed to report you. Freddy would be so disappointed.”

“I know! I know, just-I left my textbooks here, okay?” You explain, watching as the animatronics’ head tilts to the side. Before she can ask, you continue. “It can’t wait until my next shift. My finals start tomorrow and I haven’t been studying like I was supposed to. I really to get them back tonight.” You put your hands together in a praying motion and comically plead for discretion. “Don’t tell anyone? Please? I’ll be super grateful.”

Chica’s hands settle on her hips, trying to look imposing. It doesn’t work with the smile in her beak. “Uh-huh.”

“Like, super-duper grateful.”

“Sure.”

“A whole pizza’s worth of grateful...with extra cheese...and marinara sauce.”

“HA! I eat pizza all the time. Bad bribe.” She scoffs, waving the offer away. Her eyes glance to the trash bin for a moment, then to you, and a quiet flush of embarrassment seeps into her voice. “But…promise you won’t tell the others about this little habit of mine and we’ll call it even. Deal?” She raises a finger up to her beak in a mock of hush. “I won’t snitch on you if you won’t snitch on me.”

You’re not even sure if the others would be interested in Chica’s trash-eating passion considering all of their own quirks, (Save for Freddy, because Mr. Fazbear himself seemed to be perfectly engineered) but you nod at her offer regardless. “Deal.”

She looks as equally relieved to your answer as you feel, judging by how her hand sneaks back to grab the pizza box she previously dropped and starts to tear it into bite-sized pieces. So the Chicken animatronic liked to eat garbage? You wondered if it was a feature implemented to help get rid of waste in the Pizzaplex, but you’re not insensitive enough to ask her about it, rather directing the conversation elsewhere.

“I thought you guys were supposed to stay in your rooms at this time. What are you doing outside, anyway? You know, besides the whole-” You gesture to the garbage bin and Chica looks at you a little uncertain like you’re about to steal her ‘food’. “-a three-course meal you’ve got going on here.”

“Security Patrols.” She answers. She’s chewing on bits of cardboard as she speaks, so her voice is muffled by soft box crunching. “I mean, we’re not really the security bots, but we can call it that if we want some time around to roam instead of being cooped up in our rooms all the time.” She stuffs the rest down her throat. Well, whatever the robot equivalent of a throat was. You’re starting to get a better idea of why Chica’s room is always so trashed and filled with gunk every time you’ve had to go clean it.

“Right, I was actually thinking about going up to the office and talking to whoever is on security shift for the night.” You sheepishly rub the back of your neck. You’ve since lowered your flashlight so as to annoy her, but you can still see her expression tilt in confusion at your sentence. “So I can explain myself. I can’t really hide from some of these cameras so…it’s worth a shot? I don’t want to get written up, or fired. Or, you know, arrested-”

“Oh, we haven’t had a human security officer in years.” Chica stuffs an old can into her beak and crushes it with slightly shocking strength. If she sensed your confusion, she doesn’t say anything about it. “They have all these staff security bots instead. Saves money and all that. I think they have a designated animatronic for handling intruders anyway.” She winks at you. “I’m still totally breaking protocol by not reporting you, by the way.”

“…And I’m forever in your debt.” You smile at her teasing, but the worries about what she just confirmed run through your head. “But, the others-”

“-will recognize you.” She interrupts. Chica’s voice is naturally cheerful, and oddly reassuring. “I don’t think anyone else from the band is on security duty tonight, but if you get caught just explain what happened! They’ll understand.” She waves her hand, then stops and thinks for a moment. “…Freddy might be upset and give you a scolding. And Roxy and Monty probably won't be nice but they won’t hurt you or anything. Might make fun of you though.“

You snort. “Comforting.”

Chica grins at you. She’s scooping copious amounts of garbage into her arms. “I’d hurry if I were you. You’re still an intruder right now, you know.”

You don’t have to be told twice. You depart from her with a wave and a brisk walk towards what you think is the shortest route to the Daycare. You’re pretty sure she’s planning on taking all of that garbage straight to her room, meaning no you’ll be cleaning the residue the next day. No matter. You get paid well anyways.

God, you hope your textbooks were okay. You had left them on the security desk, so no kids throughout the day should have been over there and able to mess with them anyway, but you wouldn’t put it past kids. On the off chance that something did happen to them, you hope it was something repairable, or at least readable. You can handle crayons and boogers on the pages, but if you find out that some snot nosed twerp ripped out the pages to make origami you just might lose it a little bit.

Hopefully, Sun realized you had left them behind and kept them hidden if he even took notice of them at all. Actually, you wouldn’t mind talking to him again while you were here, maybe apologize for leaving so abruptly last shift. He might be upset if you think about it since you were trespassing. He seemed like a real stickler for the rules, but maybe he’ll forgive you just this once if you just-

Something touches your shoulder.

You jump, spinning around and shining your phone’s light behind you. Nothing but empty space greets you as you blink in confusion, glancing around for whatever it might have been. “Chica?”

No answer. Your voice echoes off of the walls a little too loudly for your liking. There’s a crawling feeling in your spine but you ignore it. You were tired and tied with anxieties, mainly because you were somewhere you really weren’t supposed to be. Shrugging the feeling off, you turn back towards the way to the Daycare-

Just to feel something touch your opposite shoulder again. A little quicker this time, you swing around, just to find empty darkness. A Roxanne cut-out stands on the opposite end of the room from you, but you highly doubt she could have been the culprit. Still, Chica’s warning rings in your head and you briefly wonder if someone was playing a trick on you, or if you were just losing your mind. With a sour face, you turn back towards your path and take a few steps-

A touch on your shoulder again. You swivel around, stunned and confused that the empty space is behind you but before you can even start to feel angry about it, another touch on the opposite shoulder. You swing around to shine light on that too, then another on the opposite side, then on your back, then your arm, and something barely gracing the back of your ear until you call out in frustration that you’ve been essentially rotating in a circle looking for the culprit. “C’mon, guys, this isn’t funny!”

A wet floor sign slightly turns to look at you in what you assume is pity (great, now the wet floor signs are judging you) as a tap on your shoulder grabs your attention and this time you turn around swinging. Your fist meets air and you stumble forwards a bit from the momentum, cursing under your breath. “Fucking hell.”

Low laughter.

It comes from above you. Your neck cranes back to peer into the ceiling, your phone coming just in time to see a blur disappear from the neon lights and the light beam’s reach to disappear into the darkness among the rafters. You hear the faint sound of jingling bells.

…Huh. You have a sneaking suspicion of who that could have been. But you don’t have any solid proof.

Jerk.

You’re not sticking around for introductions, this plan was starting to stretch out the longer you’re staying here and you didn’t want to be accused of thievery or vandalism, so you ignore the feeling of eyes trailing your every movement and make a rather (funny looking) brisk walk to the daycare. Something was stalking you. Toying with you, even. But if it was as harmless as just trying to a rise out of you with childish behavior, then that’s a problem for you to deal with while you’re on the clock, not when you’ve got a couple of hours after this to study for your finale with the textbook that’s still sitting on the Daycare’s security desk.

There are no security bots around the Daycare’s entrance when you arrive and you’re stunned to see the doors are wide open. It’s pitch black inside, darker than the rest of the pizzaplex considering there’s no neons within the structure. The security desk isn’t far from the door, so you don’t bother to turn on the light as you make your way to it. Oddly enough, it’s not moved from its spot, and you’re relieved some kid didn’t snatch it for a replacement for coloring pages.

For politeness’s sake, you call out to the darkness. “Hey, Sun-!” You pause. “Or whoever...I’m just grabbing my textbook.” You watch the darkness for any movement and find yourself somewhat disappointed when there isn't any. You had no idea where the Daycare Attendant would be, but you can’t linger here. You’d have a chance to see him again after your exams.

Just as you’re about to grab it and go something catches your eye. The pages are lifted like something was stuck within the book. You shine your phone’s light across the desk and see the highlighters that Sun had given to you strewn about, some with the caps still off. Curious, you open the cover. A highlighter cap falls out of the bind where it was holding its place, and you look to the pages.

There are doodles across the texts (RIP to the idea of returning your textbook later for your deposit). You position your phone right over the page, squinting at the color popping off the text. On the inside, there is a doodle of Sun, lanky and happy-faced, holding hands with what looked like a detailed scribble of you. There is fake grass and clouds scribbled in the background. It’s not particularly artistic but it’s heartwarming, like a child’s gift. You can barely read the article it’s been doodled on, but it’s probably something you’ve already memorized.

A smile forms on your face and you turn the page. It’s the same, but you are drawn lying on a pillow sound asleep. (you hope its sleeping) with the background completely penciled black. Only a crude, crescent smiling moon hangs above the doodled you within the blackness that blots out the text.

“Rulebreaker.” A voice low and full of mischief whispers behind you. Something cold wraps around the back of your neck and you freeze as fingers coil to the front of your throat. “It’s past your bedtime.”

Oh, fuck no.

Fueled by fight or flight instinct, the grip around your textbook tightens and you swing it around as hard as you can, the cover impacting with something metal, and sending its face tilling upwards as the grip around your neck loosens and you fall back against the desk as the thing falls one, two steps away from you, clutching its face. A guttural, glitching sound comes from it as you fumble with your phone, finally positioning the light to shine directly on the assailant as its eyes roll continuously from the impact before stilling, red pinpricks in a sea of black zeroing in on your fearful expression.

The Moon’s head tilts to an unnatural angle, his smile stretching. “Naughty brat.”

The light!

You needed to get to turn on the light!

You lunge for the switch, (or at least, where you hope the switch is in this lowlight) and feel something like it’s shape underneath the palm of your hand right as something larger wraps around your wrist, enveloping your hand completely and squeezing. You let out a cry of pain and hit at the metal hand wrapped around it with the blunt of your phone. The grip doesn’t budge, and Moon’s hisses sound like amusement, his head rotating as he uses his grip to pull you inwards. “Keep your hands to yourself in the Daycare.”

You shine your phone’s light directly into his eyes, ripping yourself away from him as he hisses and coils back. “Fuck off!”

“Language!” The Moon’s head shakes in pain, frenzied and you waste no time in running even as a metal hand juts blindly out, blocking your exit. You stumble backwards to avoid his grab and take off in the opposite direction, deeper into the daycare and listen for the sound of increasing agitation behind you as the animatronic recovers. “Naughty Rulebreaker! naughty, naughty-”

You nearly trip over some toddler chairs as you try to dart out a view. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!“

You regret speaking as soon as the words leave your mouth. The sound of metal clicking and tap of slippers rapidly moving disappear, and you’re given a two-second warning of abysmal giggling before a crooked hand grabs the hood of your jacket and suddenly your feet are leaving the ground, kicking the air as you grab fruitlessly at the hands hoisting you up.

“It’s past your bedtime.” Moon repeats harsher now, sharp-toothed smile never leaving as you struggle in his grip. “Trespasser. Rulebreaker. I’m putting you in TIME OUT-!”

You kick up at him, and your foot makes contact with something metal. It’s not an immediate drop, but it messes with the balance of his wire, and the cloth in his hands slips. You fall maybe two feet to the floor with an uncomfortable ‘oof’ and don’t waste any time to be grateful it wasn’t any higher, scrambling away on hands and knees and looking for somewhere he couldn’t possibly get into because of course you forgot that this fucker could fly.

To your side is a tunnel meant to go into the play jungle. Barely big enough to fit you, most likely too small to house the Daycare Attendant. Memories flash back to Sun’s uncomfortable and nearly stuck form in a tunnel bigger than this, and a theory shares that Moon would have the same problem. You figure this might as well be a temporary hiding place, but you had to act quickly.

You dive into the tunnel just in time for Moon to land somewhere behind you, bells jingling and a soft, low voice making out sounds that you cannot decipher. You cannot see him, not while you’re squished inside this plastic tube meant for children, but adrenaline rushing through your veins picks out every metal swivel of his body and the soft steps of slippers against the playmat outside. You turn off your phone’s flashlight, cover your hand over your mouth to prevent any noise, and try to quieten your breathing.

You hold your breath as footsteps lightly sound just outside your tunnel entrance. Left foot, then right foot, like how Sun used to dance when playing peek-a-boo, and you fear Moon’s face will pop up just the same.

…Then, they drift away, with Moon’s voice echoing throughout the Daycare. “Hidey, hide away…”

You did NOT sign up for this shit.

You signed up to clean messes, occasionally fix problems, and do labor work that robots were either too busy or unable to properly do. You didn’t sign up to be hunted down by a robot jester who was ill-intent on putting you in ‘time-out’ like you’ve done something wrong. (Well, you technically have, Trespasser. But this is far over the line.) All you wanted were your textbooks, but now you’re sitting in a plastic tube in pitch darkness while something inhuman is searching for you to do god-knows-what.

Carefully, you remove your hand from your mouth and try to adjust your eyes to the dark. You can barely see anything, and it’s too much of a risk to use your phone to light the way, so you were blind here. Great. You’re fairly certain the ‘nap-time’ protocol isn’t supposed to be this severe, and you’re not sure what ‘punishment’ Moon has planned but you’re not sticking around to find out. You had to escape.

Feeling around (quietly, softly so as to not make any noise) you find the upper entrance of the tube and push yourself out. The grated plastic jungle is big enough to hold an adult, though you still have to crane your head low and feel cramped as you feel along the wall and listen for any sounds of-

“Come out.” Moon’s voice is distant, but getting closer. He has a strange tone. Subdued, but something like a chuckle at the edge of his words. “Come out. Come out.”

No one gave you any warning for something like this, and yet, suddenly all those waivers you had to sign at the start of your employment were starting to make sense. The puzzle pieces one by one started to fit together, and you remember the rule Sun had about keeping the lights on in what you assumed was a fear of the dark or childish jealousy.

Now you understood exactly why Sun didn’t want you anywhere near him in the dark.

Something is skittering across the plastic. You look down and see red pinpricks move slowly across the under portion of the jungle gym you were in as the sounds of a metal body moving through the plastic grid. It hasn’t turned up to spot you yet, and you manage to hold your breath as he passes (unless he could hear your heartbeat racing, then you were fucking screwed) and count the seconds, two, three before palming against the grid and moving slowly across the gym.

You needed a quick escape. Finding a tunnel with an exit facing the Daycare’s entrance was going to be your best bet. Making a beeline for the Pizzaplex’s doors was going to be another challenge entirely. That thing had been following you this entire time, and you were stupid enough not to worry about it until he had his literal hand around your neck.

Your thoughts race as you fumble through the plastic gym with a thudding pulse and sweaty hands. What was the point? Why wait until you were in the Daycare when he could have snatched you at any time? What is his end goal?

“Come out.” A chuckle. The sounds of wire spinning and metal on plastic as he moves in the dark. “Come here. It’s comfortable, come here.”

(Forget anxiety. Who programmed ‘enjoyment of the hunt’ into the robot?)

You listen as the small sounds and chuckles grow more distant, watching as the two red dots move about the gym as Moon crawls through the tunnels, disappearing into one end and appearing through another. You try to mimic it, moving to the opposite side of where he was traveling in the hopes you’d eventually find yourself on the opposite end and facing the exit. Your knees bump painfully and your neck was starting to hurt from how tightly squeezed you were in the jungle gym, but so far the method seemed to be working.

Eventually, your palm hits a raised edge, and you pat down the area in front of you to feel it sloped. A tunnel leading downwards, and judging by the feel it’s nearly as small as the one you initially climbed in. If you were quiet enough, you could slide down and make a run for it while he still had to exit the plastic jungle.

You look over your shoulder to check his location and freeze. Two pinpricks of red glower up at you from below, locking eyes with you as you go still, a click, click. clicking sound of metal fingertips tapping against the playmat. Do not move. Do not make a sound.

You hear the animatronics’ head swivel once, twice. Then the red dots turn away and Moon continues to scutter off towards what you think is an opposite exit from the jungle gym. “Come out, naughty, naughty…”

He can’t see you. It’s too dark, too far away, and you’re too still and he can’t see you. You hold back the breath of relief in your lungs and hope to save it until you’re in the clear. You’re not going to push what little luck you have left. Carefully pulling yourself into the tunnel, you slide down the plastic just a few inches. You’re about halfway down, quiet as a mouse, inwardly mourning the fact that you’re more than likely going to have to leave your textbook when another sound stops you in your tracks.

The sound of faint bells rings closer and closer until it comes to a stop outside of the very tunnel you’ve settled yourself in, and a low chuckle emits at the entrance. “Psssp Pssp Pssp Pssp. Come hereee...”

Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding-

“Pssp Pssp Pssp Pssp.” Comically, you can’t see him, but he fixes that. He’s crouching just outside the tunnel’s exit, wide smile with teeth that look way too sharp to be allowed on a Daycare animatronic, wide black eyes and red pupils zeroed on you as his face plate leans just inside the tunnel’s entrance, a hand coming up and crooked towards you, held out like an offering. “Pssp Pssp Pssp. Come…come…”

How did he-?

Infrared vision.

Right. You forgot about that part. Stupid.

In a flurry of a second, you scramble back up the tunnel in a pathetic display of limbs climbing pitifully against plastic. Before you’re away, a hand clamps down on your leg hard.

You’re unceremoniously yanked further (the dragging friction hurts against your back, your fingernails scrape the sides as you go down) as Moon’s laughter increases, crawling inside the tunnel himself, back scraping the ceiling, limbs twisted and tearing off the plastic paint, bent at angles that make you think of spiders and demons in old movies as he barely fits inside, giggling with abhorrent joy at you beneath him.

His face is inches from your own and you see nothing but nightmares, a sharp smile and the claustrophobia that comes from his fingers bending towards you. In the face of your fear, the Moon laughs. “It’s past your bedtime. Goodnight.”

In a split second, you do the only thing you can think of; pushing your hands in between the two of you and forming a referee’s T’s shape in the front while your voice cracks when you call out. “Time out! Time out! Time out!”

Yep. That’s your whole survival plan. You’re a goner. Eyes shut tight, you wait for whatever ‘punishment’ awaits you and hope to whatever’s out there that it’s at least something quick.

...

Nothing happens.

You peak open one eye, then the other, still with a face full of a wide grin but the animatronic above you seems to have stopped in time. Fingers stay poised near your neck, twitching but not touching the skin. The smile the Moon has never left but it seems different somehow, unhappy almost, and you realize with bated breath as his head tilts ever so slightly as he watches you process that the robot was showing restraint for some reason. Waiting. Listening.

Holy shit. Did that actually work?

You’re not sure what to do. You didn’t think you’d get this far. But judging by the flex of growing impatience in the robot’s fingers, you needed to think of something quick. “Okay, okay, hear me out!” You talk fast in a whisper-yell, your voice reverbing off the tunnel walls and bouncing back at you from the Moon’s proximity. “…I don’t have a bedtime-“

The Moon makes a noise of disgruntled disagreement, his hands move in the corner of your eye and you press your back further into the plastic as if it’s going to put any distance in between the two of you. “Hold on! Just-...Listen. Bedtimes are for children. I am not a child.” You place your hands on your chest to emphasize your point, nervous laughter boiling in your throat. “I am an adult! That goes to college...and with a job…here. I work here, you know. I’m a grown adult, I don’t need a bedtime-”

“It’s against the rules.” The Moon whispers low and vile. He sounds unhappy to even be entertaining this. “You should be sleeping-”

“Okay, but! Figure this-” You interrupt him with the guise of a lighthearted argument, and the animatronic looks like it’s a second away from snarling at you. In a bout of nervousness in the face of death, you finger gun at him. “They don’t apply to me-”

The Moon sneers. “Liar.”

“I work here!” You add quickly. You’re scrunched up as far as you can be, the weight of his legs digging into your sides as you attempted confidence. “I work here, so I get to make the rules! And you-” You watch as the Moon’s body stills, all fidgets and movements pausing as he encased you like a statue, his face morphing slowly as his smile begins to fall. “You don’t make the rules do you?”

“You...” His expression is faltering. He looks confused. “…Need to sleep-”

“And I will.” For once, your voice manages to sound assured. Despite that, you’re edging yourself downwards underneath him, slowly trying to slide your way to the exit inch by inch. “I’m just going to grab my stuff, leave, and then I’m gonna go home and sleep in my own bed and you won’t have to deal with me any longer. Sound good? Sound peachy?”

The silence that accompanies afterward is about as nerve wracking as the action beforehand. You pause in your attempts to slide down more out of frozen creeping fear rather than the realization that his body pretty much blocked the escape anyways. For a moment, there is nothing but red staring back at you in the darkness of the tunnel, the feeling of a nightcap hanging down and brushing the side of your face. The Moon’s eye twitches, and you think oh god, it didn’t work-

Then, he moves. Just as quickly as he enters, (and loudly, back scraping against plastic, gangly limbs too big for a space like this) Moon crawls backwards in a second until he’s situated outside the tunnel. You barely get a moment of relief to enjoy your newly restored personal space when a hand wraps around your ankle and you are pulled downwards once more.

Your behind hits the playmat, sitting plainly outside the jungle gym now, with the open doors of the Daycare only a few distances away. You don’t move for a moment out of fear, anticipation, but watch as the red dots in his eyes step back a few feet and rest on you.

You can hardly see anything still. In a moment of careful thinking, you fumble for your phone in your pocket as you work to stand. (carefully, slowly, your knees and back hurt from that time spent in such a cramped space). You don’t turn the flashlight on, feeling it would be too bright, too revealing, and instead tap on the screen and turn it towards the Daycare attendant.

Moon stands to his full intimidating height with a straight posture and an unreadable expression. “Go.”

You’re not going to argue. “Yeah, yeah I’m…I’m doing that just…let me grab my things.” Mindful of any tripping hazards, you keep your eyes on him as you walk towards the dark shape that you think is your textbook laying dejected on the floor. His eyes follow you, head turning slowly. His head tilts when you almost stumble into a tower of what looks like stacked toy boxes because you’re too focused on making sure he stays in that one spot rather than looking where you’re going.

“We’re all fine here, right?” You palm for your textbook on the ground, finding it, and holding it close. If anything, you could use it as a weapon again. “We’re good now, right?”

There is no answer, rather Moon just continues to stare at you with a blank expression. (Seriously, you were considering filing a report that all the robots were displaying some sort of staring problem.)

Phone flashlight turned on, you back towards the doorway. “Okay. Cool. Thanks. Uh,” You pass the security desk, pass the doorframe, and ease into the room outside of the Daycare’s entrance. The light from your phone does not reach the thing watching you within the dark, and in the back of your mind, you’re waiting for it to lunge. “…Goodnight?”

His head clicks once, tilted to the side. Almost like he’s...confused?

Then, a glint of metal barely visible in the dark catches your eye as it falls from the ceiling. Never breaking eye contact, the wire hooks to the Daycare Attendant’s back and you watch as the Moon rises into the dark.

Fuck that. You’re not waiting to see if that thing changes his mind. You turn on your heel and bolt towards the shortest route to the exit you can remember. “Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit, holy shit-”

You probably look ridiculous and a couple of odd looks from the staff and security bots you pass seem to support that theory, but they’re just a bunch of blurs in your outside vision anyways. You’re lucky there are no Glamrocks on your route out, you don’t think you would have had the energy nor the patience to explain outside a mumbo jumbo of needing to leave. When you do get to the front doors, you curse at the shutters, rapidly scanning your badge and cursing.

As soon as the shutters are raised high enough, you duck under, ignoring the feeling of being watched even when you accidentally konk your head against the metal before shutting the entrance behind you.

You don’t go into work the next day. In your defense, you already messaged management about needing some time off to take care of finales, so it wasn’t like you were running from anything. (Except, you totally kinda were.)

You don’t think you did well on your exam.

Any of them, actually. Most of your studying that night is plagued with intrusive thoughts of darkness, tight spaces, and a smile that’s too close for comfort. There’s also a strange sense of guilt in there, too. The Daycare Attendant was friendly, kind, and an anxious being who hid from you because it thought it made you mad and brought you highlighters to help you study. The Daycare Attendant also was a being that hunted you down in the dark of night insistent that you go to sleep, though you still weren’t entirely sure what that meant.

You can’t explain it, but you think of Sun in that body. The one that housed the both of hi, er, them? It? Was it two animatronics in one shell? Two consciousness? Was that even possible in a sentient code, if these things were even as sentient as you gave them credit for. They were aware of each other, there’s that much at least, and judging by Sun’s behavior, he was familiar all too well that Moon behaved like that.

Your hand is sore and bruised from where he grabbed it, and you have a scratch on your back you didn’t notice until you got home, probably just a scrape from being dragged down the plastic tunnel, but a tiny reminder that no, that wasn’t a nightmare, and you really did hide for your life from a Daycare animatronic until you somehow negotiated your way out of danger.

Your exams go by fairly quickly, but with little faith that you’re going to get as good a grade as you wanted. You don’t return to work for another night after that, making it a total of two after the incident when you get an email stating you were scheduled to come in an hour before closing the next night to help tidy up some messes and fix a few issues that occurred while you were busy taking your exams. There is nothing stating anything about you being detected on the pizzaplex’s cameras, nor are there any reports of staff bots or the animatronics reporting you. Besides listing a total of what tasks needed to be done, the management makes a small note at the bottom wishing you luck on the results of your exams.

You briefly, keyword briefly, consider putting in your resignation. But in this economy? You weren’t going to find a job much better…and not with such interesting coworkers to boot. As scary as it was, it piqued your interest.

You clock in an hour until closing with a weary look and a shielded demeanor. Families are leaving as you enter, and by this time of the evening most if not all the children would have been picked up by the Daycare by now. Sun probably seeing them all off with a smile and happy wave per usual, something you haven’t seen in two days, and it feels like a pit of something heavy weighing on your chest.

You didn’t know how to face him. You didn’t know if you could, so you busy yourself with all the other tasks and leave the Daycare’s mess as the last item to do on your to-do list because you don’t know how to else to stall it.

The tasks are mundane and the minutes go by quickly. You barely register the overhead intercom announcing the pizzaplex’s closure as you’re scrapping bubble gum off of cafeteria tables and arcade dashboards. Working with a bruised hand isn’t as bad as you’d imagine as long as you bit your cheek and didn’t think about it. You’d need to soak it in hot water later to ease the soreness, but it wasn’t as bad as you’d initially thought after the pain kicked in the first night. Adrenaline can do that to a person.

It’s an hour past closing and you’re taking out some of the trash bins, (you briefly consider if Chica would prefer you dumb the bags off in her room than take them to the dumpster, and make a mental note to ask her about it later) when your back bump up against something hard, and you struggle to move the heavy bag forward so you can turn around and apologize to the unfortunate staff bot you’ve probably almost knocked over. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to…”

It’s not a staff bot, but a rather tall alligator animatronic. Sunglasses peer down at you with the lips of his snout pulled up into an almost permanent scowl. You’re not sure why he’s here in the first place, but you’re not going to interrogate the 6’2 robot that looks like he’d rather squash you than be tolerating your presence. Regardless, you smile. “Hi, Monty.”

His frown doesn’t change. “Watch it, runt.”

Okay, rude.

Nevermind politeness. You were going to be annoying on purpose. You deserve it after all the stress you’ve been through.

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry.” You start off, turning back to the trash bins so the robot can’t see the inching grin on your face. “Didn’t realize your sunglasses were so tinted you couldn’t see me from up here. I’ll be sure to yell really loudly when I’m backing up so everyone knows I’m coming.” Just for show, you make robotic noises as you pull the second bag from the bin and move to toss it in the cart. “Beep. Beep. Bee-”

Monty makes a noise akin to a growl, and suddenly the trash bag is ripped from your hands and tossed into the cart. You flinch at the motion, inwardly sighing as his claws made mini-rips in the plastic, and soda or whatever fluid starts to drip down into the cart’s bottom where you know you’ll have to clean it up later. “Shut your trap and do your job properly before you get sent down the trash chute instead of these bags.”

Yikes. You knew the alligator was infamous for his anger issues, but Freddy wasn’t lying when he said he could be a little intense. Fazbear entertainment had a knack for creating very…believable characters. You blow a huff of air out of your nose in a semblance of a sigh and grin back up at the sneering alligator, one hand coming up to your forehead in a mock salute. “Yes, sir, alligator!”

To your inner delight, Monty’s snout wrinkles at your rhyme with displeasure, eyes darting to your hand. Like a soldier on a mission, you turn on your heel and start to wheel the cart back down the hallway to create some distance when the animatronic calls out again. “The hell happened to your hand?”

You pause and turn back to face him. Monty’s arms are crossed, face locked in his usual frown but his gaze darts to your hand, the one you saluted with seconds earlier, and back up to you. The bruise is healing nicely, but it’s still a sore sight. Honestly, you didn’t think anyone outside of maybe Freddy or Chica would ask, so you’re a bit surprised to see Montgomery Gator himself take the time out of his day to so much as acknowledge it. You can just blink dumbly as impatience grows on his expression.

“Hmm, yeah, about that…” You mentally scratch your head and decide it’s probably best not to talk badly of an animatronic to another animatronic, regardless even if they were in the wrong. “I got into a fight with a cleaning cart.” A smile, holding up the hand with a thumbs up. It’s only a half lie. You weren’t exactly known for having a good relationship with that deathtrap on wheels. “I won, by the way. In case you couldn’t tell.”

To your surprise, Monty blows out air through his snout the same way someone looks at something funny but not enough to laugh. Huh, you didn’t know animatronics could pretend to breathe. “Right.” The animatronic turns from you, walking off. “Scam, kid. You’re tracking soda all over the carpet.”

You look back to the cleaning cart, sighing when you see liquid dribbling down the side of the cart and onto the floor. Yet another task you needed to clean up.

By the time you’ve mopped up, scrapped every rubbery goop off of tables, cleaned out every bin, fixed the door hinges to the photo booth in the main lobby, and replaced the toilet paper rolls in the family bathrooms, there’s nothing else can reasonably think of doing next aside from the last task that situated you at the Daycare. Specifically; right outside of it.

A couple of kids had the absolutely brilliant idea of stuffing the colorful plastic balls from the ball pit into their clothing and running around like that looking like deformed little marshmallows until their parents came to pick them up, to which they happily expelled the balls from their person and let them bounce on the floor in a mess because kids just didn’t care whether or not they were in the proper place, and apparently the parents were happy to leave the cleanup after their little devils to the staff. According to the note, Sun either cannot (or will not) leave the Daycare boundaries, so the plastic balls that rolled out of the entrance were your responsibility to pick up and toss back into the ball pit.

When you arrive at the Daycare’s doors, you see the area around the doors littered with tiny little balls, some stuck underneath the chairs of the cafeteria seating while others sitting near a couple of cutouts of the Glamrock band members. Nothing you can’t pick up within five minutes, save for a few trips here and there because you left your cleaning cart back in the janitorial closet.

There was one issue though. The light in the surrounding area was brightly lit for you to work without an issue, but the Daycare’s doors were open and there was nothing but darkness inside. The lights were off, and though the switch was right next to the entrance, you didn’t want to take a chance. You can just…kick the balls in there, right? Maybe throw them? You’re not sure what direction the ball pit was but you’re sure if you manage to just roll the leftovers into their proper room than management wouldn’t mind calling that an easy task done.

Before anything, you call out to the darkness. “Moon?”

Silence answers you, and walking around the glass to search for red and blue only sends your reflection peering back at you.

Maybe he didn’t want to speak to you, or was completely uninterested in you all together now that you’ve essentially escaped his clutches the first time. Maybe high away in that hidey-hole with the balcony, if you were lucky. You’re not complaining.

Turning away, you work to collect the plastic balls one by one. You use your shirt to hold a bunch before depositing them in front of the doorway, right in the frame and at the light’s reach as it floods into the Daycare before disappearing entirely. You repeat the process until all the plastic balls you can find are set up in a small pile by the door. You stand there with your hands on your hips, looking into the darkness, and debate your options.

Yeah, you’re not going in there. Picking up a ball, you lightly toss it inside and watch as it soars into the darkness. You hear it make a tiny ‘clunk’ noise as it hits something plastic and snort. “Score.”

You do it again with another, then another. The second and third ones just plop somewhere on top of the playmat, the fourth and sixth one sounds like they land perfectly inside the ball pit, and the seventh hits something metal when you throw it with a little more enthusiasm. It’s kinda like pitching baseball for stress relief, except your throwing harmless colorful balls into the abyss and listening for the sound of impact. “A few down, a few more to go…”

As you wind your arm back to throw another, a shape appears within the dark, and you panic throw it towards him in surprise. “Shit-!”

Moon catches the ball in one hand effortlessly. His eyes dart to the plastic ball in his grip, then to you, expression unreadable.

For a moment, fear seizes you. You need to run, hide, but part of you wants to start yelling and be angry, demand answers for his behavior, but for a solid moment you are unmoving as the animatronic drops the ball and lets it roll away into the Daycare, red eyes darting to the small pile sitting beside you.

The Moon watches as you recompose yourself, and you watch as he looks dully to the floor. The light that floods in from the room you’re in reaches only a certain point in the Daycare, and Moon was standing at the edge of it. Not in the light fully, just enough to barely illuminate his face, but still on the edge of darkness where he stands isolated. The realization comes to you; he can’t get from there, and he looked pretty damn unhappy about it.

“It’s late.” Moon speaks. His eyes are different. What was black is all red now, white pupils locking with yours.

The initial shock passes, your shoulders lower and your heartbeat steadies as you look to the figurative line in the floor where Moon cannot pass. “You can’t…get me from there, can you?” You ask.

Moon looks unamused.

You start to feel triumphant anyway. “You can’t come into the light, yeah, because you’ll-you’ll turn into sun and then-” Your volume increases as you snicker. “Oh my god, that’s right! You’re trapped. You can’t come into the light because you’ll transform if you do, god! I forgot! For a moment there I really-” You trail off, voice turning into snickers as you grin at the animatronic who looks like it’s slowly starting to seethe in his spot. “What? What’s wrong? Frustrated? Come get me! Come get me, you won’t!”

(Maybe it was a terrible idea to antagonize the animatronic that looks like it could twist off your head until it popped off like a bottle cap, but damn if the feeling wasn’t so good.)

His head does a full rotation, his shoulders tensing up to your taunts but still the animatronic does not move into the light. There is quiet anger in his voice. “Hush.”

“What’s wrong, Starboy? Scared to step into the light?” You taunt, picking up another plastic ball and chucking it at him. Moon hardly moves his head to the side a few inches and it soars right past him into the dark. He doesn’t even have to dodge that one, your aim is just bad. “How’s TIME-OUT working for ya?”

His smile looks strained and there’s a twitch in his eye. He looks like he’s regrets not getting you the first time. “Play nice, Brat.”

You scoff. “Yeah, no. I’m not gonna ‘play nice’ with some jerk that hunted me for sport.” You reach down for another ball, find the air lacking and look to see you were down to just one. You’ll save it, picking up and tossing it in your hand with a mocking grin. “I was going to ask why you’re not a public animatronic anymore but I think I can see why now. I can’t even tell if you wanted to put me to bed or put me to sleep-”

“Sleep.” Moon interrupts.

“Permanently?” You add on. The Moon’s face doesn’t change, his head slowly tilting to an angle, and you can’t tell if it’s in confusion or confirmation. His eyes dart to the ball you're holding, or really, the bruise that decorates your hand before returning the gaze to your face. You greet it by sticking your tongue out. “Asshole.”

“Bad language,” He hisses. “Is NOT allowed in the Daycare.”

“Well, I’m not in the Daycare right now, am I?”

The grin on his faceplate stretches, eyes darting to the floor then back up to you. At his side, his hands raise towards you. “Come here.”

“No thanks.” Just to spite him, you sit down on the floor cross-legged, throwing the ball up and down in one hand and resting your cheek in the other. “I don’t trust you, even if you did catch me that one time.” You pause for a moment. Moon’s gaze narrows as you mirrored it right back. “I’m pretty sure you did. I don’t think Sun was…there. He acted like he hardly remembered it.” You tap your fingers along the ball, heavy in thought. The animatronic watches as you squint at him in thought before placing the ball on the ground and rolling it over with your thumb. “Why’d you do that, anyway?”

You push the ball and roll it towards him. It taps gently against his foot, but he doesn’t even acknowledge it. “Hmm?”

“Catch me when I was falling to my doom.” You make a display of your hand falling and splattering against the floor for dramatic show, making an ‘splch’ noise to indicate going splat. “Why do that if you were just gonna end up trying to kill me later?”

There is a pause in the air. This Moon is a lot like Sun in that it moves in the same way it’s different. Where Sun was a bundle of nerves and a chatterbox, you’ve heard this thing laugh more than it held a conversation, responding only in cool tones and sentences that took little to no effort.

His head tilts, forever focused on your form but where Sun was almost always moving, standing tall and bright, this thing’s posture is lowered, sometimes close enough to the ground like a predator ready to lunge. You have half a mind thinking he’s about to do just that when he bends down to pick up the ball, rotating in his palm before sitting cross-legged just as you are. “We promised you.”

You wrinkle your nose. “I was joking with Sun. I don’t remember asking you-”

“I remember you.” Moon cuts you off. He pushes the ball back toward you, and it comes to stop near your lap. “Why are you here?”

You furrow your brows at the action, picking back up the ball and holding it quizzically. “…Because I work here? Duh? I’m wearing a uniform.” That doesn’t seem to be an answer that satisfies him, the metal shifting in his face to form a deadpan look. You think for a moment. “Because I work here, and because I’m not scared of you, and because Sun is my friend.”

For a split second, his smile flashes maniacal, then it’s back to its normal creepiness. “New Friend?”

“Sun’s Friend.” You correct, pushing the ball a little harsher this time toward him. “I dunno about you yet. You’re giving me mixed signals here, weirdo.”

At this, a mixture of confusion and something else flashes across his expression, but only for a moment. You’re not sure if it’s akin to surprise or maybe disbelief, but he doesn’t respond regardless. He catches the ball before it hits him. It’s a little freaky how it appeared normal in your hand but so much smaller in his.

You speak before he gets a chance. “ How is he, by the way?” You felt terrible. Sun was so friendly, and there was something so cruelly wrong about his counterpart (Another consciousness? Split personality? Stray lines of defect code? Did it even matter?) that he knew to keep Moon away from you. Said animatronic is quiet at your question, so you repeat it. “Sun, I mean. How’s he doing?”

The Daycare Attendant’s fingers tap against the ball for a few spare seconds, then rolls it back to you once more. “Misses you.”

Aw, that’s oddly sweet, but also a little confusing. You let the ball roll into your hand and push it back, and let a smile form on your face without any mischief. Moon squints at it. “Tell him I miss him too. I’ll give him a big hug when I see him.”

Something crackles from his voice box that sounds like low laughter as pushes the rolling ball back to you with a finger. “Okay. Come here.”

“Never in your metaphorical robot dreams.” You scoff. The response is a thin grin, and you wait until the ball reaches your palm to push it back towards the animatronic before continuing this make-shift game. “Does it hurt? When you transform into the other, I mean. It looked painful the first time.”

“Pass,” Moon answers without hesitation. He finds amusement in how your own face twists in disappointment and passes the ball back to you. He’s careful not to let his hand pass into the where the darkness blurs into the light. “Come inside the Daycare.”

“Hard pass.” The ball rolls into your hand, and you spin it in your palm thoughtfully as you lean back on your other hand, ignoring the spiteful look the naptime animatronic sends your way. “Hmm...What do you think about the other animatronics?” You ask. You haven’t asked anyone else about the Moon just yet, but you wondered if you could get a story from the Daycare Attendant himself. “I met Monty earlier officially, you know. He wasn’t nice to me at first, but he liked my phone sticker.” You push the ball back, to him, and blink the sleepiness that was starting to form in your eyes. “Then I think he threatened to throw me down the trash chute. You guys would probably get along. Maybe bond over different ways you could kill me or something.”

“Too loud.” Moon answers before the ball even enters the dark, and it's sent back your way before it’s hardly there a second.

There is no question in return. Rather, he sits quietly as you shut your eyes in a yawn and a stretch. When you open them again you don’t like how Moon’s posture has leaned forwards, or how his eyes have darkened.

“You’re tired.” It’s not a question and more of a statement.

“Yeah, no shit.” You scoff, patting down for your phone to check the time. “You gave me nightmares, buddy.”

Checking your phone tells you it’s a little under time for you to leave, and goodness knows your body could use some actual rest back at home while you process the entirety of your week. The Daycare Attendant watches as you yawn for a second time, patting down for your badge and keys, and other necessary items needed to properly clock out and lock up.

Moon’s faceplate rotates once as he processes your words, then clicks into place. “I can help.”

You can’t help the snort that leaves you as you pick yourself up from the floor. He rises as you do, though he doesn’t have to bend at the knees, but you spot the wire that lifts him up from the ground into standing position. Gathering your belongings and dusting off your uniform, you turn to him with a grin. “Yeah, no. Funny joke. You should try out to be a stand-up comedian animatronic instead.”

He stares at you, fingers twitching like he was looking at a job unfinished.

“I can help.” He repeats.

You ignore it. “Thanks for catching me, by the way, Oh, and taking the ladder back, and to the both of you for fixing the lights so I don’t get fired.” Turning to face him fully, you smile brightly. Then, you pull back your arm and chuck the plastic ball as hard as you can in his direction.

He doesn’t dodge it. It bonks rather pitifully off of his metal forehead without any true impact aside from sending the ball bouncing off into the darkness as he glares at you, unaffected. “And THAT’s for two nights ago. You want to be friends? Learn what personal boundaries and maybe don’t act like you’re going to strangle them, prick.”

“…Language.”

“Bite me.” Your words are sour, but your tone and smile are full of playful mischief. You have a plan. It might be a very stupid, flimsy plan fueled by your own curiosity and the fact that you might enjoy a little chaos in your mundane life, but you’re going to figure out what the deal was with this shifting, two-face animatronic that was either too friendly or near deadly. You didn't even have confirmation if he planned to kill you or just knock you out somehow. There must be a reason and perhaps a history why there’s no naptime protocol at the Daycare anymore.

Call it morbid curiosity. “I’m still mad at you, like, pissed at you. But I’ll see you tomorrow. Maybe. Sun, too.” You start walking off, waving as you climb the stairs and talking over your shoulder. “Goodnight!”

There’s a pause as he watches your retreating figure. Whatever confusion he keeps is overridden at your wave, and you hear his voice call back. “See you tomorrow…feel better soon.”

Blinking, you turn back, just to realize the hand you were waving with was the same bruised one as before. Letting out a chuckle, Moon steps back into the darkness, fingers curling into a slow wave of his own as he disappears. “Nighty night…”

You flip a bird off with your injured hand into the Daycare’s darkness and turn away to the exit.

Chapter Text

Your exam results come in steadily. Finals season is nearly over, and you’re almost free from the grip until your final grade gets put in the books. Then, you’ll have a few weeks to a couple months of a break until the next semester to get a grip on your new job. ‘New’ being used lightly since it’s been a little over a month since you’ve been here.

You entertain the idea of asking management directly before realizing that may be a straight shot to losing your job. Fazbear Entertainment was no stranger to lawsuits and bad publicity, but they always bounced back with the power of strong legal teams and hush money. The company's history is...less than favorable, almost a legend that some people don't even believe it's real, nothing more than a publicity stunt to make their name one of the biggest known in the world for entertainment on par with Disney. You wouldn't put it past them, big cooperate are always evil, but it doesn't stop you from looking up old newspaper headlines and articles in-between the last of your exams.

Looking up any news about the Daycare or its animatronics specifically gets a little clouded when most of the articles you find are decades old news about missing kids and hushed lawsuits.

You skim through the more popular ones. Some kids getting traumatized by an animatronic's head falling off, and another having his head bitten by an older model in the beginning days of Fredbear's diner. Another one detailed an employee mysteriously going missing during one of their shifts and their corpse being found in the backrooms later that week. It's an older article, at least a decade ago, but you click off of that one quickly enough and try not to think of any implications it might spell for you in the future.

The Pizzaplex is relativity new in the Fazbear chain, so while there’s been surely enough time to gather lawsuits, it doesn’t amount to mass you’re having to shift through. Keywording ‘Daycare’ brings up some interesting bits though, like finding a forum for parents to complain talked in a now-closed thread (gee, wonder why?) about how the Daycare Attendants would occasionally give their kids nightmares. Something about their appearance not being too ‘family’ friendly. You can’t exactly argue this one. Maybe not as harsh as some of these mothers were putting it, but Sun was pretty intense and you’re not even going to doubt what Moon might look like to a child in the dark.

It’s when you’re clocked in during the week, dragging a half-empty trash bag towards Roxy’s room when you come across a linked headline that catches your eye.

INCIDENT AT FAZBEAR’S PIZZAPLEX DAYCARE. TWO INJURED PERSONS HOSPITALIZED. DAYCARE ANIMATRONIC UNDERGOING SAFETY REVIEW.

It’s a link posted in a forum by a deactivated user, with no further responses on the thread. In curiosity, you tap on the link, only to frown when the page 404’s and sends you to some alternate website with ads showing scantily clothed characters telling you that your virtual castle is under attack. You don’t think your phone can get a virus from the webpage, but you quickly tap out of it anyways.

Yeah. Your investigations weren’t really fruitful. Thank Fazbear Entertainment for being the pinnacle of cover-ups.

Sighing, you stuff your phone back in your pocket and open the door to Roxy’s room-

-and just barely missing the stuffed Roxanne plushie that comes flying at your head and impacting the doorframe mere inches away as you flinch. “What the-?!”

“Freddy, get out of my-!” Roxy stands in the middle of the room poised with another ‘weapon’ plushie, lowering it at the sight of you, albeit too slowly for your liking. “Oh.” She sniffs. She sounds like she’s been crying, which is weird for a robot. “It’s just you.”

You blink at her and the apparent fate you would have met if your head had been maybe five inches to the left. The curtains are pulled closed in her room, make-up was knocked over at her vanity, a broken handle lying on the floor with the other half of the hairbrush stuck inside the animatronics’ synthetic hair…which looked like someone had glued it together in clumps until it was nothing but a matted mess. “Uh.” You step away from the door and gently close it behind you, Roxy watching as you pieced together all the pieces. “...Bad day?”

“Don’t pity me.” She sneers, dropping the plushie and sitting back down at her vanity. Despite the irritated demeanor, she sounds like she’s two seconds away from sobbing and does her best to ignore your presence, back facing you. “Just get your trash and get out.”

It’s an inner debate on asking what happened, but it’s probably better to leave it be. You do a mock salute to the mirror and walk over to collect what little things needed picking up. Just a few candy wrappers and torn paper from posters, stacking up the plushies to their correct positions and (Carefully) setting up her vanity to look proper again while the wolf picked and pulled at her hair. You’re almost done in two minutes when you see her pull out a clump of grey ‘hair’ in between her claws from where the hairbrush is and watch her facial features flinch. The inner debate is overruled. “So…what happened?”

Yellow eyes glare at you in the reflection for a moment, then turn away. “Some stupid kids brought some of that slime stuff to the Pizzaplex. Thought it would be funny to throw it on me. It’s…everywhere.” She pulls at another clump. At a closer distance, you can see the green faint shine of goop sticking to the locks. She looks at her reflection with desperation. “I don’t need a haircut. It’s just gross.”

You didn’t say anything about a haircut, but you offer an understanding smile regardless. “Do you want some help?”

“I don’t need your help.” She snaps at you, and you give it a moment while she stares back at her reflection, face falling at the clumps that fell across her shoulders and eyes darting back to you. Her gaze drops to your bruised skin just barely hidden by your sleeve, if only for a second, before looking dully back up. “If you want to make yourself useful, fine. I don’t have another hairbrush, though.”

“That’s fine. I can figure it out. Gimmie a second.” You wave, letting her watch you as you disappear momentarily outside the room to return a minute later with a small bowl in your hands. It’s just a plastic Chica bowl reserved for ice cream filled up with water from the customer water fountain, but it should do well enough. Coming closer, you pluck the broken brush piece from her mane. It should work fine even without the handle. “I think I can get most of the gunk out without having to cut your hair, it might just take a few minutes.”

She doesn’t say it out loud, but you sense a wave of relief come over Roxy. “Sure, whatever.”

You get to work, the wolf keeping her cheek resting on her hand while you combed through the slime that’s caked in her hair. Starting out lock by lock you’re able to ease the gunk out from her hair slowly, working from one side of her head and crossing over. It’s a strange motion, sitting in silence while you do this, so you speak your mind. “You thought I was Freddy?” You ask, continuing when Roxy sends you a raised brow in the mirror’s reflection. “When I entered the room, I mean.”

She looks tired, which is saying a lot for someone who should be made out of metal and plastic. “Yeah. I think he saw me like this when I was coming back here, had this weird look like he probably wanted to give me a pep talk or something.” Her mouth thins into a line right as you pull out a particularly difficult clump of slime (Carefully, gently. You didn’t want to pull out any actual hair unless you wanted to receive Roxanne’s wrath.) and she sighs. “I don’t need any of his hovering…or his pity.”

“Sounds like Freddy just cares about his friends.” You smile. You’re nearly halfway done by now. “That’s not a bad thing.”

“Says you.” She scoffs, eyes turning upwards to meet yours as her frown forms into a mocking smirk. “Speaking of which, pretty sure he was looking for you earlier. Wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Huh.” You pull out another gunk of slime and move on to the next. “What for?”

“I don’t know, something about the security cameras I think.” You freeze mid-brush on her hair and try to appear casual even when Roxy raises a brow at you. “What?”

It’s probably just an assumption, but while Chica’s promise may have kept your secret trespassing endeavors away from the others, the security cameras held no such guarantee. Hell, the Staff bots may have even sold you out. Fighting back down the nerves, you think of an answer that comes out in a sort of half-truth. “Nothing. Maybe he wants to promote me to security guard? If he even has the power to do that.” You let out a half-hearted laugh and only relax when Roxy’s gaze dulls instead of sharpening. “I think I’d make a pretty good security guard, you know?”

“As if. We already have a security animatronic. The Daycare Attendant. You know, the other one.” A pause. “At least I think it is, I don’t know. I don’t go over there and I don’t really care.” She waves her hand.

You brush a little slower just to hear her talk. This is the first time you’ve heard another animatronic talk about the Daycare Attendants. “Ha, yeah. It’s...kinda weird that they’re doubling him as security, right?” Be casual, be nonchalant. If you were able to get any information about them without being too forward about it, it’s a chance that can’t be passed up.

“Honestly, I’m surprised it hasn’t been scrapped by now.” Roxy looks at her nails, frowning at the fading claw paint, and talks casually about something you might consider to be the equivalent of robot death about a colleague. “Things should have been dismantled, not just decommissioned. The company probably won’t do it because we animatronics cost a fortune though, so they repurpose.” She tacks two claws together, smiling at the spark of metal and the noise that comes with it. “I bet I cost the most. I’m worth a couple million, did you know?”

You’re starting to feel a tad uncomfortable and you weren’t sure if it’s because of Roxy’s words, or the realization that you were brushing the hair of a robot that has more monetary value than you’ll probably ever see in your collective lifetime. Still, you smile. “Wow, impressive!  You’re really made of metaphorical diamonds, huh?”

Your response is her chin raising high to the praise. If she noticed the nervousness in your voice, she doesn’t acknowledge it. “I’m the best, and none of these kids can appreciate it.” She huffs. Yellow eyes zero in on you in the reflection. “Are you done yet?”

You don’t say anything to her first sentence, or how it sounded more like she was trying to convince herself more than you. Instead, you brush out the last bit of gunk, wiping off the excess on your pants leg and setting the brush in the tainted water bowl before stepping back and throwing two thumbs up. “Good as new!”

Roxy makes a non-committal noise, checking her image in the mirror. She tousles few stray locks and runs her claws through her hair. It slides easily through, no more slime, if not a bit wet from the water used to remove it. She hums, flipping her hair and doing a turn-around for a better look. “Well, It’s not horrible.” She looks over her shoulder to where you were tossing the brush and bowl into the trash bin. “Thanks, I guess.”

Her tone is rather lacking, but she sits at her vanity running her claws through her hair with a smile and decides that’s enough of a thanks anyway. “No problem.” You clean up what little mess you made, adjust her plushies and wave at the door. “Try not to have any more slime incidents, alright?” She huffs at your back as you leave, and you can barely hear her saying something else under her breath as you shut the door behind you.

Back to your usual duties, which now only consist of Daycare clean-up because you’ve gotten into the habit of saving that place for last every shift. You’re on schedule from six until closing, and you still had an hour and a half until you needed to clock out. You’ve already taken care of all of the other responsibilities in the Pizzaplex for the day (a little slowly because you kept getting distracted trying to do ‘research’ on your phone, but alas) so you were left with what tasks management laid out for you in and around the Daycare: tidy up the security desk, disinfectant the jungle gym, and finally sweep the eating area directly outside the Daycare.

Most of the families have either gone home already or were packing to do so, so you have no problem pushing the cleaning cart with the mop and broom without having to avoid any running children. The Daycare’s hours are closing officially soon, so all of the children should have been checked out by now. It’s not closed just yet, when that happens the lights will be turning off, but for now, you see the illuminated playroom, (albeit messy. There was chalk all over the playmats and some glittery goop caked onto a few items) and search for a yellow animatronic among the mess.

There, a distance away, you see him. He hasn’t noticed you enter (or if he has, he doesn't show it), busy stacking a couple of scattered box towers up to their proper height. From here you think you can hear him muttering something about cleaning up, gushing, and hurried motions to quickly put everything back in its place. It looks even more fidgety than normal.

...Well, you did say you were going to give him a big hug the next time you saw him. Opening your arms wide, you call out into the Daycare. “Hey, Sun!”

Sun's body straightens to a pin, head swiveling around to face you. There is a small pause in the air as he processes before letting out a broadway worthy dramatic gasp at the realization that your arms were open. "FRIEND!"

He takes a running start at you, arms wide open and sprinting (skipping? It's a very joyful kind of movement, very fitting) and you almost regret unleashing this upon yourself as you brace for impact.

Except Sun makes it halfway across to you before tripping over a left-out box tower piece, long gangly limbs flailing all the way.

Oh boy. You take one step back just in time. Sun's face impacts with the floor, you see sparks fly as it skids across the ground with a grating noise and cringe as he comes to a stop a few inches from your feet. This is the second time you’ve either been directly or indirectly responsible for Sun’s introduction to the floor. “Uh.” Your arms lower a bit. The animatronic is unmoving beneath you. “…you good?”

He springs back up so quickly you think you imagine a cartoon sound effect. Then, before you can dodge,  two gangly arms scoop you up off the flood and you are crushed into a tight hug against the Daycare Attendant.

Sun’s smile is beaming. “Oh, Friend! I haven’t seen you in forever! Well, maybe not forever but I was wondering where you were, looking around, all around, upside down and couldn’t find you! No, no I even asked Mr. Fredbear and he said you were busy! Busy body, little busy bee-” He swings you around in a circle as he rants, footsteps on rhythm with his ramblings. “-and I’m so happy you came back! And with a great big hug too? I missed you! Did you miss me too? Oh, I have so much to show you! Did you see my little surprise? Didja?”

In a moment where your chest starts to hurt, you pat on his shoulder a little harder. "Sun-"

He takes the hint, pulling you back a bit as a quivered look overtakes him "Oh, sorry! Sorry!" He still doesn't let go through, and normally you’d be embarrassed at the closeness of the embrace, but no families are around this time of the evening, and you’re a little more concerned about your distance from the ground. Your feet still dangle as his expression shifts from apologetic to expectant. "Well? Did you miss me?"

You return his smile with one of your own. “Yeah, yeah. I missed you too big guy.” His smile stretches, setting you down gently as if he was satisfied, and you continue. “Sorry I made you fall. Again.”

“Oh, you just can’t help it.” He jests, hands on his hips and sending you a wink. “I just fall for ya every time I see ya!” He slaps his knee for effect and you were totally imagining cartoon sound effects. He bounces slightly on his heels like he was trying to keep his excitement to a level. “Did ya see the little present I left?”

“You mean your drawing in my textbook?” You grin. It’s probably best to work as you talk. You start tidying up where you see it (candy wrappers on the ground, juice boxes left out, careful not to step into any slime piles as you walk) “It was cute! Even though it totally made studying harder.“ You jest. You decide not to mention Moon’s doodle either “I’ll probably hand it up on my fridge or somethi-”

Sun cuts you off, joyful body language coming to halt before clutching at his face. “Oh, Clean up! Clean up!”

You blink. “Huh?”

“Clean up!” The Daycare Attendant was suddenly dashing to and fro about the daycare tidying as you do, albeit with more efficiency. “I got so distracted I forgot I had so much to clean.” He’s picking up towers and scrambling to flip up-right little chairs. “Kids were messy, messy. We learned how to make slime today!” He says this with pride as he pulls off a rather stubborn bit of goop off the side of a tunnel, holding it out to you for show. “Some of them left with little cups of the stuff, hope their parents don’t mind!”

Thinking back to Roxy’s hair, you cringe. “...Great.”

“But continue! I didn’t mean to interrupt, sorry! Sorry.” He doesn’t turn to face you as he apologizes, running back and forth between the trash can and putting toys in their proper place that you struggle to keep up. He’s done more cleaning in thirty seconds than you have the whole five minutes you’ve been here. Sun still gives you a happy look as he dashes by, yelling out as you try to unstick a sock glued to the floor somehow. “How did your tests go? Did you pass? I bet you aced them all.”

You must have made some sort of face because the robot starts to yield back. You sigh. “I think I flunked them…not because of your picture or anything, that was cute.” You add that last part just to be sure. Sun’s body language doesn’t stop bouncing, unbothered, and if anything seems amused at your last burst as he skids to a pause near you. “At least it’s all over now.”

The robot makes a cooing noise of understanding, hand coming down to give you light pats on the back. (Physical touch seemed to be one of his best comforting skills, unsurprising for someone who must handle children and toddlers often too young to talk out their feelings.) He’s a very comforting character, even when he towers over you with an armful of displaced plushies. “I think the important part is that you tried! I’d give you a gold star if I had one.”

It’s encouragement made for a child, but what did you expect from a literal Daycare Attendant. You pry the sock from the playmat and toss it in the general direction of the lost-and-found bin. It misses, but Sun snatches it and drops it in before you can even take a step forward to fix it. It reminds you of how babysitters and parents would ‘help’ their children clean up their room to teach them how to do it properly, and you wonder if he’s doing this without thinking.“…Yeah, I guess.”

“Did you make any new friends?” Sun asks, head tilting at an odd angle to face you though his arms were busy stacking up plushies in a neat pyramid shape.

You busy yourself with making balls of slime and candy wrappers stuck together and throwing them like basketballs into the bin for easy cleaning. Whatever shots you miss, Sun wordlessly plucks them from the floor and tosses them in for you. “Sort of? I don’t know.”

“Goodie!” The animatronic returns to you, bounding around you with gee and his head spinning. “Oooh, tell me who it is? Are they nice to you? Is it that silly ole alligator? I hear he’s a real hit with the rascals!”

You smile and answer before thinking. “I met Moon.”

The continuous noise of robotic clicking stops as Sun’s head stills, his body frozen. “What?”

"Yeah, he's-" You trail off, mouth thinning into a line. More than likely said Naptime animatronic was aware and listening, assuming from previous experience, and you should choose your words carefully. "He's...interesting. You two are very different." There’s a lump in your throat coated with a sudden nervousness, and Sun’s silence was doing nothing to help it.

“You’re very fitted to the themes you have, suits you both.” You give a nervous chuckle, holding out a plushie for the animatronic to take. He doesn’t, but you feel pupils fall down to your grip anyway and you put the toy in place yourself in an attempt to fix the sudden awkwardness. Your response is the blank stare the animatronic has. “…Anyway, I should get-”

“Goodness.” His voice is so uncharacteristically quiet it almost surprises you. A larger hand wraps around your own, gently pulling it upwards into the space between you two, and Sun pats at the bruise that stretched from the back of your hand to your wrist with a metal thumb. “What happened here?”

You don’t like the implications of this, but you attempt to joke the tension away, waving your other hand off nonchalantly. “No biggie, just had an epic battle with my worst enemy in the whole pizzaplex.”

Sun’s faceplate lifts from your hand to your face. It swivels to an odd angle, smile stretching thinner. A thumb brushes gently over the greening bruise as your hand and wrist lay limp in his other palm, two fingers barely pressed on the underside to your pulse. “Hmm?”

“Got into a fight with the cleaning cart.” You smile. “It can be really hard to steer sometimes. But don’t worry, I kicked its ass.”

Sun is completely still, a habit of his (and his counterpart, you note) but still creepy each time. Blank white eyes stare down at you a tad few seconds longer than what would be considered comfortable and you’re starting to increasingly nervous. He didn’t even remark on your profanity. “It’s healing up fine. It’s not even noticeable anymore.”

The animatronic doesn’t fidget. Trying to slip his hand from his grip makes you realize his fingers were more stone-locked around your wrist than you realize. (And you are trying very, very hard not to think back to a few nights ago when your arm was caught in this same, if not as benevolent, scenario.) You think you see faint, notable white pupils in his stare. “Sun, you can let go now-”

Suddenly, his head snaps back into the upright angle. “I know just the thing!”

You lean back as he cranes lower, the space between you losing a few inches as he turns your palm to face upwards. “What?”

He’s dragging a finger across your palm, drawing a small symbol into your skin and humming a soft tune. You furrow your brows, confused, at the feeling of a circle and outward lines being drawn into your skin. Sun was drawing a sun. “By the power invested in me, I banish thee, poof!” He makes a poof motion with his hand in the middle of your palm in a dramatic fashion. “Pain gone, no more! Now you’ll be healed in no time.”

At first, you blink dumbly at him, then you snort after the goofy smile he has is contagious. Light sarcasm comes naturally. “Oh, wow, thanks. I really needed that-”

“I’m not done!” Sun grins, curling your hand closed and letting it drop before turning on his heel and stalking over to where the cleaning cart was parked. Curious, you watch as he positions himself besides it, taking on the most dramatic fighting pose you’ve ever seen and pointing at it accusingly. “How DARE you! Hiyah!”

He kicks it, straight in the wheel, and surprised giggles erupt from your mouth. “What are you-what are you even doing?”

Sun is as loud as ever, karate-chopping the air around the cleaning cart in a ‘threatening’ manner. “I will restore your honor!”

“That is-” You snort, hand over your face to shield yourself as your skin reddens. “That is company property!”

“It’s a fiend, is what it is!”

“Okay, okay you don’t-Let’s not-” You run over, laughter plaguing your voice as you place yourself in between the cleaning cart and the ‘attacking’ Daycare Attendant, holding up your hands to keep the fighter at ‘bay’. “Maybe let’s not try to kill the cleaning cart? I’m pretty sure that’s against the rules.”

At this, Sun’s posture drops and he clutches his face, gasping. But even then you can tell it’s in a form of theatrics and less of an actual reaction, still dramatic all the same. “I’m the rulebreaker!” He falls to the floor, dramatic, and wails into the empty air. “Rule breaker, rule breaker! I’m done for! I’ll be scrapped and turned into tuna cans!”

That brings another snort out of you, especially when he starts slowly rotating his head while mimicking the sounds of a can-opener. “Alright! Alright, I think-I think that’s enough.” You chuckle, waving him off as he too ceases his flailing, wide smile and demeanor back to his usual jester joy. He’s laughing too, and it’s a pretty sound, goofy and full of energy as he bounces to your reaction. “Man, what’s gotten into you?”

“Laughter is the best medicine for anything! Oh, and darling, we’re jesters. Smiles are our specialty.” Two fingers find the corners of your mouth, poking at your cheeks and the genuine smile you have. His head spins once in full rotation. “Now we match!”

You bat his hands away, though your grin still remains. “Silly.”

“The silliest.” He leans back, hands clasped together and seemingly satisfied with the results of his performance. “The Daycare is closing soon.”

You look out to the rest of the room. You were mostly done, but there were a few small things left over. “I should probably-”

“It’s late.” Sun interrupts you, nudging his head toward your cart. “Don’t you worry about any more messes, I can handle those. You should probably take out the trash before it starts leaking!”

Right, he had a point. You almost forgot about it in the moment of carefreeness. Sun had that sort of affect on people, perhaps. Chalk it up to good programming, or whatever sentient personality he developed while he’s been here. Leaning on your cleaning cart, you start to push it towards the door. “I still have to sweep and some other little stuff, so I’ll probably be back after I dump the trash.”

Sun’s head clicks to the side, but he offers no immediate response. He follows you to the door, and it reminds you of a puppy, or a gentleman escorting you out. The music that faintly plays over the pizzaplex’s speakers already had their auto-shutoff, so the last of the families in the building must have left by now. He’s patient as you push the cart out of the Daycare’s doorway, hands on the handles. “Don’t overwork now! Remember to play and take a break!”

“Says the animatronic whose literal job is to do nothing but play games with kids all day.” You tease, but you wave him off anyway, pushing the cart (and fighting against its now apparent squeaky wheel) “Be right back.”

“Oh, there’s no need for that!” He responds with a wave. You look at him funny, but the robot doesn’t elaborate. The big doors creak as he pulls them to a close, calling out again once through the crack. A smile peeks at you through the crack. “Be careful, nighty night!” The doors thud closed. You hear a lock falling into place on the other side.

You don’t think about his odd choice of wording as you push the cart and its trash bags to the nearest trash chute. Sun was a weird character, as is his counterpart. You can’t expect something inhuman to react to human standards.

It does dawn on you, however, as you are emptying out your cart and pushing it back towards the Daycare with the broom in tow that he completely avoided responding at the mention of you meeting Moon.

Outside of his obvious reaction to the name, which you still can’t discern its meaning, he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he avoided the conversation topic with a childish ritual and dramatic displays and theatrics. He distracted you and it worked. You try to not let that hurt your pride somehow.

Which left you with more questions once again, you never got to ask Sun about Moon. Fine, you’ll just do it directly when you see him again-

The Daycare’s lights are off when you arrive, parking your cart to the side of the doors and peering into the glass. Right, that part. There was probably something lurking inside of there, but it was less friendly than the sunny animatronic.

…Whatever. The outside room is lit well enough and will do so until you need to clock out so you can finish. You pick up your broom and eye all the tiny shoe marks and what looks like sprinkles dotted around the cafeteria tables and sigh. You’ll have a chance to investigate (or in this case, interrogate) further later, but it’s time to finish up.

Just in case, you walk the perimeter of the Daycare’s windows, peering inside. The light doesn’t reach as far as you like but you scan as best as you can, searching for red eyes or any sort of movement behind the glass. You find none, but you still clutch your broom just in case.

Maybe he’ll appear later, or doesn’t have the energy to greet you? You’re totally not offended or anything, just saves you the anxiety of having to watch your own back while you sweep. You start on the far side and slowly make your way across, making sure to get underneath all the cafeteria tables and picking up any small bits of plastic or straws you see while you’re there.

It’s quiet like this for maybe five minutes before you hear a tap, tap tap.

Looking up, you peer into the glass. Darkness greets you. There is no Moon in sight, so you just wrinkle your nose and turn away-

Tap. Tap. Tap.

A little harder this time, this time you’re sure it’s metal on glass.

You swing back around to the window, tugging the broom along with you and glaring hard into the Daycare as if the animatronic is going to just materialize right before you. He doesn’t, and you’re stuck looking like a fool trying to burn holes into empty air. Briefly, you know this thing likes to mess with you, toy with you, play with you for his own amusement and consider the brief, fleeting fear that he may not even be inside the daycare.

The thought makes you turn around to check behind you, sigh at the very obviously lit room you’re in before turning back and screaming. “Fucking hell!”

Moon’s face is inches from yours, all wide smiles and black eyes with tiny red dots, upside down. Not just his face, like his entire body is hanging from the ceiling Spider-Man style, his faceplate only rotating to appear ‘upright’ as he watches you recompose yourself in amusement.

Clutching your broom a little harder, you deadpan at the Moon’s reflection and bare your teeth in a sneer. “Asshole.”

Moon’s head swivels as he lowers to the floor, a finger coming up to his mouth and making the ‘tut ‘tut’ motion, a silent scolding. Language.

Right. The Daycare was soundproof from the inside, but they could still read lips. Screw that though. You stick out your tongue and wiggle your thumb and fingers off of your forehead in mockery. If the Daycare Attendant had eyebrows, you’d think they’d be raised. “I’m not playing Peek-a-boo with you, jerk. Go torment a plushie or something.”

Moon fakes sadness, silently following along your side as you try to sweep a little faster. Ignoring him is a little difficult, and every time you look up from the floor he’s doing something different to hold your attention.

This time, he’s clasping his hands together underneath his cheek and gently rocking, pretending to sleep. After a moment, one eye pops open, his grin stretches and one finger points to you.

You turn away from the glass before you can see him snicker. “Oh, fuck off.”

You’re half-assing the job, whether because of the rate you were doing it or the distraction that was to your side that was making it difficult. A task that maybe would have taken five to ten minutes is feeling like so much longer, and you try not to turn around behind you as you dump the dustpan into the cleaning cart’s bin.

Mission failed. You glance over your shoulder. Moon is posed in a half-bouncy, funny position like an over-exaggerated walk. You turn back to the dart to clack the dustpan a second time before turning back around to sweep and blink. Moon is frozen in another position, the opposite leg raised. Like a stop-motion animation, he was only moving when you looked.

Creepy. “I said I’m not playing games with you, Moon.”

As if to mock you, his smile grows wider and you can feel two red pinpricks digging into your skin. There’s nothing comforting about that look, even if the gestures themselves are innocent, so you jab a finger in his direction. “No games. Nada. Zilch. Games are for animatronics that are nice to me.“

Eyes dart down to glance at your extended finger. They’ve changed, red now with white pupils, and you’re not sure if that’s supposed to mean something or if you’re able of ‘decoding’ the meaning. If they had one at all.

But you don’t dwell on that for long because Moon suddenly straightens to a pin, hands held up in surrender like you were pointing a gun at him.

You blink, glance down to your finger, and then to Naptime Attendant, before lowering your hand. Moon then proceeds to give a very theatrical ‘sigh’ of relief complete with wiping off the imaginary sweat off of his forehead. “...Really?”

His response is a fake rub at the eyes, a fake yawn, grinning and pointing a finger in your direction. When you deadpan at him, he taps against the glass. Tap, tap, tap.

You don’t know what you expected. Any attempt to sweep in peace is met with distraction and mockery, so you just stare back in exasperation.

Sure, he looks playful, mischievous just as his title claims, but there’s something underneath the smile. Something akin to the same feeling when you last left him, confined to the Daycare’s dark while you were safe in the light and taunting him from its protection. Like now, even when you’re certain there’s safety while he’s trapped in there, a pit of unease sinks into your stomach.

The tapping stops and Moon’s arms link behind his back, craning forwards and making eye contact again. Smiling, grinning, watching. His head tilts, craned forwards (you instinctively lean back despite the barrier between you, and you imagine him chuckling in the quiet) with a zeroed look.

He seems to like that reaction. His eyes have darkened again, black seas with small red pupils like tiny LEDS.

It pairs well with the feeling his smile gives, eyes narrowing on you. You wonder if it’s annoyance at the faint light that passes through the glass, casting on him just enough to make him visible to you, or a different frustration underneath. A cold feeling sits at the bottom of your ribcage.

The two of you just stare at each other in a stalemate. Uncomfortable staff worker and the Daycare Attendant animatronic with hidden hands and unstable smile.

He looks at you like how a cat would watch a bird through the window, just out of reach.

…Creepy bastard.

You raise the blunt end of the broom and bonk it into the glass right over the animatronics’ chest. “Die.”

His gaze darts down, narrowing at the broomstick before flying back up to yours. For a moment, red eyes and thin white dots glare into you. There’s an uncomfortable pause.

Then, his pupils disappear. Moon’s hand flies up and clutches at his chest, body quivering and faceplate’s expression twisted in a show of pain. You step back from the glass as the animatronic withers, surprise washing over your annoyance. “Moon?”

The Daycare Attendant stumbles backward, heaving in on himself, and promptly ‘faints’. You peer downwards onto the Daycare floor where the animatronic lay motionless, sprawled on the playmats, dramatically playing dead.

For the second time in the hour, laughter bubbles in your chest and you turn away from the glass, hand coming to cover up your mouth and the redness in your cheeks.

Within the Daycare, one eye peeks open, then the other, and slowly Moon contorts himself to crouch just to peek over the Daycare barrier wall with upturned white eyes as he takes in the giggling mess that you are.

It comes out a strangled awkward giggle instead, and you're forced to try and flatten out the amused grin that’s inching on your face. “Ha ha, you’re so hilarious.” You try to sound sarcastic, but your tone doesn’t matter.

The Daycare Attendant is bouncing from foot to foot as usual now, his head spinning in complete rotations. You don’t know what to make of it exactly, but clearly, your reaction pleased him. So technically, you lost this battle. You blow raspberries to the Moon behind the glass. “Ok, fine. It was funny. Don’t blow your ugly cap off about it.”

His hand flies up to his chest rising in a gasp, the other coming atop his head to pat down his beloved nightcap.

You grin at his theatrics, returning to half-hearted sweeping and nodding as you walk along. “Ye-up. Very out of style. I thought you were supposed to be hip with the kids.” He follows alongside you, one eye red and the other a pale white, and this time the feeling of company is mutual. “I’m sure they think you’re hilarious anyway.”

The animatronics’s faceplate turns. You imagine soft metal-clicking noises instead of silence. Talking as you walk, you sweep the floors, but never turning away this time so the robot could read your lips properly. “I bet all the kids think you’re the bee’s knees, huh?” You say. “You know, once you get past all the creepy clown parts.”

In the corner of your eye, Moon is starting to have less bounce in his step. You finish sweeping up a section of the floor before turning back, passing your idle broom back and forth in your heads. Moon mirrors you, swaying side-to-side slightly in tune with your broom. “I was wondering why you weren’t active as the Naptime Attendant anymore. Why’s that?”

You don’t expect a verbal answer for obvious reasons, but safety is here behind the glass, and the Naptime animatronic has stilled.

“You been going under maintenance or something?” You think back to the forum headlines you read, possibly the only solid clue you’ve got going for you so far. That and the animatronic’s behavior itself. “You know, to fix all the-” You gesture in his general direction to his entirety. “-all the scary weird shit you’ve got going on here. I don’t think you were meant to give kids nightmares.”

Moon has stilled completely, head now permanently at an angle. His eyes have darkened again, black and red. Note to self: eye changes may be an indicator of mental state.

You continue your sweeping, you’re almost done anyways. “I read online somewhere some parents didn’t like you, said that you were too scary. Not in the normal, shy-kid way either.” Gathering the excess in the dustpan, you finish up and walk to the cleaning cart, dumping the residue in the bag and tapping the pan against the edge when you’re finished. “Then again, I don’t if any kid wouldn’t be scared of a freakishly tall clown.”

You hear a click. Turning to face the Daycare, the glass is empty, but a sound comes from the front doors, close enough for you to barely notice because you’ve had your cleaning cart parked over here anyway.

Then, slowly, the door cracks open with just a few inches of space. Nothing pops out to greet you. Curiosity overwhelms your self-preservation, and you step forwards to peek through the crack, leaning on the hardwood door.

He’s inches from your face, but this time Moon is the one to jolt back like you weren’t expected to actually come closer.

You smile at him. “Hello, Starboy.”

For the first time in the night, he talks. “…Hello, Brat.”

An uncomfortable pause, until you see a blur in the corner of your vision. You step back from the door just in time for his hand to come around it, and watch as his fingers dig into the empty space and clasp onto the wood instead. It drags back inside the Daycare dejected, leaving small marks on the door.

You stare at them with a nervous lump in your throat, but swallow it and keep up your smile. Stuffing your hands in your jacket, you stare back into the glare that's coming at you from within the darkness. Moon is still and quiet, not playful. He seems upset.

“Too slow.” You tease. You ignore the goosebumps on your skin and muster up confidence. “How come you’re not active as the Naptime Attendant anymore?”

Fingers tap on the wood. Red glares at you from the dark. “It’s late.”

“You’re avoiding the question-”

“It’s late.” He repeats. “Come inside the Daycare.”

You scoff. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

“I think you’re tired.” Tap. Tap. Tap. Fingers methodically against the frame, poised and ready if you were to come within reach. “I think you’re being nosy.”

“Well, I think you owe me some answers.” You’re firm, not enough to be mean, but enough to get your point across. Blackness narrows at you. “You tried to kill me-”

“Didn’t mean-”

“So unless you want to play a game of twenty questions where you’ll actually explain yourself,” You cut him off, pointing the broom in his direction like some sort of make-shift sword. “-then I’m just going to annoy you until-”

His hand juts out and grabs the handle. By your grip, you’re yanked forwards towards the crack in the door. You are filled with immediate regret as you are dragged to the opening where light and dark meet.

To your surprise, you’re not immediately thrown into the Daycare, but Moon’s face is close and seething. “Hush.” A small crack sound. His grip splintered the wood on the broom’s handle. Your own grip is fear-frozen and locked.

“You’re being rude.” His grip pulls you an inch forward, his eyes cast across your face. “Bad manners must be punished.”

You panic. Adrenaline hits in that moment and you step back, letting go of the broom. Nothing grabs for you and you aren’t dead, but an abrupt snap of something breaking processes in your head, and it’s not until you’re a few feet back into the safety of the light do you see the broom has been snapped into two. One half clattered to the floor and rolled away, the other held loosely in Moon’s hand.

He drops that too, and it clatters to the tile and rolls away toward your feet. “Behave.”

The initial shock is passing, and you feel your shoulders hike up with the tension. You kick the broken broom handle toward him in a fit of anger and anxiety. It skids across the floor and hardly bumps against the Daycare’s barrier. “You know, this is exactly what I was talking about, asshole. You’re making this whole ‘friend’ thing really difficult for me.”

“…Friend.” You see something flash over his expression for a split second, then it’s gone.

You open your mouth to yell emotionally charged profanities at him, then close it. He was right, you were tired, out of your area, and getting increasingly frustrated. Your hand was sore from the movement, and you rub at the bruise absentmindedly. At your hesitation, the Moon’s head seems to tilt. You wrinkle your nose at him. “You know what? We’ll talk about it later. I’m tired.”

“Tired.” He repeats. “And nosy.”

“Shut up. You look like a cardboard cutout with emotions.” It’s a childish insult, but you don’t care. With a sigh, you throw the pieces of the broom into the cart. You’re extra careful to kick the piece closest to him with your foot so you’re not too close to the door. “Bye, Moon. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

It’s quiet for a moment while you unlock the safety break on the cart until he answers you. “Okay. Goodnight.” He stares at you for a minute longer, his eyes gone paler. “Sorry.”

You pause, turning to face the crack in the door. “What?”

It shuts in your face. Nothing appears in the glass, and you’re left alone in the big room with just as many questions as you came in with.

…Okay. Weird. Searching in the glass doesn’t reveal anything in the daycare, and you don’t feel eyes on you, so you push the cart away, steering it towards the janitorial closet with full intention to clock out before the rest of the building’s lights turn off, and maybe take a well-deserved nap when you get home.

Chapter Text

The next week and a half, you’ve put pretty much all your effort into avoiding Freddy at nearly every opportunity, investigating any leads you find on the Daycare animatronic’s history (which proves to be futile and you’re pretty sure has given your phone a virus by this point) while also trying to keep your sanity scrapping bubble gum off of the staff bots that fall victim to children’s straw shooters. Poor guys.

Monday you’re tasked with general cleaning, Tuesday you’re tasked with fixing all the squeaky hinges on the doors to the restrooms, Wednesday you’re tasked with refilling the photo-booth machines with paper and so forth. Mundane chores that keep you busy, though you still have time to make small-talk with Chica and even paint her ‘nails’ when the metal polish was starting to get chipped. Roxy, despite her attitude, doesn’t turn away from you in conversation anymore. Progress!

Monty ignores you mostly per usual, as long as you stay away from his door, and you do your best to avoid any conversation with Freddy that could delve past greetings and small talk less you fear him bringing up that night on security cameras. You run into him once while restocking the shelves at one of the gift shops, and quickly excuse yourself with a smile and a wave of the hand that you were busy. He smiles back, thanks you for working hard, but you think you see his ears tilt downwards and fight back that guilt for the rest of the day.

Sun waves hello to you through the glass during the day, and you keep your distance from Moon at closing hours. They are routine, almost.

It’s not uncommon for you to help Sun clean up near closing time and to play charades with Moon through the Daycare’s glass. Well, mostly. You’re not doing the charade part, but he does a very good job at telling you that you should be sleeping in the most mannerly, jesting manner than what should be allowed. You keep your guard up and make sure to always leave before the lights turn off fully at the end of the day, less you find yourself on the other end of the acting.

Thursday, you mop and vacuum all the floors of the pizzaplex (quite a feat, and it takes you several hours) while Friday you’re helping Sun peel off glitter glue in the tunnels in places he’s too big to properly get into.

By Saturday, you’ve broken the wheel on your cleaning cart twice in an hour and spent the majority of your shift fixing it.

Sunday, you’re taking a bag or two of trash you collect to Chica’s room when the other animatronic’s aren’t looking and she hastily, giggling, slides you some pretty decent pizza coupons through the crack in the door while you toss a trash bag into her room and scamper off like the two of you were going to get caught doing something scandalous.

You have that Monday off and spend most of it reeling back from studies and having a well deserved rest. On Tuesday, Sun shows you some drawing’s the children did during their stay, and you find some spare tape in the storage closet to help him stick a few up around the Daycare.

That night you see Moon looking at the drawings when you pass by the glass, parking your cart and stopping to watch as the Naptime Attendant gingerly lifts a drawing to inspect it further. He notices you, but you’re rolling your cart away right as his head turns and entertains the idea of getting washable markers to write against the glass for him later.

On Wednesday, you fuck up.

Your usual email told you that today you’d be scheduled around your usual time from seven to closing, with permission to leave early if you get your tasks done. It’s usual mundane things; take out the trash, clean the cafeteria tables, restock the sticker pile in Freddy’s room that he likes to give out to children during photo time, and use the automated tuner on Monty’s guitar to keep it up to date.

That last one feels…less than wanted, so you save it for last. If everything goes to schedule, you’ll probably finish early anyways, staying until you’re off the clock though. It gives you some time to hang out with Sun and make rude gestures at Moon from the safety of light.

Also because you had the brilliant idea to snoop around the Security desk in the Daycare at some point to see if you could find anything pertaining to the current investigation you’ve set yourself upon, but doing that without gaining the suspicion of Sun (or getting within lunge distance of Moon) was going to prove difficult.

You do your usual chores, which doesn’t take long because you’ve become quite accustomed to the routine of it all. Trash taken care of, (with a bag left outside Chica’s door), cafeteria tables were wiped and you put a neat pile of stickers on Freddy’s vanity table when you’re pretty sure he’s busy doing last minute meet-n-greets around the main stage.

Monty’s room is the last place to go, and you don’t see the alligator anywhere.

The automated tuner (funky device. Just hook it up to the electric bass and it does all the tuning for you, the wonders of technology) feels heavy in your hand while you’re standing at his door. It’s not locked, not with your badge, but you’ve never stepped foot inside since you started working here. It’s an unspoken rule, you’ve realized, that some places were just off-limits, regardless of employee privilege.

Well, you were a notorious rulebreaker anyway. You take a deep breath, slide your card into the slot and enter.

It’s…exactly how you imagined it would look like. A complete mess, dark and dingy. You’ve never seen him take photos with families inside his room, only outside it, and now you understand why. There were shredded plushies with their stuffing ripped out all across the carpet, ripped posters on the walls that had claw marks deep enough to leave indents into the brick, and broken furniture where storage boxes or cut-outs would have been. Even the vanity had a smashed mirror, and broken glass littered across the tabletop.

Yeesh. You knew the alligator had issues but damn, you can’t imagine that living in a place like this would make his attitude any better.

There were a few safe things kept from his anger, it looks like. A couple of children’s drawings were pinned up near the vanity, all consisting of Monty or him and the gang, maybe himself and the child who drew it, seemingly immune to the woes that cursed the rest of the place. There’s also a sofa on the opposite wall, dingy but intact, and it’s there you see his bass lying on it, clunky and brightly colored just to match the rest of the band’s instruments.

You don’t plan on staying here much longer than you need to. Walking over to the bass, you hesitate when you reach out to touch it. It’s probably best not to mess with his things any more than what you have to, so you find the plug-in jack for the auto-tuner on the side and jam it in at an awkward but doable angle. The box in your hand lights up and gives you a series of dialogue about tuning that you barely skim over before pressing the appropriate button, and a percentage pops up to let you know how long it’s going to take.

This should only take a minute or so, so you let your thoughts trail elsewhere.

It’s a how all of the animatronics’ rooms were very telling of their personalities. Freddy keeps mementos from children and lots of toys and stickers to give away during photo shoots. Roxy has nail and metal polish on standby always by her vanity just in case her appearance gets scuffed. Chica’s room is usually filled with empty pizza boxes and (now thanks to you) trash bags of snacks.

Monty’s room was clearly a mess, the aftermath of a rampage, but there is still softness in the corner of the room where he’s pinned up drawings from children wearing his signature sunglasses and his catchphrase scribbled in the corner of the page.

By this point, you’ve seen all of the animatronic’s rooms save for the Daycare Attendant’s, who’s your pretty sure is kept away up on that balcony. You haven’t discovered an entrance in there, and you’ve only ever seen them enter and leave via the bungie cord system they’re attached to. You’re not exactly a fan of the idea to ask either one of them to take you up there just so you can snoop, so that was out of the question.

Your ‘investigation’ has been slow, but no one has questioned you about it just yet, and you’ve been working here long enough to get a better idea of how to handle the animatronic’s moods in the meantime. You check the autotuner. Eighty percent, nearly done. You’ll snoop through the Daycare’s security desk after this, and if you’re lucky maybe something substantial will pop up-

The sound of a door sliding open startles you from your inner dialogue. You turn your head when you don’t hear it close, and freeze.

Monty is standing in the doorway, still held open because he looks too stunned to move forwards. There is a pause of tense silence. For once, you see them over the red hue of his sunglasses, and dampen at the realization that they’ve gone and made his iris red too, a color that is slowly starting to seethe at the sight of you. “You-”

“I’m doing my job!” You quickly say, leaning back so maybe he could see the automated tuner and help with the explanation. His snarl expands, and you rise from your crouch. “They said I needed to-”

He stomps over, heavy footsteps that send a cold feeling within your ribcage as the alligator approaches. “What the hell gave you the balls to come in here?! You looking for a death wish?” He gets too close, your personal bubble broken, and towers over you with clenched fists and anger coming off him in waves. “You have no business being in here-”

“I’m doing my job.” You repeat, hands up in some sort of mock surrender while the animatronic glowers at you. “I’m not going to stay long, I’m just here to-”

His hand comes up, grabbing your collar, bunching it up in his fist and jolting you. Monty lifts, ever so slightly, not enough to dangle you but your heels leave the floor and snarls into your face. You can see your own fearful reaction in the reflection of his sunglasses. “The only thing you’re doing is pushing it, Runt.”

“Is this really necessary?!” Your excuses come out less than solid, your hand coming up to push at the fist that’s hoisting you up by your shirt. “Management told me I needed to come and tune your bass-!”

The grip tightens. “Management needs to keep their nose out of my shit and stop sending runts to do their dirty work. Don’t go thinking you’re hot shit because you’ve been here a while, you’re not.”

“What is your problem?!” All attempts to dislodge his grip fail and your voice was raising in alarm. Screw this, you weren’t a pushover. Afraid? Yes, but not a pushover. “I work here! I’m just doing what I’m told-”

You must have said something wrong again. The metal in Monty’s face twists with anger and he growls, sharp teeth baring and soreness around your neck where the collar was hoisted the tightest. “You’ve been snooping in places you’re not supposed to be, running around like you own the place-!”

“I work here!” You repeat. “I have to clean up all of your messes and fix everything you break! I’m the one who buffs out your stupid claw marks out of the walls and fixes the wheels on your stupid golf carts when your temper tantrums destroy them-!”

You’re pushed into the wall, claws still in your collar. It doesn’t quite knock the wind out of you, but you feel soreness in your back as Monty hisses. “Shut up.”

“What the HELL gives you the right to be so mean to me?” You wondered if the surrounding animatronic rooms were soundproof at all, and if your argument was going to reach the outside. “I haven’t done anything to you!”

Pushed further, metal knuckles are pressing through your shirt and harshly into your collarbone. “You don’t know anything.”

You think you hear the door sliding open again behind him, but the ringing in your ears is too loud and Monty’s “You won’t even communicate-!”

He raises his other fist and extends his fingers, claws outwards. A sudden blur and a crash of metal on the drywall. Your eyes are squeezed tight, awaiting pain as regret fills you (because you had to open your mouth and argue, didn’t you?) and scrunch in on yourself. The pain comes, but not as much as you thought, blooming slightly on your cheek. There is a pause of stillness, tension thick. You open one eye, then the other, and take in the damage.

Monty is shaking with anger. A small hole is next to your head, cracks around the drywall’s injury but when you look back down to the alligator’s hand there’s bits of pieces of wallpaper stuck underneath his claws, like within the rage he couldn’t decide whether to punch you or to rip you apart, but the wall seemed to take the hit instead. Just a minuscule mark among all the others in the room, but your eyes widen, growing wet, as your fingers freeze on the alligator’s hand still coiled around your collar and stare back up at the tall robot in fear.

In the span of three seconds, his gaze focuses back on your face, and Monty’s expression shifts from seething, teeth-baring anger to something completely unreadable. His snarl falls, and his grip starts to slacken-

“Monty!”

Another deep voice shatters the silence. Monty drops you, stunned, and your heels meet the floor in a way that makes the world feel like it’s spinning for a moment. The both of you turn your heads to figures standing in the doorway.

Freddy is standing aghast in the room, body tense and blue eyes darting quickly back and forth between you and the alligator. Roxy is there too, hesitating in the doorway with a look of uncertainty you’ve never seen her with before. Your eyes lock with hers, equally as wide, and your throat starts to close as Freddy speaks. “What’s going on in here?”

The gator hesitates, a glance from you to the bear and back again. It doesn’t feel like his hesitation is because he’s been caught, but something else entirely. Something else that you had no intention of sticking around to figure out. You push past him, forcing your feet to remain steady and all but power walk towards the door. “Excuse me.”

All three animatronics turn their attention to you and you feel a hand reach out to your shoulder and your name called as you brush past Freddy but pay it no mind, walking faster. Roxy shifts to the side, surprisingly, allowing you to duck underneath her arm and out of the room. You don’t look behind you to see their reactions or their judgment, and you don’t listen to the voices that start to raise as you put some distance between yourself and the animatronic’s living quarters.

It’s near closing. Families have already come and gone, so only a couple of staff bots raise their heads when you power walk by. It feels like you’re being watched, whether out of pity or curiosity you can’t tell, but you rather not have any of the robots see you while you’re wiping your eyes and trying to keep a straight face. You left the auto-tuner but you don’t care. You just wanted to get away, somewhere where none of the other robots can bother you, because knowing them (or specifically; Freddy and possibly Chica) then eventually you were going to be cornered and questioned.

Right now, you just wanted a friend, and you knew exactly where to go to. Which…in retrospect, didn’t really change your plans at all, now that you think of it. You’ve composed yourself enough by the time you get to the Daycare doors anyway.

The lights are on and there’s no one in sight when you enter. A glance around the Daycare doesn’t reveal the Attendant, even when you look up to the balcony you find it lacking. “Sun?”

No answer. Not uncommon, he might be busy elsewhere. There were some oddities in the Daycare today, some tents put up that look decorative with bright, childish designs on the front, some of which consist of the main band casts as the theme for one, even some that appeared to have the Sun and Moon aesthetic. A few of them were already packed down, but the ones remaining still up caught your eye. A Monty-golf-themed one is situated in the corner, and you frown at the cartoon version on his that looks a lot nicer than his real life counterpart.

Considering the lack of messes now that you’ve scanned the place, it looks like he’s already been busy cleaning up after the day, which made you feel a tad guilty by itself. It wasn’t necessarily your job to help him, just his, but it was still something you liked to busy yourself with. You swallow back a lump with a dry throat and turn towards the security desk.

Actually, this might be the perfect time for that.

With another glance out to the Daycare for the Attendant, and a quick one outside in case anyone had any ideas of following you here, you scutter to the space behind the security desk. It’s obviously not your first time being back here, since it’s a good spot to sit down for a study break when the Daycare isn’t in operating hours, and the only spot with an adult chair in the entire room, but you never really shifted through the leftover contents since you started working here. It was never important to you, and frankly, you didn’t know if it was rude or not whether to do so. Well, now you are doing so and rudeness is just a side-effect of the investigation, you suppose.

Shifting through the drawers, you frown when you pull one open and a thin layer of dust flies up. The Daycare Attendants never come back here, though you’re not entirely sure why, otherwise it wouldn’t be as dingy or disorganized. There’s nothing too substantial in the first two that you open, save for some extra sets of crayons and children’s doodles that look to be a bit aged.

Underneath a pack of sticky notes, you find a weird Freddy-box-like thing that pops open, revealing a security card inside. It doesn’t match yours, but it looks functional, so you toss the sticky notes up onto the desk’s surface and pocket the card. Your jacket pockets are already too thick with your car keys, badge and sandwich wrapper you forgot to throw away for lunch, so you stick it in your pants pocket instead.

In another drawer you find reports and notes about problem children, some reminders about certain children’s allergies, and even an expired EpiPen. The notes were handwritten, transitioning to different handwriting occasionally like another person took over the job.

There used to be human Daycare Attendants, or security personnel, at least. None of which seemed to have stayed in this job for long, judging by the dates on the notes and the frequency of the writing style changes, with different names signing off at the top.

Flipping through the notes, they contain general information like who was allowed to pick up what child from the Daycare, who had medical issues and how to treat them in emergencies, schedules including when was snack time and nap time, all miscellaneous things jotted down for human memory and catalog whereas a robot would have no problem remembering this information without issue.

Go figure. Robots don’t need a living wage, never need time off, can’t get sick, and can immediately recall any important information necessary for their jobs. No wonder Fazbear Entertainment had most of their staff as robots.

You focus on the second records, snack time and naptime, general notes, and frown at the date of the last recorded entry. Over a year ago, with snack time being listed for that date but nothing for the naptime slot. It’s a detail you solidify into memory before placing it back into the drawer, shutting it and going to open the last-

“Looking for band-aids?”

You jolt, head bumping into the end of the security desk and cursing under your breath as you scramble to standing position. Sun is here, arms crossed over and leaning against the other side of the desk. You rub the sore spot on your head.

He just smiles at you warmly. “Well, they’re not in there!”

The embarrassment resigns; you clear your throat, adjusting your posture. “Yeah, no. I was just tidying up.” You fiddle with the drawer handles, picking at the sticky notes you’ve tossed onto the desk. “I don’t need a band-aid or anything.”

Sun ‘hmms’ for a moment. “Maybe not! But it’s still a good idea to disinfect it, just in case.” He gestures with a finger to come closer. You squint at his wording, confused, but lean forwards anyway.

Once closer enough, his hand dips somewhere behind your head, and you pause when fingers brush the hairline behind your ear. Sun tuts. “My, my, my. What villain did you face to do something like this?”

Your brows furrow. “What?”

With a flick of his hand, it comes out from behind your head. Between two fingers is a small packet. One of those tiny plastic packages that have little disinfectant wipes inside of them that you usually see in first-aid kits. “Tada!”

Still confused, you tilt your head as the robot tears the small package open, pulling out the disinfectant wipe. “…and that is for?”

Sun looks up, a finger pointing at his own face and making a little motion. “You have a little…something, there.”

Blinking, you reach into your pockets and dig out your phone. You don’t even have to turn on your camera because your reflection in the black screen answers you. A cut on your face, thing but with dried blood beaded solidly in a line across your cheek. Monty’s claws nicked you when he aimed for the wall, and you were so caught up in running away and your eventual snooping that you forgot about it.

“Oh, yeah.” Pocketing your phone again, you muster up a poker face. “How silly of me.”

“Very silly.” Sun jests. A finger taps your chin to gently coax it to point at an angle, and you feel your face burn for a different reason as the wipe is raised to your face. “Now, the kids really, really hate this part, says it’s the worst. Stings bad, not that I would know, but it’s very important to clean it up, just a bit!”

You’re about to protest (you’re not a kid, this was a touch embarrassing, and you don’t know if being babied for a moment was going to hurt your ego even more than it has been tonight) but Sun presses the wipe to your skin and you flinch, a hiss of pain held back by biting down on your tongue. The kids were right. This was the worst part. “M’not a baby, you know.” You frown. “I can do this myself.”

“Usually the little ones would be crying by now, but you’re doing fantastic so far!” Sun sends you an encouraging look, something in his voice a mix of genuine and sarcasm, just on the touch of teasing you and you can’t muster up any comeback for your pride outside of sticking your tongue out for a moment. “How did this little mishap come to be, anyway?”

“Dunno, guess I tripped.” The lie comes automatically. You didn’t want to get into the details of earlier’ s situation, not quite yet. If Sun detected your fib, he doesn’t show it, quietly dabbing away at your cheek with a warm look like he was waiting for you to continue. “…What’s with all the tents? Little kid forts?”

“We only pretended to go ‘camping’ today, so there wasn’t a lot of messes made. We also learned a new ‘clean-up’ song, and most of them even went along with it!” He presses harder on your cheek for a final moment before pulling his hand back, still leaning against the security desk as he inspects his handiwork and seems satisfied with the results. “Some of them even sang with me! Although, really off-key. But it’s the effort that matters!”

The animatronic pulls back and throws the wipe’s remnants into the small trashcan by the desk. Your cheek stung, but it felt cleaner now, and at least you wouldn’t be walking around with dried blood that would have hurt like a bitch to scab off later. “Cute. Guess the kindergarteners took my job then, huh?” For the sake of conversation, you search for something else relevant in hopes he doesn’t divert the topic back to scratch. You open your mouth to let out some sort of joke about polishing his faceplate to return the favor, but pause.

Now that you actually think about it, he was dirty. In a subtle way, not noticeable from a distance, but pretty much all of the metal parts of him were stained and grimy in some way. The ends of his fingers were clean, possibly by contact with disinfectant and using them daily, but other parts were stained. Discolored fingerprints, paint smears, and god knows whatever else was coating his chassis in a thin layer. There was even faint traces of the sticky residue that stays behind when you peel off a sticker.

You hear a slight ‘ahem’ and break from your thoughts. If Sun had eyebrows, they’d be raised. “Friend, has anyone ever told you staring isn’t very polite?”

“…Sunny, you are covered in gross-yuck.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not a word!”

“Dude, look at you, like-yeesh.” You make a general gesture towards the robot body (who fakes a gasp as if you told him something deeply offending) and cringe when you squint and find the incredibly faint shoe print that’s too big to be a child’s. Your shoe print, exactly, from when you kicked him in the chest after he pulled you out of the ball pit so long ago. “I mean, it’s not that notable from a distance and unless you’re looking for it, but doesn’t maintenance-I don’t know, clean you?”

“Oh! We use baby wipes occasionally to get gunk off, but sometimes things stain and won't come out unless we have stronger stuff. Which is a big no!” He wags his finger. “No harsh cleaning products in the daycare! Hazard for the kids.”

He didn’t quite answer you, and you keen in on it while you fiddle with the sticky notes atop the security desk. “So…maintenance doesn’t clean you?”

Sun’s smile tilts, fingers locked together in a polite grasp. “Nope.”

You wait for him to elaborate, but he never does. Awkward. Your fingers tap uneasily at your side. The fact that there wasn’t a viable reason for you to stick around now that there wasn’t a mess for you to clean up brought the idea to your mind. “Want me to, uh-” You point a finger to all the spots you can see that are discolored portions of his chassis, and blow air out of your nose in amusement when the animatronic dramatically glances down at himself in response. “Want me to help get all that...that, off of you?“

For a moment there’s a pause like he’s genuinely surprised you asked. You expect some sort of witty jest or joke to accompany his answer, but instead, he just looks at you. “I guess this isn’t the best attire to greet parents in, isn’t it?“

You smile, coming around the security desk and waving him off as you walk out of the daycare doors for a moment. “Be right back!”

You walk quickly. There’s a janitorial closet not far from where the Daycare’s entrance is and it’s within sight of the doors anyway. In there, you find a bucket and some sponges, one that has a hard scrubber on the size and grab whatever bottle of cleanser you can find. There’s nothing specifically for the animatronics in here, so you didn’t want to use anything too harsh to strip off his paint, but you find some general de-greaser and pour a decent amount into the bucket along with some water from the closet’s sink.

It sloshes over the sides a little as you walk back with all your supplies in hand. Sun looks at it quizzically. “I don’t think I’m that dirty, you know.“

“…and you’re gonna let me help you wash up anyway.” You jest, and your response is  Sun’s faceplate doing a full rotation in the semblance of a chuckle.

Motioning him to sit down on the floor (which he does, crisscross, but not without doing some sort of dramatic spin before he plops down) you pull off your jacket. You don’t want it getting wet, so you toss it across the security desk and roll up your shirt sleeves. The bruise on your wrist is plain as day this way, but it’s faded from purples and blues to faint greens and yellows, the soreness only comes when you prod at it.

Before dipping the sponge into the water, you look back at him. “You are waterproof, right? I don’t want accidentally short-circuit you or something.”

Sun’s head angles to grin at you, giving you a solid mock salute. “Waterproof up to forty feet of water and covered in premium silicone in all the right places! Water doesn’t bother us one bit, no-sir-ree!“

You raise an eyebrow. “Does that mean you can swim?”

His salute falters. “Don’t ask me that.”

You snort, dipping the sponge into the bucket and situating yourself behind him. A small hesitation before pressing it against his chassis, frowning when the light pressure you apply isn’t enough to wipe off the layer of grime that’s collected there. Scrubbing a little harsher does seem to pull up some of the dirt though. “Let me know if something goes wrong, alright?”

“You know, we’re not a baby either. I can do this myself.” Sun says, and it's a direct tease from how you behaved earlier, his tone lighthearted. You’d deadpan at him if it wasn’t for the fact that his head was facing away from you, hands politely sitting in his lap. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing, hmm?”

“I brushed Roxy’s hair, painted Chica’s nails…” Pausing for a moment, your mouth thins into a line. “Technically tuned Monty’s bass guitar.” You return to your scrubbing, careful around the ring where his bungie wire attaches. The de-greaser is working, and the grime is starting to come up very easily, making the whole process a lot quicker. You’re nearly done with the back of his chassis already. “I guess that makes me a bone-a-fide animatronic handler.”

“Oh, ho ho ho!” Sun’s head swivels 180 degrees to smile at you. You forget robots can do that. It still startles you a bit, hand pausing dipped in the soap bucket. “Goodness, we didn’t realize we were sharing you with everyone else!”

Weird. You muster up a smile back. “Yep, with the WHOLE pizzaplex.”

His response is a content ‘hmm’ and you return to your scrubbing. Trying to be gentle doesn’t help with the caked fingerprints on his chassis. You open your mouth to apologize for having to press harder when he speaks first. Sun’s static smile widens, and it feels genuine. “I’m glad you’re making friends with everyone.” A pause. “Even if sometimes those friends are a little harder to make.”

Well, that sentence felt loaded for no reason. “I feel more like some of them barely tolerate me rather than wanting to be friends, no matter what I do.” You scrape a particularly stubborn flake of paint off of his shoulder. There’s a pause in silence you can’t decipher, so you give him a little pat on the back with the paper towel you were drying him with and match his smile in jest. “Don’t worry, buddy. You two are still my favorites.”

Suddenly, the animatronic’s body moves. You jolt back as Sun’s midsection rotates around for the front to face you, ‘righting’ itself so his head appears properly positioned, then tilting to the side. “Oh?”

You blink, then just the soggy paper towel towards his face. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Oh, no no no.” Sun sounds a little panicked that you can’t tell if it’s dramatics or genuine, and you’re about to take offense before he continues, clutching at his faceplate. “We haven’t prepared for this yet! It’s so SOON! I haven’t made a card, or a friendship bracelet or anything to celebrate-!”

You flick water toward his face. He makes a dramatic noise of choking and lops his head to the side like you’ve struck him with a vile poison. “Har har har, very funny.” You snicker, and watch as the light comes back as he raises his head, swiveling in the same manner he always does after entertaining. You switch to his front chassis, the animatronic keeping his arms out of the way. “At least you’re easy to work with. Part of the design, huh?”

“Ohhh, is that a bit of bitterness I hear?” His head cranes down to you and you instinctively lean back, the animatronic taking the position of intrigue. “Something a matter out there in the big bad world? Do tell!”

You nose scrunches up. You focus on scrubbing around the ‘buttons’ on his chest and don’t meet his gaze. “Just work stress and jerks being…jerks.”

“Oh, gossip!” To your hesitance, Sun mimics a zipper across his mouth, ‘zipping’ it up and making a motion like he was throwing away the key. “What’s said in the Daycare stays in the Daycare, promise!”

Briefly, you wondered if Moon was present for this conversation (and if he was, just cleaning the animatronic alone was going to get some mockery thrown at you later in the night from him, but venting was an entirely different vulnerability) “I just, I don’t know.” You busy yourself with moving to his arms, wiping them down and letting it be your excuse not to look the robot in the face. “None of my last jobs were anything like this.”

In way more ways than one, not everything you’re willing to bring up to Sun, not quite yet. Despite the vagueness, Sun sits quietly, headplate softly swaying as he waits for you to finish talking. Funny thing about these animatronics, the nice ones never liked to interrupt, though you can’t say the same for his counterpart.

You swallow the lump in your throat and put on a steeled face. “At least my old coworkers pretended to like me, you know? Monty seems like he wants to spit in my direction every time he see’s me, I’m pretty sure Roxy sees me like a disposal employee, so she’s not interested in getting to know me.” You pause. “Freddy and Chica are nice to me, but that doesn’t automatically make someone your friend just because they don’t hate you.”

“We’re your friend.” He juts in. Head tilting, he adds on. “I’ve been your friend this whole time.”

“Well, it’s kinda hard not to be your friend.“ You snort. One arm is finished so you move on to the next. ”That’s your entire programming to be friendly. You were nice to me even before we spoke for the first time, even when I kicked you.“ Funny enough, you just finished making sure your faint shoeprint was washed away, and think fondly back to the fated ‘peek-a-boo’ game. ”I think you’re the friendliest, welcomest animatronic here.“

“Welcomest is not a word!” He declares, finger raised in the air. Sun then leans down in a comical fashion, hand pulled up against the side of his mouth as if he were sharing a secret, and ‘whispering’ in a loud manner that only he can do. “But if you ask us, we’re giving Mr. Fredbear a run for his money in the friend department!”

You snort, finishing off the other arm and dropping the sponge back into the bucket. “Oh trust me, I don’t really think you have that much competition.” You roll another paper towel around your hand to dry off the parts still damp and pushing your sleeves back up from where they’ve slid down. For a moment, you feel his gaze linger on your almost-healed bruise, though the subject is not brought up. “I don’t really know if Freddy and the others would want me as a friend later, and especially not Monty.”

“And why’s that?”

You inwardly flinch. Sun’s smile stays comforting, full of ease. Your own stress was something you let slip out, and he was fortunately (or perhaps, unfortunately) designed to be approachable, easy to break down the guard of others. It’s something you curse as you wring the paper towel in your hands in a nervous fidget. “…Got into a fight.”

His shoulders straighten in the mock show of surprise. “With something other than the cleaning cart? I’m surprised!”

Your nose wrinkles. “Ha ha, hilarious. Not that kind of fight, anyways-” You pause, and bit your tongue. It didn’t get to that point, not physical, but it was close enough to scare you. “Listen, I…I went into Monty’s room without his permission to tune his guitar. It was one of the tasks management wanted me to do. He caught me and we got into a loud, weird yelling argument and Freddy and Roxy walked in and everyone was looking at me weird and now-” You bunch the towel up, letting it fall into your lap with a sigh. “Now I’m pretty sure I just killed my chances of being actual friends with everyone in the band.“

“Goodness, sounds like quite a sour pickle!” Sun hmphs, finger tapping against the bottom half of his faceplate in a semblance of thinking. “The situation, I mean. But the alligator is also a bit of a sour pickle from what I hear. A real favorite among the troublemakers, that one. Rude, too.”

You give a half-hearted shrug, mouth downwards into a frown. “It’s whatever. Just kinda wished I could figure out what Monty’s whole problem is.” Between investigating the Daycare Attendant’s mystery, your student life, and the job itself, you don’t even know if you’d be able to handle another animatronic’s dramatic story anyway. “Don’t know why I even bothered.”

A hand comes into view, and in a quick motion your chin is lightly thwacked upwards. Sun’s smile stretches warmly as he keeps your gaze tilted for a better view of your face, body craned downwards to you. “Now, friend.” He starts. The hand dips lower and a metal knuckle barely graces the ugly scratches on your cheek. “Don’t you worry about silly things like that.”

“He never even talks to me normally! He just-!” You make a wild gesture, sarcastic disdain in your tone. “-tears stuff up and makes more messes for me to clean up! Sometimes I think he does it on purpose. Like, what even is his deal?”

“It’s better not to pry.” He interjects, still chipper. “Other people have all kinds of secrets, and that’s okay to keep, not your problem to solve.”

You scoff, craning away from the touch. You didn’t sign up to be morally scolded twice today. “Are you calling me nosy?

“I didn’t say you were nosy!” Sun jests, a different tone of voice being used as he rests his head, and uses the other to tap your chin as it pulls away. “But sometimes, playing detective should be reserved for games only.”

A cold feeling sinks into your stomach as the animatronic leans back, and suddenly the security card stashed feels like it’s burning your skin. Still, you’re composed enough to maintain eye contact, despite the awkwardness, and you wonder if the slight change in the blank of white eyes for a split second was a trick of your imagination.

“Right.” Fingers tap nervously against your knee. He had good points, and the conversation was tiring. The whole day was tiring. You should probably start packing up to leave soon.

Leaning back, he was looking pretty good so far. It’s a subtle change, but something that made him look a bit shinier, save for one spot left over: the face plate. Sun catches you staring in your observation and spins it just for show, and the tension you didn’t realize was there feels a tad lighter. “Just your face is left, I guess.”

“O-kay!” He cranes down his face closer to you (a bit too close for comfort, again.) and rests his head in his hands, elbows on his knees, and waits. “Ready for the make-over!”

“Uh.” You blink at the closeness. “It’s weird with you staring at me like that.”

“How’s this?” He goes still. Nothing happens for a moment, blank, pupil-less white eyes still as daunting as they were before Sun speaks. “You can’t tell right now, but I am totally not looking at you.”

The snort that comes from you is involuntary. “Sure you’re not. Let me just uh-” You crane over and reach up towards the security desk. He looks at you curiously as you pat around for the sticky notes from earlier, pulling them down and peeling two pages off. Then, without warning, you stick them right over his eyes. “There we go!”

The animatronic makes a noise of dramatic shock. “You’ve blinded me! I’m your dear friend and you’ve blinded me! The sun has gone dark! The world is fading as we speak-!”

You laugh, wetting a paper towel for a quick run-down. “It’s just for a moment! Pretend it’s the clouds! Clouds blocking out the sun!”

Sun tuts at you, arms crossed, sticky notes still on his eyes despite the very clear ability to take them off, and sits still while you run the towelette across the crevices on his face. “An utterly despicable betrayal!”

Finished. You toss the used towel into the bucket, moving to lift up one of the sticky notes and peer under. White eyes gaze back at you, and his smile stretches. “Ah! There’s the light, goodness I’d thought I’d be trapped in darkness forev-”

You lower the sticky note, and Sun cuts himself off. “…Betrayal.”

With a snort, you pluck the two sticky notes and toss them too. Rising from the ground you make a mental note of having to lug the bucket back to the janitorial closet to dump it down the sink, you realize your excuse for hanging out here was wearing thin. You’re going to need to clock out soon. Sighing, you adjust your hat and sleeves, wiping off the excess water onto your pants. “It’s getting late.”

“Very late.” The Daycare animatronic stands to his full height in his usual bouncy fashion. For a few minutes sitting on the floor, you are once again reminded of the robot’s sheer height over you. He gives himself a look over, taking on a happy pose with a spinning torso. “Oh, this is so much better than my ole dingy look!”

He really did look quite a bit better, not exactly perfect but decent enough to make a difference. You only hope that it lasts long enough before his job coats him in anything akin to god-knows-what children get into. Picking up the bucket, you steady it in your arms before grinning back. “This is my cue, I guess. Give em the ole razzle dazzle for me.”

Sun strikes a rather flared pose. “Dazzling is in my design, darling!”

“Say that three times fast and I’ll be impressed.” You snicker, walking over to the doors. He follows you there with bouncy steps, per usual escort, and sees you out behind the line that draws between the Daycare and the rest of the Pizzaplex. You have half a mind to turn and thank him for letting you vent out a bit of your frustration, but you’re still feeling a pit of anxiety settle in you for some reason. Instead, you settle for a kind smile and a casual wave. “See you tomorrow, the usual!”

“The usual!” Sun pipes up, giving you a wave. “See you soon!”

You return the wave and leave the Daycare behind. The bucket is annoying to lug back to dump over the sink but it’s honestly not that much worse than trying to steer the cleaning cart with a wobbly wheel. After the clean-up is finished, you peek your head out the door and survey the area. Only staff bots remained, sweeping or mopping away.

The last thing you wanted was to run into any of the other band members tonight on your way out, so it’s a tricky power walk to the employee’s office to clock out and then to the front doors. You almost misstep and walk within the path of Chica (who, despite not even being there for the argument, you have no doubt is aware by now at least. The band members were close, at least most of them.) and you have to dart behind a photo-booth to avoid her and hope that they don’t have the same infrared vision the Daycare Attendant has.

Luckily, she passes you. Unluckily, you see a hint of green as she walks to Monty’s room, poking her head inside and saying something distantly chipper. Her arms are crossed, and just from what you can see of the alligator, he doesn’t look too happy to see her either, but the door shuts behind them both and the curtains are drawn over the glass, preventing you from looking any further. There’s no reason to linger, so you dip.

The front shutters are halfway closed when you get there and it’s only when you’re ducking your head underneath, opening the front doors to the parking lot, and spotting your car does a chill breeze hit you, and you stop.

You forgot your jacket in the Daycare. You know, the one with your keys, phone wallet and everything you needed to leave? You forgot that. Because of course you did.

The security card you stole still sits safely in your pocket, but unless that can help you hot-wire your own car, it was effectively useless right now.

Turning on your heel, you start the power walk of shame and hurry back to the Daycare, eyes peeled for any robots that aren’t staff minding their own business and cursing under your breath.

A few security and staff bots look up from the floor to see you again as you pass, but lose interest and return to what they were doing. Checking the time on one of the wall clocks says you have a bit of time before all the lights turn off, but you don’t doubt that the Daycare has already been turned dark.

Your assumptions are correct. When you return, you’re surprised to find the doors still unlocked and open, but the daycare’s lights have been turned off and with not a Naptime animatronic in sight.

After catching your breath (crossing that amount of space in such a short time because you forgot your keys should not be this physically punishing) you peek your head just past the doorway. “Hey, Moon?”

A quiet, subdued chuckle answers you. Obviously, you turn your gaze from eye level to the ceiling, and find your culprit. Or really, two pinpricks of his pupils in the dark that serve as his marker. “Hey, jerk face! I need to grab my jacket, it’s cold outside.”

He’s too far from you to hear him properly, but the spinning of his head and the sight of his teeth are enough to gain his stance on it well enough. You frown, taking an experimental step into the Daycare, still within the light and watching as the Attendant drifts closer at the action.

You wrinkle your nose at the darkness. The two of you both pause, waiting for the other to make their move; you to enter the darkness and him to make a dash for you. His head tilts as you glance towards the security desk, or really, towards the light switch a few feet away.

He may have the high ground, but you had the power of taking that away and sending him plummeting to the floor. (And possibly, apologizing to Sun for it later.)

With a quick dash, you bolt for the switch. He’s a blur even before you make it but nothing grabs you in the two seconds you’re running. Hand finding the switch, you flip it, and the lights sting your eyes and it floods the room, turning back towards the Daycare fully ready and prepared to face off the Naptime Animatronic, or to apologize for the trouble.

Except…there’s nothing there. The room was brightly lit now, but the Daycare Attendant seems to have vanished into thin air. “Moon?”

No answer, unsurprisingly. You didn’t hear a thud and you’re not currently running for your life right now, so you’re content. Probably darted into their balcony room for all you know. Gives you plenty of space to saunter over to the security desk, pulling your jacket off the surface and throwing it back on.

You call out as you leave. “Gotta be quicker than that! See ya, Starboy.” With a triumphant grin, you start walking back towards the exit as you pat down your pockets.

Phone? Check. Wallet? Check. That old sandwich wrapper that feels kinda gross when your hand touches it? Check. Keys?…

…Keys?

You stop walking. In a moment of panic, you double check all your pockets and feel your face go slack when the keys are confirmed missing, even going back and looking around the security desk to see if they fell out somehow. Nothing.

A faint chuckle resounds from further inside the daycare. The sound of jingling, but not from bells. You search for the sound until your gaze falls on a tent, (Night themed, a hue of a nighttime sky with stars in the design and a crescent moon at the top. How fitting.) and spy something red peeking out at you through the darkened opening. The glint of your keys shines through just for a moment before they disappear, and low laughter follows it.

You’re stomping over to the tent in a flustered fit at being bested. “You son of a bi-”

“Language.” His voice interrupts you from within the tent, though he sounds more amused than anything as you crouch right outside the entrance, glaring daggers into the slit where it’s dark enough for the Naptime Animatronic to be unaffected by the Daycare’s lights.

Keys jingle on the inside. Moon is snickering. “Lose something?”

“Yeah, my patience.“ You roll your eyes and put as much sarcasm as you can muster in your tone. He probably can’t even see your face for your reaction through the tent’s fabric, but then you remember infrared vision exists and he was probably having a swell time basking in your defeat. “Didn’t take you for a thief. Whatever happened to keeping our hands to ourselves in the daycare, huh?” You tug at the tassels around the tent’s entrance. It’s as close as you can get without risking getting too close to the entrance. “Isn’t stealing against the rules? Are you a rulebreaker now, huh?”

“Lost items will be confiscated.” He says matter-of-factly. It wouldn’t be surprising if it was twisting the rules to his own benefit. The tent is big enough he probably just needs to be sitting and slightly hunched in order to fit inside, but for some reason, he flips his head upside down and two red eyes peer out to you from the darkness like a contorted disaster. The little light that shines through the slit barely illuminates him. A hand beckons in mockery. “Come inside. It’s cozy.”

You scoff. “Not gonna happen.”

“Hmm.” His head spins a full rotation once, twice, then clicks back into an upright position. “Turn the lights off.”

You raise a brow. “You promise not to chase me if I turn the lights back off?” The Moon’s gaze doesn’t waiver, no answer. “Moon.”

“…Maybe.”

“Hmm. You know? That doesn’t really convince me.” With just enough distance between yourself and the tent’s entrance, you hold out your hand. “Keys, please. Just toss it or something.”

He makes a noise between a chuckle and delight. “Pretty please?”

“…No.” You deadpan. The Naptime animatronic waits patiently in the quiet as you weigh your options, and you sigh. “Fine. Pretty please?”

“No.” Moon’s low laughter sounds satisfied. You have half a mind to find a nearby plushie and chuck it at him. The jingling of your keys and bells combine. He’s twirling your keys around in his hands, larger in comparison to yours so he fiddles with it fine while you sit defeated on the outside. “Stay. Sleep over.” His tone is full of mockery. “Play games and tell stories, like friends do.”

Your nose wrinkles. “You and me aren’t friends. Not really, anyways.”

The jingling stops, and Moon’s face comes a touch closer to the entrance. “Oh?” He hums, and inches forwards with a grin. “Not your favorite?”

You cringe. You knew that would come back to bite you, you just didn’t think that it would be this soon. “I misspoke.”

Moon’s face looks less than impressed, but relents. He leans back away from the entrance, and so all you can see now are the glow of his eyes and the faint glint of your keys as he fiddles with them at his side. “Hurtful.”

...Okay, that makes you feel a touch guilty in a way you didn’t know possible. The Naptime animatronic hasn’t done anything bad to you lately, in fact, this childish display of stealing your keys is probably the worst thing he’s done in a good minute. Not exactly a good comparison considering your first impressions of him (and some instances since then) were hunting you, but an improvement.

He was just playing with you. At least, right now. You don’t know about all the other times. You could probably afford to take a small chance of faith, and if the worst case scenario happens, then you’re big enough to topple the tent over in the struggle.

“We’re not really good friends to each other.” With a deep breath, you scoot closer and extend your hand into the darkness of the tent, palm open. “But I’d like to be.”

To your surprise (and relief), you are not yanked into the darkness for an uncertain doom. Instead, the Naptime animatronic stills. White pupils dart down to where your hand sticks inside, then back up to your face again.

After a moment of feeling nothing but air, you wiggle your fingers. “Can I have my keys back? Pretty please?”

A pause, then something solid touches your skin. It’s not your keys falling into your hand so you inwardly flinch for the sudden attack that you should have expected (stupid, stupid, stupid idea of you to even try this, no show of trust would have made this any safer and you knew the danger and yet-)

Moon’s hand wraps gently around your skin, fingers locking softly into place where they’ve been once before. “Bruise is healing.”

You blink. “Uh, yeah.” You can feel touches on your wrist where the skin has greened and yellowed, the healing process is almost finished. You didn’t even realize which arm you had shoved into the devil’s den until he recognized the mark he had put there. “It’s, uh. Fine. It’s fine. I forgive you for that, by the way.”

Moon makes a non-committal noise. One hand rests your own in his palm while the other splays your fingers outwards, dotting your palm with a symbol that you can’t decipher.

You adjust to sit more comfortably outside the entrance, even at the awkward angle you were positioned at. This is new behavior to you, you’re not quite sure how to approach it yet. With the unpredictability comes uncertainty, even if the Naptime animatronic was playing nice for the time being.

Still, you’re nervous. “Don’t tell Sun. I’ll feel bad.”

“Don’t have to.” Fingers tap lightly against your skin, pushing your sleeve upwards until they settle on the veins of your wrist. “Careless liar.”

Torn between being endeared, annoyed, and slightly worried about the implications of that last sentence, you insist again. “My keys, Moon.” You straighten your fingers and feel the grip around your hand tighten, if only momentarily. “Please? I’ve already had a bad day today, so if you could maybe not be such a jerk and let me go home to sleep-” You make sure to emphasize that last part really good. “-then I’d greatly appreciate it.”

White pupils dart up from your wrist and blankly stare at your face instead.

You pout. “C’mon. I’ve said ‘please’ like three times already.”

“Bad day?” He says, though it sounds more like a statement than a question, pressing your knuckles into a curl. “Trip and fall down? How many times?”

Oh, that was a jab at the mark on your face. “Once, asshat.”

“Falling down-” He repeats. His head swivels to the side, eyes narrowed. “-does not usually put holes in your shirt.”

You blink. He wordlessly gestures, eyes flitting down to your neck before coming back up again as if to say ‘check for yourself’, and you do. Pulling up the fabric for a better view, he was right; there were small holes in your shirt, in the same upper area where Monty had gripped you by the collar in the argument. Between the wrinkles and the puncture holes, you counted five small tears. Five small holes from the alligator’s claws.

If Sun had noticed this earlier, he never mentioned it.

Moon is not as subtle, speaking when you take too long in your realization. “Alligator scratches.” He hums. Your gaze darts back up to glare at him in surprise. His response is tapping his fingers into your palm in a rhythmic pattern. It’s a playful action, but his tone sounds colder. “I don’t like it.”

You deadpan at him. “How do you even know about that?”

“You told us earlier, making us look clean. You had an argument.” He states plainly in a way that makes you feel stupid for even asking. A chuckle is at the end of his sentence, teasing. “Think you missed a spot. Come inside?”

You wrinkle your nose at him and brace yourself to pull back at any sudden movements. “Not a chance.”

You’re not yanked in. He doesn’t take offense to your response, though his grin stretches in amusement as the grip around your palm tightens, and your hand is settled into his lap. Your frown deepens. You can’t predict his next move.

It’s an odd thing, sitting here in an empty daycare with the only thing keeping you from an unknown fate was the line between light and the shadow of a drape of fabric, with a naptime animatronic trailing fingers up your arm on the other side. They move slowly, and you raise a brow when you feel two fingers ‘walking’ up the length of your arm. “Was it scary?”

Your mouth thins into a line. Monty’s bullying was something you wished to go home and forget about, honestly. You don’t want to think about what would have happened if that drywall had been your head instead. “Yeah, I guess.”

A chuckle resounds from the tent. “Scarier than me?”

“You don’t scare me.” You scoff, and it’s a complete lie. The red gaze doesn’t flicker from you, and the darkness is uncomfortably still. The hand running up your arm pauses, the one still cradling your own tightens. “You’re not good at being scary.”

Suddenly, his arm darts out. A metal hand wraps around your jaw, fingers pressing harshly into your cheeks and you yelp as you’re dragged forwards, closing the distance until you stop just an inch from the tent’s darkness where his face meets you, wide dark eyes and a smile that should not be that sharp.

Moon’s thumb presses into the flesh of your cheek. “I can be.”

Heart drumming against your chest, you’re frozen. Any attempt to pull your wrist out from his grip is futile, your other hand comes up to his own with the solid grip on your jaw (not hard enough to bruise, but locked enough you can’t escape. Too close, and too foolish,) and stare back into black eyes with wide ones. “Don’t-”

Your voice gets caught in your throat when his grip softens, still holding, and his thumb brushes over the scratch marks on your face. He draws a crescent moon right over them, gentle enough not to irritate the wound. “Poof. Pain gone.”

The absurdness of the situation has you sitting dumbly. “Uh-”

“You-” He emphasizes, adding your name with a small hiss in his voice, slowly coiling backwards but not before booping your nose. “-are being far too nosy, brat. Stop prying.”

The shock is starting to subside. You’d pull all the way backwards if it wasn’t for the sure grip he still had on your other hand as he sinks back into the tent’s full darkness, so you swallow the anxiety down your throat and will your chest to quieten down. There’s a small shake in your fingers. You curl them to hide it, though that does nothing when the animatronic’s fingers seem to splay over your own.

You force your face to remain neutral, and fail. “Stop calling me that. I have a name.”

“I know.” Moon’s voice is smooth and relaxed, raising the hand he used only moments ago to frighten you just to show what prize he holds in between in fingers. “Mine, now. Tada.”

You gape at your nametag pinched in between two fingers, with your keys still dangling off of his pinkie. “Oh, C’mon. How did you-when-? How did you even do that?!

He chuckles, waves his hand, and both items suddenly disappear. Which is insanely weird to witness considering he has no sleeves, no underhand compartment, and no way for it to be possible. “Secret.”

With your captured hand, you make a grab for his own, the air around it, wooshing around the animatronic’s hand looking for invisible strings or something in the dark of the tent that you couldn’t see (all while still keeping a arm’s length distance away from the entrance, mind you) but gape in defeat when nothing is there. Moon keeps his hands up, allowing such a scene, snickering. “Magic.”

“Bullshit!” You try to keep your tone angry though laughter laces your voice. The Moon tuts you for your language but you interrupt him. “No fucking way. Show me.”

“One day, I can teach you.” A flick of his wrist; nothing happens save for the bells jingling. Then you spy a glint of metal-your keys- in his other hand and realize he successfully kept your eyes away for him to bring them out again. “But right now, it’s past your bedtime.” Cold metal drops into your palm, and your fingers are curled around it and pushed outside the entrance tent. “Turn off the lights when you go.”

It’s such an abrupt change of pace, you don’t register your keys in your palm until a second later. “That’s it?” You keep your prize close to your chest, leaning back a full foot just in case the animatronic decided to change his mind. “Really? Just scare the shit out of me, do a little magic trick and then tell me to leave?”

Moon cocks his head at you. There’s a second of pause, then his grin stretches past the usual mischief. “Rather stay?”

“Piss off, you ugly bottle cap.” You huff, scooting a distance away just to emphasize your point. His response is to rotate his head in a rather ‘threatening’ manner. The corner of your mouth twitches upwards, and you resist a grin. Again, it fails. “Asshat. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’d want to hang out with me.”

“Funny.” The Attendant watches as you lift yourself into standing position, double checking the rest of your pockets to make sure he didn’t pick-pocket anything else. His grin turns shit-eating. “Need an escort, favorite?”

You make a fake gagging noise. “Oh, god, I’m gonna puke. I think I prefer the other thing.”

“Noted.”

You kick the ground near the edge of the tent like you’re tossing up metaphorical dust into his eyes. “Die.”

“Dying. Right now.” He fakes a cough and a choking noise, and you see him grasping at his nonexistent throat. “Dying very much.”

Oh, that dramatic little son of bi-

“Bye, Moon.” You stress the word just in case, taking careful steps back towards the light. As you get closer to the switch, you watch as the red lights in the tent darken and narrow. Of course. “See you later. Tomorrow or something, and my nametag better be fine.” You point a finger of accusation toward the tent. “Otherwise it comes out of my paycheck!…I think.”

His only response is a wave with that little-finger motion he likes to do. Your hand gropes for the light switch behind you, finds it and you give a dramatic pause. Then, you flip it off.

The room goes dark, laughter, and you see a blur of blue, red, and black dart out from underneath the tent millisecond before the entirety of the room dims, dashing upwards. You think he’s back on the ceiling again (Creepy bastard) thanks to his bungie cord but you’ve already near sprinted past the Daycare doors and made your way halfway across the cafeteria room before looking back.

Sticking your tongue out at the darkness, you turn on your heel and once again navigate the pizzaplex as quietly and quickly as you can. You take the staff hallway, now. Less of a chance to run into roaming animatronics.

He wasn’t half-bad when he was just playing, even if his kind of games were…odd. Freaky thing. The whole vagueness of his threats about being nosy was too consistent with some things Sun had said earlier, now that you think of it. Sometimes you wonder (and a part of you would be greatly embarrassed if it was true) about just how aware Moon was while Sun was in control, and vice versa.

You’re caught up in your own musings that you startle when a shape juts out in front of you. You stop in your tracks, looking down at the broom that’s been swung out, blocking your path. Blinking, you follow the handle up to the owner; a staff bot, one of many without names that you don’t recognize, stares right back at you. “Sorry, didn’t mean to get in your way. Don’t mind me-”

It blocks you when you move to the side, gaze unchanging.

You squint at it. “Uh-”

Footsteps. You freeze, pressing against the wall as the sound gets closer. It was heavier, metal for sure, and suddenly you are grateful that you are situated down a lengthy hallway, the end of which was on the other side of the staff bot that was currently denying you passage.

Monty comes into view. His shoulders are tensed up as he walks by, unaware of your presence. His direction seems to be towards where you just came, just from a different route, heading towards the Daycare. You would have ran into him directly if you had taken the shortest way back, or if this staff bot hadn’t stopped you.

The two of you watch as he walks until he’s out of view, then the broom removes itself from your front. The Staff bot shares barely a moment of eye contact with you before it turns back to its sweeping, rolling away a distance away to tend to an area it hasn’t yet. Not a gesture you were expecting, but one you appreciated nonetheless. You wave and whisper thanks when you pass by.

At least the staff bots weren’t mad at you. The rest of the band members? Well, you’ll figure that out tomorrow.

It feels like a marathon before you finally reach the doors, the feeling of anxiety never leaving even though you’re sure Monty and everyone else are on the other side of the building, like someone was still watching you. A glance around the room just has a few wet floor signs staring at each other like they were having some telepathic communication. They turn to look at you once, and you look away so as to not be rude.

Finally ducking underneath the shutters feels like a safe home run despite the fact you know you’ll be back here tomorrow evening. It’s thoughts like those that you dwell on getting into your car to drive home.

The security badge you’ve stolen sits in your pocket though, so you’ll be showing up tomorrow night with a plan.

Chapter Text

Management sends you an email the next morning detailing the next couple of days’ schedule for you; a 6-hour shift that ends an hour after closing today, and a graveyard shift tomorrow. It’s not ideal for your plan, only giving you an hour to scout out the security room and do some digging, but you figure you can get all your work done early if you work hard enough and that’ll give you the freedom to start snooping early.

The list of tasks they send you isn’t much different from any of the others; taking out the trash, peeling off Mr.Hippo magnets stuck in odd places, wiping down the glass windows that surround the Daycare, refilling the paper in the photo booths, yada yada. Completely normal routine things you’ve been doing for the past couple of months. Things you’ve memorized to do overtime during your employment that’s long since whittled down to the day-to-day grind.

And yet, you’re starting to dread clocking in tonight.

Yesterday’s fuck up with Monty was going to carry on over onto today, without a doubt. Resigning yourself that you were just going to have to deal with the social consequences was one thing you let sit in the back of your mind as you slept for the night, but it being the next day and having that reality come forward was another feeling entirely.

You’re wearing a shirt without any holes, and the scratch from yesterday has already faded, barely noticeable unless you search for it and probably going to be gone by the end of your shift to be honest. The scratch on your pride, however, lingers.

It’s something you mull about while you sift through gas station shelves for a quick snack because your stress made you forget to eat before you left, and you weren’t going to have time to grab a meal from the Fazbear cafeteria if you planned on powering through all your tasks for the needed free time later. There’s a package of Oreos that are dated a little past their expiration but you don’t care, snagging them and slapping them onto the front counter with less enthusiasm than you can muster.

You’re stewing anxieties running through your head long enough that silence settles between you and the cashier until you realize you haven’t actually said anything, so you smile and plainly state. “Hi, just this for today, please.”

The robot cashier takes half-a-moment to process your verbal confirmation before taking the Oreos and swiping the barcode.

Yeah. Robot-cashier.

The funny thing about Fazbear Entertainment is that they didn’t stop at building robots just for entertaining children and families of all ages, as per their slogan states. The company was huge, well-renowned and arguably behind one of the farthest advancements in technology humankind has seen in the last couple of decades (save for a few mishaps here and there) and its entire brand was built around the image of friendly-looking robots and it’s notorious reputation for preferring automated staff over human ones.

It wasn’t a surprise to anyone when other companies and businesses were interested in creating their own automated staff to save money, or simply just to appear more modern and ‘in-touch’ despite the economic and environmental costs. Partnerships with Fazbear Entertainment were necessary if other brands wanted to incorporate more automated employees where live people usually reigned, and plenty of copy-cat brands wanted to bank in on the new fangled cyber-movement. It was a money-grabber as much as it was an attention grabber.

Robots were advertised as more efficient, always polite in customer service, would never steal from the register, was impossible to slip a fake-id by, and never had to take breaks.

Despite the initial protests that ‘robots were stealing jobs’ and ‘they’re going to rise up and kill us all’, shiny modernity wins in the eyes of the rich and the powerful, and Fazbear Entertainment had an iron grip on the market for the technology.

Not that robots were everywhere, though. They were still pretty pricey, so only the big chains were able to afford them, and kept to simple jobs just basic enough that the engineers could program the bare necessities in order to function as the perfect employee. Cashiers, Garbage truck drivers, Pizza Delivery by AI-controlled drones, etc.

The one in front of you looks like a renewed staff bot with an apron spray painted on along with the gas station logo on the front. It didn’t even have a bottom half for mobility, just on a stand like a mannequin situated at the register. The ones outside the pizzaplex were never as complex as the animatronics inside of it (Fazbear Entertainment would never tear away the care for their staple products) and without the ability to hold complex conversation, and probably nowhere near as sentient.

“That will be $5.12.” The bot speaks in a monotone voice. You hand it a five and a quarter. It puts away the money and drops your change in your hand without so much as breaking eye contact. “This item is non-refundable. Thank you for your purchase. Have a nice day.”

You give it a small wave as you exit, but its deadpan stare doesn’t leave the spot where you used to be standing. Yeah, probably not as sentient as pizzaplex’s animatronics.

...you know, the ones that probably hate you because you decided to pick a fight with the alligator with the world’s worst attitude problem who just so happens to be their fellow band member.

Yeah…you weren’t looking forward to your shift. Sure, you could power through the anxiety like you do with everything else, but you’re still going to stuff your face full of Oreos and sit there contemplating your life in the parking lot for a few minutes before clocking in.

The pizzaplex is fairly busy for a Thursday evening. Just walking to the clock-in box you already have to weave through a couple of families with rowdy children doing cartwheels and spilling drinks onto the carpet. The janitorial staff bots are nearby patiently waiting for them to scamper off so they can get to cleaning, and you send them a look of sympathy as you walk to the employee’s room. They weren’t talkative nor did they really have much of a personality, (Hell, you weren’t even sure if they were individual or had some sort of hive-mind thing going on) but they didn’t hold any bitterness towards you, so at least you’ve got that.

You don’t see any of the main animatronics on your way in, but a couple of cut-outs give you the evil eye (at least, you imagine that they do) and you’re practically speedwalking to your destination despite the weird looks a couple of people give you as you pass by. You’re going to have to face the music eventually, but right now, you just wanted to get a headstart on all your tasks. And if you happen to run into Monty or any of the other band members during your routes? Well, think quickly.

Luckily, most of your chores for the day keep you isolated, and the ones that don’t you have saved for later in the day, the Daycare especially. The first thing you have to do is mop up some giant Fizzy Faz spill someone left in the cafeteria, and the rest fall into mundane routine. For the first few hours of your shift, you’re preoccupied with cleaning up behind families and restocking all of the photo paper into the photo booths.

Sometime in the business of the day, when a task has you bringing cleaning supplies from one closet to the next, you find the electric box in one of the maintenance hallways, the same one that handles when the lights turn off on schedule. Normally, it's done remotely, but the dials are all labeled oh-so neatly. You don’t have to be an electrician to figure it out, and you set your plan into motion. Moon can’t possibly chase you if the lights never go out.

You’re carting over merch to restock the gift store in Roxy’s raceway when you see your first band member for the night. The Pizzaplex was huge, and they’re all probably really busy being the staples of Fazbear Entertainment, so it wasn’t surprising for it to take so long to see one. It’s Roxy, unsurprisingly, and she’s posing in front of her go-kart track for a mom desperately trying to take a picture and a couple of kids that are refusing to stand still.

Initially, you just want to replace the hot wheels (sorry, FAZ-wheels) toys on the shelf and leave, but Roxy spots you the same moment you spot her, and you freeze in place. She can’t come and talk to you, preoccupied and posing in all her confident glory, but the two of you lock eyes for a moment and you half-expect a look of anger or exasperation. Instead, her picture-worthy grin doesn’t fall and she winks at you, turning back to the family with hands on her hips while the mother shouts for her son to smile for the photo.

...Well, you can’t decipher much from that but at least she didn’t look angry.

It’s nothing you can dwell on right now, so you work on powering through the rest of your tasks throughout your shift. The band members are scattered doing their usual shows. Chica is assigned to more than a few birthday parties today if you remembered correctly, and you could hear Freddy’s voice through the intercom as he welcomed families and superstars of all ages to come watch him perform on stage. You’ve busied yourself with cleaning tables and adding more Mr. Hippo magnets to your ever-growing trash collection (they’ve started to stick them onto the ticket dispensing machines, meaning you had to restart every one you came across just to defrazzle the poor thing) while keeping an eye out for any animatronic that perhaps wanted to ‘conversate’ with you.

By that, you mean Monty. You’re a little scared of running into him, though you’re certain even if that happened it was probably best to just turn and sleepwalk out of the danger zone.

Luckily, Chica alleviates your fears (somewhat) an hour until closing as your parking the cleaning cart for the night next to the janitorial door. Though, she doesn’t do it in the most subtle way when the chicken taps on your shoulder while you’re lost in thought. “Hey!”

“Fucking hell-!” You jolt, head turning and biting your tongue at the curse. Most families were starting to clear out by now, but you didn’t want to be written up for cursing in front of children. “Chica! You scared the daylights out of me!”

The look on her face becomes apologetic, even though her tone remains chipper. “Sorry, hon! Just wanted to check in on ya!” She’s energetic as always, standing with you in the corner of the large with her hands on her hips. Behind her, you’re pretty sure you see a kid pulling against his mother to run over here and that said mother struggling to pull him towards the exit, but Chica doesn’t seem to notice or care. “Didn’t get to talk to you much yesterday. Heard there was a bit of a racket.”

Ah. Right. That’s what she was cornering you for. You saw her enter Monty’s room yesterday, probably snickered with him about your idiot audacity. A bead of sweat starts to form on your forehead as you self-consciously adjust your uniform and try to look busy with the cart (which, doesn’t work. It’s already parked, stupid.) “Yeah, I uh, I got into a bit of an argument with Monty.”

“Oh, I don’t think it was a ‘bit’” She states, smile never falling. “Roxy told me all about it.”

You keep your composure calm despite the anxiety. “Right, yeah. She walked in on all that. Sorry about it-”

“Walked in?” Chica cuts you off with a half-laugh, half-squeak. “She saw all of it! Said she couldn’t hear much of what you were saying outside that the two of you were yelling, but she got really upset when he laid a hand on you.” She tuts to herself, and you stare at her. “I mean, honestly? I don’t know why he does that sometimes. Not superstar behavior, but I talked some sense into him. Maybe.”

You just blink at her. “Roxy watched it?”

Chica opens her beak, but she’s spoken over before she can answer by a new voice. “I can see through walls.”

Human and animatronic both turn to look toward the direction of the new voice. Roxy is just passing by, on the way to her room you supposed since all of her duties for the day are finished. The wolf looks tired in a way that only Fazbear robots can seem, and slightly irritated. The chipping on her make-up on the edges might have something to do with it.

“X-ray vision. Something like it. Engineers gave it to me so I could help find kids that get separated from their parents, or try to stay past closing.” One hand on her hip, Roxy points to her eyes for emphasis. One claw comes up to fiddle with her eyelashes and frowns when mascara comes back wet on her hand. “Should have given it to Freddy. I don’t want to have to wrangle kids after hours.”

It’s not an impossible thing to believe; the Daycare Attendants have infrared vision after all, but your eyes still light up at the fact and you grin. “That’s really cool!”

Roxy glints at you with an odd look and Chica giggles. “It saved your butt too, I think.”

“So, you can see through all of the pizzaplex?” You ask, and amber eyes flit to you. “That’s gotta be pretty annoying. If you can’t turn it off, I mean.”

“I only see past a certain distance, and I can turn it off whenever I want. Heard yelling coming from Monty’s room and gave it a shot.” Roxy says. You almost sink in on yourself, but neither seem to notice your discomfort. She sends the Chicken a look before waving you two off while she turns in the direction of her room. “Gator should have known better. He still owes me from that one time, anyway.”

The both of you wave her off, and Chica turns back to you with a glint. “So, whatcha doing now?”

Most of your tasks that didn’t involve the Daycare have already been knocked out. Your feet hurt, and your fingertips sting a little from the overuse of disinfectant, but you were nearly finished. “I just have to restock the Daycare supplies, and then, you know-” You shrug. “Whatever else.”

You didn’t want to say it was your last task for the day just in case it seemed suspicious you were hanging around longer than usual, but Chica’s face glints with a knowing look all the same. “Gonna go see a special someone? When you said I scared the daylights out of you, I didn’t think you’d go and find some more!”

You blink at her once, confused, until the wordplay sets in and your face turns into a half-amused deadpan. “Hey, Chica? That was terrible. Like, astronomically terrible.”

“I’m a chicken, not a comedian.” She’s moving past you and picking up the remaining boxes, putting them into the cart with much less strain than you could effort. Any attempts for protests are thwarted by the fact that she does it so quickly you don’t even have time to voice them. “By the way, did the mean-green-pickle say sorry yet?”

The question is so undone that you almost stumble putting the last box into the cart.  “What?”

“Monty. I talked some sense into him, you know?” She clarifies with a beaming smile. “He said he was going to apologize to you last night.”

Well, that is…unexpected. You were happy that Roxy nor Chica seemed to be upset with you for the altercation with their friend, but not at all expecting the alligator himself to try for peace. A nervous shuffle is in your movements. “No? I actually haven’t seen him all day, sorry.”

“Oh, well that’s because he’s not performing today! No worries!” She does a little wave of the hand, walking besides you in synch as you make your way toward the Daycare.

Part of you is greatly relieved, and you feel guilty for that. Still, you ask. “How come?”

“He had an incident with the service elevator on the main stage in the early morning before we opened, so he’s in Parts n Service for the night.” Chica shrugs. Her tone was chipper, and you search for any sign of concern, but it feels more like exasperation. “He tears things up a lot, and it tears him up too so sometimes things like this happen. He was pretty ripped up though, so it’ll be a minute until he gets back. Just figured he would have caught you before you left last night, though!”

No, you actively avoided him last night trying to leave, which made his ‘apology deliver’ (if it was even real) an impossibility. You haven’t been down to Parts n Service yet, you’d had no reason to. Great, now you just feel more guilty, and that’s a feeling you hide behind a chipper smile. “No! Sorry! I’ll…talk to him when he gets back though! I hope he, uh…feels better.”

She smiles and says she’ll let him know, though you don’t know whatever weight that carries. The walk to the Daycare is short, save for the few times Chica is stopped by a leaving family that wanted one last photo with her and you stepped to the side and waited patiently for her to be finished. She goes on a rant about how her ‘earrings’ were starting to bore her and that she was wondering about getting some shaped like guitars as you roll up to the Daycare doors, pushing the cart and its cargo all the way to the glass.

The two of you stop and the conversation pauses. The doors are shut, which is…not exactly strange considering that the Daycare was closed by now, but Sun usually left the door open for you to come in after hours while the lights were still on. It’s such an odd sight that you debate on whether or not you should knock first before there is a blur of color past the glass (Chica makes an ‘ooo’ sound at the movement, entertained) and the large wooden doors crack open slightly.

Sun’s face pops out from the crack and whisper yells in a voice unlike him. “Hellllooooooo, Chica!” Said chicken pipes a greeting as the Daycare Attendant’s face turns towards you. He fakes a gasp, hand coming up to his cheek with a sense of giddiness. “You brought me a present!”

He must be joking about all the supplies you’ve brought for restock. You open your mouth for your own greeting but are cut off when two metal hands fall onto your back, and you are pushed towards the Daycare’s opening. “Yep! Hand delivered by yours truly!” Chica pushes you into Sun, and he catches you with one outstretched arm before your forehead makes contact with the wooden door. “Surprise!”

The door opens wide enough to fit your body through and you are, quite literally, slowly dragged into the Daycare while Chica waves like a menace. “Goodness, this is the prettiest present I’ve ever received! No take-backsies!” He situates you inside, grabs and pulls the cart and its contents past the boundaries into the Daycare with no effort, and turns back to the fellow animatronic. “Thank you very much! We’ll treasure this for the rest of our lives.“

“That outta be a long time, but I gotta scramble. See ya, hon!” Chica waves at you through the crack, and you’ve barely enough time to wave back before Sun quietly brings the door to a close.

A moment of pause sits between the two of you before you ask. “The ‘prettiest present’-?”

Sun’s hand comes up and covers your mouth fully, your sentence turns into a muffled grunt. His hand is large enough that it almost engulfs your face, but at least he was gentle about it, even if he was squishing your cheeks. Your attempt at a protest falls flat when he leans down, finger up to his own smile. “Hush.”

He raises his finger to your eyes, then slowly points off further into the daycare where your gaze follows. There, over in the play-mat area are two small lumps covered by blankets, curled up next to each other. It takes you a moment to define what they are: Children. Twins, you think, by the look of them, and they were fast asleep.

That explains why the Daycare doors were closed. He didn’t want you barreling in and shouting for him and waking the toddlers up in the process. You’re still unable to speak, so you raise an eyebrow at the animatronic who’s been quieter in the last two minutes than you’ve ever known him to be.

His thumb ‘pats’ against your cheek. “Oh my. You’re a little warmer than usual.” Sun’s head tilts, and your brows raise to your hairline. He leans you further away from the children, as if another few inches would prevent you from accidentally waking them. “Think you can use your inside voice?”

You throw up a thumbs-up, and the hand falls away from your face. He extends back up to his full height, hands clasped politely, and you rub at the feeling on your cheek with a thinned mouth. That’s twice now, with Moon’s ‘scare’ being the first. The Daycare Attendants seemed to have a knack for just grabbing you, it seems. At least Sun has sort of an excuse.

He speaks before you do, returning to that shout whisper. There’s a fidget in his hands, wringing them. “We played pirates vs robots today. They’re exhausted.”

You resist the urge to wipe your hand across your face. What the hell did he mean by warmer? “Oh, yeah?” You whisper. “Who won?”

His head lowers and a sound comes from him that feels like a robot version of a sigh. “The pirates. Foxy would be proud.”

You look at the toddlers, faintly noting that one of them had Moon plushie sticking out from under the covers and clutched tightly in sleep. “The daycare is closed already. Why are they still here?”

“Sometimes parents are late. It happens. No biggie.” Sun looks at them fondly. You’re not used to his voice being kept so low, and it reminds you more of his counterpart, but the manner in how he forms his sentence is too quick to mimic the other’s more slowed speech. It sounds strange. “I know these children and their parents. Their oldest usually causes trouble that might cause them to be late. But they’re good parents. Very loving. They’ll be here soon, maybe five more minutes. No problem. Not at all any trouble.”

A quick glance in-between the animatronic, the full cart, and the sleeping children. “I, uh-I brought some stuff for restock, but I don’t know if I can put them away quietly-”

“Oh, that’s no problem, no problem at all. We can wait. Right here, we can wait, and sit and just talk until their parents arrive.” He smiles, speaking in low, hushed whispers. “So, do anything daring lately? Get into any more trouble?”

You send the animatronic a look and he grins at your reaction. Walking over to the cart, you grab a clipboard and start searching for a pen around the desk, the Daycare Attendant’s eyes following you. You couldn’t put away the supplies quietly, but you could do the paperwork part at least. You’ll just check off which box you can see from the cart. “Don’t know yet, I’m working on that part.”

“Ohhhh, dastardly.” Sun grins, taking his position behind the counter. He’s twitchy, head turning occasionally to glance towards the children before returning his attention back towards you. Must be programming to watch over the children, but strange for him when the children are actively awake. “What nefarious deeds are you up to now, hmm?”

Glancing up, you ignore the question and send him a look. “You alright, Sunny?”

“Peachy.” He grins, voice low. “We’re not really who you should be worried about, promise!”

His language was calm but his body language spoke otherwise. The sun rays on his head stir and his fingers were perpetually clacking against each other in short, jerky motions like being this still in the quiet was nerve-wracking for him.

Looking around the room tells you that it’s still messy and disorganized where he usually has it partially if not completely tidied by this time of your shift, and it doesn’t look like he’s even tried to start. He obviously wants to, judging by body language alone. You have half a mind to lay a hand on his shoulder to see if you can pause the bounce in his heels as he tries to stand still.

Or maybe it’s not just the requirement to be quiet that’s making him jitter.

The lights were still on. The way the kids pull up the blankets further up their faces tells that it would be more comfortable with them off.

You almost bite your tongue before saying it, but you do it anyway. “Wouldn't Moon be better for watching them until their parents get here right now?”

To your surprise, Sun’s response is immediate. He sounds rehearsed, plain, like it’s something he’s had to explain to parents and children many times before. “Moon is not allowed for any duty outside of security detail. Human interaction is prohibited.”

There’s something underlying in his tone. You squint at him. “I interact with him.”

“And that makes you a rulebreaker, doesn’t it?”

The tone in his voice stuns you. Your brows furrow, mouth opening to speak but a knock on the door interrupts you. Sun’s posture straightens as all energy seems to return to him, holding up a finger to tell you to ‘wait’ and all but bounding away from the door. “Just a moment!”

A creak of wood and two faces poke through the cracks. It’s the parents, who smile in your direction and Sun’s as the animatronic retrieves the children. He scoops them up with long arms in a way that felt like he wasn’t trying to wake them, a gentleness that felt like it belonged to him, but he was borrowing it from somewhere else. They still awaken despite his efforts, groaning and whining in the slightest as Sun apologies in a bright, cheerful manner, walking towards the doorway to the awaiting mothers.

Sun exchanges greetings with them, handing each parent a child while a third child stood with their arms crossed in the back, a cute little family. You busy yourself with picking up the first set of boxes and organizing them into piles of diapers and arts n crafts while he handles the drop off; you didn’t need to impose.

The family says their farewell, and Sun closes the door behind them when they leave, locking it with a click. The Daycare was closed for real now.

The moment the doors are shut, however, you jolt at the sound of Sun’s exclamation. “What a mess, what a mess. Clean up! Clean up!” He’s animated and loud now, and you’re wide eyed watching as the animatronic literally cartwheels across the Daycare and practically sprints to pick up small toys and candy wrappers from the floor.

“Didn’t want to wake them, nope! But now I’m behind schedule! Look at all this mess! No good, absolutely not good at all!” He darts past you, lost socks are rapidly thrown into the lost and found, plushies are thrown into the toy box and crayons are thrown into the craft bin. “Oh, I bet those parents thought I’m such a slob! I’m ashamed! Humiliated!“

You pick up a few boxes and start unpacking the first aid into the correctly labeled drawer. “I’m sure it’s fine! Parents know kids make messes too.”

There’s almost a gust of wind breezing by when he sprints by you and practically dives into the nearest tunnel entrance. “And! I have to clean the inside of the tunnels! Little ones like to draw -and they make very good drawings- but someone made some not-very-nice pictures on the inside of the jungle gym today and I’m going to have to scrub all that off!”

You bite your cheek to stop from laughing. All you hear throughout the tunnels are the plastic clunk thunk thud sounds of a tall, gangly animatronic quickly scrambling through the tunnels in search of that mess. A very offended gasp comes from inside one spot in the jungle gym. “This sort of language is PROHIBITED in my DAYCARE!”

It’s kinda hilarious, you’ve stopped unpacking just to watch him. Sun’s silhouette moves through the tunnel further until he reaches the caged bridge suspended overhead. His head pops out, sunrays partially retracted to better fit, and sticks his fingers through the fence gaps. “Could you hand me some wipes, pretty please?”

Snorting, you pry a new package out from one of the boxes and gather a handful of wipes, walking over to the opening in the jungle gym. You have to use a toddler chair as a stepping stool, but you're able to reach the edge just enough for Sun to snatch the wipes from your hand, giving your hand a little pat. “Good job! I’ll come help you in just a moment!” And then he practically zips backwards into the tunnel.

It goes like this for a little while; you unpack a few boxes while Sun screams about profanities scribbled onto the plastic jungle gym tunnels every so often. Most of the supplies were placed on shelves and cubbies out from behind the security desk so the Daycare Attendant can actually get to them, conveniently labeled in yellow and blue pen detailing which one was meant for band-aids, which was for diapers, which was for blankets, and so on.

Occasionally you’ll hear metal scraping against plastic and watch as his silhouette scamper through the gym muttering quietly about ‘removing markers from the crafts bin’. It’s only after a few minutes and after hearing a satisfied noise does the animatronic exit through a tunnel.

He leans against the security desk, heaving a dramatic ‘sigh’ and wiping non-existent sweat off of his forehead. “All done! And with a few minutes to spare! Goodness, I thought I was gonna be behind schedule.”

With your arms full of a bunch of diapers, you glance around the Daycare. He was right, it looked impeccably clean now, while you barely made a dent in all of the supply you were supposed to put away. “You know, I think I’d kill for your kind of speed and endurance.”

“Fazbear Entertainment requires me to state that killing is frowned upon and can be faced with legal repercussions!” He responds. You turn your back to put band-aids atop the cubby where Sun could reach them, and turn back to see him already sorting through the remaining supplies you had left over. “Is this all?”

“Yep! Can you help me out over here? I can’t reach. ” You nudge your head towards the shelf, a box of crafting supplies in hand. It’s not particularly heavy, but the shelf marked for it was more for Sun’s height than your own.

“Of course! No problemo!” With a quick salute, Sun walks over, but instead of taking the box from your hands, he places his own on your sides (to which you make an undignified yelp) and promptly lifts you into the air. “How’s that?”

Cheeks puffing up, you give a half-hearted kick into the air. “Mean joke to play on someone scared of heights.”

He grins something pure as you push the box into place. “Even from just a few feet? You’ve fallen from a distance much higher than that!” You send him a flared look as he sets you back on the ground and returns it with a winked, softer expression. “Oops. Too soon?”

Your nose scrunches up, playful, but you pretend to frown at him while reaching for the clipboard at the end of your cart. You’re about to ask him something else when he suddenly pipes up, hands digging through his pockets. “Oh! That’s right, before I get distracted-” Sun pulls a small package out. It looks like cookies, vanilla probably, the kind you get in small plastic packages in overpriced vending machines by the employee lounge. He skids to the front of the desk, leaning over on one arm and outstretching the cookies with the other. “Here!”

You pull the clipboard back into yourself so he doesn’t accidentally bonk it. “...Why-?”

“Did you forget to eat dinner before work? I could hear your stomach growling the entire time we were waiting for the parents.” He cuts you off. His smile moves slightly upwards as your face becomes a touch embarrassed. “Eating regularly is a very important factor in maintaining a healthy body, you know! Making sure you get the proper nutrition, the proper rest, and plenty of playtime keeps the immune system fighting good!” He fakes a muscle flex, and you snort at the pseudo lecture. “Lacking in those things can make you sick!”

“Dude. I’m fine, really.” You raise up a hand in rejection. “Also, don’t you know that cookies aren’t that nutritious?”

“Well, yes...” Sun’s voice turns sheepish, slowly plucking the pen out for your hand and replacing it by pushing the cookie package into the space between your fingers as nonchalantly as possible. “But they taste good! Or so I’ve heard.”

You try to refrain, you really do, but hunger was still knowing at you and Sun could already tell you were cracking. “Okay, fine. I’ll bite.” Tearing open the package with a little more ferocity than a normal person would have, you shove a cookie in your mouth. The sun rays on his head do a full rotation as you chew and judge the flavor, speaking with a mouthful. “Wha iz thi? ‘’Anilla?-”

Sun pushes the underside of your jaw closed with the capped end of the pen. “Speaking with your mouth full is bad manners!”

You bite at the pen.

He brings it away right before you can, tutting at the motion “Trying to eat Fazbear Entertainment property is also very bad manners!“

So is invading people’s personal spaces, but you don’t say that part out loud. Instead, you reach for one of the last boxes while sticking another cookie in your mouth. “Does that happen often? The parents being late to pick up the kids, I mean.”

He ‘hmms’ for a minute. “Nope! It’s not uncommon, sure, but it’s nothing too concerning to be worried about. Any extreme cases are reported straight away, but we haven’t had any incidents in the Daycare for a long time to warrant anything like that.“

“You seemed, I dunno, nervous? Earlier, I mean.” Ripping the tape off the box, you’re greeted with a sight full of baby wipes. Great, you thought you had put away the last of those and make a side remark for Sun to checkmark that off the list for you. “Figured I ask since you looked ready to start bouncing off walls.”

To this, his head tilts downwards in an almost exasperated fashion. “Naptime was never my forte! I always preferred the daytime activities.”

“You still handled it pretty okay, though.” The shelf is already full of supply, so you’re trying to figure out how to stack the remainder back onto the rest. The question lingers on your tongue, and you say it nonchalantly as possible. “Does that mean that Moon can handle people awake, too?”

The response from behind you is curt. “That depends on how far you push your luck.”

You pause turning to blink at his comment. “What?”

Sun is leaning on the desk in his usual fashion, diagonally to you, relaxed with one hand twirling the stolen pen in a myriad of tricks across his fingers. His smile is stagnant, but he doesn’t elaborate any further. The pause is uncomfortable, and there’s no telling if it’s because he’s choosing his words carefully, or scoping your reaction. Probably both.

Despite your best effort, the silence gets to you a little bit. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, walking over to the desk and dropping the box onto the counter. “Are you upset with me or something?”

Sun’s head tilts. There is a pause. A minuscule one, but it settles a heavy second in the air even as he continues to spin the pen rapidly between in fingers as he leans further across the desk. “No, no! Of course we aren’t.”

You deadpan. “You sure you’re not angry?”

“Angry...” Sun starts. The pen twirling stops, instead tapping against the desk once, twice, then stops. “...May not be the correct word.”

The pen drops onto the desk and Sun raises his hand. You squint at the motion, brows furrowed and about to question when he flicks it, and just like magic, something appears out of ‘thin air’ like he was entertaining you. Though his tone is friendly, and the action is innocent, something is wrong. “Concerned, maybe.”

Between his fingers is the security badge, the one you stole to do your snooping earlier.

Your eyes widen. He doesn’t say anything else as you instinctively pat yourself down where the card was, shock rising when an empty space greets you in your pocket where you thought you had the card hidden away. When did he...?

Earlier, when he picked you up to put the supply box on the top shelf.

…Of course. Moon pickpocketed your nametag with no problem, it would make sense that Sun had that nimble fingered ability as well. Why wouldn't he? “Sun-”

“You know, I can’t really tidy up back behind the security desk, so I had no idea that this little prize was hidden behind there!” He’s still smiling, shoulders relaxed. “With your help, I can put this into lost and found! I don’t think the owner is gonna need it anymore, but it’s the thought that counts, right?”

The age-old panic when you’re caught red-handed is forming, and you circle around the desk with your palm held out for the card. “Sun, c’mon. That’s mine, I need it.”

The security card is raised high above your reach with little effort. “Oh, ho ho! Lying is PROHIBITED in my Daycare!”

In a pathetic display, you jump at it. His height is too much of an advantage and you don’t even get close, but the edge of his grin stretches at your attempt. “Sunny, you’re being a bully. Just give it back already, I have my reasons-”

Another jump for the card, arm outstretched and he grasps it with his free hand, the larger one enveloping your own and holding it out like in the semblance of a waltz even as you keep pressing forwards. His footsteps carry along with your own, never giving you gained distance. “Oh? Well, I’d love to hear them. You know the Daycare will be closing soon, I may have to kick you out again!”

With these movements, the two of you were practically ‘dancing’ in a circle, and he was pretending to twirl you. “Sun, that’s not funny! Give it back!”

He laughs. “Really? Because I find the whole thing to be hilarious!“

“This isn’t fair-!”

“Snooping in places you don’t belong isn’t playing fair, either, you know!”

“Sunny-!”

“You should really be more careful!” His tone never changes from the chipper, upbeat energy it carries. “Too much stress on the human body can cause all sorts of problems! Why, you could get sick! Did you know that?” His hand drops from yours and you freeze as the back of his hand rests on your forehead, frozen in the audacity while he hums to himself like a casual interaction. “You’re a tad feverish, we noticed. Are you feeling ill?-”

Irritation rises, and you swat at his hand, grabbing his wrist and throwing it away. “Just STOP! I almost died in this fucking daycare and I still don’t have an explanation as to why! What are you so afraid of me finding?!”

The Daycare Attendant is still and quiet. White blank eyes stare expressionless at you.

You feel the weight of your outburst start to crawl up your skin as your anger dies and guilt takes its place. Oh no.

“Sun…I-” He didn’t deserve you yelling at him. Even if you had a good reason and were owed answers, you were putting your nose in someone else’s business. Several times, in fact. Maybe you were as bad as Monty. It’s not a good feeling as you shrink in on yourself.“...I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

“You are our favorite friend.” The Daycare Attendant interrupts you. “We don’t want you to hate us. We don’t want you to get hurt.”

He hesitates. There’s a twitch in his body language now, and you think you’ve seen it before. Like an inner discussion, or a debate, a disagreement that you cannot witness, and the pause of silence that comes with it. Whatever they’re talking about must be heavy, so your eyes widen when Sun lowers his hand, hesitant, but calmly holding the security card towards you. “The Daycare is closing soon. The lights will turn off.”

That was a warning. Your eyes flit from the card, to Sun, back and forth again. Your hand outstretches towards it, pausing. “Really?”

“You’re right. Friends don’t lie or hide things from each other.” He smiles, but this time it feels different. With the same hand holding the card, he extends his pinky, tapping it against your own. “Let’s work on that, okay?”

There’s a stiffness in his fingers as you take the card, and it closes into a tight fist as soon as your hand leaves his, falling to his side. There’s a minuscule moment where neither of you don't know what to say. You’ve barely processed that somehow, some way, Sun has given you his blessing to continue your ‘investigation’ despite what it could spell.

More than likely, Moon does not agree. “I uh,...I actually tampered with the automated light system earlier.” You shuffle awkwardly on your feet. “You know...to stall Moon. So he can’t chase me.”

Sun is quiet for a moment, then he laughs. It’s pure and full of heart, a welcome noise after all the tension for the last few minutes. “He doesn’t like that one bit!” He chuckles, leaning down to your eye level with a hand falling atop your head. “I guess I should have expected it from a troublemaker like you, though. Good job!”

Your nose wrinkles. A soft smile comes onto your face. “I should get going.”

“And you should hurry,” Sun says. The atmosphere is lighter. It feels like a weight has been lifted, at least temporarily. “I’d hate to lose the prettiest present I’ve ever received!”

Air blows out from your nose as you approach the doors, pushing the cart over the threshold and turning back to him. “Yeah, ‘prettiest present’? Really?”

“What? I tell nothing but the truth!” He’s back to jokes again, and it feels sane. Sun bats at the hoodie strings from your jacket in motion of mindless playfulness. “Besides, I was going to jest about unwrapping you earlier, but there were little ones around.”

You almost trip from the whiplash. “You were what-?”

“Jester, darling! I know all sorts of jokes!” With a final pat on your shoulder, he guides you through the door, peaking his head out through the crack with a small wave. His smile is genuine, although there is something incredibly somber lying underneath it.

His farewell feels warm, at least. “Be safe, I’ll see you in a minute.”

The door shuts closed, locks with a click, and you stand and wait.

There are smudges all over the glass walls, mainly of children’s hand prints on the inside but you’re just going to have to ignore that task and save it for tomorrow. In the back of your mind, you’re counting the seconds until the light turns off, and it oddly feels like you’re waiting for a friend at the bus stop. Except this friend is a tall animatronic bound to darkness and more than likely not very happy with you.

You’re inwardly wondering who the hell programmed the robots to know how to pickpocket when the space behind the glass turns dark, the lights in the Daycare shut off, and even the hum of the overhead lights above you feel too loud as you wait in quiet for the figure to appear. He doesn’t immediately, but you are patient (despite the wracked nerves) and walk forwards, closer to the glass. You were making him angry. The least you could do was greet him before you ran off.

Another minute passes and red appears, the animatronic barely illuminated close to the glass. Where usually he is animated by now, he is still. Smile still present though it doesn’t feel happy.

You cross your arms and smile back regardless. “You’re not so scary when you’re trapped in the Daycare, huh?”

The Moon’s smile is deadpan. Unamused.

“I adjusted the breaker system earlier so the automated lights don’t turn off for the rest of the pizzaplex until later.” Your tone is soft, not boastful. Just explaining, even if teasing him was part of the fun. “Looks like you’re trapped in the daycare and can’t patrol until I switch it back to the regular schedule. Whoops.”

In the corner of your eye, you see his hand twitch at his side. Then, Moon raises his fist, extends his thumb, and silently; gives you a thumbs down.

“It’s just for tonight.” You blow your breath onto the glass, drawing a smiley face with your finger right over his face and offering a peaceful smile of your own. A friendly gesture, or at least it conveyed that way. “Promise I’ll be quick.

Clunk

Moon has pressed his face against the glass, arms hanging at his sides and ruining your foggy face. It’s a weird sight considering the metal in his faceplate doesn’t squish like yours would, but the red glow of his eyes still reflects down the glass as his head rotates upside down. You blink at the sight. Beneath him, his hands move in sign language, and form two words you’ve learned over the past few weeks specifically from him. Come here.

“Maybe tomorrow, Starboy. But I gotta go.” You step back from the glass, pushing the cart, and turn back just to see the Moon detach himself from it, falling further into the darkness with the same unreadable expression. You raise your hand to wave goodbye for now, but he stalls.

You see the glint of a cord drop down from the ceiling, hooking onto his back and the Moon spares you a few seconds of a cold glare before hoisting upwards into the Daycare, disappearing from sight.

…No farewell? Fine. Not like you weren’t expecting the rudeness, but still.

The security card burns in your pocket, but at least you knew where to go.

The walk to the janitorial closet to park the cart feels like a dream. Your head is swirling with all sorts of thoughts, mainly questions, and still reeling from the emotion whiplash from Sun’s permission. It proves they were hiding something-you knew that already-, but whatever it was had to have been something dire for them to act this way, and enough that it caused a rift between them. Sun didn’t state it directly, but it didn’t need to be explained that Moon disagreed with his decision to let you go.

It makes you feel a little guilty causing the rift, or the inner turmoil. You’re still not certain whether they’re two different AI in the same body or two sides of the same coin activated only by their surrounding's light level. It was…confusing. Not hard to manage, mind you. The personalities were different yet similar in ways. You already had a myriad of questions that you wanted answers to, but the basics would be a good start.

A couple of staff bots glance in your direction as you park the cart in its spot and make a mental note to fix the squeaky wheel on it later, clocking out at the employee lounge. The Pizzaplex was officially closed, or at least it had been for a good minute. There wasn’t a family in sight, and the only beings walking around outside of yourself were wet floor bots (creepy, cute things, but you try not to stare back when they stare at you.) Some of the staff bots still had their eye lights on despite it being light in the Pizzaplex.

Management won’t know you stayed afterward, as long as none of the bots snitched, and it looks like they wouldn’t so far. You wouldn’t trigger any alarms because of your employment and every AI in the building recognized you. Whether you recognized them was a completely different story, but it was a viable plan.

Though, you’re so caught up in your own inner musings, confident that Moon is unable to chase you, you realize you forgot another risk as the ‘clunk clunk clunk’ of footsteps approach you. “There you are!”

Freezing, you turn to look over your shoulder. Freddy in all his Fazbear glory saunters up to you, friendly and smiling like you haven’t been avoiding him for the past several weeks. “I was worried I wasn’t able to catch you before you left! It’s been a long time since we’ve been able to talk outside of small talk.” He’s beaming, and you feel guilty. He doesn’t seem upset at all. “Are you clocking out for the night?”

You have to mentally shake yourself and think quickly. “Yeah! Yeah, just uh…just now, actually. I finished all my shift work so I’m out for the night, just needed to, you know-” You make a shrugged gesture towards the badge reader and towards whatever direction you think the exit is. “-Leave, yeah?”

If Freddy noticed your nervousness, he doesn’t comment on it. “I was actually wanting to talk to you about what happened yesterday in Monty’s room if that’s okay?”

Oh, boy, here we go. Waving your hands up to put some distance between you, you stammer. “Yeah, listen, I-…I’m really sorry about what happened with all that. I didn’t want to cause a rift or any drama and I know it wasn’t my place…” You fumble for the right words. Freddy’s face morphs like he’s ready to say something, but waits patiently for you to end your sentence. “Yeah, I just…yeah. Sorry about that.”

“...You don’t think that we’re all angry with you, do you?” Freddy’s tone is genuine, which makes you pause. Not from his tone, but by his words.

You blink at him. “.…yes?”

His eyes turn downwards, his smile softening. “I was hoping you’d think better of us by now, but none of us are upset with you, promise.” A large pawed hand comes down to pat you on the shoulder, and it almost engulfs it. “You seem to have a knack for attracting bad attention, but we do appreciate what you do here, despite what you put up with.” Pat pat. He pulls his hand back, timidly letting it drop to the side as the paternal bear stands straight while you stare back with awkward confusion. “You make a lot of bots really happy with your presence.”

It feels a little overwhelming how quickly a few sentences can threaten to burst the emotional stress you’ve been bottling up. “...oh. Gotchaaa.” You’re awkward, so you finger gun at him. “Good to know!”

Freddy is not deterred by your strange behavior. “Would you like a hug? I’m detecting that you seem very stressed.”

“...is that your family-friendly protocol talking?”

“Maybe.” He extends his arms out gently. “I’ve been programmed to give very good hugs though, it’s in my design.”

Oh man, you might just have to take him up on that offer. You’re embarrassed, you’re a grown ass adult receiving a hug from an animatronic rock star bear, though you realize as Freddy’s arms wrap around you with a solid pat on the back that he was right: he was programmed to give great hugs. The metal body wasn’t very soft, but it was still nice. Nice enough that you don’t hear the faint jingle of bells fade off in the distance.

It lasts five seconds maybe, and the bear pulls back, seemingly satisfied. “Oh, good. I was beginning to think you were upset with me!” He exclaims. Your response is a raised brow, and now it was Freddy’s turn to be embarrassed now. “You’ve been…avoiding me, I can tell. Now I didn’t want to pry, but I was just worried, is all.” His smile is warm. “I’m glad you’re okay, though.”

Great, now you felt like shit again. “Ah, well. I...did some other stuff that I don’t think you would have liked to hear about.” Figures after all that hard work, emotional vulnerability would have you snitch on yourself.

Freddy tilts his head; one of his ears rotates toward you in the smallest fashion. “Oh?”

“...I left something behind in the pizzaplex, so I snuck in after hours.” A nervous laughter bubbles in your throat. The anxiety doesn’t lessen as the bear suddenly stills, and you start to ramble by default. “Not for long though! Just, uh. It couldn’t wait, and I didn’t know if it was going to get me fired, or ah-, just, you know, get in trouble?” You look away, rubbing the back of your neck in a fidget while Freddy blinks at you. “Roxy said you wanted to talk about security cameras. Thought maybe I’d been caught.”

The robot bear blinks in what can be assumed to be confusion. You mirror it, and are about to speak again when he pipes up at a realization and laughs. “The security cameras? I had almost forgotten about that! Those aren’t important, really.” He reassures you, waving you off. “They’re more for show rather than functioning due to the amount of robots patrolling the premises, and I thought I’d let you know in case you wanted to take a break here and there.” His tone shifts worried, even still holding a smile though the end of his sentence sounds a touch nervous. “Though you should have really told me. I could have gotten it for you instead. The Pizzaplex at night is…not safe, per se. I would have helped you.“

.…Wow. You were really avoiding Freddy for nothing, weren’t you?

Now, look at what you’ve done. You gave Freddy Fazbear anxiety.

Nice going, idiot.

On the inside of your mind, you’re metaphorically slamming your head against the wall. But on the outside, your returning Freddy’s warmth and slinking back towards the direction of the exit. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time. Thanks, Freddy.”

He turns too, but not without giving a small wave of his own. “Be safe on your way home!”

You pretend to fiddle with the employee badge reader until the animatronic has disappeared around the corner, then sigh. With a turn on your heel, you head in the direction of the second floor stairs, particularly the one that will lead you closest to where the office would be. Sorry, Freddy. You weren’t going home just yet.

Somewhere in the maintenance and backroom hallways there is a metal door with an old security office. You already knew about the bigger one with screens on all the walls and the two automated doors that always seemed to get jammed at the worst times, but that wasn’t was this card was for. It wasn’t updated, older, but it should still activate the reader if luck was on your side.

You find it. The door honestly looks like the supply closets that no one really cares to look into save for the weathered ‘employee’s only’ sign on the front. There’s the keypad with a card slot next to it. It’s old looking, and there's no led lights blinking from it like most of the card readers in the pizzaplex. You try the doorknob just to do it and aren’t surprised when it’s locked. Sliding in the card doesn’t work at first, and you wonder if maybe it was deactivated after all, that all of this had been for naught before the reader makes a static beep after the fifth try, and a small ‘click’ unlocks sounds the unlocking of the door. It actually worked, you’re in!

The door creaks on its hinges when you open it, and the room is...well, boring.

It’s dim, smells like molded paper and cobwebs. Old fashion file cabinets were on one side of the wall, and to your right was a desk and chair with a few screens and a keyboard, a computer underneath the table, and a small desk fan that didn’t look functional. There were a few posters on the wall, mainly of the main band and one Bowling Bonnie one that looked worse for wear. A thin layer of dust settled on everything. A quick glance upwards shows a vent in the ceiling above, but judging my the dust in the creases of the cover, this room hasn’t been ventilated in a while. No one has been in here for a long time.

You palm around the edge of the door to feel for a light switch, find it, and flick it on. The light flicks on for a moment, then the uncovered light bulb makes a pathetic bzzt noise and zaps out. Go figure. You’ll just have to use your phone flashlight instead.

The computer probably doesn’t work, so you head for the filing cabinets first. Dust bunnies fly up when you yank out a few drawers, and you feel a twinge of disappointment when you continue only to just some office equipment and some spare staplers. What paper you do find are blank job applications, the paper kind before Fazbear switched to online applications and interviews. You brush those to the side and continue to rummage through until you’re coughing into your sleeve and waving the space around you to clear the air.

The only thing the cabinets were any good for was a bust. A low feeling sinks into your ribcage, and you kick filing cabinet closest to you. It just sits there in response like inanimate objects usually do. Bummer. You were hoping to find something of importance like how you did with the Daycare’s security desk.

You turn to shine your flashlight at the computer. It wouldn’t hurt to check.

Pulling the chair back, you plop down (it squeaks awkwardly, not at all comfortable and but at least it was sturdy and didn’t feel like snapping) and take in the desk space. Circular coffee cup stains were in the wood, along with some other marks that suspiciously look like someone put out lit cigarettes into the desk surface. Other stains are there too, probably from food or something else. A reddish-brown stain that looks ages old covered one corner of the desk where the wood was chipping off. You whistle out loud to the empty space. “Yikes. Wonder whose crime scene this was.”

It’s a poor joke to a silent room, but it alleviates your nerves somewhat anyway.

The computer doesn’t look that old, maybe just neglected. Probably the same system the pizzaplex was built with before they upgraded it. Double checking that the computer was plugged into the wall and crossing your fingers, you press the power button. Luck must have smiled in your favor because you hear it’s underused and start to whirr and screens suddenly blink to life. “Nice.”

Even the screens are kinda dirty, but the UI isn’t that hard to decipher. It’s a security system with one tab showcasing cameras, and a myriad of options to the right. Each square with the location titled in the corner, where said camera was installed, was black. A two worded phrase covers each of them. Connection Disabled.

Well, you knew that already. Skimming the options to the side, there are several buttons to press. Settings…Restart Connection...Troubleshooting...Alarms…Adjust time and date...Accessibility mode…Archive…

Archive?

You click on it. A loading circle takes over the screen before it’s filled with folders, one for each and every camera located in the Pizzaplex. Which is… a lot.

Scrolling through, you recognize the places of some by the title alone (Roxy Raceway, Arcade A & B, DJMM Dance Floor A, and others) and some miscellaneous hallways you don’t care to remember. There’s no cameras for the band member’s rooms, but there were ones for the worker’s space behind them. Then, scrolling back up because you almost passed it, you find what you’re looking for: Super Star Daycare.

Clicking on the folder brings you to another set, the entirety of the cameras situated inside the daycare. From a glance at all the thumbnails, none are in the Daycare Attendant’s room (Which you are only mildly disappointed about. You were being snoopy, sure, but you weren’t going to be THAT creepy) and you inspect the rest.

They’re sorted out of order on the screen, but the titles have the organized by date. From some thumbnails alone you can see the pixelated picture of Sun drawing with children, or one where he’s letting a child piggyback ride on him. Others are dark, almost black, with low-quality blurs of shapes and colors on the floor. You click on one dated about two years ago-

-and jump when your screen completely fills with the face of a giggling child, probably no more than four and missing a few baby teeth. “Jeeze.”

The audio comes out muffled and static from the speakers, but there’s joy in the child’s laughter, and you watch as she’s pulled away from the camera to reveal the rest of the scene, and the individual holding her up to the screen.

It’s Moon. He’s suspended by his wire, child in arms, who is absolutely delighted to wave ‘hello!’ to the imaginary security guard behind the camera.

The Moon in the video cradles the girl with a soft smile and softer touch as he lowers to the floor. There are other children, most of whom are napping in a pile in the middle of the playmats. There are two others who are awake, one on the verge of sleep in a pile of plushies and the other more interested in a fidget toy than taking a nap, but quietly playing all the same. Neither’s awareness seems to bother the Naptime Attendant, who settles the girl down into a sleeping bag, pulling a blanket over her shoulders and hushing her as she giggles.

This was…sweet. Relaxed. You’ve never seen him act so gentle. It’s starting to feel like you were witnessing something very private, so you click on the next video.

Some of them are corrupted and won’t play, so you just continue in order until you find the next one that does. They’re all day-to-day life in the daycare. You watch scenes of Sun teaching children how to skip, playing hide-and-seek, using his bells in particular to help a young vision-impaired girl find him among the jungle gym while Moon read bedtime stories before putting them to nap, puts band-aids over scraped knees and cradled children in his arms, cooing soft comforts when they wake up from a particularly bad dream. Some of these videos showed a human employee, usually on their phone or reading at the Daycare Security desk, while others showed it empty, but the place was more lively back then.

A smile is on your face, illuminated by the screen light before it falters. These were very touching to watch, but they didn’t provide any real insight into your question, so you continue on. A video has the tag ‘Incident Log’ pop up when you hover over it next. You click on it.

It cuts to a point in the timeline in the video where you have a clear view of Sun, visibly distressed, with hands out and trying to comfort a bawling child that seems to want nothing to do with him. It’s the impaired girl from earlier, and she was bumping into things trying to get away from him, sobbing, while other children snickered in the background. Sun looked confused and a bit panicked. The Daycare Security desk was empty, and most of the surface paperwork was gone.

That’s…not exactly helpful, just a kid that was suddenly scared of the Daycare Attendant all of a sudden, despite being fine with him previously. There’s no written notes attached to the file, but you have a basic idea of what ‘incident log’ was meant for now, if anything just to track what went awry in the Daycare. There’s a few other instances as well with the same tag, so you browse those in order.

They’re mostly plain. A part of the jungle gym snapping from the weight of too many toddlers in one tube, (that Sun holds up until they exit safely), a lost adult walking into the daycare unannounced for ten seconds before being promptly and rather forcefully escorted out by said Daycare Attendant, Moon catching a child who decided to try and climb the netting and giving them a stern scolding, toddlers getting into tiny fist fights over a juice box, etc. Nothing super substantial, just general mishaps.

There is one detail you notice though. In each video, the human Daycare assistant was never the same. Each a new person who was replaced the next week, with the time frame being as little as two days. Slowly, most of the videos showcased no Daycare assistant at all. You think back to the paperwork found in the Daycare’s desk, of notes, many names, and the implication that the job position had a high turnover rate.

The next one is security footage dated a little over a year and a half ago. You frown. The thumbnail was dark, hard to make out any shapes, and it was the last one in the archive list, like it was decided to stop recording any further afterward. You click on it with curiosity, and the scene of the Daycare from the same angle you’ve been watching greets you. The lights are off and children are sleeping in scattered nap piles. The audio has been completely removed.

At first, you don’t see the Daycare Attendant, then a blur of movement catches your eye at the edge of the screen. Moon is suspended in the air, patrolling, only lowering to the ground when a boy begins to stir in his sleep. He lands a few feet away, and you expect him to do what you’ve been watching him do for the past half hour; tuck the boy in maybe, and get him a snack.

Instead, Moon’s head just turns and stares at the child bundled up in blankets, unmoving. Watching. Even with the low video quality, his body language looked distant and cold. His smile was wide, unreadable. The boy’s eyes peek out from underneath the cover, meet the animatronic’s gaze and immediately go back under again before being still.

Moon continues to dead stare at the child through the blanket for a long minute. His head rotates once, twice, and then he turns away to continue patrolling on foot.

Weird. There’s a tag mark on the video’s timeline, and you skip a few minutes ahead to it.

All the children are still sleeping, with Moon standing in the middle when a thin ray of light comes in from the doorway. An adult, a parent you presume, gives an apologetic smile when he pops in through the doorway. He steps quietly inside the daycare so as not to wake the other children while walking towards a sleeping child that resembled him. Moon’s head has swiveled, staring at the intruder. You cannot hear the words coming from the father’s mouth, but it appears that he has come to pick up his kid early.

The father says something inaudible to the stoic Daycare attendant, who was walking up to the pair. Whatever he says he doesn’t receive a response, judging by the awkward look on his face, but motions to excuse himself all the same and reaches to wake up his son.

Moon grabs the adult’s wrist before it can reach the child. There is no audio, you cannot hear what he is saying, but the expression on the animatronic’s face is telling, and the surprise and fear creeping up on the man is even more so. Do not wake them.

A cold feeling is settling in your stomach as you watch the man suddenly become animated, ripping his arm away from the robot and mouth opening like he was yelling something. Some other children begin to stir at the noise. Moon’s head cocks to the side, pupils narrowing, and unmoving until the man reaches again for his child.

There is no audio, but you can hear it in your mind when Moon’s hand darts out, grabs the man's forearm and twists it backward until the bone snaps.

Immediately the man is howling and palming at his broken in arm in pain. It’s bent at a horrid angle, something poking through the sleeve that you fear might be bone. Children are waking up left and right to the noise, witnessing the scene and beginning to cry. Some scramble for the tunnels while others make for the door, other adults and pizzaplex patrons are gathering at the glass to watch the commotion and you see movement, blurs of people, inaudibly shouting and pointing.

The man kicks at the animatronic, his son is awake and scrambling backward in horror. The Moon’s shoulders are tense, too loud, too aware, everyone is awake now. Your eyes are glued to the screen as he drops the injured man to the ground, head turning to and fro to where each child was running. The injured parent lay cursing on the floor while Moon tracks them, gaze moving rapidly. Not panicking, and with no remorse, but frustrated like he needed to catch every single one of them all over again.

There’s a sinking feeling that’s keeping you anchored to the desk chair that this is just going to get worse, and you might be right. The room around you has disappeared, fully immersed, and you watch as the Daycare doors open wider and an employee rushes inside in a panic, calling something out to Moon that you can’t understand and he doesn’t respond to.

Judging by the uniform, it was another Daycare assistant, this time pulling something from his belt and brandishing it towards the animatronic even as Moon ignores him, heading off in the direction where most of the children have hidden inside the jungle gym. Something sparks in the human’s hand, and he drives it to the space in Moon’s back where the bungie cord hooks.

There is a second, only a second where Moon freezes, entire body going still and tense, ridged in a way that suggests a great pain. Then, his face place swivels around and his arm lunges, closing around the man's neck in a fashion that looks all too familiar like the night you first met Moon, and squeezes.

A hard flinch in the body before the head lulls back limp, and you barely see Moon let the corpse fall to the floor-

A dark hand moves over your shoulder, and a metal finger presses off the power button. Silent, frozen horror floods your pulse rate as the screen goes black, showing two red pupils reflecting above you.

The hand pulls back. You stare into the reflection. There is no more light in the room.

...

…

…The fear is not the same, you think, from the first night you met him. It’s worse.

Instincts are telling you to run and logic is saying that there’s nowhere to go. Your fingernails dig into the wood of the desk. The shock of what you just witnessed was severe. The puzzle pieces were fitting together, one by one in your mind as the room sits silent and cold. There is barely any light here, a single bright blue screen reads ‘Operating System Disconnected’ with a blinking light on the bar that indicates the monitor will turn off soon. It’s dark, but it’s enough, just enough for you to slowly spin your chair back around to face the thing behind you.

Moon looms over you. Black eyes and red pupils are unmoving. Above him, the vent cover hangs open, showing the inside to be no bigger than the tunnels the Daycare’s jungle gym housed, and you should have known better.

Fazbear Entertainment was the pinnacle of bloody cover-ups, rewriting news articles to say hospital visits instead of funeral payouts. There’s a reason why they don’t hire human daycare assistants anymore, why the waivers they had you sign were so many.

“You killed that guy.” It comes out more of a statement than a question or accusation. Just fact. Something that doesn’t stir a reaction when you say it. Numbness creeps up on you like a disease, shock is flooding your system, so the words come out quiet and low. “You killed someone…and you hurt the other one. What…what happened to the rest of the daycare assistants?”

Moon doesn’t answer.

You should keep your mouth shut, maybe make a run for it. You don’t. “Does Sun know about this?” Of course he does. He warned you. He was afraid of this. Did he do this too? “Why? What’s wrong with you?”

The Daycare Attendant is still silent. His fingers twitch, and you see the glint of bells.

“What is wrong with you?“ You repeat, pushing yourself back as far as the seat would allow you to go, like somehow that it would save you. ”You looked happy. You look okay and then,… then you don’t make sense and-…why would you do something like tha-?“

His hand blurs toward you and you flinch.

(You should have quit your job when you got nearly electrocuted. Now you’re at the mercy of the dark and the homicidal animatronic that hides within it while he decides what to do with you.)

Nothing happens.

Moon’s hand is still in the air between you, fingers crooked towards you, head cocked at a stiff angle to the side. Two sunbeams stuck out of the bottom side of his head in a fashion that can’t be comfortable, mouth pulled into a semblance of a grimace. He twitches, once, twice, then his outstretched hand pulls away from you. You watch as he presses the sun rays back into his faceplate.

Barely two seconds pass before they pop out once more. His head jerks, fingers curling and uncurling. This time, he presses them back rather forcefully. There’s a pause like he’s waiting for it to happen again. Like maybe he’ll say something to you.

Then, his hand raises towards you again you squeeze your eyes shut. If the worst happened, you didn’t want to see it coming, and hopefully, it’ll be as quick as it was for the poor employee on the video.

There’s a light touch on your chest. The feeling of brushing back your jacket to get further access to your shirt, then it’s gone. After a moment’s pause, you open your eyes. You’re not dead yet, the Moon is still quiet, and there’s something new attached to your uniform.

Your nametag, the one that he stole the night before. It’s pinned on the front of your shirt where it belonged, but it looked different now. Themed and well made, a bright yellow sun on one corner of the plastic with a light blue crescent moon on the other, your name is written neatly in the middle. ‘Best Friend’ is written in yellow pen above it, while ‘Brat’ is scribbled crudely underneath.

Hesitant, you look up at the Moon with furrowed brows and on hand coming to touch the gift. The Moon stares back, stalemate. The smile is still default, unreadable, but as the fear settles and your pulse starts to even out, you notice it.

…He looks just uncertain as you do. Conflicted.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “This is why you didn’t want me to pry?”

His faceplate slowly turns in one direction, raising slightly like he was going to speak, then lowers. Whatever words he had to say died in the voice box. Whether or not it was to confirm it, or to try and think of an excuse or explanation you’re not sure. Robots, it seems, can be just as lost for words as humans do, even if they’re murderous robots written by code. Maybe something other than just code, actually.

You still might die here. You’re scared, you want to say, but you don’t, because you’re sure Moon knows that anyway.

But you’re also curious. You liked to push things further. You could have nothing left to lose.

Spinning the chair back around to face the desk, you hit the power button and wait patiently for the system to reboot itself again. You are hyper-aware of the space behind you and the thing that resided in it, breathing down your neck (metaphorically, of course) but you were also aware of how he watched your fingers work as you click back to the archive, scrolling down to the file labeled for ‘Super Star Daycare’ and searching through the multitude of those inserts as well.

You make sure auto-play is enabled for all non-corrupted videos, click on an older one with Moon somewhere in the thumbnail and lean back against the chair. Fine.

This one is already one you’ve seen, along with any others that start to play. Children that hide in the ball pit in order to avoid naptime are fished out by a happier looking Moon. Little ones that gather around in a circle with cushions and plushies to listen to a story about dragons and knights and princesses and heroes, or scary tales of monsters that eat little boys and girls that don’t eat all their vegetables. Past Moon is careful to sneak out the baby tooth a boy put underneath his pillow to replace it with a quarter you feel they keep on hand specifically for this sort of moment.

The scenes play out with static or no audio, so the silence of the room still permeates. Lights from the screens flash over you and him, and you are both quiet. Watching. It’s a somber feeling.

You don’t even flinch when a hand slowly runs up your shoulder and clutches the fabric of your jacket in your hand. Not harsh, but tight enough. You look up to see Moon’s eyes glued to the screen with only his grip on you as his anchor back to reality.

“Do you miss them?” You say to the dark. “The kids, I mean.”

His smile has faltered. He doesn’t answer.

“I think you do.” You talk for him, your own voice barely above a whisper. “I think you miss them a lot.

The video that shows him harming the adults begins to play, and the incident number pops up. You don’t look at it, but the animatronic’s eyes narrow. Whether in hatred, remembrance or confusion, you can’t tell.

He reacts strangely when you mentioned his decommission as a naptime attendant. You catch him wandering the Daycare at night looking at drawings the children did the day before. Here, in this room, he stares at the screen with unreadability. The hand on you, however, is very telling.

Something isn’t right. “Did you do it on purpose?”

For the first time, he speaks. “...I don’t know.”

“Do you regret it? Hurting them?”

A flash of emotion on his face. It wasn’t a happy emotion, but it wasn’t remorse either. “No.”

You narrow your eyes. “...But you miss it? How it was back then?”

Moon’s fingers dig through the fabric of your jacket and lightly into your shoulder. “Yes.”

…Yeah, something really wasn’t adding up.

You click out of the video before the frame could even load, and start back at the beginning, finding a scene where past Moon, the nicer one, is fishing out a child’s favorite plushie from the ball pit so she could go to take a nap peacefully with her favorite stuffed bunny. You weren’t paying attention to the security feed anymore, and you don’t know how long Moon was standing behind you while you watched them the first time, but he’s not keen to turn it off.

Taking a deep breath, you turn back in the chair to face him. The action is enough to dislodge his hand from you, and his eyes flit from the screen back down to you. “Maybe it’s a glitch. Something that can be fixed.”

The Moon stares at you, eyes wide. Hey, if someone just found out you probably killed someone and then started making excuses for you, you’d be pretty surprised too.  

“I think...I think you have something wrong with you. I don’t know what is wrong with you, or how to fix it, but I do know that you didn’t use to be like this.“ A pause. ”You and Sun both, I think.“

A low warning sounds from him. “Careful.”

You ignore it. “I mean, something changed before, it could happen again. It looked gradual.” Sparing a glance towards the screen, you look at the pixelated Moon tuck the child into sleep, before turning back to look at the present one who’s red pupils felt like they were burning into your skin. “You’re nice to me now. You…weren’t really, back then, you know, when I first got hired.”

His head tilts to the side. “I played nice. You didn’t.”

“I think you tried to kill me.“ You refute. ”I’m surprised you aren’t trying now.“ You almost regret it the moment you said it. The Moon’s grin stretches. Not in the way that conveys joy, instead rather strained. Swallowing the anxiety, you continue. “But now we’re friends, right? We’re friends now. You don’t…really try to hurt me anymore. You could do that with others too if you’re willing to try. You know, maybe you could be the Naptime Attendant again. I'm willing to give it a shot, if you are too."

The Moon looks confused, even more so as you raise a pinkie up in the air with a look of determination about you.

You are uncertain and you are scared, but you are also willing. A goofy, nervous smile is your only self-defense. “Try again?”

The Daycare Attendant’s face plates rotate to one side, then the other, like he was searching for some sort of trick. Raising his hand, a metal pinky comes to rest against your own. “You’re weird.”

“…Don’t make me open the door. It’s light outside.” You lower your hand, satisfied. You’ll process all the emotional labor later. “I hope you’re not going to be upset I stayed past my shift.”

The Moon’s grin turns upwards (finally, something expressive, a different feeling than just staring at you non-talking) and steps back. In one fluid motion, he reaches his arm up and grasps the edge of the vent, hoisting himself upwards into the hole and disappearing from view. You blink at the movement, lighter in tension now. His arms appear again and so does the tip of his hat, his body slinking further upside down until he was staring at you from the entrance of the vent. “I can escort” A beckoning hand comes from the vent. “I know a shortcut.”

You stand from the chair, legs tingling either from the shock or how long you’ve been sitting, you’re not sure. “Yeah, no. I’ll pass. Just in case you don’t remember what happened the last time I was in a tight space with you.” You’re referencing back to your first meeting of course. Normally a snicker would arrive from him, but his grin only stretches, mild. “I need to get home and…process everything. I’ll have to go fix the lights.”

“Okay.” Moon dips upwards, disappearing into the vents.

You turn off the computer, stuff the security card back into your pocket, and open the door back into the Pizzaplex’s hallways. It’s a weird feeling, like coming back from another reality. That feeling bleeds into your walk all the way to the downstairs lightbox where you adjust the timers back in place more out of auto-pilot than anything.

A couple of staff bots have the audacity to stare at you in surprise when you walk by, not expecting you to still be in the building and walking around casually while the lights were still off. You don’t run into any of the other band members, though you can hear a guitar rift off in the distance that tells they’re probably all in Chica’s room giving her pointers on her next solo, save for Monty, so you don’t take a shortcut or an alternate route.

The walk to the front doors feels like a dream, and seeing your car in the empty parking lot outside feels like you’re about to walk through a portal back to reality after a night of emotional whiplash.

You’re halfway underneath the shutters when the sound of bells jingling catches your attention. It’s purposeful, you realize. He can be as quiet as he wants, but the bells were a softer way of saying hello.

You turn your head. Moon is on his wire, upside down, and looking between you and the rest of your way home. “Coming back tomorrow?”

It’s not a question asking about the schedule, and it’s not a demand either. You know what he means, and you know he’s scanning you for a lie. You don’t, you don’t have a reason to. “Duh, moron. I have a graveyard shift tomorrow at midnight. I’ll see you both later. G’night.”

The Moon lingers at the door in the spare seconds where you realize that for the last hour and a half, you’ve been in the dark with him, vulnerable the whole time, and he was seeing you out to the streetlamps outside. “Goodnight, Brat.”

He disappears from sight only as you duck underneath the shutters, and he rises into the rafters above the light fixtures where the neon signs can’t reach him.

Your stomach churns walking to your car, unlocking the doors and sitting inside. You sit there for a long time. Long enough you think you could pass out at the wheel if need be, but your stomach growls for something more substantial than the cookies and stress fumes you were running off of, so you start your car and make your way home.

Everything sucked. Your head hurt, your body was sore, and the stress was starting to get to you. Maybe Sun was right. You were starting to feel sick, literally and figurately. You needed to think. You needed to process everything, including the promise you just made.

Your hand comes over your heart, and the Sun and Moon themed nametag that rested above it.

At least you got some of your answers.

Chapter Text

You have nightmares.

The memory of them when you wake are muffled and confusing, but you’ve got more than enough time to reflect back on it each time you stir and try to go back to sleep. It’s futile, still plagued with the same questions with less-than-pleasant answers that make you sprawl out on your bed, limbs tossed over the covers and stare blankly at the ceiling until the sun starts to peak through the blinds on your window. You haven’t been sleeping properly for a while, but tonight was the first night where you haven’t gotten not but a single wink of shut-eye.

Your body ached, probably for more reasons than just a few nights of horrid sleeping patterns, but you manage to sit up and stare blankly at the wall across from you rather than upwards at the ceiling, and consider that progress.

You have a graveyard shift today, working from the early hours of the morning until the Pizzaplex’s opening. The list that you were emailed for your tasks wasn’t even that extensive, but the thought of leaving your bed settled and an uneasy feeling in your stomach that you wait to subside before climbing out of bed and getting ready for the day. Well, ‘night’, technically.

You get washed up, get dressed, forego any sort of breakfast and/or dinner because you’re just not in the mood to make something and now you’re staring into your bathroom mirror with a toothbrush sticking out of one side of your mouth like every unsettled movie protagonist you make memes out of when you watch this scene.

This was a choice. You didn’t need to go back. Hell, you’ve had PLENTY of choices in the past with good enough reasons not to go back, but you’re still going to. It was something you were willing to do. Why? Because you promised? And they’d be sad if you didn’t return? That those were your friends, despite the history, and you realize now why it felt like the Moon was waning, and Sun’s words to you were laced with the feeling of a goodbye.

Or maybe it’s because you’re in too deep now. You don’t really have anything else exciting going for you in life. Your research into the Fazbear Entertainment cover-ups is just another tack of mysteries you want to see solved, and even if you stepped away from the whole thing, would you even be able to leave? What if Fazbear Entertainment knew that you knew? Would you get fired? Sued? Thrown into the dark for the new moon?

The water has been running for a few minutes now. That can’t be good for your electric bill. You splash your face, turn it off and grab your jacket and keys to head out for work. The nametag sits on the kitchen counter where you threw yesterday’s work shirt, glaringly obvious despite being such a small thing. You blink at it, grab it and pin it on your chest, and leave.

Having the graveyard shift means no one is really on the roads on the way there. Really the only interaction you have with another being is from an automated robot that serves as the gas attendant on one of the 24/7 stops in between your house and the Pizzaplex. It looks at you this time when you pay to fill up your car, but says nothing outside the price. At least robots didn’t comment on your tired appearance, whether they were sentient enough to notice it or not.

The parking lot is empty, the street lamps more comforting than the anxiety that whispers to you what awaits inside. Your friends, you remember. Your friends are waiting inside.

Friends that have killed people in the same uniform as you before, for reasons you aren’t entirely sure of, nor safe from. But you already knew you dangled your own self-preservation precariously constantly anyway.

Entering the Pizzaplex, the first thing you do is call out for your warden. “Moon?”

No answer. You step fully inside, letting the shutters fall back down behind you. The lights were off, with neon signs illuminating the way. Safe enough to walk through, but dim enough that the Daycare Attendant could appear, though whichever mode you weren’t sure. You try again. “Sun? Moon? You guys out here?”

...

…No greeting?

That’s okay…that’s fine. Not like you’ve ever been greeted at the door before, but you were expecting it this time. You’re not entirely sure why.

Still, he’s gotta be out there somewhere. Staff bots glance at you while you make your way to the clock-in station, but don’t pay you any further mind. The feeling of being watched never leaves though even as you slide your badge through the reader.

The cart is parked for you and you put a few things on the sides you’ll need for the shift. Rags, sticky notes, toilet cleaning, etc. You bring up your phone with the tab opened to the manager’s email detailing your tasks for the night: Do your usual cleaning duties, finish any leftovers from yesterday, along with some basic repairs needed in a few places that shouldn’t be too complex. There was a photo booth that wasn’t feeding paper correctly. A kid’s shoe was somehow stuffed up the exit of a claw machine to stop the safeguard from closing (which was probably pissing off cooperate since kids started snatching stuffies straight out of the machine) and a speaker in the arcade room was listed as improperly wired and needed to be adjusted. Nothing too bad, usually the result of kids messing with things they shouldn’t when tiny hands can fit into small places.

You pick up some wrappers and forgotten Styrofoam cups as you make your way deeper into the Pizzaplex until you pass by the main band cast’s bedrooms. The cart is a little loud with the squeaky wheel, but you still skirt by rather quickly to get a peak. Monty’s room is first, but you speed walk by it rather quickly, thankful the curtains are closed.

Chica is in Roxy’s room, leaning against the vanity while Roxy herself puts on makeup (which kinda looks like metal marker paint, now that you realize it). She notices you through the glass, smiles, and waves as you pass by. You return the sentiment, and give the wolf animatronic a thumbs up when she spots you through the reflection of the mirror, and walk by. The girls seemed caught up in their own conversation, no need to bother them.

The curtains are partially pulled on Freddy’s room as well, but it’s not hard to find him. He’s on his sofa in your typical nap position, eyes closed and a plushie or two on his side. Although it’s technically impossible, you imagine he snores loudly like a dad. You don’t wake him from his rest mode, making a mental note to ask if robots could really ‘sleep’ anyway later.

Before you leave the room, you stop, glancing back toward the alligator’s room. There’s no indication that he’s there, and you’ve got no clue as to if he’s back from Parts n Service yet, but you’d like to check just in case. Maybe for an apology, or maybe just to get an idea of who to avoid tonight if the animatronic feels like wandering. Steering your cart back over and parking it a distance away from the door, you peak quickly past the curtain as subtly as possible.

He’s there, leaning back on his own sofa with the bass guitar in his grip and tuning it manually. His body doesn’t look damaged and he doesn’t seem to be in pain, if anything a bit tame for all the experiences you’ve known him for. His face is oddly plain, lost in thought, mechanical brows furrowed together. That last detail you notice easily because his signature star sunglasses are missing. To be honest, this would be a great time to apologize, and maybe get an apology in return.

But you are tired, and too wrapped up in your investigation with the Daycare Attendant’s issues that Monty had almost slipped your mind. Maybe you’ll leave a note, that way you can be brave enough to take the first step but a coward for not doing it directly. Seems like a good middle ground, right?

There are sticky notes on your cart’s shelf you go back to search for. You find them tucked underneath the disinfectant and search for the paired pen, checking underneath the bags and the floor around you when it comes up missing. Weird. It was right here.

The sound of a faint bell rings above you, and you glance upwards towards the rafters. “Moon?”

There’s nothing that you can see, not that the neon lights can illuminate for you. The only thing with you was the cut-out of Monty with suspicious scratched paint across the neck. The ceiling is shrouded in darkness thanks to the height of the building. There's plenty of places to hide, but you glare into the spot directly above you. “Are you there?”

Silence. Nothing speaks. Anxiety.

It’s fine. Totally didn’t have goosebumps from nerves. Past memories be damned, he was your friend. Still, hopefully, with an unchanged mind. You splay your hand out, palm facing upwards towards the ceiling. “Can I have the pen back? Please?”

The air is still and nothing responds. You’re inwardly debating on either apologizing to Monty face-to-face or potentially just walking away and letting happen another day when a pen appears from the darkness above you, falling from the shade. It lands right in your open palm, and you close your fingers around it, eyes kept to the ceiling. “Thanks!”

Quickly, you scribble ‘sorry for invading your space’ (coupled with scrawled handwriting and probably a misspelling in there) with your name underneath. You’d slide it underneath, but you didn't actually want Monty to catch wind of your presence outside, and you’ve been lingering here long enough so you just stick it to the door, grab your cart and roll it away before you’d be noticed.

You had a pretty steady idea of what order to do your tasks in for the night. Trash is easy to pick up and dump out on your route, so you take empty out a few bins and send the bags down the trash chute pretty mundanely, despite the knowledge that there was something in the dark following you. Nothing new there, even as you head to the arcade and ignore the sick feeling in your stomach that you can’t tell if it’s from nerves or something else.

You didn’t need to worry. You already promised you'd stay, and they promised you too. What they promised was…vague, but secrets were already out in the light here. It was just a glitch, surely. Something was wrong. Clearly wrong. Things weren’t adding up, but they were willing to work with you. Trust you. Still, it weighs on you. Knowing that something promises not to hurt you, (no matter what sort of scares they’ve given you in the past) doesn’t remove the fear that it will, especially when the body count carried the same employee badge as you did.

Were you some traitor to those before you, to the victims, to take these risks? Or are you just stupid and lack self-preservation to the point where you attract danger wherever you go, never taking the out when it’s presented to you?

…You’ve been standing in front of the arcade room for a while now, and you wonder if Moon thinks you’re strange because you haven’t moved from that spot in thirty seconds in favor of staring down at your own shoes in thought.

The arcade room is large and strange in architecture. Large, decorated holes were placed in the walls in tune with the speakers and you remind yourself that this is where DJ Music Man stays, though you haven’t met him yet. Usually, he’s in his own Parts n Service area, fitted to his size, while you’re in here cleaning after hours, and you don’t really have a reason to be here unless to take the trash out, so you’re never here long. It’s pretty looking with all the neon lights and funky looking carpet. The open upstairs and thin railing made you a little nervous for height safety, but you only had a specific room to look for anyway.

Something shifts above you, but you don’t look up. Instead, you park the cart near the door and lift the toolbox out from the undershelf, lugging it over to where the email pinpointed the broken stereo. There’s a door off to the side listed as employee’s only that’s nothing more than a moderate storage room, and when you open it you find several broken machineries. Some arcade machines with cracked screens and fried playboards were shoved to the size, while some boxes lay on shelves presumptively containing repair parts or loads of Faz-coins that have been dented or otherwise unusable.

Over in the corner with a sticky note written with Staff-bot recognizable handwriting on it is a stereo disconnected from the rest. You grope for the light switch by the door frame. A sense of relief comes over you as the single light bulb blinks to life. Good. Even if you could walk around by neon lights alone, you doubt you could see what you were actually doing for repair without some sort of proper lighting.

You’re lugging the toolbox past the doorframe, about to turn over your shoulder to ask your shadow to stay outside when a blur rushes over your head. In the blink of an eye, Moon crawls above you through the doorframe, up in the corners of the room quicker than you can follow. You spot him, finally, in a place where there’s dim enough light you could make out his shape, and give him a greeting smile. “There you are.”

Moon crouches on top of a support beam, high up off the ground, and right above the light fixture. His hands and legs were illuminated, though the shadows covered his face. It’s a bit strange to see red eyes peering at you in the lowlight spot of the room, though a little stranger when a hand hesitantly comes up and gives you a small, timid wave. “Hi.”

“Hi.” You return the greeting, lugging the toolbox over until you drop it by the stereo. There’s a back plating you’ll have to take off, probably do a few reconnects and the speaker will be as good as new. You huff, hands on your hips before you start digging for the right tools, and glance upwards. “You’ve got a knack for hiding in places where the light can’t reach you, huh?” First the tent, now testing the limits of a weak light bulb and the shadows it creates.

Moon crawls nimble, and it reminds you of a cat walking a fence. “Risky.”

Oh, ‘risky’ was probably an understatement, for more reasons than one. You dig a screwdriver out, mentally noting where the screws were in the backing, and getting to work. “Well, you can’t get me from up there, and I can’t really complain about the distance, so…” You shoot a thumbs up to him. “You can play the security warden and I can do what I’m supposed to do. Works out for the both of us.”

Moon’s eyes remain unchanged, though you suspect he’s wearing his usual smile within the dark. “Hmm.”

Well, he seems harmless enough. You turn away to focus on the speaker. “Have fun up there, Starboy.”

“I am.”

The sound of glass breaking processes a millisecond before the room plunges into darkness, and the inner you starts slamming your head against a metaphorical wall for being so stupid.

Adrenaline starts pumping. You clench the screwdriver hard enough that your knuckles are turning white, standing and waving an arm out into the dark as if you’ll find the culprit any moment now. “That’s not funny, Moon!” You start swinging the screwdriver in front of you, hitting nothing but air. The neon lights would have been better than this. “I have a screwdriver and I’m not afraid to jam it up your ass, asshole!”

A chill voice speaks a few inches from your ear. “Language.”

Surprise travels through your skin, shock in your spine, and you turn swinging. The screwdriver gripped is dove downwards towards the sound out of pure human instinct. You barely hear the small ‘clang’ of the metal tip hitting the animatronic’s chest chassis before a hard grip clutches your wrist, bending your arm back at an angle. You yelp. It’s not twisted, just harsh, and the pain drops the make-shift weapon from your hand, hearing the muffled thud as it clatters against the carpet.

Bright red pupils in a black sea zero in on you, and you stare back wide-eyed. A small movement, and you flinch, eyes shut closed, and wait for the consequences of your outburst. You’re so dead.

...A quiet pause. The grip around your wrist falls away, and your hand is left hanging in the air. You open your eyes. He doesn’t have the pupils anymore, but he’s close enough for you to make out the lines in his face, and the empty blackness staring back at you. The two of you stand still, unmoving. A few more seconds pass. You swallow the lump in your throat, mindlessly rubbing at the space on your wrist where he grabbed you. It doesn’t feel bruised. It was more fear and shock, then it was brutality, you realize. “Moon?”

You hear the click of his head rotating once.

“Right, I’m just gonna-” You thumb the space behind you, your free hand feeling for your phone in your pocket. “…just gonna get back to work then.”

There’s no argument or acknowledgment as you bring out your phone and turn on the flashlight, pointing it downwards. The room becomes a little bit clearer, and you see the shape and colors of blue and stars blur as Moon steps back from you. Pointing the light at the ground or wall, never directly on him, is reflective enough for you to watch him step back a few feet, far enough away from you and the spot you’ll be working, dropping to the carpet and sitting crisscrossed, hands in his lap. He’s still again, and his face unreadable.

Unnerving, but…maybe progress. Despite the frayed nerves making you feel a bit ill, you smile at him. “If it makes any difference, I’m not used to it either.”

His head tilts back up to you, but gives no response or change in expression. You turn your back on him and focus on the task at hand. Mental note: as good as you were faking confidence, you’re going to be sick if you kept having short-term scares again and again like this. You can already feel it.

You had already gotten the backing off of the speaker, so the only thing you really had to do was reconnect the wires in the proper place. Judging by the small shoe print on the side and the awkward way the wires were tangled, this was a floor speaker that some poor kid kicked or ran into, jostling it just enough to dislodge a few wires. Easy fix. The yellow wires went to the inputs for yellow tabs, red for red, blue for blue, and so on. It barely takes a few seconds, and you plug your phone into the jack to test it by playing your basic ringtone. Everything looks good on this end, so time to replace the backing and shove this thing back out into the arcade area in its designated spot.

You dig for the right tool and awkwardly prop up your phone between your knee and your chest to keep the light steady while you hold the backing in place and try and twist the screws back into place. It’s not working, in fact, the tip of the tool keeps slipping out of the divots you’re pressing them into and your phone keeps falling smack into the floor every couple of seconds. You wish you could magically grow another pair of hands right now. You groan in frustration “C’mon.”

Something light taps your shoulder, and you freeze. Looking over slowly, the screwdriver is held out to you, and you follow the arm holding it. Moon is as far back as the length of his arm would allow, face blank, sitting on his haunches.

You drop the tool you were holding (wrong headpiece, it looks like) and carefully let the animatronic drop the proper screwdriver into your hand. “Thanks. Kinda, uh, forgot about it for a bit.”

He falls back, and you turn back to the speaker. The phone flashlight drops again even as you fumble to make sure it stays put (and you really wanted the light for your own nerves besides for plain visibility right now) until you’re sitting frustrated, blowing air at the irritation. You could just leave the backing off of it, sure, but you’re pretty certain that would be a safety hazard that would fall on you if a kid happened to stick their hands in a fist full of wires again.

You remember the presence behind you, and turn the light towards Moon. You keep it on his legs, but he shrinks back still, and you wonder if he does that out of reflex. You offer the phone to him. “…Can you hold the light up for me?”

Moon’s expression shifts to something akin to confusion. He’s hesitating, you don’t blame him. You’re about to see if maybe you could hold it in between your teeth when he picks the phone from your hand, careful to have the light pointed towards the floor, and guides it towards the speaker. “…Here.”

Your smile grows. “Perfect!”

It’s pretty easy to put all the screws back into place now that you can see what you are doing. You’re still not used to it: him being this close to you in the dark, but this was fine. He was patient while you worked. This was almost nice. Progress. You only break the silence while you're twisting the last one in place. “Sorry about earlier. Even though you should really not go around breaking lights just for fun. They’re probably going to make me fix that later.” You twist the last screw in place, dropping the screwdriver into the toolbox and shutting it closed. “You know, you’re not so bad when you’re not constantly trying to get me to go to sleep.”

“You should.” White pupils on red eyes follow you in the dark. A change from the black they were before. “You’re tired.”

You roll your eyes. It’s a good way to cover up the shiver. “Oh yeah? I look tired all the time. You’re lucky robots can’t ever get dark circles.”

“It’s not that.” Moon’s voice is low and quiet. He hasn’t been very talkative tonight. “You’re slower than usual.” His head rotates to the side at an unnatural angle, something you’ve seen him do hundreds of times but still a little unnerving up close. “You should take a nap.”

You huff. “Oh, yeah. Not hunting me down right now must be torture for you, huh? C’mon, hand it over.” Your tone is a mix of sarcasm and playfulness, and Moon’s head clicks to the side at your words. You hold out your hand for your phone, gesturing lightly until the animatronic drops it into your palm, and you keep the light aimed low going to pick up the toolbox. “Alright, now I just need to shove this thing back into-”

Something spindly touches your hand. You jolt, turning your head and shining the light below to find something small and colorful scuttling on top of the toolbox, looking up to you with beady black eyes-

You let out a small, less-than-dignified scream as you scramble back, phone dropping to the carpet with the light facing upwards, legs kicking as you scoot away while both Moon and the new thing watch you panic. Your foot makes contact with the toolbox, sending it toppling over, along with the creature that’s sent flipped on its back, letting out a small screech with multiple thin little legs flailing in the air. “What is THAT?!”

To your surprise, you watch as Moon reaches over and picks it up, holding it gently with both hands. It’s still trying to untangle its limbs, making little ‘schrees’ as red eyes trail to you. The Daycare Attendant blinks. “What.”

“That! Thing!” You point accusatory to it. “Is that some sort of-I don’t know, robot rat!?”

“Baby Music Man,” Moon states, and you feel your panic drop. The little robot gets comfortable in his hands. “Little versions of the DJ. They live in the vents.”

“Oh.” You relax your shoulders, pressing your lips into a line. “I uh...I haven’t met them yet.”

Something in Moon’s face twitches, then a noise comes out that sounds suspiciously like a chuckle. “They already like you.”

Standing, you clear your throat and will the churning embarrassment in your head away. “Yeah, well. I don’t know how they could like me when we haven’t even met me yet-” Moon turns away to pet the little robot while you stand, and you wring your hands together. The little guy was a toy counterpart to the big guy on the posters, complete with a top hat and several spider legs. Guilt comes to you when little beady black eyes glaze up at you. “Sorry, little guy. I didn’t mean to kick you on purpose.”

The Lil’ Music Man claps the instrument in his hands together, teeth opening and closing, legs kicking.

Moon speaks when you just stare in confusion. “He likes you. He came to say hi.” The animatronic takes a step towards you, arms outstretched and waiting. “Say hi.”

You turn to gawk at him. “What? Oh, no-no I think I’m good, thanks.”

“Hold out your hands.” He repeats, bringing one hand out from under the little robot to reach for your own. “He won’t bite.”

“Oh, no listen I-” You take a step back just for him to take a step forward. “You know, I really don’t think this is a good idea-!”

“Hands. Out.” Despite your best efforts, Moon finds both wrists and brings your hands upwards with just one of his own, and the little robot is plopped right into your hold.

Great. Now you’re holding a freaky little robot in your hands. With uncertainty, you meet its eyes. It’s a cute thing, if not a little weird looking. Honestly, it’s about the same size as a small housecat, and with a few spots of wear and tear on its body. You haven’t read anything about them being active during the day, so more likely they were in Parts n Service, or prototypes. This one in particular stars up at you with shining black eyes and tilts its head in the same way as you do yours, mimicking you. “Huh.”

Moon’s hand comes into view, the tip of his finger coming up underneath the robot’s hat and giving them a small scratch. “They’re harmless.”

You almost reply that he’s not, but that’s perhaps not the safest thing to say at the moment. Instead, you’re still as Moon retracts his hand, and motions for you to repeat the motion he just did. He can’t be serious. Wait, no. He’s staring at you, and so is the little Music Man. They’re both serious.

You scratch the top of its head. At first, you think it’s stupid, feeling stupid, until its head tilts back to let you scratch at a better angle and its eyes squint like a cat enjoying the feeling.

“Ah ha ha ha...it’s um. It’s…” Freaky. Scratching miniature robots like cats was not in your job description, so you feel a little stupid. Though, it doesn’t seem to mind, tilting its head back to let you scratch at a better angle, oddly eyes half-closing at the feeling. Tame. “It’s, uh…it’s cute.”

Moon’s head clicks once to the side, the red glow from his eyes being the only illumination cast over the mini-music man, and you. “Cute.”

“Yeah” You’re careful not to scratch off its paint, but the Mini-Music Man doesn’t seem to care. “He’s just a weird little guy.”

Lowering to the floor, you let it run off your hands. It tilts its head at you like a dog, makes some sort of chittering robotic noise, and scutters off somewhere in a hole in the wall. Weird thing. Then again, there’s a talking, sentient robot jester beside you. It’s not the strangest thing you’ve seen in the last six months.

Moon watches the little guy retreat while you retrieve your phone from the floor, its flashlight illuminating the room just barely enough to keep you calm in the midst of the 30 seconds of chaos. Trustful or Moon or not, glowing red eyes and scuttering small things in the dark didn’t do wonders for your memories, or the crawling feeling in your chest you’ve had since you’ve woken up. “Alright, I just need to push this back into the arcade hookup and we’re outta here.” You lightly kick the speaker. It looks heavy. “Probably gonna have to use the cart. Stay here, I’ll get it.”

You turn and take two, maybe three steps away before a scraping noise hits your ears. Turning back around (and with phone flashlight following) it shines on Moon, large speaker under his arm with his fingers hooked around the edges to keep his grip. He flinches at the light, eyes squinting. “Off.”

“Sorry!” You lower it, but raise a brow at him as he passes you. You take a step back out of reflex to put some distance between you. If he noticed, he doesn’t mention it. “Um. What are you doing?”

Moon looks over his shoulder through the doorway. It’s so weird to see him casually walk. “Helping.”

“Showing off, more like it!” You scoff, following him. The spot where the speaker needs to be hooked up isn’t far. The Daycare Attendant plops it down in presumably the correct spot (judging by the dust stain on the carpet around it) and backs away while you quickly bend down to reconnect it. The arcade machine next to it had the original hookup wires you push into the side, and it’s already set up. Task finished. Something really simple that feels like it took a lot more time to do than normally.

…Probably because your ‘shadow’ is a lot more noticeable this time. You turn to stare at the Daycare animatronic, who looks oddly out of place when he’s not actively hiding from you. Your fingers drum lightly against your phone, the flashlight giving you the confidence you’ve needed for the past twenty minutes. “You’re being...nicer, than usual.”

Moon stares at you. His wire descends from the ceiling, hooking to his back without him moving, and the animatronic holds another few seconds of eye contact with you before hoisting into the air and out of sight.

You deadpan at the spot he used to stand in. “Nevermind. You’re an ass.”

The phone flashlight isn’t necessary with the neon lights, so you pocket it again going back to the cart. The few trash bins in the arcade are emptied, along with whatever was in the conjoining rooms and hallways. Everything else is pretty mundane. Staffbots sweep and handle vacuuming the carpets, so you try not to get in their way and avoid walking in the spots they’ve already cleaned out of respect. The arcade room is finished in a few minutes, and you take a moment to stare at the large stage-open area on one side that looks exactly like it was made for an over-sized, multi-legged music orientated animatronic, and its cut out with a message in the corner. DJ Music Man is currently on holiday and will return soon!

So the big guy himself is probably out for maintenance or repairs. Good to know. Can’t wait to meet the even bigger version of the little freaky guy you met earlier.

The jammed claw machine was in the same room, so you take care of that quickly enough. The shoe dislodges with a pretty hard kick, along with a Freddy plushie that was stuck with it. Grabbing the shoe, you toss it in the cart to throw into Lost and Found later, turning back around to see if you can jam the plushie back into the machine when the spot you left is mysteriously empty. Blinking, you do a 360 search for the plushie. Maybe you just missed it? Oh, no. It’s sitting on top of one of the wall speakers that is way-too-many feet high for you to reach. Gee, sure wonder how that got there.

You usually don’t handle the Faz-coins in the machines since staff bots take care of it, but you find one forgotten on the floor and decide to take your chances at proving your worth to be a pitcher. In a hallway where the ceiling is a bit lower, you reel your arm back and throw the coin into the darkness above you.

A glint of metal and soft sound of bells, you watch a hand emerge at the edge of darkness and grab the coin mid-air. After a second, it drops it back to you, landing in your open palm. A short, curt chuckle resounds as you pocket it.

Yep. He was still following you. Just checking.

Next on the list was the photo booth that wasn’t feeding paper, meaning it was either broken or just plain out of photo paper. You’re betting on the latter. Pushing your cart through the arcade’s threshold, you steer towards the problem area and shout over your shoulder. “Hey, jackass! I have to go fix something. Are you gonna stay in here or-”

“Here.”

You jump, but the shock lasts for a second as you turn to face forwards. Moon is standing on the very edge of the cleaning cart, not quite putting his weight on it thanks to the cord, but his feet balance on the edge all the same. His grin grows when you frown at the action, and snickers when you rock it to try and shake him off to no avail. “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”

He moves along with the cart as you push it, not any heavier than it was before. “Escorting.”

You huff. “I don’t need an escort.”

“Maybe not.” Moon’s wire slacks and the cart is suddenly a bit more difficult to push. “Too bad.”

You jolt the cart hard on purpose to knock him off. It half works. The edge comes out from underneath him, but he doesn’t fall. Instead, the Daycare Attendant snickers something quietly as the wire tightens and he disappears back into the darkness. Jerk.

It was playful behavior, but you still felt a little head sick from the previous night. You try not to think too hard on it. Maybe on your own time, not now, when you’re in the presence of something dangerous masquerading as a friend. No, no, not masquerading. At least you hope not.

The photo booth you come up to looks like every other single photo booth in the pizzaplex, down to the red curtains and the tacky sign and example pictures on the side, save for the piece of paper taped to the front that stated ‘Out-Of-Order’. You brought photo paper rolls with you (heavier than they look) and speed-read through the manual in the employee’s room on how to replace the paper in the feeder, just to roll your eyes when you open the backing to see it has sticker graphics on the metal showing you how to do it. You were right that it was just out of paper, so popping more back into place and screwing the backing into place took less than a minute.

There, done. You close the panel and reboot the machine. Now all you had to do was test it.

Resisting the urge to look upwards, you can feel eyes watching you and frown. Moon was still stalking you, sure. What else is new? Being obnoxious was just as easy for him as being dangerous, but two could play this game.

Finding the Faz-coin in your pocket, you slide it into the slot and jump inside the photo booth.

You draw the curtains all the way closed just to be certain, then press all the necessary buttons to prep the photoshoot. Three shots, no special frames that cost extra coins or anything like that, just a plain strip of photos taken in quick succession. It takes about sixty seconds, give or take. The sound of something gently landing on top of the photo booth machine processes right as the computer brings up the ‘Go!’ button, with a cute chibi pink and white toy Freddy cartoon in the corner cheering at the bottom of the screen.

You set the count down to one second, push yourself into the corner of the photobooth as far as you can opposite of the entrance, hover your finger over the confirmation button, and wait.

You count one, two, three, four...

The curtain shifts. Moon’s head pokes through the fabric, confused.

You take the chance. “Say cheese, asshat!”

Fortunately, he’s not fast enough to stop you from hitting the button. Unfortunately, he moves forwards into the photo booth, which is built more for children and parents and NOT a tall animatronic, and the employee who suddenly panics because you didn’t actually think he’d go further inside the photobooth as the camera flashes. “Whoa, whoa whoa hey don’t-!”

The first flash comes and you hear Moon hiss, gangly limbs clack around the walls above your head and beside you as the animatronic flinches, no recovery time as the second flash comes, and neither with the third all while the two of you are scrambling about in a space that’s way too close for your liking.

Moon makes a noise in pain the same moment you knock your head back and bite down on your own tongue, leaving the two of you disheveled and groaning for a moment while the photo booth’s speakers ding. A toy Freddy jumps up and down on the screen, a prompt appearing telling you to collect your strip from the feeder outside. “Photo complete! You looked FAZ-TASTIC!”

The screen is all that illuminates the dark inside the photo booth, but you’re close enough to see the pain etched into Moon’s features as the animatronic reels into himself, one arm propped above you to hold him while a hand covers his eyes. A sunray is jutting in and out of the side of his face before finally disappearing, and black eyes blink once, twice, squinting before rolling fully and settling in place, on you. There is the click, click, click of mechanical workings falling into place after whirring, a tilt of his head. The narrowing of his gaze casts red across your face.

Fear and guilt merged simultaneously as the flash burn evaporates from your eyes. “Sorry! I…kinda forgot…the flash. Listen, I didn’t think you’d actually-” The Moon’s glare hardens, and you regret every time you’ve been brave. Raising your hands up in-between the two of you feels like a flimsy barrier, especially when the animatronic has gathered his bearings. Your heart hammers while a nervous smile forms. “…Sorry?”

Moon looks less than pleased. Man, what a stupid prank to die for.

A touch settles on you. You tense at the feeling, but freeze as his fingers brush back against your forehead, the palm of his hand laying flat above your brow. “Fever?”

You blink at him. Moon’s voice doesn’t sound angry or pained when he speaks. Actually, now that the momentary panic has subsided, his glare doesn’t even look upset. He just looks focused. Confused, maybe. “What? What are you-wait, no. Just-get off. Off! Get off of me! Off! Off off off!” You swat at him, cursing and swearing for the return of your personal space as the animatronic suddenly backs up, muttering about your language as he’s pushed away. Literally. The Daycare Attendant all but falls out on the other side of the curtain and you’re practically hearing cartoon metal bouncing noises as he scampers away. “Personal space, Moon! We talked about personal space!”

A low tone in his voice sounds from outside the curtain. “Naughty brat.”

You have a really, really bad comeback for that one, but it’s probably too soon to use it. “Yeah, well. Shut up.”

Your back hits the seat, staring at the cartoon Freddy still jumping on screen. Anxiety churns in your stomach, and the threat of throwing up crawls up your throat as the fear subsides. Okay, you’re fine. He’s your friend. They are your friends. Sun and him both. Every instance of being in close quarters isn’t going to end in bloodshed. You’re doing this for a reason. This is a conscious, made-in-good-faith decision to be here. Why do you keep having stomach flips every ten minutes?

(Dumb question. You know damn why.)

But still! This was good progress. Tell your body to stop freaking out every ten minutes over something you’re doing willingly!

With a sigh, you run a hand down your face. You were tired. You didn’t feel good. Like, really didn’t feel good.

The outside of the photobooth is quiet, enough so that you stick your head out of the curtains and give a look around. “Moon?”

A pause and you think he’s run off or ignoring you out of anger, then bells sound above your head. You can’t see him fully, not at this angle and not with such dimness in the room, but Moon sits atop the photo booth with his legs crossed. The animatronic peers his head down, faceplate upside down to you, and staring at you with a plain expression.

You grimace. “Sorry for flashing you.” Another pause. “With the light. I can see you grinning. You know what I mean.”

“Look.” Bells and red ribbon come into view. One hand comes down, holding a strip of photo paper; the one that just developed from the photo booth.

The camera film is three images. The first flash is the clearest, with you looking surprised and Moon entering the photo booth, fingers outstretched towards you but staring wide-eyed at the camera. To your surprise, the last image was Sun, though the colors matched up, sunrays popped out of his head and threatened to pierce through the nightcap, still in the shocked pose (if not a bit blurrier and more chaotic) as the two of you looked scrambled in the photo.

The one in the middle was…blurry. Really blurry. You could barely make out your own shape, while the other was something a  bit like out of a dream. Colors were off, mixed blue, black and yellow, almost red tinted, and between the over-white exposure from the flash and the flailing of limbs, it was difficult to make out anything past what you’re assuming to be sun rays jutting out in quick transformation and the nightcap barely hanging off of one end. If you squint hard enough, you think you see pupils against black staring back at the camera.

Moon’s other hand comes down and points to one of the three images. Specifically, to you in a flailing pose, motion blur adds a lot more comedy to the absolutely hilarious expression shot of your face. “I’m keeping this.”

You make a grab for the photos, and Moon yanks it away just in time. “I look horrible!”

“Correct.” The jester snickers, tucking the phototroph away somewhere you can’t reach. For all you knew, he had a secret compartment in his hat or something. “Payment for flashing crimes.”

“Oh god. Shut up.” Stepping away from the photo booth, you pat down the wrinkles out of your uniform and readjust your jacket. Not like there were management or any other humans here to scold you, but you wanted to preserve your dignity in some fashion. With a sigh, you check your phone and run through your tasks one more time. It was the early hours of the morning, but not close enough to opening for you to rest easy just yet. Repairs were done, but a few more rooms needed trash taken out and a few forgotten spots cleaned.

“Take a break.” Moon’s voice interrupts your thoughts. You look up from the phone. He’s partially hanging off the machine, arms dangling and head upside down. “Take a nap. It’s late.”

You pocket your phone and deadpan at him. What small fear you still hold in your chest is masked by nonchalant and the urge for normalcy and routine. “Yeah, sure. Maybe when all my chores are done.”

Moon crawls down the photobooth on all fours, limbs at an odd angle, and starts advancing on you. It’s slow, normal for him and not at all an intentional attempt to be intimidating, but you backpaddle a bit all the same. “Whoa, whoa, watch the distance, Starboy.”

Moon stops. He straightens to his normal height, (once again, a reminder of how much he towers over you and how you kinda hate that), and his face remains ridged. “You should lay down. Relax.” His hands curl behind his back, out of view. “I can help.”

You frown at him. “Maybe word that differently next time. And I thought we were over the whole...'go to sleep’ thing with you.”

Moon takes another step. “You should lay down.” He repeats. “I can help.”

“You-” You point a finger at him accusatory, and frown deeper when his eyes narrow. “-can help by not trying to terrorize me during my shift.” With that point being said, you start pushing the cart towards the next destination; the kitchens, mainly to scrub the grease out of one of the pizza-making machines. “And I promise not to antagonize you unless you antagonize me first.”

“Rude.” Says the Daycare Attendant. You don’t need to turn to know he’s following this time; his voice sounds closer than before, hovering above the ground on his wire like walking normally offended him. “You’re being difficult.”

You scoff. “Says the robot that hunted me for sport.”

The Moon says nothing back, but you can feel a glare burn into the back of your neck.

The Pizzaplex’s kitchen is just as filthy and dingy as one would expect it to be. The Staff-bots try their hardest to keep it clean, but when you’re a billion dollar Entertainment plex tasked with feeding hundreds of customers daily with a short-staffed of automations, it gets a bit difficult. At least Fazbear Entertainment doesn’t have to worry about breaking any employee safety laws with food hazards since pretty much their entire roster was all robots. Robots can’t sue you if they’re burned on a stove, touch contaminated foods or have any allergens you have to worry about.

Entering the kitchen, you spot the light dial by the door. Turning it to max illuminates the whole room, and you scan your work. There’s a single Staff-bot wearing a chef’s hat in rest mode in the corner, with several Make-It-Yourself pizza machines at weird spots around the room. Customers had the option to ‘build their own pizzas via automated staff connected to a remote control, but you never had enough interest to look up how that works. Your job here is to make sure those machines are clean enough that Fazbear Entertainment doesn’t get a health code violation if someone’s pizza comes back with something undesirable on it.

Five minutes later you’re in the middle of scrubbing the grease out of an oven when you hear an odd noise, like metallic clicking of a tongue, and Moon’s voice over by the door. “Knock knock.”

You look over. Moon’s face peaks halfway past the top part of the doorframe, though not in the room, just around the edge. His eyes are squinted and red, and his fist comes down to ‘knock’ at the imaginary barrier between the outside, and into the kitchen. “Knock knock.”

The corner of your mouth twitches upwards. “Who’s there?”

“Peeka.”

“…Peeka who?”

“Peek-a-Boo.” Moon’s face comes forwards just enough to let you see his grin, before retreating back into the dimmer light. You snort, rising from your crouched position, hands on your hips to watch the animatronic raise his fist and ‘knock’ again. “Knock knock.”

You grin. “Come in!”

The Moon deadpans at you.

You don’t even wait for him to speak next. “Fine, fine. So bossy. Jeez.” Walking over to the light dial, you hold your hand over it and…hesitate.

You are willingly turning off the lights to allow Moon into your space, when three days ago you wouldn’t be caught dead (or alive) in the dark with him and always with some sort of barrier in between the two of you. The night so far has been…complicated, but okay survivable. Friendly, even. This was progress. You’re not new to him. You are friends, and every action tonight so far has been an exercise of trust.

Yeah. A trust exercise.

You turn the dial down just enough so it should be dim enough that he could walk in here, but light enough for you to see what you were doing. “Don’t do anything weird.”

Moon does the equivalent of rolling his eyes, which is, literally just rolling his eyes until his pupils disappear into the back of his head and come back out from the bottom again. Creepy. He enters while you return to the stove, busying himself with some pans and plates left out. He doesn’t look like he’s in pain, and he’s not walking around with difficulty, but he keeps his head low and facing away from the dim lights. Maybe there’s a limit to how much light he can be in, and how much darkness you could see Sun that goes past the simple ‘night and day’ setting of the Daycare.

You’ve finished one oven, spraying and moving on to the next. “Hey, you’re not hovering over my shoulder this time! Appreciate it.” You jest, sending a look in his direction. His head swivels to face you at an unnatural angle, and you meet his stare with an unwavering one of your own. “Oh, c’mon. You’ve been haunting me like a ghost all night. Is that part of the ‘security detail’ or just something you enjoy?”

Moon pokes at plastic forks melted in a nearby dishwasher. “Security detail.”

“Oh, sure.”

“And it’s funny,” He adds on, mischief in his tone. “Watching you squirm.”

An unsettling feeling in your stomach returns, but you swallow it down and flash a grin. “Wow. And to think that you’ve almost gone a whole night without trying to kill me so far.” You retort. The animatronic’s response is a dull glare with red eyes that reflect off the pots and pans in the low light, and you give a nervous shrug. “Aha.…too soon?”

“Didn’t think you’d actually come back.” Moon says. He spins a spork on his finger before catching it, putting it back down.

“…Yeah, well.” You turn away, focusing on the oven even when the pungent pizza smell was starting to make you sick. “I wasn’t sure either.”

“Hmm.” He doesn’t say anything more than that, so the silence settles.

It’s unsettling. You were starting to feel queasy and you weren’t sure if it was your own nerves or the overwhelming stench of grease that invaded your senses. At least the Chef bots didn’t have the nose to suffer it every day. Striking up a conversation might help evade the feeling.

“So…” You glance over your shoulder when the second oven is finished, and don’t even blink when Moon’s neck bends all the way backwards, looking at you upside down instead of just turning around and waiting for you to finish. “What’s your job as security detail anyway?”

Without moving his head, the rest of his body rotates so his faceplate looks correctly positioned. “We’re security. Take a nap. You need to rest.”

You ignore the last two parts. “I know you’re the security, but I mean, what do you do?” You hold the rag up for emphasis for your sentence before cringing at the layer of grime on the other side, dropping it into the trash before you continue. “I know animatronics patrol at night, but why? Why not just have functional cameras and human staff instead? Isn’t it kinda-” You wave a hand around, searching for the right words. “Extra? Inefficient?”

Moon’s head tilts to the side. You rephrase your words. “Okay, not inefficient. My bad.”

“Cheaper. Double utility out of us. Less lawsuits.” Moon walks around the maze that was the kitchen, footsteps light and quick, his usual jester walk. Someone really needed to reorganize this place. “No bad image to the public if we’re the only ones damaged.”

The room was starting to feel a little hot now that you’ve been in here for a while. You’d take off your jacket, but you doubt there was anywhere in here you could lay it down that wasn’t still covered in some layer of grease or grime. “You know, you guys say ‘we’ a lot when talking. I got a weird question, so-” You lean against a counter, and find that the weight on your legs was a bit heavier than usual. “Are you and Sun two people? Or like, two sides of the same coin?” It’s not the perfect way to phrase the question, but asking a non-human being with vividly different behaviorisms about their identity may be difficult to understand from an outside perspective, but you wanted to try. There has to be an explanation for how one was affected by a glitch, and not the other. “I mean-”

“You think we’re people?” Moon asks.

You blink. Moon has traversed half the room, closer to you. There’s an odd look on his face. You swallow before speaking, and find your throat oddly dry. Weird. “Yeah? What kind of question is that?”

A pause. Mechanisms whir from him. “We’re robots.”

“Dude, that’s an incredibly grim way of looking at things. You are clearly sentient. You have feelings and thoughts.” You poke a finger in his direction. “You’re a person. Don’t be freaked out about it.”

“We’re the Daycare Attendant.” Moon’s voice sounds a little different in tone now, something that can’t be placed. A second passes. “I’m the security detail.”

“Yeah, okay, you’re the Naptime Attendant, first of all, asshat-” You correct, cutting yourself short only when you have to blink a bit of blurriness from your eyes. Moon’s expression sharpens, but you’re a bit too preoccupied with making your point to care. “And nothing you said even argues my point.”

The animatronic feels closer, the eyes darkened. “My job-”

“Your ‘job’ isn’t your identity!” You cut him off. Pardon the annoyance in your voice, the room was starting to get a bit too hot to be comfortable, enough that you could feel a bead of sweat form at your neck, and that paired with the conversation was pressing on your already frayed nerves. “You can enjoy your job and not BE your job. I see you get sad about it-”

The distance is closing. “You’re pushing it.”

“Listen. I get it. That’s your whole…'thing’” You make a general gesture towards all of him, and instantly regret it when the movement makes your head spiral a bit. “You’re caretakers. You miss being the Naptime Attendant. You-” Moon approaches until he’s uncomfortably close, forcing you to step back until the counter bumps against your hips, and your sentence tapers off at the end with freshening fear. “-scare away the boogyman at naptime and make everyone feel safe-”

“Do you?” Moon asks, voice low, and body looming too close for comfort.

Your brows furrow, shoulders tense. “What?”

“Feel safe.” His fingers twitch at his sides. Red pupils glower down at you. “Right now.”

…

…Did you?

Well. You did promise you’d be as honest as possible. “I feel…like I’m going to throw up.”

Moon makes an odd, quiet noise that almost sounds like a laugh. “Funny.”

“No, I mean-” The world is starting to spin. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Nausea eats through the fear cleanly, and you’re pushing past the animatronic (and not that you noticed, he lets you, eyes narrowing and letting you duck underneath his arm and out from under him) to the nearest outlet you can grip onto: one of the kitchen sinks. Your entire body feels horrid, uncomfortable heat flash and an even worse feeling in your stomach and wracking against your skull. A lurching cough gags your throat and nose, and you shudder at the coming puke-

-but you don’t, because you haven’t eaten anything substantial enough in the last three days so you just dry heave for a moment until you’re face down in the sink, sweat beading off your brow, heat in your face, and feeling suddenly horrible. Where the hell was this coming from?

“Friend.” Moon’s voice sounds out from behind you. A touch on your back, gentle, but his fingers curl into the fabric. “Look at me.”

God, this was embarrassing. You look over your shoulder and hope to whatever’s out there you don’t look at bad as you feel. Judging by his expression, it wasn’t pretty.

“It’s just nerves. Maybe I ate something bad.” You lie. “I’m fine.”

“You’ll faint.” It’s not a question. For once, he sounds oddly alarmed.

You shoot him an offended look. “Look, I said I was fine-”

You push yourself off the sink too quickly and oh geeze the jester was right-

The kitchen tips and spins with blurred darkness at the edges. You don’t hit the floor as you pass out, and you somehow miss the edge of the kitchen sink that would have busted your head open if you suddenly weren’t weightless. The feeling lasts for half a second, barely enough time to process it before you blank out.

…

You dream of checkered tiled floors and tacky 80s carpet rushing underneath while you fly suspended in the air.

(Which, in retrospect, was kinda boring. You really needed to get out more if your dreams were starting to consist of just the Pizzaplex’s interior decorating.)

There’s garbled words and muffled sentences going back and forth. Short and curt, loud then soft, panicked then low. The hold around you slacks, then tightens, then your head feels like it’s swimming as it’s cupped and kept steady as you’re lowered.

Weight is removed from your shoulders, slipped down your arms and taken, so the air around you becomes a bit cooler. Something soft is cushioned behind your neck and head. You’re awake, but not quite. Groggy, light-headed, and not all there. You go to sit up-

A hand places against your chest and carefully, firmly pushes you back down. “Stay.”

…Moon?

Lights are burning behind your eyelids as something presses against your forehead, leaves as quickly as it came and is replaced by something very cold. It’s wet and dripping, water falling down your skin and into the space under your eye. It’s enough to wake you, just enough, to open your eyes with a groan as overhead lights assault your senses. “What the hell...”

“Good morning!”

The voice startles you, and your eyes fling fully open. You jolt to the side, wide-eyed, staring at the company.

Sun sits nearby, fiddling with the top cap of a water bottle, and smiles at your awareness. “It is morning, by the way. Missed the sunrise only by a few minutes!” He’s loud. The cheerfulness isn’t unwelcome though. Sun sets the newly capped bottle to the side, all big grins with hands on his knees, leaning forwards. “How ya feeling, doll?”

Groggy. You feel like you got hit by every single status in a video game ever. Your body was sore, you were thirsty, hungry, tired, lightheaded, you name it. But at least your eyelids didn’t feel as weighted, and the thing on your forehead (although a bit soaked) was helping keep the heat flash at bay. “Uh.”

“You’re in the daycare.” Sun chips in without waiting for you to ask. He pats the thing you’re resting against; a very oversized Glamrock Freddy plushie, probably the kind that costs over a hundred bucks if you’re getting one legit. “And don’t worry! You’re still on shift. The Pizzaplex doesn’t open for another hour and a half.” He pats your knee, where your jacket has been tossed over your lap. “So get comfy!”

You cut to the chase. “How…did I get here?”

“You just dropped out of the sky and right into my arms! Strange way to pop by and say hello, by I’m not complaining.” Sun laughs, winking even as you raise a brow. “Oh, don’t fuss. We brought you here!”

“Okay…” You scan the Daycare. Clean and everything where it needed to be. You were under the brightest part of the room, propped up against the front end of the security desk with a playmat underneath you, the kind they use for when the kids wanted to do cartwheels and flip. “Why?”

“Well! I’m not really someone who needs sleep but I can’t imagine the kitchen floor is a very comfortable place to take a nap.” Sun is as chipper and pleasant as ever. (Odd, considering the last conversation you had with him last night he was less than pleased about your snooping into the security tapes.)

Still, the Daycare Attendant’s head spins, elbow resting on his knee and hand propping up his cheek, and smiles. “You fainted. Gave us quite a little scare there.”

Oh, great. Not only do you look and feel horrible, but you now look weak and embarrassed to the one robot you were trying to seem competent to. “Great. Fantastic. I should probably go-”

Your attempt to rise is thwarted by a gentle pap-pap to your knee and a knowing look from Sun. Not like he had to do anything anyway; moving too much made the throbbing in your head pound behind your eyes. “Maybe sit a while longer, alright? There’s no need to rush.”

“No, no that's-” The rag that’s been glued to your forehead plops into your lap with sopped with water, and you almost miss the coolness. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to dote on me-”

He fakes a gasp. “Have you forgotten who I am?” Sun fakes offense, plucks the rag from your lap, and nonchalantly lays it flat against the back of your neck in a swift, practiced motion of someone who’s done this hundreds of times. “And, if I can honest with you.” His smile is lop-sided, voice still chipper but something underlying in it. “Coming to awareness with you barely consciousness in my arms while Moon was in a bit of a titzy right after our little…argument last night was…not good, for the sort of assumptions that came to mind.”

Ah, there it was. You sink further back against the Freddy plushie.

“You’ll have to forgive me if I’m a tad bit overbearing right now.” He picks up the water bottle and presses it gently into your hands. “Drink, please?”

Uncapping the bottle, you side-eye him (not that it bothers him, of course, sitting plain and happy) while you take a sip. The sip turns into a gulp as you realize how dry your throat is. There’s a bad taste in your mouth afterwards, and an uncomfortable feeling as the rest of your body starts to wake up and let you know just how hungry, thirsty, and stressed you were.

Except now, you’ve felt more comfortable here than you have been all night. Sun has the ability to lower your guard down, even if you don’t like it. You think you hear him snort when you’ve downed almost half the bottle. “Sorry. I don’t even know why I fainted.”

“I think we can get down to the bottom of that!” Posture straightening, Sun reaches up and grabs a pen and clipboard from atop the desk. He fakes adjusting imaginary glasses, an imaginary lab coat, and ‘clears his throat’ (which is pretty funny coming from his voice box), and shoots a playful grin. “Doctor Sun will see you now!”

As horrible as you feel, it gets a giggle out of you. “Do you have a valid medical license to be a doctor?”

“Not relevant!” He jests, pointing the pen at you. “Now! Tell me, when was the last time you had something to eat?”

“Yesterday.”

“Which was?”

“Some, uh, stale Oreos from the gas station. And the cookies you gave me.”

“Hmm, hmm. Yes, cookies.” He’s scribbling furiously on the notepad. “What else? Maybe in the last two days?”

You shrug. “I dunno. What’s it to ya?”

“Did you know that I’m equipped with several features that help me determines someone’s blood pressure, blood sugar, temperature check, and pulse detection for moderation in emergency situations?” Sun beams. You blink, and he winks at you. “Not that it matters with you, just that we can hear your stomach growling, is all. Now! What about your sleeping habits?”

You’re a tad self-conscious now, even if his whole act was comfortingly amusing. So you jest with him. “Why does it matter? Moon and you scheming something together?”

Sun taps the pen against his ‘chin’ mumbling out loud as he scribbles on the paper “Hmm, dark circles…slow-reaction…fainting…cranky attitude…”

“Hey!” You make a swipe for the clipboard, and the animatronic comically holds it out of your reach while still continually ‘writing’. “Okay! Okay, so I haven’t kept up a good sleep schedule for a few days.” Sun side eyes you. “…Maybe weeks. Only the last few days have been kicking my ass, though.”

“Language!” He dots the page a few times, pouting and nodding like he’s actually doing something, and you snort. “Let’s see here.…any life changes recently? Anything…big? Super big? Maybe…very mentally taxing?” You deadpan at him, and his smile doesn’t shift, keeping cool eye contact while ‘writing’ on the clipboard until he dots it officially and holds it up. “Alright! I’ve reached a diagnosis!”

You snort. “What’s the prognosis, doc? Am I done for?”

“Hmm, yes. I’m afraid so.” Sun flips the clipboard around. On notebook paper is a poorly scribbled doodle of you in a dunce hat. He taps the picture. “I’m afraid you have stubbornness disease. Fatal with no cure. Terribly sorry.”

Half of you wants to laugh, the other half of you wants to bonk him with the plastic water bottle. “Oh, come on!”

“So let me get this straight.” Sun tosses the clipboard up hazard over the counter, holding out his hand and counting on his fingers. “You haven’t slept properly in weeks, hardly any the past couple of nights. You haven’t eaten or drunk anything properly nutritious in at least a few days. You’ve been doing constant physical labor while in poor condition with a work schedule that’s inconsistent at best and detrimental at worst, have been under immensely stressful situations including some that may be considered traumatic-” He pauses at the last one, unfurling a finger outwards to count. “And you’ve been running on fumes from spite, will, and stale cookies, and fainting still comes as a surprise to you?”

Alright, you don’t really have a good excuse out of this one, so you just start chugging the water.

“Goodness,” Sun says, hand on his cheek and sighing. “You’re a caretaker’s worst nightmare.”

You open your mouth to retort (not like his whole behavior about the situation beforehand made it any better anyway) but a sound at the door interrupts you. There’s a solid twice knock, and Sun’s head looks at the sound with expectancy. “Oh, perfect timing!”

He stands up from his spot so quickly that his figure blurs, and bounds away to the door while you’re digging in your pockets for your phone. It’s low on battery, but you squint at the time as he opens the door and peaks his head outside. “Hey, the daycare isn’t supposed to be open yet!”

“That’s true! It’s not!” Sun calls back out to you and then sticks his head right back out the doorway.

You’re halfway debating on diving back behind the security desk so some unfortunate early-bird parent doesn’t see you in your disheveled state when the doors crack open a little wider, and you peer over the edge. It’s a Staff-bot, and it’s holding a small flat box with the Pizzaplex symbol on the front, and another water bottle, both of which are handed to Sun as the Daycare Attendant greets it. “Thank you! I’d tip you, but I’m afraid the only currency I have is gratitude and glitter glue.”

Sun steps back, and the staff bot’s head turns to your crumpled form sitting on the floor. The stare is awkward, so you give a little wave of your fingers. To your surprise, the staff bot hesitates, gives you a slow, plain thumbs-up, then turns and rolls away.

The Daycare Attendant gives his own little wave, then shuts and relocks the door back behind it, turning with a spin and holding the box up in the air. “Pizza delivery!”

You pull the wet rag from your neck, raising a brow. “For?”

“Not for me, obviously.” He laughs, one arm reaching for the cupboards by the door searching for something, grabbing a small white box before taking his place back beside you, dropping to sit crisscrossed. The pizza box is placed on your lap. “Staff bots caught wind of what happened. Nice fellas, they are! Whipped up a small pizza, just for you for your ‘lunch break’.” He opens the box, digging through the contents. You spot the first-aid symbol on the front. “Said they’d take care of the leftover cleaning. Isn’t it nice to have friends that look out for you?”

Your shoulder raises up to your chin, and you sink back into the Freddy plushie. “Great. Now all of the pizzaplex knows I fainted.”

“Pretty sure I heard someone wanted to be friends with everyone in the pizzaplex.” Sun pulls out something small and plastic. A thermometer, it looks like. “The caring goes both ways, you know.”

He holds it out to you, and you take it, though pressing your lips together in a line. “Thought you had a built-in temp checker?”

“We do!” Sun holds up his hands in a semblance of jazz hands. “The temp sensors in my hands and fingers are for checking things like baby food, formula bottles, and the temples of little ones.” He taps his own head for show. “But I don’t think that’s appropriate for an adult, unless you want me to hold your face for a good minute.”

The realization makes your face feel hot for a different reason. “Forget everything I just said in the last minute.”

Sun salutes you. “You got it!”

He tidies up the first-aid box while you stick the thermometer in your cheek, pressing the button and inspecting the pizza. A flip of the lid tells you it was plain cheese and small, but it was hot and fresh. Not the most nutritious, but it’s something to sit in your stomach until you get something better, and the water would wash any bits too greasy down anyways. Not the first time you’ve had pizza for breakfast.

Sitting here was a bit awkward in the silence, so you press. “So uh,” You look to the side. “The security tapes…”

Sun doesn’t answer, rather humming something softly, the same theme you hear over the Daycare speakers sometimes, while organizing all the stuff back into place in the first-aid kit. “You should stay here and rest for a bit under your shift is over, then be sure to go home and take plenty of time for yourself-!”

“Sunny, I want to talk about it.” You’re not going to be deterred this time. “I saw what happened. I’m still your friend.”

To your surprise, Sun looks up with a blank smile, a defaulted expression. “Are you sure that’s good for you?”

“You tried to keep me safe from day one.” Your voice comes out odd with the plastic in your mouth. “But you still hid things from me.”

“Hid things? From you?” He rolls the words over in his voice again, coy-toned. “People’s pasts that have nothing to do with you, are not obligated to be shown to you, you know.” Sun’s demeanor isn’t harsh or accusatory, but it still feels like a scolding. Or maybe defensive. “You’re very invested in private stories that don’t belong to you.”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “You’re very invested in humans that don’t belong to you either.”

Sun’s spinning slows, his face blank. There’s a quiet pause as the sentence settles.

Then, he lifts a hand and plucks the thermometer from your mouth rather curtly. “Running a mild fever.”

He nudges the pizza box on your lap, and despite your attitude, you’re too hungry to refuse. There’s a momentary pause while you pull a piece out, taking a large bite and trying to look serious despite having a face full of cheese at the moment. “We’re they your friends too?” You ask, and your sentence is muffled by cheese and tomato sauce. “The other employees, I mean. The Daycare Assistants.”

Sun holds the packed first-aid kit for a moment, hesitating, then stands to return it to the cupboard. “It would have been nice! But, no. No, they weren’t. Not like you.”

You wonder out loud in-between bites. “Why not? Why me but not them?”

“You think we’re people!” Sun laughs, closing the cupboard. He turns to you with upturned eyes and a smile that looks thin.  “Isn’t that weird?”

The unsettled feeling in your stomach returns. Looking away, you swallow the bite in hopes it dashes the unpleasantness away. It’s probably something more complicated than hunger, and the issue was probably something more complicated than what you were equipped to deal with right now, judging by your argument with Moon earlier.

It’s a mental note that you make to unpack later. “Figured I’d ask.” You’re already on your second slice, biting down while Sun sits back next to you. There’s nothing else to keep him busy, nowhere to put his hands, so he lays them in his lap, fingers tapping against his legs in fidgets like you’ve known him to do when he sits too still for too long. Neither of you was going anywhere, for the time being. “…I asked Moon earlier. You know, if you were two different people.” You sip your water and frown when you find the bottle empty.

His head tilts, looking at you quizzically. “Does it matter?”

You almost choke on your food, but you swallow it down quickly enough. “I don’t know! I just thought, maybe…Maybe there was something to do with it having that Moon’s the only one affected by the…glitch? The thing. Virus. Something. I don’t know. Whatever…happened.” You’re a fumble with words, but he doesn’t interrupt. “Happening...still happening. Yeah. Whatever it is. Maybe there’s a connection somewhere that’s got to do with it only affecting Moon, and not you?”

Sun is quiet, no jester quips from him.

“You’re not affected by the glitch, right?” You ask again, brows furrowing. “Sun-”

“You don’t know how many times you came close to death tonight, do you?” Sun’s voice is cold. Unfitting for him.

Your face hardens. “Me and Moon got along for the whole shift!” You defend. Sun’s response is a knowing, hard tilt of his head, and you throw up your hand into the air in exasperation. “Okay, fine. We bickered. But there wasn’t any…real danger. Just…just, it was working! It was progress! Sure, it was a little scary at moments but he can interact with humans just fine-!”

“Restraint isn’t effortless.” He speaks plainly. He sounds like Moon when he’s upset. Weird.

“Restraint?” You repeat. The empty water bottle crinkles when you clench it. “What do you mean? How would you know?”

“If we had all the answers for how things happened or any solutions, we would have fixed things a long time ago, and we’re not willing to stake a friend’s life over our own issues because something looks like it’s working.“ Sun holds out the second water bottle. “Drink, please?”

Irritation twitches and you cover the uneasy feeling lingering by swiping the bottle away from him. He doesn’t take offense to it and just leans back while you take a few gulps. In your defense; you were really dehydrated. “Yeah, well. I wish you trusted me more to help you. Caring goes both ways, dude. Don’t be a hypocrite.“

Sun pipes up like he’s going to say something in retort, then pauses. Sunrays rotate once, twice, then still back in the proper place. When he speaks, the nervousness you’ve known him for is creeping back into his tone.“…These situations are vastly different!”

You take a bite and lean in with a cheek full of cheese. “But I’m right, aren’t I?”

Sunrays move to the left, right, back in position. White eyes and a blank smile glower down at you for a few seconds too long and your only response is to cock an eyebrow at the animatronic’s silence. Eventually, he relents. “Okay, you’re right. But our point still stands!”

You raise a hand and ‘chop’ him in between the eyes. “I diagnose you with stubbornness.”

Sun’s faceplate presses into your palm, and he sighs, exasperated. “…Fatal with no cure, I fear.”

“But what if there was?” You ask, moving your hand to the side just so a white eye could stare quizzically at you. “For the glitch I mean. It wouldn’t happen right away, but it wouldn’t hurt to give it a shot! We could treat it like a sickness, like…like exposure therapy or something. I don’t know what to call it. But it could work.”

“Oh ho ho?” Sun leans closer, and your hand fiddles with sunrays atop his head, blinking as they shrink lower into his head. “Is this the part where you convince us of your elaborate plan?”

“Think about it.” You urge, flashing the most convincing smile you could muster. “Glitch makes you malfunction, right? You, Moon, whoever. Impulsive stuff. Act out. But I’ve been working here for months. Me and Moon; we interacted in controlled environments. Like, always behind the glass or at the edge of light or something. We got used to each other. You know like cats do-” You’re rambling, but Sun doesn’t interrupt, head in hand and letting you talk. There’s a small sound at the Daycare’s door that goes unacknowledged. “If Moon, or the glitch, can eventually tolerate me, then it could work with everyone else! Moon could go back to being the Naptime Attendant! You could leave the Daycare!”

He humors you. “Oh? And who’s the test dummy for this whole experiment?”

You gesture to yourself. “Me, duh.”

Sun’s head does a complete 180 away from you, arms crossed. “Then we are not interested!”

“Sun! Buddy, c’mon!” You reach forward, pizza and water are forgotten, and grip two of his sunrays. The Daycare Attendant makes an odd noise as you pull backward until his head was flipped upside down, holding onto the sides of his face so he couldn’t turn away. White eyes stare at your audacity, but you’re insistent. “Trust me on this!”

You can’t tell if it’s the subject matter or the fact that you were the one initiating the closeness this time, but the Daycare Attendant seems to freeze, and you can hear the metaphorical gears turning in his head, probably along with the real ones. “You really think it would work?” He questions. “You’re scared.”

Confidence falters in your face, but you pick it back up. “Stop analyzing me and give it a shot.”

For a moment, white eyes star back inches from your own (You think you see pupils. White, faint, but they were there.) The robot is still, like a statue, and you wonder if there was a conversation you weren’t hearing. Then, there’s a single mechanical click. “Alright.”

You blink. “Really?”

There’s a jolt, Sun rights himself and you pull back your hands as the animatronic faces you fully, hand raised. “On some conditions-” You outwardly groan, wiping a hand down your face and the robot just ignores you and continues. “We already promised to be honest, so we’ll promise to give your plan a shot if you promise to back out if some things start looking…not good.” The Daycare Attendant lowers a hand. “Promise?”

You slap your hand into his and snort when the jester laces it into a pinky promise instead. Of course he does. “Promise.”

There’s something still uncertain in his expression, but the gesture seems satisfying enough. You go to pull your hand back, just for the metal hand to clasp your hand fully, fingers long enough to wrap around your wrist. “Uh.”

"How are you feeling now?" Sun asks, smile stretching. "Feel a bit better?"

You squint at him. "I don't feel like I'm going to pass out again if that's what you mean."

“Perfect! Now that’s out of the way..” Sun stands in one fluid motion, pulling you up with him. Vertigo returns and the world spins for a second, but you’re righted as a hand finds itself around your waist, fingers curled into your jacket so it didn't fall to the ground. “I didn’t want to interrupt you earlier, but there’s been a guest at the door waiting for the past three minutes and fifty-six seconds! I need to prep the Daycare for opening, so this feels like the perfect time to say hello!”

You are all but guided to the door, even when your feet drag against the floor. “Wait! I don’t want a parent to see me like this!”

“Parent?” Sun laughs “Oh, no no no. It’s your escort!”

“…My what?!”

“Well, we can’t follow you!” He stops for a moment and you briefly think he’s spinning you (please, god, don’t. You’re queasy enough as it is and you’d risk being sick again) but he doesn’t, instead just holding you in a mock waltz-a habit of his, you notice-and stands right by the door. “You didn’t think we’d let you leave without some sort of escort, did you? You fainted! What if it happened again? You could fall and hit your head! Or down some stairs, down a trash chute, on a staff bot…”

This was either genuine, some form of embarrassing revenge, or both. You outwardly groan. “I am perfectly fine to clock out by myself.”

As if to spite you, fingers lace your own and you are gently, but reluctantly, ‘danced’ in place. “I’ve got just as many friends here in the pizzaplex as you do, you know. And someone was really worried when they heard the news!” Unlocking the door with one hand, holding you (frowning, disgruntled, embarrassed) in the other, Sun opens the Daycare doors. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Fazbear?”

Freddy stands outside the Daycare, hands clasped together politely, wide-eyed at the sudden entrance. He lifts a hand and gives a small wave. “Good morning!”

You blanch. Yeah. Something was totally fishy. “…Hi Freddy.”

Sun smiles, pushing you past the daycare entrance while you inwardly curse him out inside your head. Freddy looks to you expectantly. It almost feels like you’re being scanned, by which robot you’re not sure, but the pause passes. Freddy smiles, voice soft. “I hope you don’t mind me accompanying you out of the Pizzaplex, if that’s alright.”

You can’t be mad at him. Nervous? Maybe, but never mad. “Yeah, I uh, I don’t mind.” Freddy’s eyes turn upwards, and you share a kind look before turning back over to Sun waiting patiently in the doorway. “See you tomorrow?”

“Don't forget!” Sun's holding out your jacket, polite as you slip your arms into it and wrap it back around yourself. The heat was still there, feverish, but not as bad. The animatronics share a small exchange about the theme of the jacket and Freddy's flattery of the logo, something you don't tune in on while Sun props the door open, readying for the day. Just general small talk.

"See you tomorrow." Sun's smile looks genuine. Hopefully, it actually is. “We’ll be waiting.”

...To discuss the plan. Right. You had needed to come up with an actual game plan past just your general concept.

He waves the two of you off as Freddy guides you away from the Daycare, and your head is swirling. Whether it’s from processing the last few hours, having two eventful nights in a row, or the stress-induced sickness still pounding at the edge of your mind, you can’t tell, but Freddy’s voice breaks through it as you’re walking through the hall.

“I’m told you had a very stressful shift tonight.” He’s gentle when he talks, a hand coming up to rest on your shoulder. His smile is kind. “You know, I’d like to talk to you about how important it is to have a good work-life balance.”

Ah, there it is. You’re about to get lectured for the 5th time tonight by a robot bear.

Well played, Sun, well played.

You stomach it, no pun intended. You’ve got your real work cut out for you later, anyways.

Chapter Text

Whatever illness came over you last night didn’t leave when it was time to get up for your shift the next morning. You weren’t sick enough to call out, (not like you would want to miss the pay or get any written-up marks for doing so on such short notice anyway) but it’s enough to make you gargle salt water and actually take the time to scour your fridge for something to eat that’s light enough on your stomach, even if it does make you a bit late to leave. Your fever didn’t linger and the nausea is fended off by some saltine crackers and water, but the ache in your muscles feels a little more tender than usual. You give a sigh when your bathroom cabinet doesn’t show any signs of pain reliever. A trip down to the gas station before your shift, then.

You dress in your usual attire; uniform and jacket with the Freddy head on the back, paired with the Sun and Moon nametag on the front. You put it on the front of your jacket this time instead of just on your shirt. You wear it enough that if any staff bot or management or customer had an issue with your out-of-uniform custom tag, someone would have said something by now.

The sun is setting over the horizon as you grab your keys and leave the apartment. Your shift was close to the end of the Pizzaplex’s regular working hours, so you got to sleep for all of the daylight hours since you got home this morning. Sun was right; your work schedule was inconsistent at best and detrimental at worst. You were spending almost all your time at the pizzaplex, now that you think about it. Maybe you should invest in a sleeping bag in your car, or bring an extra duffle bag of clothes to work just to cut the middle time out. At least it paid well and your coworkers never annoyed you. Most of the time.

The gas station on the way to work is as empty as usual. You don’t even ever see the human attendant anymore, probably quit or got fired since the staff bot at the front counter took care of everything. You don’t linger, just find a bottle of ibuprofen and a protein bar that’s a bit too pricy for your liking (gotta love price inflation nowadays) and slide up to the counter, putting your items up front and looking for your wallet in your pockets.

The staff bot doesn’t say anything when you approach, but you talk out of habit anyways. “This is all for me tonight, thanks.”

Movements robotic, it rings up your items, displays your total on the small screen, and waits for you to fork over the cash. “Hello. Lovely weather we are having.”

You blink, fingers halfway pulling out a few bills. Well, that was a first. You’ve never heard anything from it that wasn’t a price or a generic recording on where to find on what shelf. “Uh…yeah. Yeah, it’s nice. It’s getting colder.”

“Your total is $8.95.” It holds its hands out and you wordlessly place a ten in its palm. Without breaking eye contact, it retrieves your change from the register with quick motions and perfect precision, and drops it into your hand. “Thank you. Have a nice day.”

“Right, right.” You stuff the pocket change into your wallet, collect your purchases and throw a wave over your shoulder as you exit. “Thanks, you too.”

It doesn’t say anything else and it never waves back, but its head shifts slightly in your direction just as the doorbell finishes ringing as you leave, climbing back into your car and going to work. You should probably give that guy a name. Actually, maybe ask it first if it even wanted one. It doesn’t strike you as sentient as the animatronics, or even the staff bot that wandered the pizzaplex, but human nature did have a funky habit of getting attached to their appliances anyway. That, and Fazbear Entertainment was notorious for their state-of-the-art technology. The distant future of automations among men wasn’t so distant, even if a current example was your local gas station employee.

The protein bar is scarfed down in-between red lights and slow traffic, and you take ibuprofen dry and force it down as you enter the pizzaplex. It’s around 9 PM, so an hour and a half or so until the pizzaplex officially closes. A few families linger, some tired mothers being hounded by their still hyperactive children trying to drag them away from the door and back towards the arcade or the showroom. A few stray eyes fall in your direction, but quickly land on the nametag on your jacket and fall away. No one was concerned with the late-shift employee that was walking in, at least not at the moment. You weren’t keen on sticking around if some kid made a mess and left you with the cleanup.

Management sent you an email in the early hours of the morning of your tasks for the night: clean and take out the trash in the usual areas. There was also an arcade machine that needed to be investigated as there were a couple of customer complaints that it was just eating coins without working. You’re no mechanic, but you could at least determine if it’s something as simple as a faulty screen or just need a hard reset. Aside from that, you just need to take the blankets from the Daycare down to the washroom. Usual, routine stuff. Your shift is a rather short one.

You head to the janitorial closet you left your cart in last you remember just to freeze. Not far from the closet door, a family stands with Monty, taking some last-minute pictures while the robot flexes and poses. None of them seem to notice you walking by, blending it with whoever else was lingering in the pizzaplex. Normally, you’d wave hello, but the alligator’s form was enough to raise the hairs on the back of your neck, so you busy yourself with the janitor’s door.

You just needed to get your cart and leave, saving the awkward discussion for another day. You were a master at avoidance at this point. Pulling by the handle, you steer the cart out from the closet-

-and get it stuck in the doorway. A few more tugs doesn’t dislodge it, but makes a wracking sound as the edges scuff up against the doorframe. You look down and glare at the points of contact; the funky wheel that’s notorious for pushing the steer to one side was caught in between where the doorframe and the door hinges meet, and any further prying just rattles it. A couple of eyes glance over in your direction as you tug at it again, and sigh. You’re going to have to find Freddy. “Great, just great.”

A few heavy footsteps and shadow comes over you and the cart. A lump forms in your throat as you curse the scene you’ve made yourself noticeable in, and turn around.

Red eyes glower down at you, moving to the cart, and back again. Monty makes a noise that resembles clearing his (non-existent) throat. “Hey.”

“Hi.” You respond back instantly, dryly, and turn around to keep jostling the cart out of the bind. It doesn’t work. The family that was taking up Monty’s attention gave you a weird look before walking away.

Said animatronic doesn’t settle in the silence. “Looks like it’s stuck.”

Obviously. This is awkward. Very awkward. “Yeah, well. It does that sometimes.” You avoid eye contact, lightly kicking the cart for emphasis. It makes a metal bonk noise against your shoe and doesn’t help your case from looking any less pathetic. “It fights me all the time. The wheel is messed up. Freddy got it out for me once, I’ll just ask him again if I see him.”

A glance at the alligator shows his expression thinning, but he doesn’t bare his teeth. Not yet, anyways. You still get nervous about it. “He’s busy,” Monty says rather curtly. A raised brow in his direction makes him continue. “There’s a new song on the roster. He’ll be rehearsing it all night with Chica tonight.”

“Oh, cool. Good for him.” You fiddle with your jacket pockets, hands stashed away. You could almost cut through the tension with a knife. “Shouldn’t…you be rehearsing too? You know, since you’re in the band.”

Something in Monty’s face sours. Sharp teeth poke out from his maw.

Wrong thing to say! Not sure why, but wrong thing to say it looks like! “Nevermind. I don’t know your schedule, just forget it.” You wave him off, speaking a little too quickly, and turn back to the cart. Putting both hands on the handle, you give it another fruitless tug. “Just give me a minute to pull this out and I’ll get out of your way.”

In the corner of your eye, the gator fidgets. A small, minuscule part of you flashes back to being slammed against the wallpaper back in the alligator’s room when a purple and green hand comes into your vision, and you freeze momentarily in the two-second fear until you process that Monty was shooing you out of the way. “Move, Runt. You’ll scuff the door.”

You step back, blinking. Monty doesn’t look at you when he yanks the cart backward. There’s a small metal-on-wood screech of the wheel popping out of the space it was stuck in, now just another tug is needed to get the rest of the cart out of the space. Remind yourself never to park the cart in this tiny ass janitorial closet again. The animatronic deadpans at it. “This thing looks like shit. What did you do to it?”

It’s a cleaning cart. Of course it’s going to look like shit. There’s wet trash gunk and old slushie stained on the side of it. Sarcasm is your default response. “I told you I get into fights with it all the time. It just loses a lot.”

Monty side-eyes you.

“Except this time...this time it gets to win.” You give a half-hearted grin, fingers nervously fidgeting in your pockets. The gator grumbles something you can’t hear, and you’re left scanning the tacky carpet and room for something to focus on outside of the animatronic himself. A couple of families still lingered, but none seemed interested in your interactions, mainly heading for the exit as the Pizzaplex was entering its closing hours.

Monty pulls again and you wince at the popping noise as the cart juts out from the doorframe a little further. He frowns, makes a noise that almost resembled a growl, and pulls again, this time a little harsher. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was restraining his strength from just yanking the cart outwards out of the closet. It was very clear that he could; Freddy had unstuck it before with little effort, why Monty doesn’t do the same is beyond you, rather than taking his time. There’s always claw marks around his star door, so you doubt he’s doing it out of respect for the building. He was completely capable of wrenching the cart out in one pull.

Unless he was purposely trying to do it with as little force as manageable so he didn’t scare you, but that’s…probably not it. “So, uh. Where’s your sunglasses?”

Your attempt at small talk is again, another wrong thing to say, and you instantly regret it as the gator stops in his motions and sends you a look that makes you want to walk in the other direction. Monty opens his mouth, and you freeze at the sight of razor teeth, and inwardly scold yourself for your fight-or-flight instinct when he gives you a curt answer. “Lost 'em.”

“Oh.” Your arms cross, fingers tapping against your sleeve. “Where did you last lose them?”

Monty suddenly yanks the cart with more force than previously used, creating a wretched, harsh scraping sound, and it wrenches it out of the door frame hard enough it almost bounces on its wheel on the carpet coming out. Bits of drywall and wood paint flake off the side of the cart, in line with the drag marks now aligning the door and frame. The funny wheel that was giving your trouble earlier this week was crooked even more so now

If he had skin, his knuckles would probably be pale with how hard he was gripping the handle, he threatened to break it. “I don’t remember. Do you want this thing back or not?”

“Oh, huh. That sucks.” You fidget, almost missing the glasses because at least they’d give some sort of buffer between Monty’s glare and you. Now he doesn’t look like the poster image that’s displayed everywhere, what a signature thing to lose. Funny, some kids and adults would still have their own set of star sunglasses while Monty’s was missing-

Wait! New idea incoming!

You talk quickly as it comes to mind, taking a step back in the direction of the nearest gift shop. “I have an idea! Don’t go anywhere.” You finger gun at him, hiding your nerves and turn and speed walking to your destination like you didn’t just leave a particularly grumpy and large animatronic still gripping onto your janitorial cart and staring wide-eyed at your sudden departure like you dared to have the audacity.

The gift shop is closed thanks to the Pizzaplex being so close to its official closed, so there are no families inside or anyone lingering save for the staff-bot cashier that’s in sleep mode by the counter. There’s a collection of items, usually knick-knacks or trinkets, or costume-wear and clothing that mimicked the main cast. Small top hats for Freddy, some shoes with his face on the front, earrings that looked like Chica’s, a make-up palette, leather jackets for Roxy’s line, and so on. More than likely, you can find some star sunglasses here. You see kids and their parents wearing them pretty often walking around the pizzaplex; it was a popular selling item.

There’s nothing for the Daycare Attendants, you notice. Though you’re not surprised. Most if not all the merch for the Daycare Attendant was reserved for the Daycare’s check-in and gift shop area. A shame; you would have grabbed something.

You find them. Star sunglasses made for adults, exact replicas of how Monty’s are supposed to look, but with actual side pieces instead of the band around the back considering the gator didn’t have any ears to hold the glasses up. It’s situated between the mohawk hat, silly bands and a shoulder bag that is oddly fitted to look like Monty’s face, so you grab it and turn on your heel back towards the door. You should probably pay for this, but well...call it employee compensation. Plus, you’re a little afraid to look at the price tag.

The staff bot doesn’t wake from rest mode as you walk out and no alarm systems start blaring, so you walk back to where you left. Monty is still standing by the cleaning cart, looking more than a little irritated and with a scrunched expression. He’s humoring you, sure, but he still looked annoyed about it. He raises a metal brow at your approach and you ignore him, momentarily, to reach for something on the cleaning cart.

The gator squints at the sunglasses in your hands while you pull rubber bands and string out from your supply. “That ain’t gonna work.”

“Trust me.” You snap the legs of the sunglasses so it was just the star lenses, leaving a small hole on the sides where the support was. Breaking a rubber band to make it one long length, you tie it to the ends of the string you put through the hole, and repeat it on the other side. There, now there’s a pseudo strap from the sunglasses. not the best strength or look, but it’ll do.

“Here.” You hand him the newly fashioned sunglasses. They look exactly the same as his old ones, save for the band around them being a different color, but it wouldn’t be that noticeable. Monty’s gaze drops down to your offering before going back up to your face, and you smile. “Hey, c’mon. I don’t bite.”

“…Hilarious.” He plucks the sunglasses from your grip rather harshly and fits them to his face. It’s a little awkward getting them on at first, like he’s never taken his previous ones off before, but he manages it over his mohawk. He looks into the reflection of the glass to make sure the band sits snug, and huffs something akin to satisfaction. “I coulda done something like this but better.”

In a way, this was an olive branch. “Sure you can. Maybe you can do that later.”

A low noise rumbles from the back of Monty’s throat, but he pushes the cart toward you. Its bad wheel squeaks before you stop it with your hand, and the gator continues. “Don’t go into my room without permission.”

You feel the weight of tension settle on your shoulders again, and take a breath. “Yeah, sure. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“With permission,” Monty repeats. “As long as you don’t touch my bass, we’ll get along fine.”

He’s being polite, or at least trying to be. Just laying ground rules and boundaries. You gotta give him kudos for putting in the effort lest the two of you find yourselves in a cycle of avoidance again.

“Next time ya need to go in one of our rooms, you ask. But it’s fine. There’s no cameras in ours, you ain’t gonna get written up if they start using them again one day to take a break.“ You want to kindly remind him that you actually had a task in his room prior to all of this but he continues. Monty’s expression twists, voice low. “Maybe you’d get a breather from that hovering scrap metal freak.”

You blink. “Who-?”

“The Daycare Attendant.”

Oop. Nevermind. You feel your facade drop into a frown. “Monty, that’s my friend you’re talking about.”

A noise like a snort comes through his muzzle. “You should get better friends. Less dangerous ones.”

Your hands clench around the cart’s handle. “What? Like you?”

Monty’s glare narrows, a tooth poking out from his maw. “You’re a difficult little runt, you know that?”

On the inside, you’re grateful that any lingering families have cleared out from this area so they didn’t witness their local favorite gator getting into an argument with the employee. Though you highly doubt anyone would take your side and would rather cheer on their favorite band member instead. You swallow the lingering sense of anxiety down with your persistent irritation. “You’re not exactly easy to get along with yourself.”

The gator opens his mouth, pauses, then shuts it closed with half of a snarl. There’s a moment of awkward silence, and you search for an out. Briefly, you consider calling this interaction a loss and just walking away before the gator could get any ideas to bully you and maybe stuff the cart back into the closet when the animatronic clears his throat, and begrudgingly, speaks again. “Look.” Monty sighs, and you wonder how he does when robots have no need for lungs. “Freddy wants us to be friends.”

Ah, that explains it. Now you’re rooted to the spotless out of anxiety and more of obligation to make the Fred-bear happy, somehow. “…So?”

“So I’m sorry.” Monty, to your surprise, sounds genuine. “For how I acted. Back then, I mean.” He adjusts his glasses, hiding his eyes, a fidget of his. “And for, ya know. Scaring ya. What with the wall and all.”

Well. This was not the interaction you were expecting to have when you woke up for your shift today, not that it’s not welcome, but you didn’t have a response prepared for it. There’s a few seconds where the two of you just stare at each other while you process, and you don’t know who’s more awkward, you or the gator that’s trying to look anywhere other than you.

“Cool. Great, uh-” A nervous smile, you give him a thumbs up. A signature of yours. “I’m sorry too. You know, for all the things I said and barging in on your space.”

“Right.” Monty fiddles with the sunglasses’ band.

“Yeah, right.” You resist the urge to clear your throat. “So, uh, we cool now?”

Monty opens his mouth, but the sentence he speaks is interrupted by the Pizzaplex’s intercom speaker. “The Pizzaplex will close in one hour. Please finish up playtime, collect your belongings and any wayward children. Freddy and the gang will be doing last-minute photoshoots near the exit, regular charges still apply. Have a Faztastic day!”

That was your beloved cue to leave, and so you give the gator a better smile this time. “I think that’s your call. I better get going.”

“Yeah.” Monty rolls his shoulders in a way that reminds you of a human relieving tension, turning towards the exit. “We’re cool. See you around.” A casual wave over his shoulder, a small pause before he continues. “Seriously. Maybe find a new hobby other than hangin’ around clowns.”

“Bye, Monty.” You emphasize, still a smile in your voice and watching as the gator huffs and stalks off.

Well that was…nice. Probably the best outcome, considering the situation. Awkward, sure, but at least the air was clearer, and it would do wonders for your anxiety now knowing you didn’t have to be careful in the hallways to avoid Monty. Now that you think of it, you should have had this conversation sooner. Maybe you’re both cowards. Sort of. Thanks, Freddy.

You’ll head to the daycare first. A little ironic, considering Monty’s commentary, but the lights will be turning off in about an hour or two, and you’d like to spend time with Sun before you face Moon for the night.

There are a few lingering families deeper into the pizzaplex, but it was clear most of them were gearing up ready to leave. Several mothers and fathers holding onto their children's hands are tugging them towards the doors, despite their protests, and you spot several children sleeping in their parent’s arms as they’re carried to the exit or gift shops. The Daycare would have closed by now, so most if not all of the children would have been checked out if no one was late.

One child catches your eye halfway to the Daycare. A small, blonde girl with pigtails, probably no older than 4 or 5 years was being carried by her father to the doors. She’s wet-eyed with her fingers curled into her father’s shirt, and her other arm wrapped around a plushie dear and treasured. It’s Moon. She was holding a little Moon plushie, something she’s had for a while judging by the worn fabric, and cradling it close to her body. You’ve seen her before, you think. Not in person though. This was the girl from the security footage, the one who liked to wave at the camera.

The memory of that night creates a sour taste in your mouth. You’re careful not to make eye contact or to appear weird that you’ve noticed such a detail, and continue pushing the cart towards the Daycare as they pass by.

The Naptime Attendant was still remembered fondly in some hearts, it seems, despite the public bloodshed.

The Daycare doors are closed when you arrive, but not locked, so you crack it open and push it back with your side as you drag the cart over the end and into the room. You make sure to shut the door behind you and lock it. What people left in the cafeteria area outside the Daycare barely noticed you through the glass, busy trying to walk to their last-minute attraction or cashing in all their tickets at the gift shop, but the last thing you wanted was for a stranger or some kid to interrupt your work.

You park the cart by the security desk, cup your hands around your mouth and yell into the Daycare. “Sun! I’m here to steal all your blankets!” Your voice echoes throughout the daycare, bouncing back at you. A pause. “Well, I’m not stealing them. I gotta take them down to the washroom for the staff bots to do laundry. Give me your junkiest blankets-”

“Oh, h-hello! You’re here early!” Sun’s voice rings out from…somewhere. You blink into the empty daycare when he speaks again. “I’ll be right with you! Just sit tight for a moment!”

Scanning the room doesn’t reveal him, and you’re about to start peeking into tunnels when a grating noise comes from around the corner, and you poke your head out to see what a slide and a funnel was hiding from you.

Sun is hanging in the air, maybe only five or six feet off the ground, but absolutely tangled up in the wire used to fly the Daycare Attendant around the Pizzaplex. The animatronic himself, wire wrapped around sun rays, gives a nervous laugh at the sight of you. “Don’t mind me, just uh-, a little bit of in a bind here, ha. I promise I’m actually very well aquatinted with flying, you know, but the darn things just-” he tries to unwrangle himself, pulling it away from his sunrays and wire snaps back at him in the face. “-just difficult!”

“Oh, man.” Gods, you refrain from mocking him, but the smile inching on your face tells your mood well enough. Sun doesn’t seem to mind, at least, embarrassed and stammering as you approach and stand underneath him. Laughing, you put your hands on your hips and gaze up at the rising Sun. “How does this even happen?”

“Well!” He says, animated and moving one hand to emphasize the start of the story, and it spins him in a circle from the momentum. “There was one little one last to be checked out, but poor things got a case of the jitters! Scared little sweetheart, shy thing too. Doesn’t really care for little ole me all that much-” He’s continuing to spin, almost swimming in the air to try and keep facing you. “Not really a fan of hanging around me, so…I decided maybe a little aerial surveillance would do better! She gets to play and keep her space, and I get to make sure she’s safe until her father arrives!”

Reaching up, you try to pull on one of the wires. You catch one the third time swinging and hold it in place so the poor animatronic doesn’t get motion sick. Can animatronics get motion sick? “So, did it work out?”

“Sorta!” Sun’s smile is pensive. “The sight of me flying freaked her out even more. So she threw toys at me and I got all tangled up in the panic.”

Aw, poor guy. You’re still snickering though. “That’s uh, really unfortunate.”

“You can laugh.” Sun almost sighs, and watches as you choke down a few giggles. “It’s very well known that my flying abilities are a little bit rusty.”

“Maybe you just need practice.” Hooking your fingers around the wire, you give it a tug to no avail. You drop back to the ground, you can’t keep jumping up to try and get him. “Can you lower your drop to the floor? It would be easier to untangle you if you weren’t hanging.”

Sun almost grimaces. “About that…there’s ah, a bit of a disconnect between communicating how I go up or down. I’m afraid if I try to tell it to make me go down, it won’t do that.”

Hmm, what a pickle. You circle him for a moment, thinking, and Sun makes an extra effort to spin in a circle just so he’s face-to-face with you during your observation. “Maybe...disconnect the wire? You’d drop a few feet but I can pull the cart underneath you to catch you.”

“Tried that! It’s not responding to my command.” Sun continues to drift. “I’d do it manually if I wasn’t a bit tied up at the moment.” He winks at you, and you stick out your tongue at the obvious pun. “Say, go grab that ladder of yours! Just a click of a latch and it should be able to unhook me. Easy!”

An odd, cold feeling shutters in your chest, but leaves. You weren’t really willing to go grab that thing, and especially not willing to go fetch it halfway across the pizzaplex and just leave the poor animatronic hanging here. So, an idea comes to mind, and you jump up to catch a wire that’s wound across his legs. “Hold on, I have a better idea.”

Sun’s face goes from hopeful to apprehensive. “Friend-!”

“I think maybe I can pull you down with my weight! Or maybe just unhook you like this, it’s not that far from the ground.” You start climbing up him, literally. It takes some upper arm strength and while you’re not the best, the swinging motions of the wire help you carry yourself up until you can hook your fingers around another wire, or use his immobile arm and shoulder as a hand-hold.

There’s a small, jerky sudden drop about a foot to the floor, and you turn to Sun who looks less than calm at the moment. “Try not to move too much! I’ll reach behind you.”

The Daycare Attendant looks rather nervous. “Friend, maybe this isn’t such a great ideaaaaaaAAAAA-”

The both of you are flung into the air.

Well, ‘flung’ being that the cord rapidly retracts up towards the ceiling, and you and Sun both are yanked upwards until you are quite far from the floor, and swinging from the momentum. Your yelp of surprise synch’s with his, and the animatronic’s arms are struggling against the wire bounds until one is able to break free through a loop just in a split second as you lose your grip and start to fall backward.

A long arm wraps around your midsection and you're pulled so quickly and harshly back against the Daycare Attendant that it almost hurt. Not that you were going to complain though, your hands scrambling for a hold and finding purchase with one hand hooked into a wire, the other around his shoulders. A glance towards the distance ground whips the sudden shock from your brain. “Jesus fucking christ-!”

“Language!” Sun’s voice is a bit too close to your ear, and with nervous laughter in his tone. “But I’ll let it slide, just this once.”

You open your mouth to ask what the hell just happened (and maybe, to panic, because heights were in fact, not exactly something you had a good experience with and that was going to be mirrored by the crack in your voice and the rise in your heart rate) when sudden the cord slacks, and you are dropped five, maybe six feet towards the ground. Not far, not in comparison to the actual drop, but you yelp and clutch harder to the robot regardless. “Sun, get me down from here now!”

“Well, I-I would love to! I’m trying!” Another drop, then a rise, then the wire is swung to the side and you are flown through the upper portions of the daycare and getting a bird’s eye view that you didn’t ask for. “It’s uh, a little bit difficult! Trying to focus and-”

You’re both dropped and swung again, this time over the ball pit. You don’t know what was worse; the motion sickness from being flung around, or the fact that the wire was starting to encompass you as much as it did him. Actually, maybe the second one wasn’t so bad. Less likely to fall that way. A hard swing to the right, Sun mumbling something in your ear in a half-panic, half-frustration that the wire was not responding to his commands correctly. You’re too scared to be embarrassed about it. “Sun-”

“Don’t you worry! I won’t let you fall.” He reassures you, but the slight nervousness in his voice doesn’t help your own nerves. The arm around you tightens, almost to the point where it’s crushing. “Just trying to see if I can, uh, get us over to the balcony-”

A small snap and click of a latch. For a split-half second, you see the connector rise from his back and disappear upwards and the wire goes slack. Or actually, it doesn’t rise up. It hangs while the two of you suddenly fall.

You don’t scream, but you do suck in a shocked breath as the wind rushes around you, blood pumping loud in your ears that you don’t process the movement around your midsection or the motion of moving midair. The fall feels like forever though it’s only a few seconds, and you crash into the ball pit.

There’s no hard concrete or padding on your back like you expected, but a daze lets you lay down, eyes scrunched until the world stops spinning and you can do a mental check of your state. Broken bones? You don’t think so. Concussion? A little motion sick, but it doesn’t feel like you’ve hit your head. A bruise or two? Maybe. Plastic balls weren’t the best to break your fall but better than nothing, and you probably won’t feel that pain until the adrenaline wears off.

Slacken wires cover you even as you sit up and rub at your head. The dizzy panic is starting to fade, and you’re collecting your surroundings. Looking up, the latch and snapped wire hang from the ceiling. It’s not a far fall, now that you realize it, maybe just two stories. Still unfortunate, but any higher like to the top of the ceiling and the plastic ball pit may not have been able to save the two of you. “…Just our fucking luck…”

A dizzy voice sounds out from the bottom of the ball pit, beneath you. “Language.”

You freeze. There’s a heavy weight across your stomach that you’re just now processing as Sun’s arm, slacked but his fingers still digging into the fabric of your shirt like an absentminded grab. The last thirty seconds rapidly catch up in your brain as you turn around, Sun’s form sitting up from the ball pit, eyes shut and sunrays shrunk

“I- …I’m sorry!” You scramble off of him, which is a failing feat considering the ball pit was deeper than it looked and there wasn’t anywhere you could get a foothold without accidentally kicking the poor robot. The wire that still covered the two of you was not tight anymore, but still tangled and prevented you from backing away any further. “Are you okay?!”

The animatronic’s face is scrunched, voice slightly slurred and static like waking up from a dream. White eyes lock onto you, and blink blearily for a moment, out of sync. “…What?”

Sun groans, and you flinch when you hear metal grate around his shoulder, your hands hovering over him with no sense of what to do with them. “I really think you should go to parts and service!”

The jester’s eyes burst open, face rising and suddenly much more animated. “NO! No, no no no, aha…Listen, look it’s just-!” He makes a show, waving his hands and reaching for the dislocated limb. “No biggie, no need for any of that, see? We’re a bit of a…mechanic-” His voice lowers in frustration along with bending metal. “-ourselves! Not a thing to worry about!”

With the ease of someone who’s done this several times before (though you don’t miss the flinch), there’s a sound of metal-on-metal and something grating as he pops the joint back into the place, swinging his arm back and forth in a circular motion for show. “AHA! See there? Don’t even need a band-aid, Darling! Which is, ah-” His grin is static, but his motions slow, leaning forwards. “…Are you alright?”

“Am I alright?!” You repeat, voice raising. Panic and guilt make your hands shake a bit, unsure of what to do. “I used you as a landing pad! You just slammed into the floor. Again!”

“Happens sometimes! Nothing to worry about!” The arm without the damaged shoulder reaches for you, fingers delicately grabbing your wrist and raising your arm, elbow, Sun’s head tilting and looking under to check for presumable injuries before you can protest. “Metal is adaptable! Replaceable! Dents aren’t the same as bruises, you know, those can pop right out!”

You’re too focused on the jammed sunray inside his faceplate that you don’t even complain when he pokes and prods at you some more. “Dude, your sunrays-”

“Easy fix!” Without missing a beat, Sun takes two fingers and pulls the sunray out from the jam. The tip smooths at the end when he pinches it, the sound of metal bending like aluminum, before making a show of popping them in and out as a test. “See? Hand-dandy, peachy and pretty!” His attention immediately returns to your other side. “Now, any bruises? Feel like something’s broken?”

You lean away when he holds your arm up and inspects it for breaks. “Uh-”

“How are you feeling, by the way? We never got to talk about that!” He checks your other arms, legs; hands holding your own to check for broken wrists and fingers.

“Sun-”

“How’s your head? Feeling dizzy? Tired? A little shocked?” Two hands turn your head left, right, and back to the front and the Daycare Attendant suddenly stops. “Oh!”

“Sunny, I’m fine!” You swat at his hands, and they pull back, Sun holding the palms facing towards you in a mock show of surrender. His smile looks less panicked, at least. Back to his usual, jester behavior. You push a few plastic balls away from you in a fit and claw at the slack wires over your head and legs. “I’m fine. Seriously.” Another look at him. “Are you sure you don’t need to go to parts and service?”

“Nope! I’m A-okay!” One hand’s finger comes to his mouth, tapping his lower faceplate. “You, on the other hand, have a little something right there.”

Furrowing your brows, you raise your fingers to your face. Feeling around for a moment, you don’t feel anything, until you pull your hand back and see a dot of red on your finger. “Oh, oops.”

“Bit your lip on the crash down, I think.” Sun laughs, hands lowering and settling in his lap. “I don’t think that’s a boo-boo I can kiss better!”

You side-eye him, and the animatronic waves you off with the same teasing, mocking look he gets when he’s set up a perfect joke. “Just a jest. Laughter and smiles are the best medicine, you know. However-!”

“Har-har, very funny.” You half-heartedly toss a ball at him. It bonks him on the head with all the impact of a cotton ball, but Sun still spins his head regardless in a theatric show. “How’s your shoulder? It didn’t look…good.”

He waves you off. The wire tangled around his wrist and the rest of you two move along with the motions. “Don’t you worry about me! You’re the one with a habit of fainting and falling all over the place.” He jests. Your response is an unamused look, but that doesn’t deter him. “Really though! What kind of bot you’d think I am if I didn’t know how to do self-maintenance or repair?”

You almost mention the very blaring issue of a glitch in their system somewhere, only embedded into Moon (as far as you were aware, at least) but refrain. Now was not the time to bring that detail up. Still, you wonder. “When was the last time you went to parts and service anyway? You always hate when I bring it up-” The slight fall of his smile is not unnoticeable, but you continue. “-is there any reason why? What about upgrades?”

Sun snaps his fingers, gesturing to himself. “Why, upgrades? I’m already top-notch! Best of the technology around!” He exclaims, before leaning down and ‘whispering’ in a light-hearted tone. “Don’t tell Roxy I said that. She’s great too.”

You pluck a slack wire off of his sunray and let that line drop to the floor. "Top-notch technology with a habit of falling from the sky.”

He joins you in unraveling, pulling wire pieces off of his head so his sunrays can stretch to the fullest. “I prefer to call it ‘sun setting’.” Sun pauses at your snort. “What? It’s fitting!”

“Maybe the engineers should have given you wings.” You snort. The wire wrapped around your torso comes away easy enough, but the tangle around your legs was proving harder to undo while Sun was quickly untangling his own wrap with quick precision. “Or a parachute. Or a- Hey!”

In quick succession, Sun stands from the ball pit and reaches down to take you with him. Hands come underneath your back and knees and you are momentarily lifted just to be placed back down on the edge of the pit side. You can hear slight metal grinding from the damaged shoulder even as you’re put down. “A little hard to see the wire among all the mess in the ball pit. Careful.” He starts plucking at the wire around your leg. “Don’t wanna tangle them worse-”

“Your shoulder, Sun.”

Sun pauses, then shifts his shoulder socket upwards, mumbling. “Yes, yes, tricky thing-”

“Legs! More legs!” You snap your fingers, continuing your train and thought while Sun looks at you with faint amusement. “Like the spider-animatronic, the little DJ guy. More legs to crawl on the walls so you won’t need the wire to go up in the air!”

“Funny thing about that!” Sun rolls his arm like a human stretches, but with far too much flexibility, and rolls his shoulder joint in wide circles. “Originally, the engineers wanted us to have four limbs to have twice as many hands for wrangling kiddos! Bad idea, though. Kids thought it was a scream. Not in the good way!” His rolling stops, and with a final stretch, you hear a small click like a gear setting back into position. Sun slumps over, letting out a fake ‘phew’. “Turns out, a super-duper tall robot with an unchanging face and four arms are really scary to little ones.”

You blow air out of your nose, prying the wrappings from your angle. It didn’t hurt, but you weren’t going anywhere else tonight like this. “Gee, couldn’t imagine why. Your face can make expressions though?”

As if to emphasize, Sun’s smile widens, fingers coming to the side of his mouth in a grin. “A very special, very expensive metal alloy. Malleable stuff. You humans have aluminum, Kevlar, some science-mumbo jumbo here and I get to have a great big smile! Or…I can frown.” He then frowns rather comically. “Or be angry!” He downturns his eyes in an exaggerated expression that makes you snort. “Or scared!” Sun then proceeds to gasp loudly and fake fainting over you.

A smile of your own comes onto your face as you swat at him, and the animatronic leans back, expression returning to his default smile. “So they took out a few features and added some.” He did mention they replaced his eyes before. Hearing about Sun talking so casually about modifications shouldn’t creep you out the way they did, but it seemed normal, save for the apparent hesitation. “Gotta say, I don’t know if I would have been able to handle Moon with four arms.”

The Daycare Attendant makes a sound that resembles a curt chuckle. “Oh, no no. They never removed that feature. We have a lot of features that were never removed actually!”

You raise an eyebrow, only half focused on untangling yourself now. “You still have your other arms? Can I see?”

Sun’s expression flattens, in a subtle way you’ve learned to detect. “Maybe not the best idea. Here, friend.” His hands come over you, and subtly pluck out your fingers from the mess of wire you’ve worsened them into. “Let me help you.”

Between his hands, he takes the thick portion of the wire and snaps it. You almost flinch, because judging by the electric wire among the fibers, you are reminded of the strength animatronics are given compared to humans. Useful though. He’s quicker than you are, and the wire finally falls away with a few good tugs. It reminds you of how earbuds can get horribly tangled in your pocket after not checking them for two seconds.

You shrug off the remaining wire so it looks like a little pile on the padded floor. One of you is going to have to clean that up later. Satisfied, you look to the Daycare animatronic. “Oh yeah, I was here to get all the blankets for the laundry staff bots downstairs, and to tell you something weird.”

“Oh, weird? My favorite!” Sun rises to his full height all but practically skips to the crafts area. There was no more naptime in the Daycare, but that didn’t mean kids didn’t get cold or needed to go under the blanket for a few minutes of decompression time. Sometimes that meant formula, snack crumbs, or even worse things like boogers and puke across the fabric though. You didn’t really want to touch the stuff, but Sun has no hesitancy. “Don’t worry! All super filthy things are removed from the daycare immediately throughout the day. Health and safety, no germs allowed after all!”

You sigh in relief. Good. No puke stained blankets or any other undesirable stains. Sun picks up a blanket filled with graham cracker crumbs and tosses it in the cart. It’s actually quite an impressive throw, considering the distance. “So! Weird, I hear?”

“Yeah, weird.” You grab any that he tosses in your direction, throwing them in the cart and being careful it doesn’t cover the bottom shelf that holds all the cleaning supplies. You hold out your arms for the next blanket for him to toss. “Monty apologized to me after I clocked in today, and even helped me pull the cart out of the closet after it got jammed.”

Sun pauses for a moment, a blankie folded into a ball in his arms. You almost drop your arms, but he tosses it, and you catch it and toss it with the others. “Hmm.” His head tilts to the side, then mechanically, collects the last blanket. “That is weird.”

“He did say Freddy wanted us to be friends.” You add on, watching as Sun approaches with a light toss for the final blanket, and turns on his heel to gather the clean ones from storage. “Maybe he talked to him? Freddy, I mean. I said sorry too, and we ended up being cool about it.” You scratch the back of your neck, thinking back to it. “It was kinda awkward, the whole thing, but I think we’re cool now? We said we were cool. He told me to ask next time I needed to go in his space, and that it was open as long as I got permission.”

Sun doesn’t turn to face you, pulling out a few folded clean blankets from a storage shelf. “What a kind offer. I’m glad you two are getting along.”

“Really?” You scratch the back of your neck. “I, uh, kinda got the vibe that you guys really didn’t like each other. Or Moon doesn’t, I think, at least.”

“We don’t.” Sun turns to face you. His smile is static, hands busy unraveling the blankets. The tone of voice feels lukewarm, like naturally cold but he’s trying to appear warmer for you. “But supporting your friends is always what’s important!”

He even thumbs ups at you for that last part, but you refrain from squinting at him as he lays out the new bedding. “Do you think I should take him up on that offer then? Maybe if we hung out more, we’d be better friends.”

Sun pats down the new spot, standing. “Why are you asking us?”

“I dunno.” You shrug. “Just curious.”

“We think-” His head turns around, followed by his body, and Sun busies himself with cleaning up the pile of snapped wire that was left on the floor. “You tend to forgive others very easily.”

“What?” You blink. “No, I don’t!”

Sun stares at you with a knowing smile, dropping the wire into the cart’s wastebasket.

“Okay, look. Aren’t you a Daycare Attendant? You’re supposed to promote forgiveness and tolerance and all that mumbo jumbo anyways.” You defend yourself, waving your hand. Talking comes a little too quickly, maybe because you feel a little bit on the spot, but Sun simply listens. “All the times with Moon and those nights and with you…those are different! You guys are like, you know-” You search for a specific word. “Best friends. You get bestie privileges.”

“Ohhh, best friends? Favorite friends?” Sun laughs, coming to lean on the security desk next to you. “My! We’re in all your good graces, aren’t we?”

You grab a blanket off the top of the cart’s pile and throw it at him. He doesn’t even try to catch it, just lets it fall over his head so several points of his sunrays stick out at an awkward angle from under the fabric. “Ah yes! Darkness! Though I think it’s going to take something a little bit more than this to make the switch!”

You blow a raspberry at him, something he playfully shakes his head at as he pulls the blanket off and throws it back onto the cart’s pile. You clear your throat. “By the way, speaking of darkness-”

“We won’t be able to fly at all tonight, what a shame.” Sun tuts, hands on his hips and nodding his head towards the wire in the wastebasket. “Security patrol will be a little bit different.”

The intercom overtakes the start of your next sentence. “The Pizzaplex is now closed. Gather your children and belongings and please exit the building. Next weekend, all soda refills will be half-off. Must purchase a full sized family meal for offer to apply. Freddy and the gang will see you soon, thank you and goodnight!”

The mess of blankets was packed firmly into the cart, and the new ones settled out in a colorful array. Besides the paper trash, you dumped into the cart’s basket, there was really nothing else for you to do here at the Daycare, so you continue. “I wanted to talk about an idea I had to help get the Naptime Attendant position reinstated and to allow you more freedom in the Daytime.”

“Oh my, so many ideas in this pretty little head of yours.” He taps your forehead with all four fingers in a manner of playful teasing before leaning against the security desk, one arm holding him up and casually hovering over you. “Well, Let’s hear it!”

You grin. “You should leave the Daycare even if it’s against the rules.”

Immediately the animatronic almost cringes, mouth turning downwards to mimic a frown.

Before Sun could say anything, you rush to explain. “If you walked around interacting with guests while the Daycare’s hours aren’t in business, like super early in the morning or the last few hours of the night when the lights are still on, you’d probably get more popular with the kids! Management would lift the rule!” Pulling out your phone for show, you gesture to it to emphasize your point. “I can email them just to suggest the idea? It would be good reputation control, after, you know. What happened.”

Sun’s smile is a bit thinned, hand coming up to scratch at the back of your phone absentmindedly with a single digit. “What an interesting idea you have there.”

“C’mon!” You use the butt of your phone to bop him in the chest, and his reaction is to pluck it from your hands, staring down at you quizzically with a raised brow. So you bop him again with your hand. “Humor me? It’s not like anyone in management or higher up is gonna notice if you leave the Daycare for just a few minutes. The cameras don’t work. None of them are activated!”

“Good memory!” Sun has busied himself with tinkering with your phone, hand raised up so his fiddling is just out of sight. “The lights will be turning off soon.”

“Hey! Don’t avoid it! Listen!” You grab his hand. The animatronic’s eyes pop wide as you drag him (and he lets you, because he totally could not budge if he didn’t want to) to the doorway. You drop the hold on his hand, pushing the door (it’s heavy, so it takes a few seconds while Sun patiently waits behind you) before stepping over the threshold.

You hold your arms out, beckoning. “See? Easy. Just take a step.”

Sun grins at you, fiddling with your phone still in his free hand. “A hug? Tempting! But I don’t think I will.”

You groan. “Dude. Sunny, please?”

“What about a pretty please?”

“Ah, fuck you.” You huff, tone lighthearted. His eyebrows raise for a split second but you speak before he can scold you for the language again, and your sentence comes out deadpan. “Pretty please?”

His smile turns teasing. “Good job! But no.”

“Ughhh.” You grab his hand again, leaning your full weight on it in the opposite direction of the Daycare. As expected, Sun doesn’t budge, and chuckles at your pathetic display. “Thought you were going to give me a chance on any of the ideas I have. The plan, Sun? We’re supposed to come up with a plan?”

“Oh, and we will!” He perks up. “But it’s too late in the night for this, and I only have about thirty seconds left.”

Before you can step back, you’re yanked by the hand you were holding forward. Sun crouches slightly, still notably taller than you but with his head closer to yours, and raises your phone up high. “Smile!”

You do. Smile, at least, by reflex this time. It’s an awkward one because it’s done in a split second without realizing what you’re supposed to be posing for, but the selfie is snapped rather quickly before he straightens his posture and the phone is passed back to you. You fumble to catch it in your hands, glancing back up but Sun already has both doors to a crack and flashing you a bright look. “See you in just a moment!”

He slams the door.

You blink dumbly at the wood for a moment before the two realizations hit that (1) you have easily been thwarted and (2) you still haven’t been able to see their transformation since that first night you started working here. They’re really secretive about that, for some reason.

But you’re persistent and borderline, if not already, obnoxious. So you bang on the Daycare’s door. “Hey! We had a deal! You said you’d try out some of my ideas!” It goes on cue just as all the lights in the Daycare shut off, leaving nothing but your reflection in the glass paired with the dim and neon lighting behind you. All human beings aside from yourself were long gone by now, so you kick the wood with your shoe and ignore the stubbed toe you just gave yourself. “And my cart is still in there!”

No response, unsurprisingly. Defeated, you turn around, leaning your back against the door frame. A quick check of your phone’s gallery shows a series of blurry pictures, mainly of your zoomed-in face or the camera switched around and it is a rather unflattering but hilarious image of Sun staring directly into the lenses with a wide grin. The last one is the selfie, and it actually looks kinda nice. You’ve had better smiles, and your uniform wasn’t the nicest attire, but it’s a good photo anyway. You favorite it. Maybe you can get one with Moon too.

Something feels scratchy on the backside of your phone. You flip it over. The Monty sticker you’ve had on the back has a few scuffs like it was unsuccessfully scratched off, though now most of it was covered by an official Sun merch sticker. Wow, when did he do that? Sneaky.

You almost fall back when the doors suddenly open, but you manage to step to the side as darkness greets you on the other end. No one appears in the doorway, so putting your phone back into your pocket, you poke your head inside. “Hello? Moon?” No response. “Can I have my cart back?”

A rolling noise echoes from within. You squint at the form before your eyes widen as it’s rapidly approaching, stepping back from the doorway just in time for the speeding cart to rush past you, the sound of it skidding to a stop further into the outer room. After catching your breath, you turn back and yell into the Daycare’s darkness.  “Did you just try to run me over, asshole?!”

Nothing sounds from the Daycare, but a low chuckle comes from behind you. “Think quickly.”

A blanket lands on your head. It smells like baby formula and gummy worms. You start punching the fabric out of reflex before the realization hits you. “Oh, gross. C’mon!”

Pulling off the blanket to glare allows you to see the blanket king himself. Metaphorically speaking, because he was standing rather comically on top of the cart and its pile. Maybe he liked to be tall. Maybe he was steering the cart just fast enough and careful enough not to hit you, but to scare you. Or maybe it’s because he doesn’t have his wire and climbing things is the next best thing.

You toss the blanket back into the cart. “Prick.”

His response is a sharp-toothed grin. The Naptime Attendant hops down from his high point, hunched over and still taller than you. It’s odd not to see him flying, and you feel like he’s feeling that too. If he was, he wasn’t showing it, instead tilting his head in an amused manner as you grab the handles of the cart and started pushing it toward the nearest elevator.

As expected, he follows, still a bit of a distance behind you. He can’t disappear into the rafters like he usually does, so your shadow tonight will be his home for the next few hours.

Out of nervousness though, you glance over your shoulder. Moon walks the same pace as you do, lifting his hand and waving all his fingers. “Hello.”

You side eye him. “Oh, no you don’t. Your ‘hello’ was scaring me to death five seconds ago. No playing nice now.” You make a special effort not to look at him. Despite the fear lessening, the weirdness in your pulse when he gets too close, you’ve gotten used to the shenanigans. You don’t want to erase any progress you’ve already made, so you act nonchalant. “How’s the ground, Starboy? How does it feel having to walk like everyone else for the night?”

The animatronic behind you is quiet. Too quiet. You keep having to look over your shoulder to find him following you there. While you appreciated the distance, you almost wanted him to have his wire back so he could follow in the darker parts of the pizzaplex, farther away from you, never this close and not so blatantly obvious that it made the hairs on the back of your neck raise, or your anxiety harder to hide.

Moon walks in slow strides with longer legs, hands clasped behind his back. That detail, at least, you know is intentional. “I don’t mind.” He says after a long moment, and you wonder if he means it. “Security tracking is easier in close proximity.”

You deadpan at him, almost running the cart into a corner just to glare at him. The Moon’s response is a weighted grin. ‘Security tracking’ your left shoe. This felt like hunting with the stealth removed.

“You didn’t have to scare me.” You speak up, finding the nearest elevator and pressing the button, positioning the cart at the door. Moon stays a few feet away, respectfully. Around this time of night is when you start pushing your luck. “That was mean of you.”

“Sorry.” He says. It’s so immediate it takes you a second to realize he means it. “It was funny, though.”

The elevator digit tells you it’s on its way up. You turn to him and puff out your lip. “Did I do something in particular to make you want to prank me like that? Or are you just feeling like a jerk more than usual tonight?”

His hands fall from behind his back, head tilting to the side. There’s a quiet, soft moment of silence you’ve grown accustomed to in these moments where you don’t think you’re going to get an answer, so you listen for the elevator’s ding until Moon hums. “Maybe.”

The elevator dings and the door opens. You raise a brow. “Yeah?”

Moon’s eyes glow a dull red, staying just at the edge of where the elevator’s light reaches the floor. “Feeling faint?”

…Oh, yeah. The last time he saw you, you collapse in his arms from exhaustion and overexertion. Yet another embarrassing interaction you were not prepared to face the consequences for tonight. “I’m fine. Seriously. I wouldn’t have come to work if it was bad enough that I needed to stay home. I’m feeling better now.” You pause. “Mostly.”

Moon looks unconvinced. You huff as you try to steer the cart into the elevator without scuffing the sides. “What? want to check my temperature or something?”

“Already did.”

…When? What-?

Oh, when Sun was checking you for injury earlier and spotted the bit lip. Hands around your face. Of course he did. The realization makes you pout, and Moon finds amusement in your reaction.

Just before you hit the button, you turn back to him. He can’t enter. If there was one place that stayed powered and lit, it was the elevators. So you nod your head towards the blankets. “Going down to the laundry room in the basement, if you’re following.”

“I know.” Moon stands patiently, calmly. “See you.”

“Have fun walking, loser.” For your own sense of satisfaction, you put your thumb on your nose and wiggle your fingers. The animatronic’s eyes narrow at you as the doors slowly close. Mocking the robot with a history of murder was…probably not the greatest idea, but man if it didn’t give you some sort of satisfaction and a bit of relief from lingering anxiety he still gives you. Coping by humor, in the best way.

The elevator plays a little jingle on the way down, and you mull over your next couple of hours. Sun was less than receiving, but not against it, at least. It might take a little bit more prodding but if you could get him to even just consider bending the rules by a smidge, at least, it might help with his nerves as much as it would for his reputation. You still weren’t sure if he was telling you everything he knew about the glitch or only enough to barely answer for all the times you’ve faced death, but he must be well aware of your stubbornness by now.

Moon will take more convincing. You’re pretty certain about that.

The elevator jolts a bit when it comes to the lower maintenance floor. Somewhere in the hallway down here, there’s a laundry room where all the blankets, table clothes, and other fabric based items get washed and dried with the staff bots dedicated to it. This is probably where all the non-standard employee uniforms, like mascot suits, hats and aprons were also washed, but the need for all that disappeared when human staffing was deemed unnecessary and only bots roam the building now.

The elevator doors open. You peek your head out. It’s dark, but no sounds of bells or glowing red eyes glaring at you from the darkness. Ha! For a moment you thought he’d have another trick up his sleeve just by his attitude alone, but looks like you beat that bot down here after all.

Two fingers hook into the back collar of your shirt, pulling back the fabric and it sends cold air down your back along with split seconds of fearful shivers before you leap back, lashing out at the air behind you. “Knock it off!”

“Okay.” Moon is on the freaking ceiling, upside down, legs hooked around the support beams and upper body hanging down far enough he could reach you with his arms without being detected if he didn’t want to be. The light is so dark down here that the glow from his eyes is brighter, the illumination from the open elevator doors do nothing to help the scary image. “Not touching.” He raises his hands, palms outwards.

You rub the back of your neck, mouth pressed into a line. Opening your mouth, you close it, then open it again with a defeated sigh. “Do I even want to know how you got down here so fast before I did?”

“No,” Moon says. There’s mirth in his voice. “Good try, though.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, you stupid, metal son of a-” You mumble curses under your breath, ignoring the animatronic literally hovering above you as you roll the cart out from the elevator (you weren’t afraid. You totally weren’t afraid. Just startled, caught off guard. You were getting the hang of this whole being-in-the-dark thing by now.) and pushed it down the hallway. The signs on the walls are poorly maintained and you have to use your phone flashlight to see, but the laundry room is just down the hall to the right. “You’re happy terrorizing me tonight.”

Moon doesn’t respond nor does he follow you down the hallway until the elevator doors close. As soon as the last sliver of light disappears from the ground, you hear soft bells, but no footsteps. The feeling of his presence comes back though, and you don’t need to turn around to know he’s following you again down the maintenance hallway. The laundry room comes into view. There aren’t any staff bots inside, but judging by the tire skid marks on the floor, they frequent this location when not doing their duties elsewhere.

You don’t know how to work the machines and you’re not even sure if that’s a part of your job, so you just start unloading the piles of blankets into the nearest dirty laundry bin you see. “What was that even for, anyway?” You ask into the dark. You set your phone up against the wall, facing the opposite direction so you could see, while Moon stays out of the light’s sight. He picks at the flaking paper from a poster on the wall, head tilting back at your question. “When you pulled at my shirt,” You continue. “What, where you looking for something? I don’t have any more security cards stashed away.”

Moon answers without missing a beat. “Bruising.”

“Oh.” You pause, then dump what you were holding into the laundry bin. The fall was hard on your back, but you didn’t feel injured. Not even sore. At least, not at the moment. “I said I was fine earlier.”

He looks at you dully. “Sure.”

...There’s something about his tone that reminds of you how Sun’s voice rises when he’s nervous.

The silence in the room settles. Moon returns to his absent-minded fiddling with anything in the room he could get his hands on, while you finish tossing the rest of the blankets into the bin. Just as you pick up the last one, you spot the cart’s wastebasket and the wire inside of it. The sight makes your stomach churn, and you’re not sure why. Taking a deep breath, you speak, lighthearted and half joking to ease the tension. “What? Do you not trust me?”

It’s a joking, teasing comment, but Moon is looking at you like he’s thinking about his answer very carefully. “Yes. No.”

You deadpan. “Great. So much for our blossoming friendship.”

Moon’s head tilts to an odd angle. Stillness, then his smile turns sharp. “Do you trust me?”

It’s an obvious answer. No, not really. You do, however, have the hope that he wouldn’t slaughter you in the dark, or snap you like a twig, or drop you from the ceiling or do anything else that your nightmares would convince you he would do. A lot of trust is stored in hope, and you weren’t going to get there unless you took baby steps to improve…whatever this was going on. And so far, it’s been working. Time for another one.

“You know what? Yeah! Yeah, I do.” You hold your arms out, stubbornness in your face, and wait. “Go on and check! Just be done with it already before you start nagging me to death. Either find something that I haven’t or just alleviate your own anxiety, I don’t care.”

Moon’s eyes narrow sharply.

“Not a trick.” You repeat, raising your arms again. “Hurry up. I still have tasks to do tonight.”

He hesitates. You’re a few seconds away from dropping your pose and calling him a coward before taking your leave before the animatronic steps forwards. The room isn’t small, but the space around you suddenly becomes claustrophobic as Moon approaches, head tilting left, right, analyzing, and circling you until he was behind you again. The light doesn’t reach him there, he blends in the dark even if you were to look over your shoulder, but the presence feels heavier.

Moon’s palm lays flat against the back of your neck and you think you’ve just made a mistake-

It lifts, dropping. The same hand carefully, gently, lifts up underneath your jacket and travels upwards to your shoulder, pressing against the fabric of your shirt as fingers drag to different spots on your back, down your spine and sides.

Nervousness tingles in your fingers. You mumble under your breath. “You’re not even asking if anything hurts.”

“Don’t need to.” His voice is too close for comfort. The hand presses against your opposite shoulder blade, checking and falling back down to your lower back again. “Heart rate is enough.”

You look off to the side. “Right. Forgot you were creepy like that.” Moon makes a noise of disgruntlement and you ignore it, totally not because you were trying to appear nonchalant and unafraid at the moment only to realize your pulse rate probably gave away the everyday secret you were trying to have-

Actually? Another perfect idea.

“Don’t you think this is nice?” You ask. “

The fingers that were about to leave your skin freeze. Moon’s hand rests barely touching on the small of your back, black eyes with white pupils staring down at you. Not red, you remind yourself. But you were still pushing it.

“You’re close, you’re not hurting me, you’re being nice…” You smile up at him, ignoring how his eyes narrow. “If you can refrain from hurting me, you can do that with everyone. Eventually, at least. I think whatever we’re doing is working.”

“You’re tired.” Moon interrupts, and it feels like a dismissal.

“No, listen. I talked to Sun about it, I know you heard. Look-” You search for your words. This speech was a lot more convincing in your head, or at least in the mirror in your apartment bathroom than the dark basement of the pizzaplex with a homicidal robot who has one hand already starting to dig into the fabric of your shirt. “Trust me. We didn’t use to be friends. Now? Now we get along.” A pause at the look on Moon’s face. “Sorta. Most of the time.”

The response is cold. “No.”

“You wouldn’t even try it?” You whisper, leaning in just to get that extra intimidation points, even though you are not the one with any sort of power here. “Just to see if it worked? Like, cognitive behavioral therapy.’

Moon blinks.

“AI therapy?” You think for a moment, searching for the right phrase. “Exposure therapy. Through me.”

The hand drops from beneath your jacket, and Moon steps back, further from you and any light that shone in the room. “You’re not hurt. Stay that way.”

Okay, that…that kind of made you angry.

The initial shock passes, and something starts to bubble in your chest. Frustration. “You won’t even hear me out?”

“It’s a stupid idea.” He’s harsher than Sun. Blunter. Evident in the low of his voice as he all but avoids you stepping forwards, craning up towards the low ceiling and pulling himself onto the support beam, and just like that, the distance between you two was recreated in seconds. “You’ll get killed.”

“I think I’ll be the one to decide to risk that, thanks.” Sarcasm weighs heavy in your tone, blood heats up in your irritation. “Look. We’ll figure out safety measures. I can just turn on the light if it gets bad enough. You won’t even have to use me! We could use, I don’t know, toys? The stuffed animals? Scenarios? Figure out what exactly triggers it or if it’s triggered at all and go from there-“

“Second floor. West elevator.” Moon cuts you off, tone neutral. “Follow.”

Before you could protest, he’s gone. The only indication of his movement was the faint second of bells as a shape moved rapidly in the halls, too quick for you to grab your phone light to reveal him.

The urge to start banging your head against the concrete wall was there, but you refrain. This wasn’t working. They agreed to hear you out, and come up with a plan (at least, Sun humored you) but it was going to take a little more emotional labor to break that barrier than just some wordy promises and without any knowledge of what they or you were going up against. You could understand it, actually. But damn if the whole thing wasn’t frustrating.

“Restraint isn’t effortless.“

You wondered if you asked what it felt like, would you even be given a solid answer?

...Okay. Deep breath. In, and out. Try again.

You leave the cart behind. Honestly, you don’t have the energy to lug it back upstairs and since you won’t really need it for anything else tonight, you figure you can let it sit in the basement for a while until some staff bot takes it back to the janitorial closet for you for your next shift. The elevator’s lights almost sting your eyes when you walk in, so you feel blindly for the floor and wait until it dings, exits, and walks off in the direction Moon said you should.

Actually, now that you think of it, why are you following his order again? You should be heading to the arcade by now, tinkering with some malfunctioning game. Part of you has half a mind to stop in place, spin on your heel and go back to doing what you’ve been hired to do instead of entertaining the Daycare Attendant

You shouldn’t have jumped as hard as you did when a voice comes out of seemingly nowhere. “This way.”

You freeze, searching for the source, and feel your blood pressure lower when Moon becomes visible in the low light, crouching on the railing and crawling along the edge in that strange, cat-like manner he’s become known for. “A  little bit of warning, next time?”

His smile doesn’t change, but his eyes turn upwards at your reaction. “Follow.”

You don’t argue it if anything just to avoid any more conflict. He doesn’t stay low to the railing, walking and crawling whenever the balcony changes and hopping down to the carpet when it disappears into the hallway. For a minute, you think he’s going to reign to walking beside you (since walking behind you wasn’t exactly a good way to guide someone) but think ‘oh, yes of course’ when the jester chooses to literally crawl upside down on the lower ceiling to avoid the space around you.

You’re not even going to question how he’s doing it at this point. “Is there a reason why you’re avoiding walking next to me like a normal person?”

His response is curt. “Keep walking.”

“Are you angry with me?”

“Here.”

He drops down. You’re both in a new area, the general area outside the arcade. He’s led you to a vending machine situated for guests and children, particularly aimed at those who get snacky during game time. It’s why the prices are about the same on the device as the Pizzaplex’s restaurant’s meals. It’s Fazbear Entertainment generic looking. Freddy, Chica, and Bonnie in cartoon form are on the sides of the machine, and a couple of character-themed snacks are situated inside.

Moon ignores your initial question and crouches down. He’s taller than the vending machine, but he has no issue lowering and sticking his arm through the slot. You blink as his hand appears through the glass, palming around for one of the snacks at the bottom. “Uh-”

“Your stomach growled earlier.” His fingers find a package and pulls it from the vending machine’s rings. “When we were fighting.”

You don’t know whether to keep being irritated or embarrassed. “...Stealing from vending machines can get me fired.”

“Shut up.” Moon throws the plastic package towards you, and yeesh does he sound annoyed. “Here.”

You fumble to catch it, grasping it in both hands. It’s a mini-carrot cake, the preserved kind meant for snacks and people with no time for a lunch break. A cartoon image of Bonnie is on the front along with some random slogan promoting the taste, but you doubt this is going to be anything but stale and crumbly. You look back up at him, grinning. “Ha! Jokes on you, I don’t even like carrot cake.”

Moon’s glare feels heated.

...Fine. You tear open the plastic at the edge, nibbling at the crust. It’s not stale or crumbly, and it tastes exactly how you would expect a preserved mini-carrot cake to taste like. “It’s okay, I guess.”

“Picky.” Moon says, watching as you sit on the floor by the vending machine, back against the metal. He hovers for a moment, arms dropped awkwardly at his side before sitting too, cross-legged and a bit of a distance away.

Maybe he’s still not used to it; being able to be so close in the dark. You weren’t either. But you needed to pretend it was normal until it started to feel like it was. It was progress.

You take another bite and swallow it. It does make you feel a bit better starting to have food in your stomach. “Thanks for the snack, by the way.” Another bite, you talk partially with your mouth full. “I’ll start packing an actual lunch or something, just…don’t make Freddy give me another lecture. Kinda felt like I broke his robot heart when I told him I didn’t really stop to eat until my shift was over.”

Moon’s torso leans forwards, his arms stretching out while his chin was nearly touching the ground. It kinda reminds you of how a cat stretches, or what you do when you’re bored or understimulated. There’s a fidget in his fingers, tapping the carpet in a rhythm you can’t keep up with. “How cruel of you. He’s worried.”

“Hey man, I forget sometimes. It’s not on purpose.” You explain. The response you are sent is a deadpan look. “What? Capitalism does that and habits die hard. You can’t judge me when you don’t even go to Parts n Service after hitting the ground a couple times.”

Moon’s head spins upside down. His fingers drag across the carpet, clawing in repetitive motions. It scratches lint and thread up from the floor, and leaves indentations you can barely see in the low light. “Unnecessary.”

“...I have several reasons why I can disagree with that.”

The edge of his smile almost twitches into a snarl, but defaults back to his usual expression and looks away. You don’t miss how the movements of his hands mimic clawing, or how the opening and closing of his hand feels like impatience and satisfaction. The puzzle pieces clicking makes your throat go dry.

Briefly. you wonder, how does it feel when you have a glitch that makes you hurt people, and a rather vulnerable human is sitting a few feet away in the darkness you hunt in, snacking on what you provided and still being rather antagonistic to you. The distance between you was for your own benefit. You should give him more credit.

“Sorry.” You talk in-between bites, looking away. It gives you time to think of what to say. If Moon noticed you shrunk in on yourself a little more, he says nothing about it. “I just want to help you. I’ve been trying to think of ways how.”

Moon sits up, head spinning back to its upright position. It hurts your neck just by looking at it. “You’re weird.”

You almost choke on your mouthful trying to respond, swallowing it down. “Hey-”

“As a compliment.” He adds on, his grin turning teasing (Wow, nice save, jerk). “Most of the time.”

“I’m the weird one? You’re the sentient robot here.” You take a bite and try not to spit when you catch a little bit of the package’s plastic in your mouth, plucking it out with a stuck-out tongue while the attendant chuckles. “Must be nice not having human needs all the time. Or if maintenance counts. ” Moon doesn’t respond, so just you take another bite, this time without the plastic. “Like, is it a scheduled thing? Has Management ever accessed your system-?”

“We’ll kill them first.”

You stop chewing, turning to stare at him.

Moon meets your stare head-on, faceplate shifting once to the side. A pause. “Metaphorically. Joking.”

“Uh huh. Sure.” You swallow the carrot cake and it goes down dry. “Not funny.”

The last bit of the carrot cake goes down easy and it’s finished, so you toss the wrapper into the nearest garbage bin that you’re just going to have to clean up later anyway. You don’t move to stand up right away though, sitting here for a minute longer. The conversation was nice. Maybe you could learn something a bit more. “Honestly, I’m jealous of all the abilities that you robots get that humans don’t. Besides the lack of human needs and all that.”

Moon shrugs, and his head spins once. “It’s okay.”

“Like that!” You exclaim, pointing to him. The jester blinks at you, and you motion towards him again. “Like things I can’t do? That thing with your head, like a wheel of fortune.” A grin on your face, you scoot closer to the animatronic (without fear, mind you. The anxiety lingers, but you were fine at the moment.) and try not to feel offended when he instinctively leans away at the proximity. You get it. It’s the nerves or the ‘wiring’ for him. “Come here for a second.”

The animatronic’s gaze narrows. “What for?”

For someone who’s told you to ‘come here’ with less than benevolent intentions several times, it’s unfair how he’s the one who gets to be skeptical. You raise your hands, making grabby motions. It’s kinda hard not to giggle when the Naptime Attendant slowly reaches to adjust the nightcap on his head out of worry you might snatch it for some reason. “I don’t want your silly hat. I want to make your head spin. In a totally, not metaphorical way.”

He hesitates. For a jester, he’s being oddly resistant to any sort of fun tonight unless it’s directly antagonizing you, but he relents. Leaning forwards, his face comes within a foot of your own, and you reach for the sides-

You see his eyes widen just as you crank up your strength and spin his head as hard as you can like a wheel. “Ha!”

Moon’s head is still spinning a circle when you let go, and you can’t help but snicker at his blurring expression as the momentum continues. It’s actually really funny when you’re the one making him look weird, so you laugh and it comes out light hearted. “Kudos to whoever designed that!”

Wide eyes and an unreadable (blurred) expression start to soften as you snort. He was probably tired of your shit, yeah, but you were having fun for once. Dangerous animatronic be damned.

Click. His head stopped in place, tilted at an angle that was almost sideways. No way comfortable for a human being, and awfully making the red glow from his eyes creepier at this view, but it’s a little hard to feel threatened when you-

Fingers find your jawline in the dark, and you freeze.

Nevermind. That small, fearful feeling that sits in the back of your mind is alive again.

He tilts your head, gently, in motion with his own. “What if I-…” His head tilts to the left, your head is tilted left. “…spun your head…” His head slowly tilts right, and yours follows. A thumb over your pulse, his wrist poised to twist.“...just like mine?”

…You refrain from biting at his hand. Metal probably doesn’t taste good.  “Well, unlike you, I’d only be able to do it once.”

His digits twitch on your skin. Moon deadpans at you, and the hand falls away. “Funny.”

“Yeah, at this rate I’ll be a better jester than you are.” You smile, standing from your position, and ignoring how Moon all but playfully rolls his eyes. “I have to take out the trash in this area and then fix up something in the arcade, and I should be done for the night. My shift isn’t supposed to be this long, but I’ve been getting distracted.”

“Shame.” Moon replies, and stands to his full height. You step back as he does, moreover to respect his space and totally not because you didn’t want to be reminded that yeah, the animatronics are inhumanly tall. He follows you when you walk off, as expected, and you note the vending machine’s place for a later date.

You don’t have your cart, but the trash chutes are nearby so you end up just lugging each bag one by one to the proper chute and replacing the bags with what you had in your pocket or what supply was available for nearby janitorial closets. It’s enough, if not just more walking and some mild commentary from your following warden about how slow you were.

At one point in your mission of taking out the trash, you’re airing out the new bag you’re going to put in an empty bin, but stop once you look back at the can.

Moon is inside. Barely fitting, and it can’t be comfortable, but he looks rather amused at preventing you from doing your job for a few seconds. You bat at him with the trash bag and shoo him away. “Quit it! You’re just gonna make me have to stay here longer!”

He snickers, hand standing over the edge (somehow, miraculously not tipping over the bin with his weight), and all but cartwheels to the next empty bin down the hallway, landing inside of it and sitting quietly in the same position. He stares at you, two blank red circles zeroed in on you down a dark hallway like he didn’t just perform circus gymnastics to sit inside of a garbage bin he was too big for.

He was getting more creative on how to annoy you when he couldn’t fly on his wire, but he seemed to be in a better mood, at least.

When the trash is finished and replaced, the last thing you have left is the arcade. “Management said a machine was acting funky. Eating coins or something.” You talk as you walk, seemingly to no one, but the darkness around you ‘hmms’ as he listens. “I’m not a mechanic, but I told them I’d look into it.”

Moon is still crawling on the ceiling at any chance he gets. The arcade’s ceiling is far too high for it, but in the hallway or in the supply rooms, he likes to position himself right above you until the bell of his hat almost dips down into your face. “Boring.”

“It’s work. It’s supposed to be boring.” You enter the arcade and are immediately blasted with neon signs and screens and colorful posters and music still faintly playing over the sound system. Just as cool as the last time you saw it, but man you can’t imagine the absolutely massive number Fazbear Entertainment gets for their electric bill. “They said they left in around the left corner. Should be a sticky note on it.”

Moon drops down from the doorframe where he was hanging. “Where?”

You walk alongside the rows of games and activities, scanning across dead screens and colorful cartoons. “Uh, there. I think. The one against the back wall.” You point as you walk towards it. “The one with the balloon boy cartoon painted on it. It has a sticky note on the screen.”

You’re able to read the words when you get closer. ‘Out-Of-Order’ is scribbled in typical staff-bot font and stickered to the front, so you just peel it off and toss it to the side. “Alright, let's take a look. It’s eating coins and glitching the game, I think.” You look towards your animatronic follower. “Did the uh, DJ mention anything about this one? I thought he was the one who kept up with all of these things too.”

Moon is standing a notable distance away, arms hanging limply to his side. His reflection in the arcade’s screen mimics him as his head tilts. “...No. He’s on vacation.”

“Right, sure. Parts n Service and all that.” You wave him off. Behind the machine is the plug sitting on the carpet, and an outlet nearby. Grabbing it, you hook it up to the power and stand back, waiting as the screen flickers to life. A loading screen appears, circling for a minute before the start menu comes up.

It’s a side-scroller where you play as Balloon Boy on the side of the machine, you figure. The option to start immediately is available, and you raise a brow. “Huh. Didn’t even ask me for a coin. Well.” You go to place your hands on the controls. “Let’s see what this glitch is about-”

In a split second, two things happen. The arcade screen glitches, and a shock of electricity springs up from the controls. It doesn’t touch your fingers though, because a hand encloses around your wrists and pulls them back just in time.

You blink at the small sparks coming off of the controls, the screen starting to glitch before fizzling out and the arcade going dark. A moment passes, and you suck in a sharp hiss through your teeth. “Yikes, that is uh…that is definitely a safety hazard.”

The hand holding your own is still clasped tightly around your skin. You glance down at the fingers and up to the owner. Moon is staring at the reflection in the black, blank screen again. “Alright, I owe you more times than I can count now.” You pull away your hands, smiling. “Thanks for the save, again.”

The animatronic says nothing, hands falling back to his sides. His eyes dart to you, then back to the arcade again. He must be as confused as you are for the malfunction. It’s an immediate safety hazard though, not something as simple as a coin jam. You weren’t qualified to fix this.

Pulling out your phone, you go to the contact and start a new message thread. Most of your contacts have been through emails, but you had a number to reach if there was something urgent during a night shift that needed to be taken care of. “I’m messaging management real quick. I doubt they’d want a lawsuit over this.”

Moon doesn’t respond to your commentary, but you’re too busy typing up a message to notice. Hey, checked out that arcade machine you said was acting strange. Plugged it up and gave it a go but it almost shocked me before I could get past the main menu. I don’t think we should keep it here in the main area.

It’s past the Pizzaplex’s working hours and while not past midnight, still late at night, so you didn’t expect a fast response. So you’re a bit surprised when the text bubble for the other person typing appears a few seconds after your message is marked delivered.

You wait for the message but it doesn’t come, and suddenly your screen is overtaken by an incoming camera call. Well! This suddenness of human interaction totally didn’t ruffle you a bit!

Anxious, you answer it. The top part of your face pops up in the corner of your own screen, while a grey, default profile image takes up the rest. Both the camera and microphone options are turned off for the other caller. A ‘typing’ message appears at the top of your screen.

M: Walk through your process again.

Oh, okay. You flip the camera around to use the back one, and point it toward the arcade game. “So uh, I just plugged it up and it booted up just fine, but it sparked electricity when I tried to put my hands on the dash. I haven’t checked the coin slot yet, or the back but I think it’s something past just a coin or ticket jam.” You explain, making sure the camera follows along with you as you talk, pointing at certain things because you don’t know what else to do with your hands. “I don’t think it’s safe to remain out here in the same area. Some kid could get electrocuted.”

Another notification pops up before you’re even finished talking.

M: Go into settings and do a factory reset.

You refrain from nervous laughter. “Well, I can’t. I can’t even touch the thing when the power is on. I mean-” Keeping the camera on the arcade game, you try to keep the view steady. “I can’t access the settings if the power isn’t on, and I don’t want to risk getting electrocuted. Is there a hard reset button somewhere on the back-?”

Another notification interrupts you.

M: Is that the Daycare Attendant?

You blink at the text, looking up from your phone. Now that you’re checking, part of Moon’s body was visible in the camera’s view. You adjust so that management can get a full view of the animatronic. Moon’s attention is no longer on the arcade game, instead zeroed in on you and the phone in your hand.

“You mean Moon?” You ask. His eyes were black now, white pupils staring straight into the camera. You furrow your brows at the sight, but save your questions for when you’re not currently on the phone with your boss and talk casually. “Yeah, he’s been helping me with the heavy work sometimes.”

Another text bubble appears and types for a long time, then disappears. You draw your phone camera back to the arcade again, swallowing the anxiety like you’ve just somehow made a mistake or been rude in some way. “So, the game…”

The text message comes through.

M: Are you in the light?

Hesitation. The feed from your camera should have been obvious enough that you weren’t. “What?”

The same message repeats.

M: Are you in the light?

Confused. You flip the camera back over to the front view, making sure it cuts off most of your face, but getting all the neon signs and other low-lighting in the camera feed. “No, all the overhead lighting is off on schedule. But all the neon and the safety lights are still on, the weak ones.” You explain. Were they not supposed to be off? Wasn’t the whole point of the lights being on an automated schedule so that the company could save money, and that Moon could patrol the building freely?

The typing bubble appears, disappears, reappears, and stops again. You feel a little awkward on one-sided facetime where they could see and hear you, but not them. You’re about to apologize for calling them when a small glint in your screen catches your attention, and a click startles you over your shoulder. You turn your head and hiss in a whisper. “Don’t do that!”

Moon’s head clicks again, upright, hovering over your shoulder too close for comfort. Red pupils reflect off the empty space of the management’s default picture on your screen.

You’re this close to cursing at him and telling him to get away when a small ‘ding’ catches your attention, and a new message notification pops up.

M: Just unplug it and finish up tonight. The arcade game will be relocated. You’ll receive a new set of tasks for tomorrow. Have a goodnight.

Oh, that’s fine. At least with it that there wasn’t a risk of electrocuting anyone. You open your mouth to say goodbye in return, mustering up a polite face, but a hand reaches forwards and presses the red button before you could do anything, ending the call and sending you back to your home screen. You gasp lightly, turning to glare at Moon. “That was rude! Don’t do anything that could get me fired!”

He doesn’t look at you, rather staring intently at the screen. His fingers coil around your phone, slipping it out of your hand and holding it with a sensitivity like he was waiting for it to ring.

What? Did he think he was going to take unflattering pictures of you too? Sun already got plenty, you’re not gonna let this asshat get the chance. You grab for your phone, and his fingers tense you touch them, stashing the device back in your pocket before he can get some crazy idea like stashing it away in his hat. “What’s your deal, huh? Trying to embarrass me?”

Moon stares at his empty hand, pupils dragging upwards and you swallow at the red color of them. Right. That detail. Slowly, opening and closing, flexing his hand like something was missing, his wrist bends and you resist a flinch as his hand nears your face. “Moon-”

An index finger presses into your cheek, a thumb drags across your mouth, cutting you off. It swipes once, twice, gently enough over your lips not to hurt the bite mark you did earlier, but sudden enough that you just blink at the randomness of it. You stare wide eyed, shoulders tense in confusion as he pulls his hand back, eyes fading back to plain red, and turning upwards with a grin.

A smudge of orange and white is on his thumb. Moon snickers. “Carrot cake face.”

Your mouth falls open in the horrific realization. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

‘Because it’s funny.“ He chuckles, and his grin grows as you groan dramatically into the air, using your sleeve and shirt collar to rapidly wipe your face for any remaining crumbs or carrot cake that may still be there.

“UGH. They probably think I’m a lazy slob. Or an idiot. Or both!” Your skin is starting to hurt with all the rubbing, so there’s probably no more carrot cake. That doesn’t help to alleviate the embarrassment though. “Shit, I probably looked like a fool.”

The jester’s shoulder rises with amusement at your folly. “You look like one normally.”

“Says the literal jester!”

Moon’s laugh is heart and low, and his response is a shrug.

You sigh, taking a deep breath. Too much has happened this shift, and you were starting the feel the edges of whatever exhaustion you’ve been keeping at bay since your collapse yesterday. You couldn’t afford to do that again. As much as you’d like to stay, you need to keep up your strength somehow. That incident bothered a few more robots than you’d realized yesterday.

Glancing towards the arcade game, your note the power cord, walking over to unplug it. “I guess if they’re going to relocate it, then I’m done here for the night.” You pat down your uniform for any more crumbs as you talk, just in case. The staff bots will be in charge of lifting the machine and taking it where ever else it’s supposed to go. Checking the time on your phone, if you hurried home, you’d be able to get some decent sleep before your partial dayshift tomorrow, and your sleep schedule still needed some major adjustment.

…and also you wanted to be well awake for what you had planned tomorrow night, but that’s not a detail you were going to say out loud.

“If I’m lucky, we won’t run into Chica on the way out.” Your tone light, you walk towards the exit. “I don’t really feel like explaining I didn’t drop off her trash snack because I didn’t want to lug all the bags to her door. But in my defense, I didn’t really want to deal with the cart anymore, you know?” Patting down your jacket for your employee card to clock out, you stop at the exit. There’s no presence behind you that you’ve been feeling, so you look back. Moon is still standing in the same spot, looking back at the arcade machine.

“Hey, don’t worry about it!” You call out. “They said they’d take it out of here. It won’t be a safety hazard anymore. Are you coming?”

The Daycare Attendant’s form stiffens. His head rotates to face you. “What?”

“I’m leaving. You usually escort me to the doors.” You wonder out loud, before catching yourself. “I mean, not that you have to. You just usually do, is what I’m saying.”

Moon blinks at you, like in a daze.

Awkward moment. Waving it off, you’re not in the mood to be any more embarrassed or emotionally vulnerable than you already have. “Nevermind! It’s fine! I’m going home to take a nap, see ya.”

If there’s one set of words to summon the Naptime Attendant, those would be ones. But there’s still a pause in time as you walk out of the arcade, and the presence behind you appears again. Beside you, actually. Nope, Nevermind. Above you. He’s on the hallway ceiling again. “…I’d offer you a ride, but…” He trails off, tsking. “No wire.”

“Wow. I’m totally missing out.” Sarcasm in your tone, no malice in the smile you flash up at him. “Staff bots should have it fixed for you by tomorrow. Probably.”

“Probably.” Moon repeats.

It’s when you’re swiping your card through the reader that you realize something. Moon raises a brow when you turn to him with a lighter step, a brighter look on your face. “You know what I just realized? I’m proud of you. You haven’t told me to go to sleep not once this whole night!”

His sentence is immediate. “You should.”

“…Don’t break your streak, Moon.”

“The Daycare has fresh blankets.”

The machine verifies you as clocked out, and you walk towards the shutters. “I know, Moon. I was there.”

Chapter Text

You do not get to enact further steps to your plan the next night, because you are suddenly taken off the work schedule.

An email comes for you around the same time it usually does, but instead of a list of chores, tasks and notes for the upcoming shift, it’s a notice from management. The email still carries all the same curtness, but the formality of the sentence makes you read over it twice.

We at Fazbear Entertainment greatly appreciate your continued employment and stellar work ethic. Please take the next two days off as unpaid leave. Some remodeling and employee reduction are currently in effect at the pizzaplex until Wednesday, human staff will not be needed at this time. It is during this time period we would like to remind our human staff of our privacy policy and of the requirement to not discuss Fazbear Entertainment work situations, outside of the pizzaplex, as per the employment contract signed at hiring. Failure to comply will result in termination and possible legal action in the case of slander against Fazbear Co.

You will be notified if there is a change to your employment contract. Thank you for understanding and being a part of our Fantastic family!   -M

Weird. And also maybe a bit worrisome. Management acted a bit strangely during the call the previous night, it’s entirely possible that may have affected how they viewed your job performance. It’s not like you were the worst employee, (or the best, actually, you were pretty mediocre) Right now in your head, you’re imagining yourself looking like a whiner who can’t fix a simple arcade machine with carrot cake smudged across your face. Great.

You have half a mind to reply back and ask directly if your job was in jeopardy because of something you may or may not have done, but you refrain. Better not push it.

Although…you had good reason to worry. At the start of this job, even if it was only a few and far in between, there were human workers at the Pizzaplex. No one you really crossed paths with, and presumably most of them were just on-technicians and people like you who could do jobs that robots couldn’t get down just quite yet, but over the months they’ve been disappearing. You never introduced yourself to any of them, maybe nod and a polite smile as you pass, so their slow diminishing numbers weren’t something you think about.

You remember seeing teenagers working the ticket booths during your first tour of the pizzaplex, some waiters and waitresses in the restaurant areas, but not the human presence one expected for an establishment of the Pizzaplex’s size. It was clear that robots were the more efficient laborer, considering they never get sick and they’re never paid. A few snoopy clicks into the employee forums and job review sites tells you that Fazbear Entertainment has no problems dropping human staff for the smallest of things, including some guy who complained about being fired as a waiter because a customer asked for something that wasn’t on the menu, and he told them they didn’t have it.

That totally doesn’t make you feel nervous for your job. Totally not.

Judging by the date of the posts, and by the scarcity of humans even when you first start; Fazbear Entertainment was already laying off its human staff in mass amounts by the time you were hired. A process that was already set in motion by the time you arrived. No wonder it felt like you’re the only human who works at the pizzaplex now, hired to pick up all the small jobs that were left over that the staff bots weren’t programmed to do just yet instead of spreading them out.

Actually…you probably are the only one. You don’t remember the last time you even saw a human worker in months.

Were you going to be replaced as well?

…That email does not spell good things for you then.

You spend the next two days anxiously overthinking about it. It is not entirely impossible that you’ll be replaced by a robot too, soon enough, and without any reason to be there at the pizzaplex, would you still go? To see them, you wonder, back to the band, and to the Daycare Attendant, right as your friendship was blooming thanks to the hard work, tolerance and sheer stubbornness. You may have almost gotten killed a few times, more than you’d like to acknowledge, but there was progress.

The weather is changing, becoming colder as fall steadies on the verge of winter. Two days are spent finalizing last assignments, something you want out of the way since you’ve decided to take a break come next semester. You have three more weeks of this term, though. Between increasingly more hours at the pizzaplex and the mental toll it takes on you there, probably better to choose one over the other. Your animatronic friends are nice, maybe they’ll help you study for your finals.

That is, assuming you’ll still have a job by Wednesday and be able to see them again.

It lingers in the back of your mind for 48 hours, so the email notification you get in the middle of a lecture startles you, and you don’t even care that your professor sighs on the other end of the class call when you pick up your phone to skim it over.

It’s the usual greeting followed by the list of tasks you are responsible for by the end of your next shift. There’s nothing strange in the texts that reference the last email, which is odd enough but you’re assuming that keeps your job safe. It’s the usual chores; empty out trash bins, sanitize the railings in Gator Golf, put up a few posters around Fazbear Theatre, Roxy Raceway, and the main Area, change the décor for the season, etc. Nothing strange there.

You have half a mind to reply back and ask about the odd email, but your professor calls your attention before you can decide, so you put the phone down. Maybe it’s best not to think about it too much. You busy yourself with studying instead, quietly noting the drawings of a sunny animatronic on one of your textbook’s pages, and the nightly one on the other.

It brings forth a traumatic yet fond memory. It’s been a good while since that night since you started working at the pizzaplex, and when all this began, hasn’t it?

Your shift rolls around and you’re casual about it; stopping by the gas station for a quick thing of instant coffee on your way there. The shift is a full one, starting in the mid-to-late afternoon and ending around the early morning hours after close. The staff bot that mans the counter is there alone again, and you smile at it as you approach the register. You make sure your greeting is warm, putting the cup forward. “Hey, Joe.”

The staff bot stares at you for a minute. It hasn’t grabbed your items to scan them, yet.

“Joe? Like, you know, ‘cup-of-joe?’” You joke, nervous laughing a bit as you point to the coffee it has yet to acknowledge. “You know since you’re always the one ringing me up for my coffee or cookies whenever I pop in here. Can’t call you ‘staff-bot’ or uh…’ gas-station bot or anything like that, right? Joe’s alright?”

The robot continues to stare. If it was capable of making facial expressions, you’d appreciate it, but instead, you’re stuck smiling awkwardly as the plain faced staff-bot rings your coffee up on the register and gives you back your change and receipt without so much as breaking eye contact. You finger gun at it as you leave. “Not feeling it today. Gotcha. See ya when I see ya, bottie. You know, like ‘buddy’ but you’re a robot?” A pause. “Nevermind, see ya.”

To your (somewhat) relief, the staff bot hesitantly raises a hand, and waves at you as you go. Usually, it gives some generic greeting, but maybe robots have bad days just like humans do, even if they’re not as sentient as the band animatronics. Or maybe it just thought you were an idiot. That last detail is almost emphasized by almost spilling hot coffee on yourself as you try to find a parking spot in the Pizzaplex’s lot.

Entering the pizzaplex with (now half) cup of coffee, you avoid the groups of families and running children to go to the employee’s clock-in, swipe your employee badge and officially punch in. The cleaning cart doesn’t get stuck in the closet this time when you pull it out, although the scuff marks on the doorway are still there, and you slide your to-go cup into the front mesh pocket hanging off the handle that you’ve put there for such an occasion. Convenient!

You’re putting all your supply in the cart; trash bags, posters, repair wall glue, etc when Freddy is the one to greet you first, although quickly due to the swarm of children asking for his attention. The sound of your name being called reaches your ears, and you turn around to see the staple band member waving at you, happy faced and almost relieved (Relieved?) to see you. You smile and wave back the greeting. It was nice to be acknowledged, even if Freddy immediately had to divert his attention back to the children at his knees scrambling for an autograph.

First thing first: knock out every task that didn’t include the Daycare. As much as you wanted to go hang out with your favorite ‘coworker’, the hours for the moment stated there were more than likely still kids and toddlers checked in, and you didn’t want to distract or be a nuisance to the Daycare Attendant or to the kids just because you wanted to converse. So, to Gator’s Golf it is.

There are a few more staff bots than usual on your cart over there, some of which greet you with the good ole’ dead stare (they’re not big with words, but you smile and they wave sometimes, which is nice) and you mindlessly think about getting nametags or maybe even sticky notes to mark and name them all to keep better track of them. Or figure out if they were even individuals and not a collective hive mind. Sometimes they bring you stickers. Whatever.

Gator Golf isn’t far. The staff bot that handles the party passes at the entrance doesn’t miss a beat as you push past it (some families and parents in the line mumble something behind your back, but it’s easy to ignore) as you make your way through. You’ll only do a quick sanitization here, taking the full trash bins and waiting until the Pizzaplex is closed to do the railings.

The place is full of people. Parents, children, teens, couples, galore. Monty was very popular with all age demographics, but judging by the rowdiness of some teens and some kids making a mess of slushies on one of the cardboard cutouts, and the interesting language they’re yelling, he certainly attracted the ‘troublemakers’, as Sun would say. Poor cardboard cut out. A staff bot is going to have to clean that later. The fake Monty looks funky with slushie on the mohawk, though.

Speak of the gator, you’re parking your cart near the door when you spot him; over on one of the golf runs, Monty is all arms, loud voice and encouragement, hyping up some kid that’s about to smack a golf ball across the room rather than gently tap it. The boy does, and the golf ball goes flying. It smacks a cut out of Freddy right in the nose, bending the board, before bouncing off and landing somewhere in the fake grass that definitely was not the hole to win.

It’s not a good shot, but Monty roars something like encouragement. You don’t hear it from this distance, but watch as the kid beams and shouts, hoisting the golf club over his head like a trophy from a kill while the animatronic jeers. Some folks behind them are taking cell phone pictures and videos, enjoying the scene as much as you are. It’s heartwarming, and he fits right into his territory.

The boy runs to his parents, so the attention is momentarily divided as he gloats and Monty stands up straight, coming down from his hype. Then, his head turns to you. Not glazed over you, not spotted, but straight to you like he already knew you were standing there. These animatronics must have some sort of sensors or something for that. Sun did the same thing when you first saw him through the glass above the Daycare during your first tour in the Pizzaplex, ages ago.

It’s only a touch awkward, and his face is unreadable. Smiling, you give the gator a solid thumbs up. You can’t tell from where you're standing, and the sunglasses shield his eyes, but there’s something almost like…surprise in the way he looks at you. The reaction is short lived, however, his attention is divided as the boy runs up to him again, and you take that moment to turn and walk toward where you’re supposed to be.

No use trying to sanitize all the railings right now when they’re still being used, so you settle for getting the bathroom bins, replacing the toiletries and picking up any dropped items to toss into Lost and Found on your way back. There’s actually railing and walkways above the main section, thin in width and look oddly not safe for such an establishment. There were also people flooding the area, and you’re not interested in getting in a crowd just so you can see where you have to clean next, so you take the trash from this area and dip.

There’s a staff-only hallway that you can take to avoid all the crowding that leads out to the Fazbear Theatre, so you snag your cart and push it through, dumping off your trash bags in a chute on the way. Conveniently, you needed to be in this area anyway. A couple of posters were rolled up and sitting in the cart for you to pin up on the walls, with specific places written on sharpie on the back for you to know where. Thank the staff bots for going the extra mile to prevent you from getting fired for the lack of guidance management already doesn’t give you.

The place is pretty empty compared to the rest of the Pizzaplex. It wasn’t exactly a popular spot, given that the only entertainment was a staff bot telling jokes in a mono-tone voice on stage. They must have played Freddy n’ Friend cartoons in here at some point, though, judging by the posters around the walls. Only a few people are here in the seats; an old man passed out in the seats, some kid next to him playing on a game device and utterly uninterested in what's happening on stage, and a couple that looks like they’re either whispering to each other or two seconds away from smacking face. None of your business, you start hanging up posters.

They’re all some cartoon version of the animatronics, you even put one up for the Daycare Attendants, one for Sun and another for Moon on either side of the drinking fountain. Leaving your cart by the exit, you’re making your pace through the room, posters tucked up under your arm and following the sharpied directions until you’re steered into an adjacent hallway, out of view from the general public with a ‘staff only’ sign on the corner...

There’s a door at the end of this hallway, one you’ve actually never seen before.

You squint at it, checking the instructions again. This poster in your hands was supposed to be put over the front of the door, according to a note left for you in perfect Fazbear Font. Strange, but you never had a reason to go back here. More than likely it was a storage closet and they didn’t want customers coming back here and thinking it was a public bathroom or something.

No guest can hear or see you where you are, so just for funsies, you knock twice on the door. “Helllooooo? Any staff bots in there? Is this a maintenance wing? I haven’t been here yet.” No answer, not that you’re surprised. Curiosity gets the best of you, and you try to open it, but it’s locked so tightly that the doorknob doesn’t even jiggle from the turn you press on it. “Huh. Shut tight.”

Whatever. Probably a storage thing, or a staff bot room. You pin the poster up; a Halloweenish-looking art with Foxy the pirate as the centerpiece, and step away as you’re done-

-just to pause as three knocks echo back from the other side of the door.

Your foot hangs mid-air, spinning back around to stare at the door like it’ll talk to you. It doesn’t, but you heard something for sure. Approaching it again, you hesitate raising your fist out, knocking back to whatever answered you. Once, twice, three times, and calling out. “...Hello?”

“Whoooo’s there?” Sun’s cheery voice is muffled from the other side.

What the hell? You stammer for a moment. “Sun?”

The response behind the door is friendly and immediate. “Sun who?”

“Sunny, it’s me!” You blow air out of your nose in relief, perturbed but at least it’s a familiar voice. “You know! Me!”

“You!?” He sounds fake shocked. “Well that can’t be right! I’m Sun! Unless there’s another one of me somewhere I don’t know about!”

Oh, he’s messing with you again. A smile inches onto your face, and you lean against the door to hear him better. There’s a weight against it like he’s doing it as well. “Yeah, there’s actually one in the sky. Big, yellow thing. Really hot.”

Another fake gasp. “Are you saying you prefer that ‘Sun’ over me?!”

“I dunno. How good are you at keeping a planet bright and warm?”

A thoughtful hum comes from behind the wood. “We’re not so sure about a planet, but we give very nice warm hugs. I don’t think your ‘sun’ can do that, now can it?“

You shrug, which is funny because he can’t even see you. “Guess not.”

“Well, it looks like I win.” Sun’s words carries a grin, his voice delving into casual tone but never losing its playfulness. “At two things, I think. You’re a terrible hide and seeker. Good try, though.”

“What? I wasn’t-” You pause, realization going through your head. This isn’t the first time you’ve been seen behind walls, and the Daycare Attendant is very proud of his ability. “Right. I forgot you have infrared vision.”

“Bingo!”

“Can you let me in?” You try the doorknob again with your sentence. It doesn’t budge, and the weight against the door doesn’t move. “If this leads into the daycare, then it’ll be a good short cut-”

“I don’t think so, friend.” The reply is short. Not un-friendly, but firm. Your fingers pause and slide off the doorknob. Sun only speaks again when you remove your hand. “You should come visit me in the Daycare if you’ve got the time! Can’t be here for much longer, I’m afraid! Little ones think I’m playing hide and seek right now, but this might be ah, bending the rules a bit.”

“Oh. Uh.” You glance down the hallway, the odd shape of it, to the door with no space under the wood and the Daycare Attendant that’s behind it. A map bot gave you the map of the Pizzaplex when you first started, but you lost that info long ago, so you guess. “Is this…your room?”

There is a pause, a second of silence that feels unnatural until Sun speaks again. “Sure is! And it’s Daycare Attendants only, I’m afraid.” Your disappointment must have been felt through the door because Sun tuts after a moment. “Don’t you pout. Come find me in the main area. We have a surprise for you. We can’t see how adoorable you are like this.”

You scoff. “Worst pun ever, by the way.”

“Couldn’t help myself.” He jests. Two knocks on the door in farewell. “Gotta go! See you in a moment.”

You press your hand against the door and feel the weight leave. “Wait-”

Too late. The weight is gone and the space behind the wood feels empty. Looking back up at the newly pinned poster, you sigh and push yourself up off the door. You didn’t plan on going down to the Daycare until some other chores were already done, but no use in keeping Sun waiting. You’ll pass by a storage closet on your way there and throw some boxes of diapers and wipes in the cart for delivery so at least it looked like you had more of a reason to go.

The Fazbear Theatre has a more direct route to the Daycare’s doors, so you’re not walking for long. The doors are shut for safety reasons, so you have to push your back against them as you pull the cart over the threshold, barely registering the quietness of the room as you enter.

Parking the cart by the security desk, you finally look up when you realize...isn’t this working Daycare hours? The room looked pretty empty, save for some shoes and foam noodles that were left out on the playmats. You don’t see the children or Sun anywhere. A frown inches on your face. Where could they be-?

A tiny boy’s voice comes up from underneath the desk. “Hey!”

You jump. Not bad enough to be embarrassed about it, but your gaze drops down quickly to the three children scrunched up underneath the security desk, all wearing some form of ‘pirate’ gear like a fake eye patch or a foam sword. Two boys (twins, it looks like) and a girl, some you recognize as regulars, and they’re looking up at you like you’re ruining something.

You blink at them. “Hey, uh, fellas? You can’t be back here.”

One of the boys glare up at you. “We’re hiding!” The second twin joins in. “From the ‘monster’!”

“Monster, huh?” Probably Sun. He usually played the villain or bad guy in these types of scenarios so kids could unite over something instead of leaving one kid out. Another glance around the Daycare shows you’ve missed a few kids; some hid in tents, others behind the play structure, and one was currently ‘hiding’ underneath a blanket on the floor. You smile, and look back down to the desk children. “Well, you can’t play hide and seek here. There are lots of other places to hide.”

“No! No, no.” The louder twin shouts, then clasps a hand over his mouth with wide eyes like his volume was going to make the ‘monster’ suddenly appear. The boy turns to his brother. “You go look and see if it’s safe.”

The brother immediately refutes. “No, you do it!”

“No, you can do it!” They argue, back and forth while you stand a bit awkwardly. You can’t exactly sit at the desk with children underneath it. After a few lines of banter, one boy turns to the girl, and tells her to go out to check, but the little thing shrinks back against the wooden corner of the desk further, clearly not wanting to be here. “Well, I’m not going to do it-”

“I’ll do it.” You interrupt them, and stay plain faced as pairs of eyes swing back to you. You wish Sun was here to help mediate and prevent the kids from arguing, but you can handle this small thing on your own. “I work here. I’ll check out the ‘monster’ if I have to.”

They blink at you. One of the boys starts pulling at his dark curly hair in a way that looks like a habit. “Okay!”

“Okay, then.” Making a bit of a show with it, you leave the cart and the children behind the security desk, quietly making note of how many children you can spot in whichever hiding spaces, walking throughout the daycare. Little pairs of eyes watch your movement, hushed whispers to each other in their hiding spaces as you pass by. “...Helllooooo? Big, scary, monster? Where are you?”

You’re ‘checking’ the tents when a girl with beads and braids waves to catch your attention, her voice in a ‘shout whisper’ when she talks, with a slight lisp since she’s missing a tooth. “You’re going to get caught!”

“Oh no. How scary.” You smile, and your tone is light. Your job description didn’t cover handling kids, but the little worry about them was cute enough. “Don’t worry. I think I’ll be okay.”

She doesn’t look convinced, pulling the tent cover back over as you walk out and ‘check’ under playmats, shoes, and anything else that could have a shadow, and calling out to the ‘monster’ they were oh-so-afraid of.

You’re in front of the play jungle, crouching to look inside of the tunnels for a split second before rising again. Sure, you know the Daycare Attendant can fit in there just fine, but you’re pretty sure you’d at least hear bells ringing if he was nearby. More than likely he was still in his room, probably thinking up all the different ways he can reject your entry in there if you were to ask. Not that he would get that part wrong though. You were totally going to ask.

Checking the last tunnel slide, you stare into the plastic tube before raising, turning to face the rest of the Daycare and all the little eyes that have been following you for the past five minutes. “Alright, I don’t see anything. Looks like it’s safe to come out-”

Your sentence dies with a yelp. The sound of something quickly scrambling against plastic behind you in a short half-second, large hands and fingers wrap around you, gripping your ankle in one hand and yanking you down, the other hand catching the fabric of your shirt just in time so you don’t actually hit the floor, then dragged up the plastic tunnel all within the span of two seconds.

Your voice croaks on the way down. “What the fu-?!”

A hand slaps around your mouth. You’re dragged underneath a large figure, moving and taking soon as you’re up in the tunnel. It’s tight squeeze around your midsection; your capturer kicks back upwards and through the plastic space as you hear a boy’s yell echoing out in the Daycare. “HE’S TAKEN THE HOSTAGE!”

.…Oh, boy.

“Watch your language.” Sun’s voice is low but still chipper, with laughter in his tone. His hand is removed and you are quickly, rather effortlessly, held close to the animatronic’s body as you’re moved through the tunnels. “There are little ones around. Don’t want to get any complaints from parents about their kids learning some not-so-nice words from here!”

Jarred but realizing you’re not in any actual danger, you almost go limp as you deadpan, glaring up at the animatronic who drags you through the tunnels. “Can you let me go? Please!”

“Using our nice words I see!” The second arm around you loosens and removes itself, but the arm around your midsection stays, and you’re shifting to be on your knees instead of the awkward pull-in position you were in before, the animatronic leading you up another pathway. “Follow! Up here. There’s a high point where they’ll have trouble reaching us.”

You squint at him, head ducked low but following the instruction. The plastic of the tunnels scrapes at the fabric of your knees. “Why not? Sunny, they’re kids. They can scramble in here faster than we can.”

A couple of shouts and calls you can’t decipher ring out in the Daycare, children cheering and jesting outside. Sun doesn’t look to you, but you hear the grin in his voice. “Not with some of the tunnels blocked! Playmats make a very good barrier stuffed inside a tube and I believe I’ve made an excellent maze for the little knights to traverse. Careful, here.” You’re pushed in front of him, the proximity of the whole situation a little too much. “Move forwards, there. Up to the wall. There we go!”

both of you are at the highest point in the play gym now, which was pretty far up from the ground level considering Fazbear Co. liked to make their structures a bit too extravagant that you’re starting to wonder if this thing was even up to safety code. Plastic grating presses against your back. You’re completely blocked in; three walls of plastic and a wall of animatronic in front of you.

Sun’s sunrays are shrunken, just enough not to scrape the tunnel’s ceiling. He sends you a thin, almost ‘apologetic’ look. “Oh, and so sorry about this, by the way.”

You shrink back. Well, as far back as you could manage. The space was cramped, but it’s less of the play jungle’s design since it was built for children’s sizes and the Daycare Attendant’s too. The design, however, is not fit for said Attendant and an adult in small quarters. Plastic would be digging into your back if not for the arm still wrapped around your midsection. “Uh-”

Sun’s free hand comes up in the universal ‘hush’ motion, and you zip your mouth. The sound of children’s voices outside echoes through the tunnels, passing underneath you as you two still, until the noises pass and Sun’s chuckle reaches your ears. “They always liked this part. Always liked to be hero though, never the hostage. Thought this might be a fine compromise!” He smiles, sunrays shrunk a bit to fit. White eyes scan you. “My…you’re not claustrophobic, are you?”

You’re not sure if this is a good time to remind him that the last time you were pinned to in the jungle gym by the Daycare Attendant, Moon was trying to kill you. “Not…quite.”

“Oh, good!” His sunrays spin, just a bit. “Don’t want you feeling out of your safe zone, now would we?”

…The way he said that sentence feels a bit off. Adjusting to get more comfortable, you manage by shifting your legs and arms to sit a different way. The Daycare Attendant’s grip on your midsection finally leaves, instead his elbow resting against the back wall by your hand. You clear your throat. “How long do we have to be up here?”

A child’s roar and something that sounds suspiciously like someone declaring themselves the leader of a search party sounds out somewhere below you. Sun replies chipper. “Until we’re both found!”

“...Really?”

“Yep.”

“I didn’t sign up for this.”

“No, you didn’t. That’s the whole point of being a ‘hostage’.” He boops your nose; a touch of contact that doesn’t feel any worse than the several points where your bodies were already touching. “Don’t worry. I won’t have you scream for mercy or cry for help. They’d find us a bit too quickly, that way.”

You’d worry about oxygen in such a tight space, but there were several small holes in the tunnel’s plastic that allowed for airflow that didn’t allow for good vision, and the animatronic in front of you didn’t need to breathe. You blow out of puff of air, sighing. “Gee. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome!” Sun seems not too bothered by the lack of distance, instead propping his face up, hand holding his cheek and gazing down at you with casualness. “So! How’s your day been so far? Spiffy? Tiring? You look a little sleepy. Got any good or bad news to share?”

You’re starting to suspect you might be here a while; and judging by the children’s lack of coordinated yells below, it’ll be some time before your ‘rescuers’ find you. Slouching against the frame, you relax. “I looked like an idiot in front of the gas station attendant today.”

Sun’s head tilts at an angle. “Ooooh, had a mishap? Do tell, do tell.”

“So there’s this staff bot attendant at the gas station, right? Fazbear Co. type of model, replaced the human staff on site.” You start, delving into your little story. “I’m a regular, so I see it often. Sometimes I talk to it, like, normally. Small talk, you know? I called it ‘Joe’ cause after coffee, like ‘cup of joe’ since it doesn’t really have a name. It just stared at me. Like, you know-” You do your perfect attempt at a staff bot’s deadpan stare. “Just stared at me.”

Sun mimics a short whistle to your toil. “Goodness. You know, they’re really not much of a talking type.”

“We make small talk! Sometimes!”

Sun laughs, and it’s a warm sound laced with it’s usual robotic static from a well-used voice box. “You certainly have a habit of getting attached to robots, even outside the Pizzaplex! Isn’t that interesting?”

You scrunch your nose up at him, though you wear a jesting smile. “Don’t know why you’re teasing me, I’m not an oddity. Look at how many kids and families love you and the band.”

He nods, humming along. “Ah, yes, yes. Social bonding! We recall very well humans getting attached to Roombas .”

“I don’t think the attachment to Roombas is the same as an attachment to an actual sentient person, made of robot parts or not.” You refute, and ignore the slightly flat look that comes across his expression. “You know, there’s actually a whole world outside of the Pizzaplex and there are other robots out there. It’s...mostly Fazbear Co. designed bots and staff bots. They have a monopoly on everything, but there are robots that aren’t unusual to see outside of here.”

Sun’s head tilts as you talk, spinning in one full rotation by the time you’re finished. “Is that so? Sounds nifty!”

“There are robot rights activists and laws coming into place to recognize intelligent sentient life. Fazbear Co. doesn’t like it, but it’s still happening.” You’re rambling a bit, but it’s interesting to watch the animatronic’s reaction to the information. “One day, you should leave the Daycare and the Pizzaplex to see it for yourself.”

The Daycare Attendant hmms, free hand playing with the hoodie strings of your jacket mindlessly. It’s a contrast to the very rehearsed and automatic statement he makes next. “Fazbear Entertainment does not allow its animatronics to discuss the ongoing politics with customers or staff, and to please see their official statement via their website for such topics.”

You blink at such a plain response. “Did you already know about it?”

“Oh, we’ve known since the beginning! Every animatronic does! We have the internet in our heads, silly.” He twirls the hoodie string around his finger, pulling it taut, then releasing it and repeating it in casual motions. “Doesn’t mean that we’re entirely comfortable going outside the Daycare.”

Children’s voices are still echoing beneath you both, scrambling in different directions to find the two of you. Shifting forwards a bit to prevent the grate from leaving marks on your back, you expect Sun to lean back a bit to give you room. He does not. “You’re going to have to leave the Daycare eventually. You can’t stay in your room forever.”

“Actually, we can!” Sun corrects, and tugs at the string once more before letting it drop. “You’re a touch pushy when it comes to these things, we’ve noticed.”

“You’re telling me this while you have me squished inside of a tunnel.” Raising a brow at him, you receive no immediate retort, but the animatronic’s smile stretches at the edges. “It’s a bit hypocritical.”

“Very.” Sun responds, and there’s something off in his tone. The animatronic leans further in, unbothered by the proximity. If he notices the way you unconsciously shrink back, he doesn’t say anything about it. “Doesn’t feel very good when someone presses you to do something that’s not in your safe zone, isn’t it? It’s one of the first rules of playing nice.” His head turns, upright with a thin smile. “It’s not very comfortable, is it?”

...Oh. Sun was trying to make a point here. This was definitely a jab at your meddling in their personal business as of late.

Fine. Two can play this game, and he was right to diagnose you with stubbornness disease. Trying to appear unnerved by the lack of space, you straighten your face and steel your voice. “I am perfectly comfortable.”

Sun’s head tilts at a sharp angle. “Are you, now?”

“Yeah.” Screw this, you didn’t sign up to be intimidated in the top level of the jungle gym today. Shifting your body at an awkward angle for a moment, you duck underneath the Daycare Attendant’s arm and press close to the wall of the tunnel, scooting past him and crawling towards the other end. “Not gonna be your ‘hostage’ anymore though-”

You don’t get far. A hand clasped around your leg, and suddenly in a familiar manner, you are dragged backward. A sharp inhale fills your lungs as you fall onto your stomach, cursing and scrambling to rotate until you’re laying on your back. It’s a similar feeling as to when Moon grabbed you all those ages ago on that one night, except the lights are on, and the animatronic above you is drawing out the processes.

Sun is just like that now; hovering over you fully with little distance and little patience, one hand on your shoulder to keep you in place, the other hung in the air. Fingers curl in and out like a habit. You stare wide-eyed at him and his off-set smile. A light in his eyes flickers, like a pupil barely known. The air feels heavier.

There’s something else in the way his fingers dig into the fabric of your shoulder, the other hand held back in a way you don’t know if it’s meant to be a warning, or restraint.

“Are you still comfortable?” Sun speaks lowly, face inches from your own. “Rulebreaker.”

Your pulse and the lump in your throat probably gives it away, but flashbacks of the Moon and nauseated conversation in a kitchen come back to you in your memories, and you prop yourself back up on your elbows, pushing your head upwards until Sun has to retract an inch to avoid it.

Sourness taints your tone. “Are you?”

There, you see something shift in his face. It’s too quick for you to read, something like uncertainty, or confusion. White pupils shift over you in the three seconds of silence, before the animatronic shifts like he was going to answer.

He doesn’t get the chance; a child’s voice, slurred by slobber and excitement breaks through. “Sunny!”

The change in the animatronic is immediate like a rubber band snaps back with force. The Daycare Attendant’s body freezes for a split second, eyes flying wide before the weight hovering over you disappears decently far back enough that you feel like you can breathe again. The hand on your shoulder shifts quickly to find a grip on your shirt, and the animatronic’s head is turning towards the child by the time you are more or less scooted upwards into sitting position by his rough handling alone. “Oh my goodness! You found us! Trying to foil me and my dastardly plan, are you?!”

The toddler looks barely old enough to walk, full of baby fat, and hasn’t learned how to stop drooling yet, but crawls confidently on hands and knees over you (whom of which you sit blinking dumbly at the jarring change in the last few seconds) and into the animatronic’s arms. As soon as Sun takes a hold of him, little fists grab for sun rays, pulling at the ruffles around his neck. “Why, what a smart, brace little goober you are!” He says, completely unaffected as the giggling toddler begins to bonk him right in the center of his face. “I’ve been defeated! Bested! Foiled again by the bravest of knights!”

The child bursts into fits of laughter as the animatronic tickles him, all curled up in the tunnel like a ball with the toddler in his arms, full of fits of smiles and giggles. It’s a cute, warm scene; something you didn’t feel thirty seconds ago, and you don’t need to ask to know that Sun was probably trying to play off the tension in the air so the child didn’t detect anything was wrong. Perceptive little guys, they like to say.

You crawl away to the exit without saying anything, making your disappearance as subtle as possible while the robot and child were busy with praise.

Eventually when you do find your way out of the tunnels (and it takes a minute longer than you’d like to admit, thanks to some areas being blocked off to stuffed playmats in the middle) some children who weren’t currently looking for the ‘hostage’ inside the jungle gym (or who didn’t give up on the game all together and were coloring in the corner) surround you immediately, fake foam swords raised in triumph. Some of their voices meld together when they all start speaking at once.

“I told you that you were going to get caught!”

“Where is he!? Where’s the fiend!”

“We win! Do we get the prize? I want the prize-”

“Where’s Sunny?”

Their enthusiasm brings a smile to your face, but it doesn’t settle the hairs on the back of your neck raised on end. “He’s in the tunnels getting beat up by a three-year old, I think-”

A clambering, comical noise of kaplunks against plastic. Sun all but tumbles out of the tunnel like a ball, sun rays popping out as soon as he exits and makes a practically perfect landing, straightening and holding said toddler up in the air. The animatronic stands beside you, his usual jesting returned. “Behold! We have our champion!”

Kids cheer, the toddler seems happy. A couple of them boo in jealously for not having found him first but are quick to join in on ‘beating’ up the ‘monster’ some more by making use of foam swords and pool noodles until Sun fakes a dramatic death and crumples to the ground. You slink away to the security desk where you can watch in peace, propping your head in your hands and taking a breather. None of the kids seem to notice; they’re too preoccupied with piling on top of the Daycare Attendant until he ‘resurrects’, crawling on all fours with backwards legs and scuttering across the playmats, chasing children while some clung to his back.

There’s no need to interrupt him in the middle of his work. You return to the cart, unloading boxes of diapers and wet wipes and any other items the Daycare might need, and take your time setting them up in the proper cubbies.

Your shift started in the late afternoon, so it’s not surprising when the first parent arrives to pick up their child about thirty minutes later. You handle the check out this time; it’s the least you can do while you’re slacking off in the Daycare (you’ll just do your chores later, you guess. Not like you’re doesn’t end for another few hours anyway) so Sun doesn’t have to break away from his caretaking duties and attending the other children to meet the parents at the door.

They’re becoming familiar too, so you’re starting to get the hang of what child goes to who. The twins go to two loving mothers, the girl with a fear of Sun always runs to her stoic-type looking father’s arms when he arrives, and the boy who wears an incredible amount of Monty merch goes with the father who talks to you a little longer than what would be appropriate, and so forth. They seem a bit surprised to see a human staff worker approaching with paperwork when they come to pick up their child, (though some looked a bit relieved, and you wonder if there’s still some reputation that proceeds the Daycare Attendant in the back of their minds) and eventually the children are picked up one by one.

Over the hour, you do not interrupt Sun and he does not approach you again; though you’re sure more of the business that the children keep him and less so over other things. No time for conversation when you’re constantly trying to prevent kids from putting glitter glue in their mouths.

Nearing the end, you start cleaning early as they play so there’s at least not going to be a mess left behind after the daycare hours end. Sun is the one who sees the last child checked out and leaving, greeting the parent at the doors and sending them off as you’re tossing stray balls back into the ball pit.

You watch over your shoulder, waiting as Sun waves the child and parent off, shutting the door behind them and locking the Daycare shut officially before you pull your arm back and chuck a plastic red ball directly at his head.

He catches it without looking, head doing a full 180-degree spin to smile back at you. “Attempts of violence or intimidation is forbidden in the Fazbear Superstar Daycare!”

You call back across the room, your face almost a pout as you grab another ball as the Daycare Attendant fixes his head and walks towards you. “Your little stunt from earlier was not appreciated!”

Sun stops a few feet from you, casually tossing the ball back into the pit and humming. “I suppose you’re right. Very well!” He raises a finger, eyes upturned. “You are allowed to hit me once-!” You throw another ball and it bonks him on the edge of his faceplate. “Well! Good shot-” Another ball bonks off of the middle of his face. “…I did say ‘once’, you know.”

“Mean.” You’re tone teasing, kicking the rolling balls back into the pit. There wasn’t much left to do in the Daycare since you started cleaning before everyone was even gone. “What was the point of that anyway?”

Sun’s demeanor is normal again, and it’s welcoming. He walks towards you in long strides, arms held behind his back. “Oh? Are we going to repeat this conversation?”

“Mean. Super mean. Uber mean.” You repeat, voice lighthearted while the animatronic puts a hand over his chest in fake offense. He follows you to the security desk where sit on just for the time being until the usual lights go out. “Trying to scare me into backing out of the plan. I deserve compensation.”

Sun tuts at you. “Do we now? So demanding today! But c’mon, let’s hear it.”

“Can I see your transformation when the lights go out?”

“Have you eaten on your lunch break yet?” His head shifts to the side. “It’s been a few hours since your shift started. Super important to remember to take breaks!”

“Sun.”

“I can hear your stomach rumble. Did you pack a lunch? Or would you prefer something from here? Pizza is a good but not the healthiest-OH! What about something from the Fazpad café? There’s pasta, sandwiches, curry-”

“Sun.” You repeat, deadpan. “You could just tell me no.”

He cuts himself off mid-sentence, and pipes up. “Good idea! No. But you should also really eat something. I wasn’t kidding about that part.

You sigh. Once again, you are denied today. That’s fine, they can keep those secrets, as long as they don’t go back on what they’ve agreed with you. “I dunno. I’m not really that hungry yet. Might just get another coffee or something.”

Sun pauses for a moment, still, then the slight sway that’s always present in his form comes back. “So, how’s your courses going? Are your finals hard? If you need help studying, I'm a very good tutor."

You raise a brow. "I never told you I was taking my finals."

"Not quite, but I know your college is in term for it."

"You know what college I go to?"

“We know a lot about you! Where you live, all your personal info, your phone number, any important medical histories, your college’s schedule...It’s all in your profile in the Fazbear Employee information database.” Sun’s head does a full spin, all cheeky. “Also, you forget you tell us these things, sometimes. You forget a lot of things, actually. Remember, I doodled in your textbook.”

Right. He would have seen what collage it belonged to just by the index page. “Blame it on the lack of sleep.” You jest, and barely miss how Sun almost flinches. “What about my favorite band? My favorite color? Favorite animal?”

“Noted and known through careful deduction and note taking throughout our friendship! We know your shoe size, your note taking habits, how you like your coffee-”

You scoff at that one. “Ha! I never told you how I like my coffee.”

“Well, no, but-” Sun brings his arms out from behind his back. The coffee cup that you had left in the mesh holder on the cleaning cart is in his hands, cold by now but still with substance in it. “It’s not that hard to guess when you have this.”

You swipe the cup from his hands and he lets you, so you send him a look as you sip at the remaining contents. It’s cold now and not the best tasting, so you barely drink. “No fair.”

“You better drink the rest of that quickly before the lights go out.” Sun doesn’t look like he approves of your caffeine habits, but he smiles as he warns you, walking along your side as you hop off the desk and back to the cart. “The Daycare will be closing soon. You know the routine.”

You make a ‘pshhh’ noise at him, kicking off the leg of the cart and pushing it toward the door. “Yeah yeah, meet me at Gator Golf in a bit. I have some things I left over there to do, and I need help putting up some décor.”

Sun lingers at the door as you go over the boundary, leaning against the wood. “Using us for free labor? Whatever happened to those robot rights you were so fond of!”

You grin at him. “Scared of heights. Don’t want to use the ladder. You’ll follow me, anyway.”

“Got us there.” Sun reaches out past the door, tapping the bottom of your chin upwards in a manner you’ve seen him to kids hundreds of times, and pulls it back towards the door opened just a crack. “Don’t wait up! We’ll find you in a moment.”

The door shuts, and you turn back and push the cart down the route toward Gator Golf. Shift schedule going as usual.

You were denied twice; both to the room and to the transformation, but you can’t fault them for wanting to keep some aspects of their life private no matter how involved you are now. However, the knowledge of why Moon was removed as the Daycare Attendant and Sun was mentally locked to stay inside the daycare by taking the life of a former employee was something you were allowed (albeit, with some major coaxing and more of a fucked-around-and-found-out sorta way than actually a confession) but no entry to their room and the transformation makes you what other reasons for the secrecy.

More than likely, it’s probably not even important to the Daycare Attendant’s progress towards a full positive reputation and glitch-free life. Maybe it just feels a little unfair that they can toy with you and get as close as they like, know and remember everything you like, but you’re scrambling for details about them in the dark. Pun not intended.

You’re tossing the trash bag you collected from the Daycare’s bins into a hallway chute when the intercom overhead announces that the Pizzaplex will be closing in a matter of minutes and that all families, parents and children need to collect their relatives and belongings and make way to the exit. The hallways are already somewhat empty as you traverse them, only a few stragglers and a family or two remain, all passing by you on the way to the exit while you make your way to Gator Golf.

It’s not a very long walk, thankfully, and there’s no gator animatronic in sight when you arrive, so you park your cart in it’s usual spot and gather the supplies you’ll need for this area. Seasonal posters and promotions that you set to the side, a spray bottle and a rag, some wipes, and turn back towards the rest of the room. You’ll need to sanitize some things here; the golf clubs are the easiest. You spray the handles down and give them a good wipe over before setting them back in the cubby, following the counter, the benches, and a few spots on cardboard cutouts that look like they had greasy child-size hand prints on them.

The lights go out as you finish the last one, the intercom announcing that the Pizzaplex is now closed. Oh good, you’ll see Moon soon, probably.

The railing is left over, mainly the section by the water parts of Gator Golf. There must be a motor fountain somewhere underground that keeps the water flowing for aesthetic purposes, to make the experience more ‘authentic’. You can’t imagine how much that costs in the electricity bill. A quick spray on the rag, setting the bottle down to the side, you start walking along the route, wiping down the parts where hands would have touched the most. The walk is a little bit wet, but you keep steady just fine.

It’s been a few minutes. You look up towards the ceiling out of habit, scanning the upper level of the catwalk and all the dark corners searching for glowing eyes and listening for bells. Normally, he’s only ever this quiet when he’s scheming unless he just so happened to take his sweet time getting here, or maybe taking a break from being your constant shadow for once-

The part of the railing you’re wiping down bends backward, breaking with the force you’ve been applying. It’s plastic, cheap and not up to code (unsurprisingly) so it snaps forwards at the legs and you’re too preoccupied with your thoughts that the sudden disappearance catches you off guard, stumbling, the wet grass slips underneath your feet and you tumble into the water.

There’s no padding in the water ‘river’, so your fall is broken only by fake water weeds and grass. It’s a near faceplant, but you quickly bring your arms out to break the fall. Luckily for you, it works; you don’t feel anything break or hit hard enough to be worse than maybe a minor bruise. Unluckily for you; the water splashes up on your face and you cringe as cold water comes over you and soaks through your uniform. “Motherfucker-!”

Cursing, mumbling, you fumble to get out of the river. Reaching out for something, you grasp onto one of the fake water reeds, just to have it break in your hand and you slip back on the bottom of the river. The water isn’t very high, but it’s cold and the stream is rushing fast enough that it’s pushing at your ankles when you try to stand, so you’re spitting out a storm as you shiver and scramble in the dim lighting to find something to grasp onto as you falling down. “Stupid, stupid, water and it’s-motherfucking freezing my ass off, stupid-”

Another failed attempt at grabbing the remaining railing and having your hands slips off erupts into a series of sailor’s curses, but they stop short as you feel something taut against your torso. A force is pulling the hood of your jacket upwards, lifting you out of the oh-so-deadly river and a few feet off the ground until you’re hanging limply in the air, and dripping water back down to the floor.

Moon’s face appears in your vision, upside down and cocked at an angle as he hangs from the wire. His grip on your jacket is solid, and his grin is amused. “Cool fish.”

Your face wrinkles up in embarrassment. “Hi, Moon.”

“It’s late.” He says, per usual, and the grip on you starts to sway slightly. “I should toss you back in.”

You start kicking at this, even as he chuckles and angles himself and you above dry floor. “Not funny! Let me down, I don’t want anyone coming in here and seeing me like this.”

“Okay.” Moon lowers you to where you’re only inches from the ground, and you safely land back on fake grass. There’s a squelch in your shoes that make you cringe. Save for your head and shoulders, there wasn’t really a part of you that was dry. You only have your own flailing to blame. The Naptime animatronic pulls back a safe distance away when you’re steady on your feet, hanging in the air limp and upside down, looking at you with casual interest. “Ha. Wet.”

You look back up from wringing out the bottom of your shirt to glare daggers at him.

The response is a full rotation of his head, the robot making a sound that mimics thinking out loud. “Employee lounge. Extra clothes, there.”

Wringing out what you could wasn’t enough to make yourself appear decent or to dispel the discomfort that one gets when standing in wet clothing. Sighing, you stop your attempts and look out at the broken railing. Good thing you left your phone and keys on the cleaning cart; it’d really suck if you ruined your phone by this mishap of all things. “I’m gonna have to send a picture of the broken railing to management. If that piece broke off, the rest of them might too. Kids might fall in here and break a finger or something.”

Moon continues to sway away from you, his head, arms, and legs hang downwards with his torso hikes up with the wire, floating aimlessly. “Staff bots will fix it.”

“I know, but still. It’s a lawsuit waiting to happen, and someone could get hurt.” You glance back up towards the rest of the railing and the catwalks. If just a little bit of force and a slip-up was enough to break it, then who knows what some rowdy roughhousing kids could do. Then again, Fazbear Entertainment was no stranger to lawsuits in the past, or covering up any negligence on their end. “I guess as long as staff fixes it before morning then it’ll be fine, but we should really put a sign out here that says not to lean on the railing.” Looking back down at your attire, you sigh. “I need to go change into something, or at least wring out my clothes where it’s just damp instead.”

“Look. I’m you.”

“You said the employee lounge has some extra clothes, right?” You take off your jacket, at least to remove one sopping wet layer and walk towards the cart. You found your favorite jacket in there, so it could be possible. “If I can just find something-Hey!”

Moon was still in the air on his wire, but now he was swimming very dramatically, arms out and legs smoothly animated in the motions of someone ‘swimming’ in the air. “I’m you. Right now. Look.”

You throw the wet jacket at him. Your aim isn’t the best, but it flops on his face with a wet splchat, and he starts spinning in a circle like when you tie a string to the middle of a pencil and give it a good wack. “Ah.”

“Can you put up the rest of the posters for me?” You ask. The animatronic drags your jacket off of his face, his gaze shifting for a moment. No response has you continuing, unparking your cart and already pushing it towards the exit before he gives you an answer. “I really don’t want to use the ladder to put the higher ones up or take the old ones down, and you’re perfect for that! Plus, I need to go change. Or dry up. I don’t know, I’ll make it up to you. Somehow. I swear!”

Red eyes squint at your (rather fast) retreating form, and you blanch when he starts hovering a few feet over your head as you make your way toward the atrium.  He holds your sopping wet jacket in one hand in a rather threatening manner like a bomb he could drop on your head if he so pleased. You can tell he’s thinking about it with a mischievous grin. “Hmm.”

“Pretty please?” You smile up at him, pulling out all the playful works. “Pretty please with Moondrops on top?”

Moon’s eyes narrow. “Friend-”

“Okay, thanks you’re a life saver!” You’re pretty much power walking at this point, the rattling of the cart’s wheels overtakes the wet squishing in your shoes as you bolt towards the direction of the employee’s lounge. Talking quickly, you make your escape. “See you in a bit!”

You leave Moon staring at you deadpan, but the shadow over you disappears momentarily and it tells you enough that you’re alone for now. Knowing him, it won’t be much longer before he catches back up. Between here and the employee’s lounge, there’s no delay. A couple of staff bots glance up from their cleaning to you as you rush by, but the last thing you really wanted to happen was to run into any of the band members. Freddy might look at you with pity, but Monty, Roxy, and Chica will tease you, the former more so than the latter, and you’ve already had enough embarrassment for the night.

Parking your cart outside the employee’s lounge doors, you dart inside and lock the door behind you, just in case. You’re lucky the light switch for this room is on a separate breaker than the rest of the pizzaplex, most of the employee, storage, and maintenance hallways were, so you flick on the lights and scan the room for anything that could be useful. Unsurprisingly, the room is pretty much empty and dusty with its lack of use. The coffee maker is still broken, the lockers and cubbies were dusty and some of the locks broken, and the sofa was less of a sofa and more like a piece of old furniture one would find on the side of the road. It was away from robot eyes though, and that was enough.

The universe must have taken pity on you, because there’s a wall heater on one wall that looks like it hasn’t been turned on in ages. It’s dusty and not in the best shape, and the dial is older, probably around before the Pizzaplex was first built, and this room was actually used enough. Blowing dust off of it and turning the dial, relief comes as the coils start to heat up. There’s a broom handle in the corner that’s missing its sweeper, but perfect to prop up as a rod and hang your clothes on if you’re careful. It’s not a perfect method, and it could be a while until it’s completely dry, but as long as you could at least get to a damp it would be better than this.

You toss your shoes off first, wringing out your socks and putting them by the heater to dry. The rest of your clothes follow, save for your undergarments, and you work quickly to wring out any remaining wet water into the counter sink, putting your nametag on the surface for safe keeping. Your shirt and pants are hung up on the broom handle, and you left your jacket with Moon. It’s an awkward situation, but at least you weren’t covered in wet clothing anymore. Time to check the cabinets for anything of use.

You’re hoping for something, anything really just to keep covered while your stuff dries. the fourth cubby you open reveals two old cardboard boxes, some of which had something. You glance inside; jumpsuits, gaudy and themed for Roxy’s raceway. These are what the human staff would wear if they worked in that part of the Pizzaplex, with checkered stripes running down the leggings and patches like you’d see on racer suits. This must be what Moon meant by extra clothing. A quick shift through the fabric ruins your hope though; there’s nothing in your size, and the zippers were busted anyway. You sit on the bench, defeated. Might as well make this your ‘break time’ since you won’t be going anywhere. Sucks that you can’t run down to the café and grab something to eat. You doubt you’d be able to keep your job if you were caught nearly streaking in the middle of the pizzaplex.

You spend a few minutes on your phone, texting management a picture of the broken railing you managed to snap before you left, to which their response is that a few wet floor sign bots will patrol the area and to leave it alone. You check your emails, log into your student account and scan over your grades. Nothing out of the ordinary. Your professor sent a message to the class; they’ll be out for the next few days for personal reasons, so just look over notes and study for the finals. That’s good news for you. No lectures means no need to be on course schedule, you could safely plan your nightly tricks sometime later without worrying about being overloaded from college.

A rattling sound breaks your focus and you look up from your phone to the door. The doorknob shakes, which sends a spike of adrenaline into your chest and you shoot up from the bench, all but lunging for your half-dry clothing. “Occupied! Don’t come in here!”

There’s a pause from the other side of the door, and you hear Moon’s voice lowly on the other side of the wood. “Delivery.”

Oh, well. Uh. “I’m not ready yet!” You shout back. The rattling pauses if only for a moment, and it’s just enough time to pull up your pants before it starts again this time, a little harsher. Glaring at the door, you hope he can feel the heat of your stare with infrared vision as much as you’re slipping your arms into your sleeves. Rattling and the sound of the door’s hinges creaking become background noise. “What are you, the boogeyman? Knock it off, I’ll be out in a second!”

You’re buttoning up your shirt (the clothes aren’t perfectly dry and they smell a bit like the chlorine they put in the Gator Golf water, but it’s not so bad anymore) when you hear a wretched crack.

Blinking, your hands freeze, turning back to stare at the door. The knob is turned at a completely wrong angle, and it’s twisting further and making bending, creaking metal noises as it does until there’s another snap, and the knob falls to the floor. It bounces off the tile and rolls a few feet away as the door opens a crack, just a line of darkness with nothing alive in sight on the other side.

A single red eye peaks into view, white pupil scanning the room, landing on you. “Hi.”

“Moon.” You stress, hands falling away from your shirt. At least you were dressed now.

His gaze drops to the not-so-damp clothing, to the shoes and socks still left over by the heater, and back to you again. Silently, his hand comes slowly out from the confines of the darkness and drags alongside the side wall, gliding and feeling for the light switch.

You frown at the busted door knob on the floor. “Asshole. I have to fix that.”

“Don’t bother.” Pat pat. Moon’s search for the light switch is unsuccessful, and a little funny to look at.

You cross your arms, and ignore the prickly feeling of goosebumps that come whenever the dark stares at you like the way that it does. The extent of the Daycare Animatronic’s strength was not something you needed to be reminded of, you have traumatic memories to thank for that, but the twist end of the door knob doesn’t help. He broke it like it was crushing a light bulb in his hand. “You’re not going to try and force me to ‘go to sleep’ are you?”

Metal fingers tap against the wall impatiently, still searching for the light switch which is conveniently just an inch or so out of his reach. “Maybe.” Click, click. The sound of his head turning comes from the crack of darkness. “You could use a nap.”

“No naps.”

“It’s late. You could take a break.” Fingers claw at the drywall, his tone is light. “I can help.”

“No naps.” You repeat yourself, walking towards the door with caution. Your finger hovers over the light switch. “What delivery are you talking about?”

“Turn off the light.”

“Moon.”

“Surprise.” He insists. There’s a smile in his tone. He hasn’t shown too much hostility tonight, keeping his distance, and his eyes were the usual ‘safe’ color. A red hue that casts back at you from the dark. “Turn off the light.”

“Fine.” He’s only been mocking you a bit tonight, and besides the usual threats of sleep, nothing has been too bad to keep you on edge. You flick the light off, and the room is bathed in darkness with only neon lights from the signs in the atrium remaining. You step a few feet back from the door, just to give him his personal space. “Let me see.”

Red eyes turn upward, the hand retracts, and the door slowly swings out. It’s comical and dramatic, and the sight before you ruins all lingering caution you held and brings choked laughter to your throat bad enough you cover your mouth and nose with a hand to try and stop it.

Moon is standing slouched per usual with a white-take out box in his free hand, the Freddy symbol printed on the front. A chef’s hat is sitting on top of his nightcap, your jacket sleeves tied around his neck like a makeshift cape. The smile he wears is wide and dumb, and he holds the food box out to you. “Delivery.”

“Oh my god.” You’re giggling, face hot and he looks pretty satisfied watching you try and stifle them. “Oh my god, what am I looking at.”

“Bone app teeth.”

“Stop.” Laughing, you turn away to cover your warming face. “You know that’s not what that is!”

The Moon’s smile softens, the red glow of his eyes softens to a pale white as your laughter echoes against the walls, if only for a moment. “Lunch break.” The take-out box is thrust towards you, and you grab it without thinking, blinking at the offering as Moon scuttles past you on the ceiling. He’s all gangly limbs and quicker than you can blink, finding a safe place atop the lockers where he can surveillance you without issue. The chef’s hat lay on the floor dejected. Look’s like it doesn’t stay on as easily as the nightcap does.

Moon unwraps your jacket from around his neck, hanging it on a locker hook below and sitting with his knees bent upwards, crouched like a cat, and his arms dangling below. “Eat.”

You smile at him. “You didn’t have to bring me food. Thanks, Moon.” You go to open the box, pausing at the label scribbled at the top. Masa-Moondrops Curry; one of the often at the Fazpad café. “Did you make this?”

He taps his fingers against the locker, drumming them in a rhythm you can’t follow. “Staffbots do. Pre-made and frozen for sale later. Microwaved it.”

Better than going without eating anything tonight, and it actually did smell pretty good. Still, the niceness of the gift made you a little too suspicious to put your guard down. “Does this have any sleep inducing Moondrops in it?”

“No.” Moon states plainly. “Unfortunately.”

“I feel bad for the poor staff bot you stole that hat from.” You kick the said article into the corner to be forgotten, plopping down on the sofa with you’re newly acquired dinner. You cross your legs and find the plastic fork left for you in the box, putting a bite in your mouth. It’s pretty good! And finally, something other than coffee for your stomach (you make a mental note to grab the cup off the cart before you leave). You talk in between bites. “Oh! By the way, I thought about using plushies to help with the whole glitch thing. Since you don’t want to use me, at least not at first.”

The change in Moon’s expression is immediate. “Hate.”

“Too bad.” You tease, your tone light and your voice muffled by curry. “Cry me a river.”

“Fall in one.”

“...Just humor me.”

He doesn’t look any happier to be discussing this again, so you continue. “Dude, you’re already making progress. Look at how good you’re being right now! You’re not attacking me or anything-” Moon makes a sound that mimics a groan of irritation, body contorting to flop against the top of the lockers and turn away from you. You swallow a mouthful and continue. “And! And you’re being nice. Nothing weird has happened.” You pause before eating another bite. “Except for, you know, that whole stunt in the jungle gym earlier. I don’t know if you had anything to do with that though.”

Moon is grumbling lowly, hunched away from you, and dragging lines with claws in the drywall. “We should have...”

You don’t hear the rest of his sentence, and you swallow quickly. “What was that?”

“Pushing it.” Moon’s head does a 180, his face looking far too tired for a robot. “You’re pushing it. Always.”

“You’re one to talk, both of you.” You stuff another bite of curry in your mouth; you were eating rather quickly, over half the container was gone. You must have been hungrier than you thought. “You push my buttons all the time, Starboy. And I don’t have actual buttons on my chest.” Another bite of curry, you watch as the animatronic pretty much rolls his eyes at your petty squabbles. You grin, waving the fork in his direction “I’m not trying to antagonize you, dude. I’m just saying at this rate, maybe we could actually share a hug or something.”

Moon’s head slowly, upside down, tilts all the back on its axis.

“You’re doing great so far, compared to when we first met. Hell, you’re doing better than how we were like, a week ago.” You take another bite, chew, swallow, and have gotten used enough to Moon’s boats of unresponsive silence that it doesn’t bother you as much as it should anymore. “Hands on stuff should be the next step.”

“I’ll snap you.” Moon cuts you off at the end of your sentence.

You look up from your almost finished box, and blink. “From a hug?”

In the way he likes to mime, all jester performance on show, Moon raises two hands shaped like they’re holding an invisible stick in between them, then motions downwards slowly, making a coy ‘ccrrrrrkkkkkkk’ sound of something breaking from his voice box until it snaps. Your mouth thins, skin going cold as the animatronic chuckles. There’s entertainment in watching you tense.

“Huh.” You don’t doubt that in the slightest, actually. He could do it, could have done it many times previously, but the animatronic makes no move toward you, and you’ve gotten very good at policing your reactions when you know all he’s looking for is one. “I mean, sure. But earlier I was told you give some very good hugs. You know? Back at the door to your room.” His eyes narrow on you. Scratching the final pieces of food against the box, you stuff it in your mouth nonchalantly and talk muffled. “Guess you’re just not being honest. Besides, maybe I need my back popped? Ever think about that?”

His arms hang limply over the side of the lockers, one hand fiddling with the edge of the ribbons. “Manners.”

“You just threatened me! Besides, I’m done! All done, see?” Just for show, you let him see the empty box before you toss the fork in and setting it on the cushion beside you. There’s no trash bin in the room, but you’ll just toss it in one of the bags you keep on the cleaning cart outside. “C’mon. I still have some places I need to clean out and put posters up before my shift ends.” Walking over to your shoes, you check their status; the socks were much better, no longer wet, and although the shoes were not entirely dry they no longer squished when you stepped in them. It’ll do for now.

You make sure to grab your jacket and nametag, pulling it on. It’s drier than everything else, like it was tossed in the downstairs laundry dryer for a minute on the highest setting. Actually, he probably did that. The nametag sits snugly in its usual spot, and you miss the white and red pupils watching you adjust it. “Did you get the posters in Gator Golf set up?”

Moon is crawling on the ceiling, halfway out the door by the time you look up. “Yes.”

You snatch your empty take-out box, running after him. “Thank you!”

“Not welcome.”

“Rude!”

Going to lock the employee’s lounge door, you grab empty air before you remember oh yeah, he broke the damn door knob. That’ll be a problem for a future you, though. The other half was sitting uselessly in the door socket, so it didn’t look broken unless it was from the inside. Given that there’s a sign that says ‘staff only’ on the front, you doubt anyone was going to just waltz in. Management is never down here anyway, so you’ll leave it be.

To your pleasant surprise, you rediscover the forgotten cup of coffee in the mesh holder of the cart as you're throwing away the remains of your dinner. It probably only had a quarter left in it and was cold still, but you weren’t going to shake your head at caffeine on a late shift. “Oh, I thought I had finished this already-”

Moon’s hand finds the cup before yours does, swiping it from its spot and holding it above your head. The animatronic stands straight up, his arm outwards far out of your own reach. “No.”

Oh, now this was just getting silly. “Hey! I paid for that!”

“Bad for you.” He talks casually. His arm moves to toss it into the trash bag, but you block him from it, pushing the cart to roll away a few paces. Moon looks at you with an annoyance one would spare for a toddler about to conduct a tantrum.

You are unbothered. “Dude, it’s just coffee. It’s not even a lot.”

“Hmm” His voice is grave, and he has no reaction when you hold your hand out to give it back, or when you drop it to glare holes at him. “Can cause insomnia. Anxiety.”

At this point, it’s not even about the coffee anymore. You could probably grab another at the gas station on your way out of here. You’re just irritated with his behavior again. Any attempts to jump up and catch the cup is just giving you grabs of air, though he does step back once when you get a little too close. So you purposely step closer just to push his (literal) buttons. “You know, sometimes I think you enjoy bullying me-”

Crunch. You blink at the sound, and follow it up to the crushed styrofoam cup in his hands. The cup was in pieces; leftover driblets of coffee was streaming down Moon’s palm, over his wrist, and down his arm to his elbow. His fingers twitch as you step back from his personal bubble.

Moon’s voice comes out smooth, smile thin. “Whoops.”

Alright, alright, fine. You get the picture, saying nothing as the animatronic tosses the broken cup into the trash bag on the cart, and all but rehooks himself to his wire to hover his usual safe distance away. You still scrunch your face up at him though, mumbling under your breath about robot mood swings and how you can’t tell if Moon’s constant annoyances were due to the glitch or maybe he just liked to get a reaction out of you. “Whatever. Help me pin the décor up in the atrium?”

He doesn’t look down at you, fiddling with the ribbons on one hand. “Sure.”

Aside from a few trash bins on your route and usual upkeep, it would be your last thing for the night before you can clock out. You work in routine, taking out the trash, restocking the bathroom with toiletries and sanitizing spots like photo booths and kiddie-rides, the kind you put a quarter in for 30 seconds of fun, and anywhere else you think might be a cesspool of germs. Moon doesn’t follow you in the bathrooms, at least, but he’s always ready at the exit door to jumpscare you if your guard is down. Nothing gets your blood pumping faster than a split second spook from a former murderous animatronic you know that likes to scare you for fun, and has totally not been resisting something worse for a while now. Totally not. You throw toilet paper at him sometimes.

Moon handles the upper décor, the ones on top of shops and banners hanging from above doorways, basically anywhere that would have required for you to dig out that damnable ladder again. It’s all seasonal stuff, introducing new items to the Fazbear Café or new songs, or promoting their birthday specials, including a steep but ‘reasonable’ price for how much it costs to have a band member chaperone a birthday party. Chica and Freddy seem to be the most popular picks, though Roxy and Monty, and even DJ Music Man were listed as possible bookings. Unsurprisingly, there is nothing for the Daycare Attendants. Strange. You remember seeing birthday plates and hats in a box in the storage box in the daycare, long ago.

You ask him about it as he’s putting up the last banner for the night. “When was the last time you did a birthday party for some kids in the Daycare? I saw stuff for it in storage. There were moon and sundrop themed cupcake makers and everything.”

There is a slight pause in his movement, just enough you barely detect it from the ground, before Moon continues to pin up the banner. You wait five seconds, then ten, and frown when it looks like he’s not going to answer you. “There’s old drawings in the daycare, too. Everyone is wearing birthday hats in them, but you’re not on the roster to be booked anymore.” You continue, and watch as the animatronic ignores you, squinting at the way the ribbons on one hand stick to his arm. Probably from the dried coffee. “...sorry if it’s a touchy subject, I just thought-”

“Birthday parties are for daytime.” Moon sticks the last pin in the banner with a little more force than what was necessary. “I handled the sleep overs.”

Oh, right. Sleepovers. There was an option to sleep overnight at the Pizzaplex at some point, marketed as a ‘fantastic slumber party experience for kids while giving parents a much needed break for one night’. At least, that’s what you remember from your own research on online forums. The offers for those are no where to be on the official website anymore. You fidget on your feet as Moon lowers to the ground from his wire. “Sleepovers, huh? Were they fun?”

He doesn’t look at you, busying himself with his ribbons. “Yes.”

Awkward conversation. You search for something else to say. “Maybe you’ll be able to do them again one day, once we figure out the whole glitch thing, I mean.” Hesitation lingers in the air, your response is the quiet hum of the neon lights above you. “What kind of stuff did you do in the sleepovers?”

Moon’s back remains facing you, and you sigh at the silence. He picks at his bells, fingers occasionally jerking back as he unsticks a ribbon piece from a part of his arm where dried residue coffee remains. He has no intention to talk about it, probably cause it hurts. Maybe. A heavy feeling enters your chest as you’re ignored. That’s alright. You’ve pressed far enough today. The Daycare Attendant doesn’t need to tell you anything else.

So you reach for a rag and the spray bottle in your cart, douse a good amount onto the rag, and circle back around to the front of him. “Hey, c’mere. Let me see your arm.”

One red eye, one black follow your figure. The movement in his fingers pause, and the pupils stop on you. “What.”

“Your arm. It’ll get sticky.” Without waiting for permission, you gently (Slowly, out of caution) take his wrist in his own and lifts it up. Uncurling his fingers take a little bit more coaxing with your own, but you hold his wrist steady with one hand and rub away with the rag at the palm with the other. There is no movement to pull away, but the animatronic in front of you goes still. “I won’t take long. I don’t think you want to deal with dried coffee in your joints, yeah?”

The fingers in your grasp curl in and outwards. You don’t look up at Moon, focusing purely on your task; making sure to get in between the fingers and in the small spaces where the joints connect. Robot anatomy was fascinating, and his hands were certainly much bigger, shaped stranger than your own. This is a hand that capable of strengths and magic tricks and of mimery just to tease you.

You realize halfway done that this is also the same exact hand that killed someone by breaking their neck.

....You ignore the tiny voice in the back of your head that is still afraid. This is your friend, they both were. Even if they tease you and trap you in plastic tunnels and steal your coffee.

Though, your friend’s silence is unnerving, so you start talking. “When I was a kid, the middle school I went to had a big sleepover. Kids got to bring blankets, pillows and wear pajamas from home.” You start off, not looking up and simply rambling. The arm and the animatronic does not move, and you start dabbing away at the sticky mess on the wrist, careful of the ribbons. “We watched movies in our homeroom, and all the desks were pushed to the edges so we could pick a spot on the floor and eat pizza, tell stories and kick each other if we got too close when laying down.” You wipe off the forearm, satisfied with it and flip the arm over to get whatever you’ve missed. “It was fun. I imagine the daycare’s sleepovers were more hectic though. We had several teachers, but there’s only one of you.”

He remains quiet as you’re careful to clean the edges of the ribbons, careful around the bells. You smile, and accept the one-sided conversation. “I think we’re almost done for the night, anyway-”

“I told stories,” Moon speaks, and his voice is low. Your motions pause, looking up. There are no pupils, you can’t tell where he’s looking. He continues. “I tucked them in, and ate their nightmares.”

Your pause is brief with confusion. Then, you slowly return to work, making sure to get the joints over his knuckles. “You...ate nightmares?”

“Kids have nightmares.” He starts, and you don’t know if the smile he wears is happy or something else, but the tone of his voice lifts at the end. “They’d wake up scared. I’d be there. Tell them I’ll eat the nightmares so they’d go away.” Click, click, his head turning at an angle as he talks, his mind elsewhere. “Faked eating air. Pretending to grab something from their head and slice it with a fake knife and fork. They think it’s funny when I ‘salt’ them.”

There’s no more coffee stains on his arm, but you’re holding it still anyway. “Really? That’s…super cute, actually. What if it didn’t work?”

“Depends. Talking. Holding, sometimes.” He continues, and this is the most you’ve heard him talk in a long time, all at once. “Maile likes to color her dreams. Rody likes talking. He goes back to sleep, quickly.” His fingers move, find the skin of your wrist that holds his own, and brushes against the veins there, like he was looking for something lively to hold. “Stitch likes to be rocked back to sleep. Doesn’t like talking.”

You let him. You have no idea who these kids are supposed to be, but it’s clear he remembers them fondly. “They miss you as much as you miss them, I think.” You’d let the hand holding the rag drop to the side, but it seems it’s now the attention of said animatronic, a jointed thumb brushing over your palm. You resist the urge to tell him that bruise went away a long time ago. “I see one of them with your doll all the time.”

“We know.” A chuckle resounds from his voice box. “I gave you nightmares once?”

The reminder makes you pause. “Yeah, after we first met and that...whole thing.”

Without pupils, you cannot tell where he’s looking, and the smile he holds is a strained default setting. He sounds almost proud as he chuckles again. “Good.”

“…'Good’?’ You ask. The actions contradict the Daycare Attendant’s words, both day and night. You wonder. ”Why does it make you happy if I’m scared of you?“

The smile on the Daycare Attendant’s stretches to its usual mischievous grin, all sharp teeth and malice...then, there’s a pause. It falls slightly, the eyes narrow. An emotion you can’t read comes across the lines in his expression that you can’t decipher. The motions against your palm stop, his thumb pressing into your skin like you were the grounding back to earth.

You might have gotten an answer once that isn’t just snark and teasing, but then Moon’s head snaps back up, pupils returned, and stares widely at the space behind you. For a split second, you watch as his lost expression turns deadpan, and you follow his gaze. He grumbles something as your hand is dropped. “Gator.”

“What?” Turning back around, the space in front of you is empty. The shadow on the ground rapidly shrinks and you don’t even have to look upwards to know that he’s already made his escape. Great. Ruined the moment. Whatever it was supposed to be anyway.

As if on cue, you hear a high pitched, shrill voice call out to you from behind. “Oh, I didn’t know you were still here, Hon! Heyyyyy!”

Deep breath, putting on a smile, you turn to face your other friends. Chica has come around the corner, Monty following behind her and the two of them have seemed to have spotted you. There’s no indication that they saw who you were with, or if they did, neither acknowledged it. The chicken animatronic bounds up to you as cheerful as ever. Grinning, you wave. “Hey, guys!”

Your voice is cut off into a squeak as Chica’s arms encircle you. “We almost missed you! Freddy told us you were back on shift, but we’ve all been booked on birthday parties and make-over sessions and Parts n Service appointments and-” She squeezes you tight, not enough to cause damage but you’re getting a face squished against her chest plate until she lets you go, clapping her hands together. “We thought you weren’t coming back at all! Oh, we really need to start hanging out more often, I feel so bad for being so busy all the time!”

Rubbing the soreness in your nose, you grin back at her enthusiasm. Of course you know why her and Sun get along fine. “Come back at all? C’mon, Chica, I was just studying for my finals. I had some time off.” You jest. Monty joins the two of you, not having yet said a word, but you don’t miss how his sunglasses move up with his eyes towards the ceiling for a brief moment, before frowning and looking back down at the two of you, arms crossed. You say nothing. “I was just about to wrap it up here and clock out soon. Are you guys on security patrol?”

“You betcha!” Chica confirms, much too positive for her own good. “And really? I thought it was because of all the employee purging, we really thought you’d been fired when your name went off the schedule for the next couple of days, but I’ve never been happier to be so wrong!”

You stop rubbing your nose, blinking dumbly at her. “What? Employee purging?”

Chica’s demeanor falters for a second, blinking back like she was stunned you didn’t know. “Oh, the uh...with the staff-”

Monty speaks for the first time, cutting her off. “The big guys up top fired all remaining human staff, not like there was much of any of them left considering they’ve been picking them off left and right for months.” He looks like he doesn’t want to be here, board but also on edge. He’s also squinting at the wrinkles in your clothes, the damp spots still on your shirt, and you’re again hyper aware of the fact that you had a not-so-graceful trip in his river earlier. “...they’ve all been replaced with staff bots. Even been denying job applications for every position, even the ticket punchers. Refused an application for a Security Guard, even.” He huffs, sarcasm in the rest of his sentence. “You’re the only one they’ve allowed back. Congrats, runt. You’re special.”

Well, you don’t quite like how he phrased that question, but you’re a bit too preoccupied with processing the information to give him a proper response. “That’s um...” Great? Terrible? Shocking? Suddenly the lack of human staff you saw on your human shifts getting worse since the start of your employment made sense? What basic things you did was somehow enough to warrant you not getting replaced with state-of-the-art technology? Sun didn’t mention any of this if he knew about it when you first saw him. “That’s...good? For me? I guess I don’t really want to be fired. Cool?”

“Thought you knew, sorry!” Chica waves her hands, apologetic. “I didn’t know if it was a touchy subject or anything!”

You furrow your brows, and busy your hands to at least look a little less awkward. They walk alongside you as you return to the cart, pushing it toward the janitorial closet. “Why would it be a touchy subject?”

“Well!” Chica has to think for a minute. “I don’t know! Thought you might hate it if you’re the only human here.”

You grin at her shenanigans. “Ha! Chica, I don’t I’ve interacted with another human coworker since my first month on the job.”

She squawks. “Oh, good! Screw them then!”

Monty pipes up, grabbing your attention. (which is perfect for the chicken since she nonchalantly steals the pieces of the Styrofoam cup out of the trash bag and starts munching on them when you’re not looking) “Why do you smell like chlorine?”

You freeze. Okay, appear normal. Appear perfectly normal. Totally don’t give yourself away. “How do you know what I smell like? You’re a robot.” Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best defense.

Monty’s nose twitches, and a huff of air blows out from his nostrils. You wonder if that’s a way they vent their cooling system. “You smell like that shit they put in to disinfect the water in Gator Gold, so yeah, we have a sense of smell.” He snarks. “We ain’t top technology for nothing.”

“Not the kind of ‘smell’ like you humans have, though.” Chica adds on. She scarfs down a piece of Styrofoam before continuing, which you wait patiently for. Monty does too, having no reaction to her trash eating habits, so it tells you that she’s eventually come clean about it and either they don’t care or don’t have the power to stop the force of nature that is Chica. “We can detect substances in the air a little bit, like carbon monoxide or smoke from a fire. We’re like, totally better fire alarms than the kinds that scream at you. Part of our safety installments.” She finishes the last bit of the cup, completely obliterated by her beak and gives you a winced look. “But yeah, you do smell a bit like river water. Sorry!”

Well, Moon didn’t tell you that little detail either. “…I may or may have not had a little bit of a mishap in Gator Golf.”

Monty scoffs. “I can tell.”

“Shut it.”

“Surprised your stalker freak didn’t tell you.”

Chica says something offended, probably telling him to shut it as well, but she was a bit preoccupied with helping herself to the rest of the trash that her beak is too muffled for the voice box to reach out. You furrow your brows. “…My what?”

Sunglasses glint at you. “The jester.”

You deadpan, disappointed but not surprised. “That’s my friend, man. I ask him to hang out with me and help me out, you know.”

“Right. Friends watching you silently from the ceiling is a total friend thing to do. Sounds like creepy shite to me.” Oh, so he definitely knew Moon was up there if the Daycare Attendant still was that is. You resist the urge to look back up at the ceiling yourself, and fail. It’s dark, and there’s no light beyond in the rafters. He’s wouldn’t be visible to your eyes even if he was remaining here. Monty scoffs again, and there’s laughter in his voice. “That thing is gonna get the jump on you and kill you if you’re not careful. Start carrying around a flashlight.”

Chica, having ‘swallowed’ her trash, gasps at him. “Monty!”

“Or a taser.”

“Monty!” She smacks him right in the chest. It makes a metallic bonk noise, but the gator cringes back like it hurt a bit. “Hush! Maybe the reason why he’s like that is because of people like you!” She scolds him before she turns and faces the ceiling, cupping her hands around her beak and calling out into the empty darkness. “Hiiiii Moon! Come say hello! We’re not mean, promise! I wanna be friends!”

Monty sneers. “Speak for yourself.”

Chica bops him right on the nose, not hard enough to hurt, but just enough to dislodge his sunglasses and send him into a fit trying to adjust them again. “Be quiet! Moon! We should hang out, okay?”

You just kinda stand there awkwardly. As heartwarming as it is to try and watch Chica coax the Naptime Attendant out like a stray kitten, and as frustrating to hear Monty blatantly shit-talk the jester for whatever beef they might have, you can’t imagine how wild this is to Moon, if this didn’t happen when you weren’t here of course. You cough awkwardly into your hand. “Um. I have to clock out soon.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah!” Chica breaks from her calling, again turning to you. “Sorry, hon! Don’t mean to keep ya, we need to get back to our patrols too. C’mon, Monty.”

Said alligator was hesitant. “You need an escort?”

Huh. You didn’t imagine that coming out of his mouth. You’re not sure how to tell him that Moon is usually the one that sends you off through the doors, so you don’t. “Nah, thanks though. I’m not that far from the clock out station, anyway.”

“Yeah, yeah. Alright.” His head tilts like he’s about to check above him, but a slight snarl at his maw comes instead. He follows in line with Chica, (who has literally taken the bag of trash out of the cart and is taking it with her, but you don’t complain because it’s one less chore for you to do) “Next time you go prancing around Gator Golf, come get me for a tour instead of going swimmin’.” He gestures to your attire for emphasis at that last part. It’s an unusual statement from him; he might still be trying to make up for what happened. You don’t know yet how long guilt seems to linger in him. “Try not to get fired.”

You’ll take that as a positive interaction, throwing a thumbs up toward their retreating backs. “Doing my best. See ya.”

They return the farewells and you slowly push the cart towards the closet further until you turn back and no longer see them. Pausing in your steps, you look up towards the ceiling. There’s no sounds of bells, no shadows, and no glowing red eyes to greet you, and you’re starting to wonder if Moon took off long before the conversation even included him. Calling out to him might be risky if the other two are still nearby and could hear you, so you whisper-yell in the dark instead. “Hey, why didn’t you tell me I smelled like chlorine?”

No response, and the air remains still. Pouting, you kick the wheel of the cart so it moves forwards faster and jut it inside the janitorial closet, shutting it closed and digging for your employee badge in your pocket. The walk to the check-in system isn’t far. A little Helpy cartoon greets you at the screen, happily telling you to scan your ID to clock out and giving a small wall of text in a speech bubble that looks a bit like the email you received a few days ago, something about notice and not to discuss work outside of the building.

You swipe your badge, clock out, and are turning on your heel back around when Moon’s face is hanging in front of you. “Don’t stay up late.”

“Jesus cr-!” You calm yourself from the jump, and glare daggers at him. “I can stay up late when I get home if I want to. I have finals to study for, you know.” You retort, backpaddling as you watch the animatronic’s face twist into something like a mix of irritation, smile wearing thin. “I mean, I won’t. I’m going to bed when I get home. But I’m an adult allowed to stay up if I wanted to.”

“Yes. We know.” He continues to hang upside down even as you start the walk to the shutter doors. “Don’t, though.”

You’d roll your eyes if you had the energy, but you’re less interested in having the same banter for the 100th time when you wondered something else out loud. “Were you still there when Chica and Monty were saying hello?” Coming up to the keypad, you press the proper buttons, showing your ID, and listening to the electronic lock that clicks, allowing the shutters to be pulled up. “Why did you leave?”

Moon’s response is immediate. “I didn’t leave.”

“Dude, I saw you disappear. Chica was calling out to you.”

There’s a pause in his voice, his head rotates to look upright. “I didn’t leave you.”

“Right.” Sighing, keeping your finger on the button so the shutters didn’t relock while you were talking. “Nice rephrase. You know, maybe hanging out with the other animatronics can be good for you. I know Sun does, too.” A short, curt laugh. Moon snickers like the statement you said was false, or there was something you didn’t know. Certainly feels like it, since apparently all the robots got information faster than you did. You raise a brow at his amusement. “What now?”

“Later.”

“Is it because Monty said those things? He’s an asshole, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Later.” He repeats, dropping from the wire, landing on his feet with perfect grace. Slouched still, he keeps his distance. His gaze drifts over to where your finger lingers on the unlocking button. “We’ll see you.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you.” A warm smile, you use one hand to hold the shutters high enough to duck underneath, and the other to point at him while you call out. “We have a therapy appointment with some stuffed animals tomorrow, okay? Don’t forget it!”

The Moon’s hands fidget at his sides, with a default smile, watching as the shutters close. “We won’t.”

Chapter Text

You study, you attend your online morning lectures, and you once again run through all the possible ways you could die should your attempts at ‘exposure therapy’ or whatever you decide to call it ends horribly and if they would use a good picture of you in the newspaper when they announced your death to the number of nobodies that would care.

Wait, no. Gramps would care. Not your actual grandfather, he’s just the apartment maintenance guy. Cool fella. Made you a casserole once. Not very knowledgeable of smartphones though. He’d probably care.

The inner monologue of this circles in your brain as you sit in the midst of your finals. You take them all in the same morning, because you’re a masochist like that. Funny, but better to do it quickly while the information you crammed into your head is fresh so you can focus more on your shenanigans at work. There are bags underneath your eyes and a visible strain in your face as you leave campus just to sit through an online final at home, but they’re ticked off the list one by one. Thank your luck your professors allow alternate scheduling for these things.

So, you’re done. Sorta. There’s one more exam you’ll have to take that you couldn’t fit into a tight schedule, but it’s an easy enough one that you’d be able to do it on your break. The library loans you a certified small laptop, and you plan on taking that with you to work to knock that out, as long as it’s turned in by midnight.

You’ll take a gap year or something, maybe take more shifts at the pizzaplex so you can finish paying back last semester’s loan (which, thanks to your job’s decent pay, was being chipped away at pretty decently now.) Totally not to spend more time with your friends. Being paid at this point was becoming a bonus.

Actually. Don’t jinx yourself. Better not to find out why all those other human workers were fired, and you weren’t.

You walk into the gas station thirty minutes before your shift with all the life of a ghost and the energy of a wet napkin. You go for one of those refrigerated coffee bottles instead of pour cups this time, one of those guaranteed to pipe you back up and crash you later after a few hours. The gas station attendee bot (Joe? You’ll call him Joe, still.) is already ringing up your purchase at the register by the time you make it to the counter.

“Good afternoon.” It says in a monotone, dead robotic voice. The usual.

You respond back with a smile, and a voice equally lacking energy. “Hi, Joe.”

It doesn’t respond to your greeting, but with a couple of button clicks on the register, it holds its hand out for the money. “Good afternoon. Your total is $5.68.” You’ve dropped it into its hand and it’s pulling the money into the register to collect your change before his sentence even finishes, but as it hands you your change, it speaks again. “For a small fee, we allow any customer to bring in their own container cup of any size to use the coffee machines.”

You stop fixing your wallet, blinking. “Any size?”

The robot stares, unblinking.

“Good to know! You don’t know why it told you this, considering there’s nothing around on a flyer or otherwise in the gas station promoting the idea, but you’re not going to pass up on the chance is fill up a jumbo travel cup from home for a fee instead of getting new styrofoam ones that can barely hold anything at all. ”I’ll take you up on that, next time. I’ll need it.“

Bidding your goodbye, you wave it off through the gas station window when you leave, and barely catch the ridged beginning of a wave back before you start your drive to the pizzaplex. There is where you down the coffee all in one sitting in the driver's seat in a somewhat empty parking lot. You needed as much caffeine as you could get, but you’re not risking taking it inside lest you want to face the wrath of the Moon again.

Families are getting into the cars and leaving, some of which have reluctant screaming children kicking in their car seats, all of which you pass by as you make your way inside. It’s not closing time, not quite, but the later hours of the Pizzaplex’s schedule. You’ll have another half-n’-half shift tonight, and a lengthy one at that. Management sent a rather tedious worklist for chores, mostly restocking certain areas of the building.

So! You clock in, grab your cart from the janitorial closet (stuffing your laptop and textbook into the small bag hanging off the handle), and ignore the sour glances sent your way when once again, it wedges in between the doorway until you wrench it out and painstakingly load all the cardboard boxes conveniently labeled for you in the employee’s stock room.

The gift shop needed more Freddy plushies. Done. Bonnie bowl needed more bowling shoes of a certain type. Also done. Coins needed to be unloaded and stashed from certain vendors and toy-crane machines around the pizzaplex. Done, though it gave you a bit of an audience whenever you had to block a machine off from the general public to work just for a child to try and grab some of the Faz-tokens out of the bucket for other games.

(And if you just so happened to be very busy with something else that just so happened to have you turned away and not-listening as the kids sneak up, grab a grimy little fist full of tokens before running off giggling, then it totally wasn’t your fault.)

You take a few tokens for yourself to test the machines once they're back into entertainment mode, keeping a scuffed one that doesn’t seem to fit through the coin slot very well, so you pocket it. Maybe you could give it away as a souvenir or something later. Fazbear collectors were a little crazy in online forums.

The last set of boxes you need to put up stock is something for Roxy, a refresh of paints and glossy spray coating that you recognize the smell of even through the cardboard. It’s nearing closing time even more so, and you’re already halfway done with your chores (and you’re arms hurt by now) so you take it easy. The storage room for her is right behind her room, and you’re alone when you start putting things back up on the shelves.

So you get a bit of a jump scare when Roxy’s voice sounds out from behind you. “Hey.”

“Jeeze-” The box you’re handling almost falls on you, but you push it back up on the shelf and turn to glare at the wolf, whose eyebrow cocks upwards at your reaction. “Little bit of a warning next time?”

In her typical fashion, she scoffs. “That was your warning. You’re in my territory.”

You mimic her behavior, wrinkling your nose and your tone taking a more lighthearted stance. “Sure, sure. Got your new paints here. The red ones. Some others too.”

“Finally.” Her expression lights up, and she starts digging into a box that you have literally just put away. So much for the effort. “About time I got these. Look at me. I’m chipping.”

You give her a look over and smile. “You look fine.”

“Of course I look fine, but I need to look my best.” She pauses if just for a moment to hold out her arm. The patterns and paint there are dull, lose a little bit of shine as all metallic paints do as they age or go without polish. There’s a little bit of paint chipped on her hands and claws, probably from the repetitiveness of playing her instrument, but otherwise, she looked in good shape. “I need my touch-up.”

Picking up another box, you continue to try and stock the rest. “I don’t really think kids care about the finer details about your appearance.”

“Who cares. I’m not looking good for the kids. It’s all me.” She digs out a can of golden paint, the kind that little Golden Freddies are painted in (special edition!), shaking it and uncapping the lid. She points the nozzle in your direction with a playful look. “Want a make-over?”

“I don’t think that’s my color.” With one finger, you steer the nozzle back around to the animatronic, who shrugs and tosses it back in the box. “Also, humans don’t really take well to being covered with metallic gloss paint.”

“Fine, suit yourself.” She continues her digging, holding up another can of purple before shrugging and dropping it back in. “Thought you might like gold and all. Maybe blue, too.”

Immediate suspicion from the coyness in her tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, nothing.” There’s a snicker in her voice that sounds too natural to be coming from a  robotic voice box. Full attitude has come into play, the wolf is pulling out the metal paints faster than you can restock them, so you just pause and watch as the animatronic continues to shuffle through all the available colors until she pauses. ”Where’s the green?“

“Green?”

“For the claws.”

You run the inventory list through your head. “I didn’t receive any green. Maybe management didn’t order any?”

Roxy blinks, then steps back from the box, mumbling. “Go figure.”

“You could always use red.” You step in to try and fix the mess she’s made, putting the paints she’s taken out of the box and putting them back in, lifting with your legs and hoisting it back up to the shelf. “I mean, changing it up won’t hurt. I’m sure it-” You cut off briefly, only as Roxy takes the box you’re struggling with and sets it atop its place. You step back, all the shelves stocked now. “Thanks. But really, you could use red. Or black? Purple?”

The wolf has crossed her arms, a disappointed look across her muzzle. “We don’t really wear anything that might clash or match each other’s band member pallets too much. Blue is Freddy’s thing, anyway.”

You’re checking the inventory off your clipboard’s list when you look up, and offer her an apologetic look. “Sorry, Roxy.”

She looks to the boxes with a mild look, before dropping her arms and bringing forth the same nonchalance you’ve seen every time she gets annoyed with something minor. “It’s fine. I’ll get them redone when I go down to Parts n Service, anyway.”

The pen freezes, and you look up from the page. “You’re going down to Parts n Service?”

Roxy’s hands meet her hips in a causal stance and tilt her head at your reaction. “Yeah? What’s that face for?”

“Can I ask why?” You start, and continue as Roxy narrows her eyes. ‘I mean. You look fine. Healthy. Not damaged. You know what I mean. Is it like, for an update, or-?“

“System check and repair, for a software glitch or something.” She raises a claw and plucks something casually from your shoulder, a bit of lint that seemed to have annoyed her, and flicks it to the floor. “I didn’t recognize the faces or names of some family and their kids even though they’ve been regulars for years, so I didn’t give them the premium welcome. So they filed a complaint.”

“Oh.” Your own face twists a bit. “Yikes. Unfair. Humans sometimes have trouble remembering faces and names too.”

“Doesn’t matter.” She’s checking her claws like a manicure, something you’ve recognized is a bit of a fidget habit of hers. “We’re technology. We’re supposed to be the best. No flaws.” A pause. “I’m still the best. I just need a little fix-up.”

You clip your board back to the side of the cart. “I’m guessing they're putting your software check in front of all the other stuff the engineers needed to do. Guess that’s why my list is so low today.”

She grins with a bright set of sharp teeth. “Of course they did. Don’t they know who I am?”

You hum. “You’re Roxy Wo-”

“I”m Roxy Wolf, babe. I get priority here.“

“As you should.” You grin back, and lower your voice, just a bit, when you continue. “Can I ask a weird question?”

Your wolf friend has raised brow. “Shoot.”

“Is Parts n’ Service scary?”

The animatronic doesn’t respond right away, instead half-paying attention between you and the disappointment she still harbors to the cardboard boxes before your question fully processes. Roxy blinks, an unreadable expression across her face, before she puts her claws to her hip and thinks for a moment. “...Why do you ask?”

“I mean.” You can’t exactly tell her that you’re wanting to know if the Daycare Attendant’s aversion to Parts n Service is a singular feeling, or if it was widely known, but you don’t really have a better explanation. You should have worded your question differently. “You just don’t seem that all bummed out about having to go.”

“Oh, no, it’s a bummer.” She starts again, taking a place to lean against the back wall while you lean on the cart for support. “That room isn’t....pleasant. Depending on what we’re down there for. You’ve never been down there before?”

“Ah, not really. Never really had a reason to go, it’s not my place as general staff. This is a big place, and all.” You explain, and your response is a curious head tilt. She didn’t exactly answer your question, but judging by her reaction, she was nowhere near as avoidant of the repair room as the Daycare Attendant was. You scratch at your chin, sheepish. “Just figured I’d ask since I’d probably see it eventually.”

“There’s this…big glass cylinder thing in the middle of the room, and a console outside of it. We go inside of the glass, and the engineers use the console.” She explains it dully, like the staff bot did when it gave you an automated tour. After a pause, she continues. “Or the system. There’s an automated repair mode in the console too. Engineers aren’t needed for those, we use it ourselves, just not for everything.”

Sounded useful, and new. “What’s the purpose of the big glass thing?”

Her muzzle scrunches up. “Dunno. I don’t really spend a lot of time down there. I’m usually in and out pretty quick.”

A knock interrupts cuts you off before you can continue to ask questions, and both wolf and yourself look to the doorway. Freddy’s hand is still raised mid-knock, and he lowers it when he meets your gazes, smiling warmly.

“Hello! Having a party back here?” He jests, sending you an upturned look before looking back to Roxy. “Goodbyes at the door are starting soon.”

Roxy fluffs her hair. “On it.”

Freddy gives her a nod, walking past the doorway to stand with the both of you. A brief glance at the bag on your cart, spying the college emblem on the side. “Oh! And how did your finals go? Have any plans to study tonight? Chores?” He brightens. “Chica and I will be doing rehearsals in her room, if you’re not busy.”

“They’re basically finished.” You mirror his warmth, patting the bag for show. “I have to take one more later tonight on my break, but it shouldn’t be hard. And, I don’t know, I promised to help the Daycare Attendant out with something later.”

Freddy’s smile never diminishes, though his shoulders lower a bit and his look falls into something more curious. Roxy, on the other hand, is not as subtle with her reaction. “The Daycare Attendant.” She snorts. “Figured. You spend a lot of time in there.”

You raise your own brow. “Yeah, and? They’re my friends. I spend time with you guys too.”

“You have clowns as your friends. Fitting.”

“Hey! What’s wrong with clowns?”

Freddy pipes in, laughing awkwardly at the teasing between the two of you. “Well, I think that it’s great that you and the Daycare Attendant are getting along! The last time I spoke with the Sun, it talked very fondly of you!”

You blink. “Sun talks about me?”

Freddy’s voice is so lighthearted and cheerful, you can imagine his ears wiggling. “Sometimes.”

“Barf.” Roxy makes a guttural noise in her throat, pushing past you and Freddy both to the door and cracking it open. “C’mon, we gotta go start or I’m going to get another complaint. Oh, yeah, speaking of the jester.” She turns back to you, hand on her hip. “Tell the Moon to stop crawling in the vents outside my room. He’s making a racket. It’s annoying.”

Oh, neat. That’s how Moon’s been traversing the Pizzaplex where his wire wouldn’t be able to take him. Good to know that he’s still up to that shenanigan. You perform a mock salute to the wolf. “Sure thing!”

Roxy throws you a half-hearted peace sign with a half-believing nod, and Freddy follows back out behind her through the door while you situated your cart out of the hallway with a quick wave goodbye.

The intercom announcing the Pizzaplex’s closing time soon is coming over the speaker as you roll the cart down to the Daycare doors. You’ll take a breather to see your friend and do the leftover chores you have later tonight. No different than the other typical shifts you spend here. A few families are passing you per usual, tugging along whining children to leave and head towards the exit. You spot a few of the Daycare’s regulars on your way passing by, some of which are sporting cheap pirate gear and eyepatches. Must have been some sort of event at the daycare today.

Sun is there at the doors, accompanied by a man and a young child you recognize as being a boy that’s a bit obsessed with Monty’s image, even sporting some star sunglasses and a crudely cut mohawk himself. The child seems preoccupied with a handheld game console (playing obnoxiously at full volume, unfortunately), his father carrying on a conversation with the Daycare Attendant himself as you park the cart near the doors, unloading two or three boxes of disinfectant and wipes into your arms and making your way inside.

The conversation becomes clearer as you excuse yourself to brush past them, having to step over one or two foam swords that seemed to be left out past playtime. Sun’s faceplate tilts slightly in your direction for a moment, but there’s no greeting as the father catches his attention once again.  “I just don’t understand what the problem is. A growing boy’s gotta eat, and the food here is too expensive. He needs more than just one snack for his stay.” The man, who looks a bit like a gruff librarian, has his arms crossed. Looks like this guy had a complaint. “I just don’t see why a sandwich is an issue.”

Sun’s demeanor is still cheerful, his voice lighthearted and stance of someone unbothered by the interrogation they were receiving, or used to it by now. “I’m sorry, but certain outside food and drink are not allowed in the Daycare as it could bring in some items that may contain allergens to the other children. This policy is available fully in the packet given to parents once they sign their children up for our Superstar Program!” He holds his hands together, bright, even as the parent deflates a bit at the argument. You set the boxes down on the security desk and trek back for your bag as Sun continues. “We do have a list of preapproved snacks families can send in, like carrots and celery sticks and pretzels!”

The father’s eyes dull a bit at the explanation, but light up at spotting you in the corner of his vision. Suddenly, his body turns to face you, half leaning away from the robot and talking to you specifically. He jabs a thumb towards the animatronic (who’s still smiling, ridged and happy) and chuckles. “The wonders of technology, right?”

You pause mid-step at the realization that the comment was directed at you, blinking and half resisting the urge to look around the room to make sure it was really you who he wanted to address. “Oh, me?”

“Yeah, hey.” He sounds like polite arrogance, just a bit. The man shuffles a bit, scratching his chin and glancing back at the robot, then at you. “Look, it’s just a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Basic thing, yeah? They’re his favorite. Can’t he, I don’t know, just eat it in a different spot away from the other kids? Or have those allergic kids sit somewhere else?”

You stare for a moment if just to process, before sitting the bag down onto the security desk. “I’m…sorry. I don’t think I can help you here.” You smile, polite as you can be, despite your confusion. “I’m just general staff, I’m not the Daycare Assistant.”

The man returns the look, a flash of confusion in his brow. He gestures to your shirt. “But, your nametag-”

“Oh!”  Subconsciously, your own hand comes over the item, feeling the ridges of the sun and the moon engraved around your name. “It’s, uh, a style choice. The Daycare Attendant should be able to help you with everything that you need, I just deliver stuff here sometimes.”

Said Daycare Attendant is silent in the entire interaction between you too, eyes upturned and smiling still, waiting. The father clears his throat, eyes shifting back to the quiet robot and returning to his stance. “Right, okay.”

“A list of pre-approved snack items are available on our Fazbear Co. website! You can also download our Faz-app on your device for more information, like navigation or mini-games.” Sun talks again, tone never losing its luster, though it sounds awfully lifeless when repeating the company’s advertisements. “Is there anything else I could help you with today?”

The father is already waving him off, picking up his son and setting him on his hip as he gives a quiet ‘no, thanks, have a good day’ to both you and the robot and starts walking away before Sun can even give out the full standard farewell. With one hand on the doors, he gives them an enthusiastic big wave as they walk away from the Daycare. “See you next time, and have a Faz-tactic day!”

Sun closes and locks the doors, straightening his posture as the Daycare is officially closed. You blow a long, winded whistled in the air as the robot’s head does a slow 180 in your direction with a look that can only be described as cracking irritation. Your response is an apologetic look. “Yeesh. Doesn’t it bother you when they dismiss you like that?”

The animatronic’s torso spins around fully, once, twice, in quick succession until it stops to match the rotation of his head. Sun claps his hands together, laughing. ‘Oh, ho ho! No.“

“…Really?”

“I’ve had my fair share of dealing with disrespectful children, yes-sir-ree!” He starts walking towards the desk, which is a funny sight since his legs are still facing backward and it ends up with his midsection still spinning in a slow spin while he casually talks. He finishes his ‘spin’ by falling into a lean against the security desk, head propped up in his hands and letting out a dramatic sigh. “Besides what company policy allows, and our vow to always be tolerant, patience is a virtue! Childish and disrespectful adults aren’t that much different to respond to.”

You shoot him a look, lighthearted. “Does that include me?”

“Oh, yes! You’re in a category all of your own.”

“Oooooh. How special.”

“That you are!” He cranes forwards, one hand coming to pluck the textbook you’ve taken out the bag and mindlessly flipping through the pages. “Watcha up to? Plans for the night? Any gossip? Dates?” He fiddles with the pages with his fingers, flipping past old highlighted paragraphs from tests long ago. He pauses briefly, and you glance down to the book to see the drawing of himself, and one of you and Moon from a time that feels like ages ago, only for him to continue flipping. “We could make paper planes. Or origami! Do you like origami? I could teach, we have some prime material right here.”

You shoo his hand away from your precious, expensive textbook. “No way. I just have one more final exam, and it’s an online open textbook type. I was going to do it later tonight before the due date, then I’m home free.” You explain, sitting down in the security desk’s chair. It squeaks awkwardly when you put your full weight on it and doesn’t spin well because the wheels aren’t very new, but at least it’s comfortable. “Later tonight when I’m finished, I’ll help Moon or you with the glitch. We’re using stuffed animals as stand-ins. You know, for the glitch.”

Sun goes still for a moment, and you expect reluctance, maybe some protest. Instead, the moment passes and he flips to another page, not really reading the contents. “What an interestingly silly method.”

“What? I thought it was clever!” You defend yourself, setting out the laptop and putting your hands on your hips. To your reaction, your robot friend grins, and you pout. “Look, I know it’s a bit weird, but if you’re nervous about acting-”

Sun gasps, hand leaving the textbook to flatter across his chest. “Nervous? I’ll have you know I’m a very good actor! A masterful pretender!”

A pause, then a smirk of its own telling inches its way onto your face. “I know.”

Sun goes to speak, then halts before doing so leaving the air hanging with his realization. His enthusiasm dampers just a bit, molding into a flash of confusion before his brows flatten and his look turns deadpan. “Snooping around, haven’t you?”

“It’s not like it was a secret.” You start, flashing a proud grin. “There’s people talking about it in forums. Your posters and merch are still in the superstar theatre. I mean, c’mon.” You make a gesture with your hand, much to Sun’s chagrin. “’Superstar Theatre? Superstar Daycare? Remember how I said I knew you used to walk around outside the Daycare before the whole bad thing, and didn’t tell how I knew?” You’re prideful, evident in your voice. “I bet if you gave me time, I could probably find footage of your shows.”

“No, you won’t.” The Daycare Attendant, a bit exasperated, mimics a sigh at your grandiose show of your snooping skills. He’s gotten much too used to your nosiness by now. “Photography and film weren’t allowed in the theatre. But good job!” He pinches your cheeks, and your prideful look is snapped off your face as quickly as it comes as the pinch of his fingers digs into your skin in a fashion that causes you to flush. “Quite the detective you are!”

“Alright, enough! I got it!” You shoo him away. His hands pull back in mock surrender, but your attempt of looking irritated is marred by the grin still at the edge of your mouth, and the soreness in your cheeks. You rub at them, wrinkling your nose in a show of mock hostility. “Mean. How come you never talked about your time in the theatre?”

“You never asked!” He jests, and you send him a deadpan look. “Besides. We weren’t an actor for a long time, at least, not in comparison to being the Daycare Attendant. Some priorities were…shifted after the company did a review.” There’s a touch of uncertainty in his tone, though the casualness remains. “So! We were reused! Reprogrammed! Basic childcare protocols were installed into us, not that we didn’t already have some; fun quirk about working at a family establishment, ALL the animatronics are CPR and First-Aid certified!” He turns from you, collecting foam swords and other knick-knacks scattered across the daycare as he talks. “And the rest we learned from experience!”

You watch as he tosses all the plushies into the bin, and gathers the fake swords to the crate by their bin to the desk. “You did skits and bits?”

“And all sorts of tricks!” He pipes up, hoisting a sword up that wobbles dramatically, and acts out every word he says with grandeur. “Adventure and Storytime's-!” He waves a hand around, and seemingly pulls a wet wipe out of thin air. “-and scary magic tricks!’

“Oh man, you’re rhyming again.”

“And you’re nosy again!”

“Yep.” You snort, leaning closer to him from across the desk, your open textbook is seemingly forgotten. “Tell me more about the theater.”

He leans against the desk opposite of you to start disinfecting the handle, moving on to the next one when he finishes another, letting out a solid ‘hmmm’. “Not much different on how we handle things here! Entertainment is just a bit more hands-on, I suppose. Though the theatre was more expanded for audiences of all ages, story times and acting were a given!”

Your head tilts. “You still do that here.”

“Correct! But back then, it was better.” For once, he seems happy talking about the theatre. The change must not have been too much of a disruptive one, because no tension is felt in how he remanences. “I’d tell the children tales of the Fazbear crew, play movies, tell of imaginary worlds. Pull cards out from behind kid’s ears, a Bonnie toy out of a hat, pretend to be on Foxy’s wild pirate adventures…” He trails off, and then gestures with pile of used eyepatches and hoists the wobbly pirate sword up for show. “The change wasn’t drastic, really. Changing to the Daycare simply...switched the settings, if you will. A different stage.”

Right. The world is your stage and all that. Makes sense, especially if you considered how playfully dramatic the Daycare Attendant was, you should have seen this information coming from the start. It was all too painfully easy to deduce. That doesn’t exactly explain why Sun, despite the fondness in his tone, is reluctant to step outside the daycare to the potential setting of the theatre opportunity, or why Moon was obsessed with putting children to sleep now.

Your thinking must have shown on your face, because a hand waves in front of it. Sun pulls back when you blink back to reality. “You’re a bit out of it.” He sounds tame; nothing odd in his sentence. But you know better than to just take it as surface level. “Did you come to the Daycare early tonight for a break, maybe?”

You know who’s actually talking underneath Sun’s sentences, just below the surface, and smile. The bags under your eyes were evident, you know this, but it was preferable if the animatronic didn’t point them out just yet. “Actually, I was just thinking about what kind of shows you’d do. I never got to see one.”

“Curious.” Sun’s smile curls and the edge that found its way into the corners dissipate a bit. You’ve gotten good at catching that. The animatronic finishes one sword handle, and moves on to the next. “Sometimes we were heroes, sometimes villains! Scaring kids into eating their vegetables, or looking both ways before crossing the street, that sort of thing.”

Leaning back, you skim through your textbook’s pages, searching for the correct chapter you’ll need in the meantime. “With the show tunes or without?”

“With plot twists, sweetheart. We’re not bandmembers.” He stops disinfecting the foam sword in hand if only to jut it outwards, spinning it in his hand. “I like to play the knight in shining armor. Moon likes to be the dragon. The good and the evil role.”

You pause on the index, and look up from the paper. “Moon was ‘made’ to be the villain?”

“The good kind. The villain that makes you feel good when you defeat him.” He twirls the sword in hand, fake jousts in the air while he talks in memory. “We’d capture an audience member, and the audience would have to play along in order to ‘save’ the hostage. Like a rescue mission!”

You blow air out of your nose and return to your page flipping. “Sounds like a cut-and-dry story ending.”

“The endings would differ.” Sun starts, pointing the sword up to the ceiling. “Sometimes the knight would be good, or actually an evil king. Sometimes the dragon would be a carnivorous beast, or maybe a nice one. Whichever hypes up the audience enough. Improvisation is key.”

You’re starting to detect a pattern here. “So, complicated like everyone else.” You scoff. “What happens if the knight and the dragon are the same person?”

“Depending on the audience’s reactions…” He lowers the sword, returning back to the casual stance he takes all grins and format. “The ‘hostage’ will turn into the hero and slay them, or they slay themselves from their own consequences. Happy endings are a must in children’s media, and it has to end eventually. Time slots, and all that.” Disappointment is evident on your face you can practically feel your mouth droop from the frown. Sun’s face changes from casual to slight surprise. “What? What is it?”

You blow a raspberry at him. “I was half expecting there to be like, a kiss of true love or something involved. An ending where everyone lives.” Hand raised up, you turn it into a thumbs down. “Boooo. Boring ending.”

Sun, still playful, snobbishly turns his head away with a ‘hmph.’ “Leave it to the critics to prefer the cheesiest ending!”

“So...” You start off, hands raising in the air like a mock surrender.. “…you didn’t always have the-” You gesture odd hand movements in his general direction. “-expert childcare tactics you have now.”

“Oh, no. Of course not!” He wobbles the sword by habit now, only one more left to go. “But we are very good at pretending we knew what we were doing until we actually did.”

You think for a moment, then snap your fingers. “Fake it till you make it!”

He bonks you lightly on the head with the foam sword. “Exactly!”

“Hey-” You swat away the foam sword, and thin your lips at the amusement across Sun’s face at your reaction. “You’re going to cooperate with me later tonight after my final, right? For the glitch therapy.”

“Oh dear.” He goes to bonk you again and you move your head to dodge it. “Define ‘cooperation’.”

“Mean. Very mean.” You dodge it again, lighthearted, and use the textbook to shield yourself from any more futile ‘attacks’. “Speaking of mean; Moon left me alone last night when Chica and Monty came to say hi.”

He pulls the sword back, taking the wipe and disinfecting the last one. “No, we didn’t!”

“How would you…”

“I was there, silly” Oh, right. Sometimes you forget that’s how that works. “Did you think we’d just leave you hanging?”

The pun escapes you, and you lower the book. “So you were in the rafters-!“

Bonk. The noodle sword lands smack in the middle of your forehead. “Please. You really think we’d leave you alone with the Gator?” He bonks you again before you can even get a curse out. “Chica is a sweetheart! Dear friend. A bit eager to be friends with everyone, though, good or not. Maybe that’s why the two of you get along.” And then he bonks you for a third time.

“Hey! Knock it out!” You lash out at the sword with a hand and a book, cursing under your breath while Sun pulls back the ‘weapon’ with a snickering look. “You’re attacking me!”

“Very observant!” Bonk.

He goes for another, but this time (whether it’s because you were fast enough or it’s because he allows it) you grab the end of the sword, pulling it out of his grasp and holding it out of reach. The Sun’s eyes turn upwards, palms facing you in mock surrender as you spin the ‘weapon’ back towards him and tries to look as threatening as you possibly can with a foam noodle sword. Which, isn’t very much. “This is the part where I get my revenge, Sunny.”

“Scary! That is-” Sun suddenly pulls out an equally as wobbly sword and hoists it up. “As if you ever stood a chance!”

Oh, the battle was on. He backs further into the room while you fumble out of the chair; awkward, excited, you almost tip the poor thing and go tumbling down but all that does to serve is a laugh out of your ridiculousness as you round the security desk and hoist your own sword up to your challenger. You ‘attack’ first, going for his midsection, which he expertly dodged with a simple spin that has you pulling back. “I’ve faced worst threats than you!”

Sun dodges another, dancing in a way that he’d probably fake a yawn just to be fitting. “Aha! Are we sure about that?”

He ‘strikes’ at you, except this blow never lands and you know well enough that he wasn’t putting in the actual effort to hit you with the sword now. A bit of a punch towards your pride, sorta, but it almost distracts you from dodging the wack to your left. “Ha! You’ve gotten rusty!”

Sun gasps, hand over his chest, and thrusts the sword. “What a terrible thing to say to a robot!”

“Hear me out.” You say, and the two of you are circling each other, both in anticipation of whenever the next will strike. Stupid grins on your faces and watching each other carefully for the slightest movement to decide to make your own. “It’d be nice to do this again, but with everyone, not just the kids, if you walk outside the Daycare, around the pizzaplex! Like I said; if you just leave-”

You avoid a jab towards your right just in time, and Sun pulls the sword back. “Bit of a broken record, aren’t you? My sunny side hasn’t left the daycare in almost three years-!”

“And your ‘moony’ side hasn’t interacted with any human in that same amount of time! Outside of me, I mean!” You take another wack, this time at his feet, using the sword more like a bat than a blade, and snorts when the Daycare Attendant jumps right over your attack, landing on one leg and taking the position of a crane, sword pointed forwards. “What? I’m just saying that it’s possible!”

“I shall not be manipulated by your fancy words!” He’s gone full-blown dramatic now, taking on poses that would make you absolutely guffaw in laughter if you weren’t trying to make a serious point here. “I won’t be a rulebreaker, no, no not me. But you? You keep on breaking them-” He lunges, the sword is raised high above your head. “-every chance you get!”

You don’t react fast enough in time to block the blow with your own foam sword, the handle being knocked out of your hand and a lump in your throat as the approaching ‘blade’ speeds only to stop at your neck. If this was real, you’d probably be decapitated. But your attacker is grinning wildly and warmly down at you as you nervously laugh in defeat, and hold your hands up in surrender. “But you like me, so I get away with it.”

Sun, in all his dramatic glory, loses the tension in his shoulders. “Unfortunately.” The foam sword is pulled away from you, hanging limply at his side. He gives you a once-over, and the mirth returns to his face again, raising a hand to his chest in sincerity. “I should have never taken up arms against you, my friend! Please!” He lowers himself to one knee, and you blink in amusement and surprise as Sun plays the act as the fully devoted, a hand reaching out for you. “Forgive me! And allow me to devote my life to being your knight as repentance.”

Your face feels a little hot, and you can’t tell if it’s because of the laughter or something else, but you pick up your forgotten sword up off the ground, gripping it in one hand and laying your other into the animatronic’s palm. “Very well!” You mimic his drama in your voice, hoisting the sword up. It does a wobble wobble as you pose, and bring it down to touch gently onto the Daycare Attendant’s shoulders. “You are knighted! You must now protect me from any danger that would bring me harm!”

Sun’s smile is bright. His fingers close around yours even as he rises to stand. “Any harm?”

You nod. “Ye-up!”

“Hmmm.” For a moment, and only a spare moment, there is an expression you cannot read on the other’s faceplate, something that doesn’t feel like it belongs to one’s thoughts or another's, but the brightness returns as well as the silliness does. Sun’s fingers slip from your own, and his hands fall down to the sword’s handle, positioning the ‘pointed’ end towards his own body. “O-kay!”

You gasp as he delves the sword in, locking it in between his side and his arm, and makes a guttural noise that suggests great pain and agony. Only it was dialed up to a ten, and he was doing his best to make this the cheesiest, corniest death you’d ever witness. “Hey! That’s not-!” You reach out, only to be shooed away by flailing limbs and the sounds of Sun saying that his life was flashing before his eyes. “Wait a minute-”

“Lights! Fading! World! Going dark!” He crumples like a wet napkin to the floor, limbs all limp and twisted, the sword still tucked into his side. “Systems! Shutting down!”

“Hey!” You shout a little louder, watching as Sun gives one final twitch before laying ‘dead’ on the ground. If he had a tongue, he’d probably hang it out of his mouth for comical effect. You take the sword and poke at the unmoving animatronic on the ground with the end. “I told you I didn’t like this ending. It’s not funny!” Sun doesn’t respond, but you see the corner of his mouth twitch a little upwards as you fall to your knees and start shaking him by the shoulders. “Boo! Boo! I thought jesters were supposed to be good at jokes!”

One arm comes up, and Sun waves a finger in the air. “You don’t get it, because it’s an inside joke!”

“What does that even mean!?” You give him one last final shove and deflate as his arm plops back down to the ground, assuming the ‘dead body’ status once more. You’re pouting, and briefly considering playing dead next to him just to see what he would do before an idea comes to mind. He was positioned a little funny, and your phone was in your pocket. He can hear you snickering as you pull it out to take a picture. “Here lies Sun. Died of-” You’re tapping on your phone, saving the image to your gallery and adding to the notes. “-silliness disease.”

The Daycare Attendant does not twitch at your shenanigans, unfortunately. So the phone trick doesn’t work. Right before you pocket it, you spot the time, and blink. “Oh, the Daycare closes in less than a minute.”

A blur of movement startles you. Sun suddenly rises up from the ground like a zombie, ridged like a ruler. “It appears I’ve made a miraculous recovery!” He’s standing on his own two feet before you can even think to rise, but it doesn’t take him much effort to grab your hands and hoist you upwards, and you are all but danced to the doorway in a flurry of steps! “Shows over! Thank you for coming! See you next season for the next big plot twist!”

You kick in his grip, and find that your feet don’t touch the floor. “Wha-oh, C’MON! Seriously?”

“Yep, positive and absolutely! You know the drill!”

“But I haven't-” You’re stopped at the door, a quick unlock and a rather harsh scoot of you past the doorway. You spin around to glare at Sun, who was nervously two seconds away from slamming the wooden door in your face. “Can I see your transition? Why not? I haven’t even started studying yet-!”

“Nope!”

“but I’m staying in the Daycare tonight for my shift-”

“Nope!”

“But-”

“You know how this works.” He pats you on the head, just two soft taps, and touches his thumb up to your chin even as you pout at the sudden change from playful to urgent. “I’ll be seeing you again in a short time!”

Your protest is cut off by the slam of the Daycare doors, leaving your mouth open until you see the lights turn off in beyond the glass three seconds later. You press your lips together and groan irritation into the empty pizzaplex. All this time knowing each other and you still haven’t been fully present for their transition a single time. Unless you count your first night working here, which was.…strange enough. You don’t count that one. It looked painful.

Huh. Maybe that's why. Moon passed on answering that answer too. The whole process of kicking you out feels like when someone kicks someone out just to change clothes before popping back out again, but clearly there’s something more complicated in the factor. Something that they weren’t keen on explaining just yet, despite the hard-earned openness you’ve been working on.

Whatever. They’ll tell you when they’re ready. Probably. You bang your fist on the door, and call out into the dark Daycare, hoping they can hear you through the thick wood. “I’m going down to the cafeteria to get something to eat, I’ll be back, okay? Don’t mess with my textbook!” No answer, as expected. You fall away and turn your heel towards the food court, leaving the dark daycare and the cleaning cart parked outside of it. He’ll know where you are.

A couple of staff bots wave hello as you walk, and the trip doesn’t take nearly as long as it usually does thanks to the fact that you’re not pushing around a heavy cart full of supplies and fixers around the place. The stairs are faster too, and despite the lights going dimmer you can still spot the neon sign directories that show you where the cafeteria is. Funny thing about working the pizzaplex; the place was so huge, and there were places you’ve still never been, only once or twice.

Parts n’ Service still sounded like a myth to you, the lowest levels of the place were mainly unexplored save for the few trips to the laundry room here and there, and you’re pretty sure you’ve only been to Fazor Blast once to help some kid find their missing shoe.

A chef staff bot is manning the kitchen alone when you arrive and knock on the glass outside the cafe, not bothering with the shutters that locked down the place since you didn’t plan on staying. The speaker system is turned off, so you can’t hear what it’s saying even if it was just pre-recorded messages asking to take your order. It takes a little bit of charades (awkward since the staff bot can’t say or do anything other than blankly stare while you make wild motions) but eventually it rolls off, comes back a few moments later and slides a tray through the glass slot in the window.

A warmed chicken sandwich with a bag of chips and Fizzy-Faz on the side. Basic, but covered by your employee contract, and you’re not going to pass up on free food. You shoot the staff bot a thumbs up as you stuff the rest into the plain brown lunch bag provided to you, and it returns the gesture as you wave them off, walking your way back to the daycare.

You’re halfway there, partially surprised that Moon hasn’t jump-scared you by this point, and walking through the main plaza when a familiar figure catches your eye. Monty’s back is turned to you, the animatronic centered in front of the fountain with his arms crossed, eyes turned up towards the Freddy statue on top of the monument. You can choose either to interact with him or simply walk past, something you mull over in your mind like a video game choice when the alligator must have sensed you, his head suddenly turning like an alert letting him know you were there.

Monty’s eyes widen for a moment, then dull. “Hey.”

Welp. You failed a quick-time choice you guess, and are now approaching your former enemy-turned-friend-you-hope with a polite smile and bag of chicken sandwich. “Heya. Whatcha staring at?

Something in Monty’s face twitches, but he doesn’t answer you directly. “Nothin’, I’m on patrol. I just took a breather.” He says, and you nod like hearing a robot say they need a moment to breathe is a totally normal thing to expect. “What are you doing out here? You’re usually in the daycare, or with that damn cart.” He speaks, then briefly looks to the ceiling, searching among the neon lights with a scrunched look. “Where’s yer stalker?”

“I just went to grab my break lunch, that’s all.” You hold up the brown paper for bag for show, shaking the contents. “I was actually just walking my way back.” You don’t mention you don’t know where Moon is. Potentially, he could still be back at the daycare, since he hasn’t made himself known when he usually does. Then again, there are plenty of dark corners in the pizzaplex where your warden could be lurking.

“Alright.” Monty hums, then hesitates. “You got a moment to talk?”

You blink, and subconsciously pull back your foot from where you were about to start walking in the direction of the daycare and nod. “Yeah? What’s up?”

“Cool. Follow me real quick. We’re going to my room.” He gestures with his head, walking past you. You must have put up a surprised look because after you don’t immediately follow, he half rolls his eyes, and continues. “Ya aint in trouble. I’m not…up to anything, alright? You’re not in danger or anything.”

You don’t feel like you’re in danger. You’ve been in such shot nerves and dangerous times with the Daycare Attendant, Moon specifically alone that compared to Monty’s tantrum so long ago, it wouldn’t have mattered, but his words bring the memory back to mind. You really haven’t been back to his room since the incident, all those many months ago. You follow right behind him. “…Okay, why?”

“It ain’t far.” He ignores the question, and he was right. The band member’s room was only a short walk away from the fountain (good for you, because the less walking you did, the more your legs would thank you) and he navigates the red ropes around the entrance by pushing them aside. The curtains are still drawn around his room, leaving the inside to the imagination. By habit, you bring out your employee badge to swipe to open the door, but Monty raises a brow as he just raises a hand. The device blinks once, and the door unlocks. Right. They’re robots. They’re in tune with the building’s systems or whatever.

He holds it open for you in a gentlemanly fashion you’d expect more of Freddy than Monty Gator. “Go on.”

Totally suspicious, but you weren’t about to shoot down your newfound friendship by acting rude. You walk past him into the room, and try not to seem too nervous. “Did you need to show me something? If something needs fixing, I left all the tools in the cart.”

The door shuts behind you, and Monty brushes past you with a little less tension in his shoulders. “Nah. Just needed a place where can talk without your freak show behind you.” You watch as he plops down on the sofa, still sporting the same small rips and tears as it had when you first saw it, but noticeably cleaner. Monty pulls the bass guitar off the wall from behind his head, and plucks the strings.

You blink. “Do you mean Moon?”

“Who else?” He doesn’t look up from the bass when he talks, his voice casual but toned down. Brows are scrunched together, a robot with something clearly on his mind. “That thing sticks to you like a parasite.”

“You’re talking about my friend here, dude.” You deadpan, and hold the bag a little tighter. It’s a little awkward to be standing in the middle of his room. “Not cool.”

He makes a noise like a sigh, and something like white steam comes out of his nostrils. Probably a product of their cooling systems. “Don’t give me that shit.”

“You seem…upset about something?” You glance around the room as you talk, taking in all the clues. It’s still messy, lived-in at least. The posters on the walls have been replaced; the ones of the band and ripped-up Bonnies are no longer there, but instead replaced by more pictures of Monty and little stick figures. Art pieces clearly drawn by children. Some classic Rock n’ Roll bands are also sported, and the place looked swept. The place looked cleaned up, even if the signs of damage were still there. The mark on the wall where his claws met the wallpaper instead of your face was covered up by several sheets of children’s drawings.

Monty strums a few low notes, and it echoes out in the empty space. “That freak ever do anything to you?”

Your observations of your surroundings come to a screeching halt, blinking as your attention comes back to reality. The question lingers. “What?”

“The freak. Your friend.” He strums another low cord. The sunglasses make it hard to tell if he’s checking your reaction or not. “I wasn’t kidding when I said that thing can kill you. It’s dangerous.”

The words slip out before you can stop them. “And you’re not?”

Monty’s claws freeze on the cords, and his gaze comes back up. Red glares at you through dark lenses.

You bite your tongue. “Sorry-”

“No, you’re…” He trails off. “Fine. You’re fine, runt. Just...ease up around me for a minute, alright? I’m trying to be real with you here.” There’s the tension in his tone again, the clenching of his fingers around his beloved bass feel too awfully nervous for a robot whose sentience was supposed to be artificial. “And I said I was sorry about before. Thought we were past that.”

“I know! I know, it’s just-” Your outburst causes nervous laughter, and an equally as nervous smile to spread across your face. You resist the urge to sigh, and figure if this was going to be another one of Those Talks then you might as well make yourself comfortable. That, and your food was starting to get cold. The sofa is big enough for you to sit beside him, so you do, and ignore the raised brow when you dig into your bag and pull out the sandwich. “Okay, be real. No more awkwardness. I don’t like it either.”

Your boldness must be a relief because the surprise melts away and Monty mumbles something under his breath as you bite into the sandwich. “If I tell you something, it doesn’t leave this room, got it?”

You stop mid-bite, eyes wide and slowly turning to stare at him. “Are you about to tell me you killed someone or something?”

He half-snorts, half-snarls. “The fuck?”

“It’s a valid question!” You swallow your bite quickly enough to get the words out. “You’re being super dramatic and secretive right now! Just be blunt with it. I can handle it. Probably.”

“Whatever.” His tone isn’t irritated or exasperated, but rather tame. It feels like you’re sitting with your real friend this time, just tired and with a lot on his mind. Given the state of him, Monty was actually being nice. He didn’t even seem upset you’re eating on his couch.

The bass is replaced back to its hanging spot above the sofa, and Monty holds his opposite arm from the elbow down to the hand. In a way you’ve seen Roxy, Chica, and Freddy do the same, he clicks his joints around the wrist, the fingers and the palm. Robotics were interesting like that, and you wonder how similar an endoskeleton is to a human’s. “Remember bout’ half a year ago, that week I was out of commission? Down in Parts n’ Service?”

The name of the repair room sparks your attention, and you’re mid-swallow of your food when you nod. “Yeah. Roxy told me she was going down there later, actually.” You watch his movements with his arm, how calculated they were. Like an athlete testing their sore limb. “Didn’t you get into an accident with an elevator or something?”

Red eyes glance at your face behind dark shades and dart away. Sharp teeth bare in a grimace. “Don’t think so.”

You’re once again mid-bite when it’s your turn to speak, so to ask him to continue, you just stare like an idiot.

He doesn’t seem to mind. “The night I was rude to you, Chica came and talked some sense into me. Figured I’d go apologies or some shit. You know, make it right.” He bends his digits the same way a human would pop the joints, and you hear small clicks coming from the same spaces. “Sometimes, I just…snap. Don’t mean to, not sure what causes it. I just, short-circuit or something. Like my system just amps it up to ten. Like a…like...”

“A glitch.” You cut him off.

Monty’s fingers curl in and out in a sight that feels all too familiar to you, and he drops the hand to hang. “Yeah. Like a glitch.”

“That’s okay.” You take another bite, and try not to think too hard right now. “Everyone can get like that sometimes. Happens to humans too, sometimes.” You don’t tell him that this is the second time tonight you’ve had to say that, or that this isn’t your first time knowing what he meant.

If there was something else he wanted to say for that, he doesn’t. Instead, a pause sits in the air while you finish one bite, and Monty continues. “I went to the daycare to see if you were there. Planned on catching ya before you clocked out to make my case. Apologize.” There’s a brief pause, an expression on his face that you can’t quite pinpoint, but you know it’s somewhere in-between frustration and memory. “Then I woke up in Parts n’ Service with my arm torn off and part of my memory missing.”

Oh, dear. “Caught in the elevator?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember. That’s the thing.” He holds up his arm again, and you see the detail now that he’s given you the hints. It’s barely noticeable, something you wouldn’t notice unless you were shown directly, but the paint looks slightly newer than the rest of his chassis, and the joints click a different noise in his right hand than it does in his left. “The Daycare was the last place I went looking for you before I woke up missing an arm, and that freak has a certain reputation for some shit in the past. Think about it.” He continues. You don’t have a rebuttal. “I’m pretty sure I wasn’t looking for a fight, must have caught me off-guard but-”

You lower your sandwich, now gone cold. “You guys...fought?

“I don’t remember.” He repeats himself, this time a little gruffer like the very detail was on his last nerve. His snarl lowers into something thinner, a settlement, and he turns to face you fully. “I don’t trust em’. That freak does something, anything, I’m ripping its faceplate off and using it as a guitar pic, capish?” He’s casual with the threat, even as he waves off the last bit. “You’re the ‘something’ included. Since you’re so…involved.”

“Dude.” You’re forehead creases with how much your eyebrows are furrowing, an evident frown in your face. “They’re my friends-”

“I really don’t give a fuck.” His response is sharp and curt, and the teeth that bite in his sentence backpaddle once your expression becomes tenser than it already was; Monty raises a hand and waves you off. “Look, fine. I get it. But we’re your friends too, alright? I’m your friend, and I got a score to settle so I’m waiting for the moment that freak slips up because when they do-”

“Monty.”

“When they do, it’s over.” He finishes his case, solid, the last part spoke quickly like he wanted it out into the world before you responded back with whatever argument he knows is coming. “Freddy’s too much of a wuss. Chica wants us to all have a sleepover and Roxy doesn’t get it, but I get it. Just-” He searches for words, and you’re at loss for them. “I’m not saying the worst, just, be careful.”

And how exactly are you supposed to respond to that?

Knowing what you know, doing what you’ve been doing, putting yourself on the line despite your own fears for a friend who’s threatened your life more times than once with no guarantee of not doing it again? When history could repeat itself if you slip up, just once? If you’re unlucky, just once?

You smile, because it’s all you can think to do. “Wow! I didn’t know you cared that much. Did Freddy pay you to come talk to me or something?”

A sound that sounds like a suspiciously held-back snort. Monty’s serious look turns into something a little less strained. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“I’ll be alright, seriously.” You take a bite of your sandwich (which was rapidly depleting at this rate) in order to give yourself some extra time to think of what to say. “They’re my friends, and they haven’t hurt me.” (Not on purpose at least, you hope.) “If I think something is wrong, I can get myself out of trouble. I’m an adult, I don’t need anyone to look out for me like that.”

Monty’s expression doesn’t spell that you’ve said the correct things; he grumbles something and twists his new wrists in a way that almost makes you flinch. So you try again. “I don’t mean, like, your worries are crazy or anything. Just that I don’t want you to worry.” You smile with a cheek full of food. “I enjoy their company, and I enjoy yours too. Maybe you’re just…as terrible with elevators as I am with cleaning carts?”

Hesitation, then a low chuckle. “Maybe.” Monty’s wrist clicks back into place. Red eyes dart to you from beneath the sunglasses, and you’re hyper-aware of the crumbs stuck to your face. “Is that a chicken sandwich?”

You swallow your mouthful quickly, which doesn’t look graceful at all and almost sends you into a coughing fit. “Hugh-Uh, yeah?”

“Don’t let Chica see you eating that.”

You wouldn’t dream of it, but the command makes you scarf down the entire rest of the sandwich just in case, a few bites to chow down and you’re without a sandwich now. Not a gourmet meal, but there’s food in your stomach, and you still had chips and Fizzy-faz in the bag. “Speaking of Chica, I was supposed to drop off some trash bags at her room door later tonight.”

“Skip that. She’s doing a rehearsal.” Monty waves you off as you stand up, and look at the closed curtains around the window. “I gotta get back to patrol.”

You nod. “I gotta get back to…to my final.” Your voice trails off, and Monty looks at you strangely as realization dawns on your face. “I, uh, left my expensive textbook and borrowed laptop in the Daycare and-” You quickly pull out your phone, skin going cold all the time. You barely had an hour until midnight. “My final is due in forty minutes!”

Oh geeze, you’ve been here for way too long. How long did you spend play-fighting with Sun? How long did you talk to Monty? Spending at the cafe, ordering your food? The final isn’t even a hard one but you know you can’t write a full-timed essay that’s even moderately coherent without at least a full hour to double-check your facts. The rush is evident as you gather your things and all but speed walk to the door. “Sorry about the crumbs! I can clean it up later, promise!”

Monty is at the glass, back turned from you and sliding the curtains open. “Don’t worry about it-”

“Okaythankyoubye!” You’re out of the room before the metal door even slides all the way open, barely registering Monty opening his room to the rest of the pizzaplex and looking at you quizzically through the glass while you all but speed walk through the pizzaplex. You’d run if you didn’t think you’d might smack into a staff bot or two or trip down the stairs.

Thoughts are spinning in your mind as you speedwalk. Did they fight? Or was Monty’s memory faulty? Sun would have never done anything to harm another animatronic, surely. Moon is a maybe, but he wasn’t present that night, right? He didn’t leave the Daycare, and it’s not plausible he did it if Monty was found in an elevator. Unless you’re missing something, or you’re not as good of a detective as you think you are, these puzzle pieces didn’t click. You can’t exactly ask the Daycare Attendant if they ripped the arm off their coworker when you’re currently in the long fight to convince them to go along with your hare-brained ideas.

Should you be scared? Because right now, you’re a bit rushed. The Daycare doors feel too heavy when you press yourself into them to get in, but you thank the stars that they’re not locked. “Moon! I’m gonna start my exam, okay?”

The Daycare is dark, cleaner than how you left it. Nothing answers you in the night, and you don’t have the time to dwell on it. Chalk it up to the animatronic being in his room, or busy with something else; it’ll give you more time to focus on your test. The textbook is (thankfully) untouched at the security desk, still on the same page you left it.

Pulling the laptop out of the bag, you’re quick to boot it up, connect to the Pizzaplex’s Wi-Fi and navigate to your student’s portal. The professor is nice enough that your camera doesn’t require monitoring, but you’re still timed on writing the essay. You grab your supplies and plop down on the playmats instead of the desk. You can see the screen better, closer to your face.

Alright, textbook? Check. Notes? Check. The ability to whip up a decent enough wording in your writing that might get you a grade anything over a C+? Hopefully. Putting in your password and clicking the button, the hour-long timer pops up in the corner of the screen letting you know how long the test would allow you to keep the window open, but the time stamp in the corner of your desktop lets you know you actually have half that time. Damn.

Five minutes into the essay. The Daycare is filled with the sounds of your fingertips making clack noises against the keyboard, and you’re only a paragraph into your essay and let the nerves get to you. Maybe if you were quicker earlier, you’d actually have the full hour to write instead of this shortened stamp-

A warm feeling wraps around your neck, fingers sliding against your skin, not squeezing, but sitting there. Your hands freeze over the keyboard, shoulders rigid.

“You look stressed.” Moon’s voice comes somewhere from behind your head. “Take a break. Take a nap.”

Swallowing the lump of nerves in your throat only makes the feeling of his hand more evident, goosebumps on your skin. The fear is there, always has been, and it lingers and taints every hair on your body as you see the red glow from his eyes break into the light the laptop screen has, a soft hue cast over your hands. Moon has somehow snuck up behind you, with no soft greeting bells, and said hello with one hand around your throat.

You did not have the time for this. “Later. I really need to get this done.”

You continue typing, doing a very good job (or what you hoped was a good job) of not reacting in the slightest when the fingers around your neck tighten ever so slightly, pressing points into your veins and pressure into your pulse. “You should sleep. It’s very late.”

You listen to the sound of his faceplate clicking as it rotates, and it distracts you just enough that you misspell a pretty complicated word, and sigh as you backspace all of it. “Not now.”

He sounds unconvinced. “Brat-”

“Moon!” You raise your hands up, turning around to face him and spewing his name with the same annoyance as he spoke your nickname. The animatronic does not lean back at the proximity of your faces, but his eyes do widen at the red glow across your skin, and you glare at the crouched robot. “I really need to finish this final. It’s timed, and it’s due at midnight! Which is-” You glance to the computer screen and start to feel the panic rise. “-twenty minutes! We’ll go back and forth later, okay? Just give me a minute, please?”

You turn away from him and mentally make a note to apologize for the little outburst later while you try not to regret it now, especially since the hand around your neck still hasn’t left, and rather instead make a home laying across your pulse. Said fingers lie still against your skin, and a silent pause rests from behind you.

Then, you hear the sound of Moon shifting, sitting on crossed legs right behind you. The hand never leaves. Not the most ideal situation to be in, or the safest, but at least it was quiet and he wasn’t yanking you away from your computer.

You’re halfway through the essay by now, and you’re starting to aim for the more realistic goal of getting it finished and turned in while not being an award-winning essay, just to check that box off. At some point, his head comes down to beside yours. You glance at him out of instinct. One eye is a calm white color, and you can’t see his darker half from this angle.

Moon’s hand raises, a finger pointing to the screen underneath a word. “Misspelling.”

You almost tell him off for interrupting you again (final nerves can make you cranky) but eye the word in particular. It was, in fact, misspelled. “Oh, shit. Thanks.” A quick click and some typing, the error is fixed.

This goes on for a few more minutes. You’ve gotten into the habit of glancing towards the PC’s clock, the urgency to finish the essay causing a few more errors than you usually admit. You or the auto-spell checker catches the spelling and grammar easy enough, and Moon silently points out what the two of you miss in a fashion that feels way too natural for this not to be his first time.

You won’t ask if he’s ever had to tutor or proofread a kid’s homework before. The answer is literally hovering over your shoulder and telling you that you just wrote a run-on sentence.

“Nervous?” Moon speaks again, this time lower. His voice doesn’t carry the edge it had a few minutes ago. One elbow on his knee, head resting in his hand, while the other never left you. “Test jitters?”

You make a point of finishing up a typed sentence before speaking. “What makes you think that?”

“Your heart rate.”

He’s far too casual about it. You thin your lips into a line before speaking. “I…also had a pretty large coffee earlier. Downed it in the car before I clocked in.”

You can almost hear the sound of his instant disapproval. You don’t need to turn your head to know that the smile has turned into a frown. “Bad.”

“Shhhhh.” You shush him. The fingers around your skin tense, only for a moment, then relax. It feels like he did it on purpose, like how some people squeeze their partner’s hands to say things. “I’m almost done.”

The daycare goes quiet save for the sound of typing. You rush the ending and you’re pretty sure half of it is only comprehensible with context. You didn’t even use the textbook to its full potential, but you meet the word count minimum at four minutes until midnight. Hitting ‘submit’ is a wave of relief much needed. Leaning back, you take a deep breath. “Done!”

The fingers that have never felt you feel so at home on your skin by this point. Moon does not move, but the whites of his eyes are gone. “Good. Now, sleep.”

You turn to snark something back at him, but pause. He looks odd. Relaxed, but not. Everything in his pose spells nonchalant but the movement of his hand feels intentional, and the dimness of his eyes reminds you of how someone might look like when they’re daydreaming. Whatever this position the two of you were in, he’s sunken into it.

You snap him out of it. “Wanna start stuffed animal therapy?”

That does the trick. His eyes widen in the slightest, the Moon comes back to full attention, and a default smile stretches across his face as the jester straightens his posture before literally; rolls away. There’s cold air on your neck where his hand disappears. “No.”

You stand up to follow him, putting your laptop and textbook back on the desk. “What? C’mon! You just spent like half an hour not taking the chance to kill me-”

“Thought about it.” He’s still rolling. You step in front of his path and he simply diverts to the left to avoid you. “Excuse me.”

You try to catch him, reaching out to grab his hat as he passes but he flips just in time to land on his feet, all the attitude of a jester well-known coming back into play. Hands-on your hips, you sigh. A bin of plushies are nearby, and you grab the closest one your hand can find: a Freddy plushie, with all his trademark appearances. “Good to know that the entire time I’m taking one of my finals, you’re debating on whether or not to wring my neck.”

“Among other things.” Moon comes to a stop, frozen in place in a weird pose.

You chuck the toy at him in hopes he’ll catch it by instinct, and he does. You throw a Monty toy in his direction too, but that one is dodged with a simple move of his head. “And you were doing great! We can count that, if you want!”

“Weird.” He catches the Roxy toy you throw at him, and avoids the Mr. Hippo you send his way. Low laughter comes from within his voice box. “Awful.”

“Says the weirdo that had his grubby hands on me like five minutes ago.” You pick up a Chica plush and toss it at him, and he catches that one too. A smile cracks on your face as Moon starts to juggle them. Jester behavior is always welcomed over threatening behavior, even if the two overlap sometimes. “You seem happy tonight, at least.” To your response, Moon’s arms go behind his back, doing a full circle of juggling. You clap your hands together in pleasant surprise. “I didn’t know you could do that-!”

A Freddy plushie bonks against your forehead. You blink, watching the plushie fall and bounce against the playmat.

Moon tosses the soft toys up in his hand like baseballs, his faceplate tilts to a sharp angle carrying a wicked grin. “Round 2.”

Son of a-

A small scream escapes you as you barely dodge the incoming Roxy plushie that sails over your head and almost knocks the paper bag of chip and Fizzy-faz you’ve left out on the security desk. “Wait! I don’t have any-!” Chica’s plushie misses you by inches, and you’re struggling to gather more stuffed animals from the bin as fast into your arms as you can get them as Moon is picking up the Mr. Hippo from the floor nearby. “Oh, you quick son of a bit-”

“Language.” The Mr. Hippo toy bops you right on the bottom, and your retaliation is a wildly thrown plushie in his direction that Moon catches mid-air, and sends right back your way. It smacks you in the knees, and you’re scrambling for cover as the Moon chuckles. “Good. Running.”

“Fuck you!” There’s no malice in your tone, and you’re laughing. “I’ve already been beaten once today!”

The sound of his voice echoes in a way that tells you he might be on his wire, now that you can’t see him. “Ha.”

The security desk would honestly be the best option (given that the daycare attendant can’t go past its threshold, and it provides ample cover) though it doesn’t even cross your mind. Instead, you go for the play jungle, the parts that are big enough to hold you, and the entrances that might make you look a little silly crawling into anywhere else, but it’s hard not to look a little ridiculous when your arms are as full as can be with stuffed toys, some of which fall out as you make your escape. “Don’t test me! I’m armed and dangerous!”

A low chuckle resounds from the dark, and it sounds like mockery.

Moon can probably still see you with infrared vision, but without a clear shot, he wouldn’t be able to chuck a toy at you unless he followed you into the tunnels. Which, you were fully expecting him to, then you’d lay down the ultimate assault of Fazbear Licensed toys on his head that would rival a tsunami.

The slide you’ve found yourself in is tight and uncomfortable, and you know you’ve been found when jingling echoes outside the entrance. You half expect him to lean down into the hole, sharp teeth and red eyes, a hand outstretched and beckoning you to death-

No, you bite those memories back. This was a time of fun, not of horror. You were having fun, (and maybe, per usual, testing the limits) as you wait for Moon to crouch and put his face into view. You stare at star-patterned pants situated just outside where you’re hiding, a plush at the ready-to-fire, and speak in a mocking tone. “Here, Starboy. Pssp pssp pssp pssp pssp.”

The quiet pauses, you await for the moment to attack. It goes, because after a moment the star pants disappear from view, and there’s nothing. Brows furrowing, you lower your ‘ammunition’ and stare at the entrance. Listening. There are no sounds of bells, no footsteps. Maybe he was trying to trick you, lower your guard before scrambling up the tube in a way straight out of a horror movie, all twisted limbs and outstretched hands.

What you didn’t expect is for the threat to come from behind you.

A force grabs the hood of your jacket, and you are yanked upwards so quickly to the upper entrance of the tube slide that most of your ammunition falls from your arms and slides down past your feet. Plastic slides underneath your back rapidly until there’s air, and you yelp loudly as you’re brought forth into a different grating, with netting patterns all around you.

A harsh, gust of air is knocked out of your lungs as your back is slammed onto the flooring of the play jungle. Moon hovers above you, hands poised while you have nothing to defend yourself but the single Chica plushie in your grip that was the only one not lost to the momentum. Instinctively, your arm raises up in between you. “Wait-”

His other hand finds your wrist, and your own arm is slammed down to the plastic. Not hard enough to hurt, but just enough to flinch.

Black eyes and red pupils glower down at you, a sharp-toothed smile curved up all the way, his faceplate shifted to a hard angle. Moon doesn’t speak, he doesn’t shake or flinch. You try your best not to, even when a lump in your throat makes it hard to speak.

This was...worse, than last time, you think. But you signed up for this.

Using what little momentum you can, you ‘toss’ the Chica plushie from your hand with the pinned wrist. It barely bonks the bottom of his faceplate, and you crack a nervous smile. “I…win?”

The animatronic above you does not falter, does not speak, until seconds of this do you see the corner of his smile droop, and the red in his pupils pale to a white. For a moment, it’s still. Then, the grip around your arms slide off, and there’s the sound of metal and fabric against plastic as the Daycare Attendant pulls back, scraping against the walls and sliding to the furthest end of the tunnel.

The edge isn’t far, maybe only a few feet from you, but the space is welcome. Sitting up, deep breath, you pull into yourself. The Moon sits cross-legged, hunched and looking as insecure as you feel. His eyes are still wide. His smile is still the same.

You pull back against the opposite end and stare back. “…Did you…get too excited?”

Moon doesn’t answer, his view deadest. His fingers dig into the fabric of his pants.

Your heart rate is high, and you will it to slow even if he already knows about it. Smiling, softly, because you don’t know if this means good or not, you reach for the Chica plushie that was forgotten in between the both of you. “I think you did good, you know. Restraint and all. I was having fun too.” You slide the plushie over to him. Something to mimic an olive branch, something for his hands to play with, that isn’t you. “This is what I meant by exposure therapy. You might mess up, sometimes.”

The words you’re speaking must not have been comforting. Pupils dart down from you to the plushie and back up again. You don’t expect a verbal response. At least, not yet. In fact, you half expect him to ignore you completely and ditch out through the tunnel, away from you and this mess, away from the problem. (Or, maybe he’d lunge for you instead.)

But after a moment, Moon talks, and it’s low and almost a whisper. “Stupid idea.”

Of course, he insults you. The casualness of it is comforting, at least.

“It’s not any different than how we’d usually hang out, just-” You think for a minute, adjusting so you’re a bit more comfortable in this position. You might be in the play jungle for a moment. “Just closer. Testing the waters a little bit more.”

“Stupid.” He hisses.

“You can always pull back if it’s too much.” You suggest. “We can use a safe word?”

Moon’s face is unreadable, red eyes and white pupils staring at you from the dark to continue. His gaze, although lighter in a different color, doesn’t shift from you as he takes the Chica plushie into his grip. His fingers curl in and out around the toy’s neck. A fidgeting habit. Better it than you.

“Maybe if you get too-” You raise your hands and wiggle your fingers in a mock jest of theatrics “-glitchy, you can just tap out, and I can use it if I don’t feel safe anymore.” You’re energetic when you talk, but the Daycare Attendant’s smile feels like scrutiny. “How about ‘Time-Out’?”

Moon hesitates, eyes narrowing and rolling the phrase over. “'Time-out’.”

“Yeah!” You’re met with a dead stare. “What? It worked once before. Didn’t it?”

You know what he’s thinking. The irony of the setting of the jungle gym and the phrase does not escape you either. But you’re prepared for an argument like you’ve been pushing for the past couple of months. Ever since the security office. Ever since the first night you met, you’ve started to push back.

Moon looks like he’s come down from whatever high he was running on a few minutes ago. The thrill of the chase, it seems, could have made things difficult. Like it hasn’t already. “Okay.”

“Okay!” You repeat, energy in your voice again. No time for awkwardness. You’ve done this dance and show with him several times, and you’re not going to think about how easily he agreed. He knows you like to argue. ‘We can find something to do tomorrow, too. All the time, actually. I’m taking a gap year from college, so my schedule can be more flexible. Work longer shifts, or something.“

He plays with the toy Chica’s hair, pulling the stitching at the edges until some stuffing starts to come out from within the white fabric. “Okay.” A pause. A twitch in his look, and it’s something softer than the tension you’ve been trying to wring out from him for the past few minutes. “Ha.”

You pipe up. “What’s funny?”

“You live here. Practically.”

Welp, he wasn’t wrong there. “I get paid to do minimum chores and hang out with my friends all the time. If management would allow it, I’d probably save money and time moving everything in here.” You jest, resting your head into your hand. “Dunno where I’d put all my stuff though. This place is kinda...cramped. My apartment is roomier.”

Moon hums, pulling a bit of stuffing out, then back in. “Old security room.”

“There’s no way I’m gonna sleep among a bunch of camera screens. That’s weird.”

“Could sleep here.”

“On crusty playmats? That can’t be comfortable.”

He looks up from the plushie, a bit more relaxed, a bit calmer now that the distance was there again. Whatever thoughts were running through his head, your demise may not have been in them anymore. At least, not at the forefront. Good for progression. “There’s a place.”

“Oh yeah?” You ask, head lowering. Your neck was starting to hurt from such a small space. “Can we get out of here, first? I don’t know if robots have problem joints, but this is starting to really make me ache.” Moon doesn’t respond, rather, he dips faster than you do. You barely catch a glimpse of the bell of his hat before he all but zips down the tube slide. Crawling to it, a glance down the plastic tells you he’s already out the other end.

You cup your hand around your mouth, calling into the tunnel before positioning yourself. “Clear landing?”

No verbal response, but red ribbons dip into view at the exist. He’s sitting on top of the tunnel. Good enough. You slide down and meet the mess of plushies you dropped early all piled together into a pitiful forgotten heap at the end of the slide. Moon’s upside-down face is above you, a decent distance away. He’s back on his wire, and he rises into the air once you’re out of the tunnel.

The distance is notable, but you smile up at him anyway. The playtime was nice while it lasted. Progress.

“You should have clocked out five minutes ago.” He rotates above you, out of reach. It’s a bit of a scary sight since the darkness shrouds his face entirely. “You’re on overtime.”

Checking your phone, he’s correct. Damn. “Walk me to the doors?” You ask, knowing he’ll do it anyway. You stash the bag of Fizzy-Faz and chips under the desk’s cubby for another day’s snack, gather your textbook and laptop into the bag and make your way to the cart that’s still parked outside the Daycare. “Sorry about the mess.”

Moon glances towards the battlefield of stuffed animals littered across the daycare. “I’ll clean it.”

The walk to the front doors and the station you clock out of is usual. A few staff bots wave hello, though some seem to just stare at your escort before returning to their sweeping or mopping. You don’t know what they think of Moon, though they seem to have a good relationship with Sun. Most animatronics did, (save for Monty, you think. You won’t ask about it. You’re not going to risk triggering something else.) but the Daycare Attendant cares little for the attention, flying a few feet above your head in a limp position that lacks any of the playful luster he had prior.

It makes you sad, and the silence is upsetting. So you ‘pssp’ at him while you swipe your card through the slot. “So...dragons, huh?”

It takes him a moment, then his face curls into a grin. “You prefer knights?”

“They’re both cool. I just think robots are cooler.” You say. Moon’s head does a full rotation, expression still but the attitude was still telling. “C’mon. It’s obvious. I used to love robot movies when I was younger.”

“Funny.” He chuckles, and his tone is softer. “Interesting.”

“…What’s that supposed to mean.”

“Nothing.” The shutters are raised, and you spot your car in the parking lot. Moon ‘sits’ upside down, cross-legged in the air, bell hanging down low to your face. “Tomorrow.”

“Yeah, tomorrow. And the day after that, and that. I’ve got a full schedule.” You wave him off. “Don’t miss me too much!”

To your amusement, he raises a hand, forms a thumbs down and gives a low ‘boo’ as you leave, holding it until the shutters close and you make your way to your car. The old coffee cup is still sitting in the holder, and you’re halfway home when you realize you never asked him what took so long when you were getting your lunch, and why he never appeared.

You keep to your word. Every night, morning, day, whatever you were scheduled for. ‘Exposure therapy’ is just a fancy way of saying ‘having fun and hanging out’ except with all the risks of being strangled to death and possibly ending up as another body that Fazbear Co. has to cover up.

(Except you don’t really dwell on that anymore, not when Moon likes to steal the toilet paper rolls when you’re trying to clean the bathrooms. You walk out to the cart to find the bags broken into, and Moon has a head completely covered in toilet paper, arms raised, and mimicking a mummy slowly stumbling towards you until you throw the empty toilet paper tube at his head.)

(The jester might be dangerous, but he’s still a jester.)

These days blend into weeks, and then longer than that. You’ve been working at the company for almost a year now. It’s a wild thought to think about, time moving so quickly, you don’t really register it until you’re putting up the holiday décor for something different than the holiday you just put up banners for. Or was it really that soon?

Management is as plain as ever, though they send you congrats when your final grades come back to show your passing. It’s also accompanied by your list of to-dos for the day when they send it, but they don’t mention all the times you’ve slacked off or accidentally left some chores unfinished that you hastily rushed to do the next day. Whatever force is supposed to reporting your work to the higher-ups must not be doing a very good job, because there’s no mark on your record.

Knowing that they fired every other human in the building seemingly for little to no reason however, keeps you on your toes. You haven’t had to use a sick day yet, and you’re scared to ever try.

It’s all become routine and comfortable by now. Monty is nicer to you, though he doesn’t mention the talk you two had again. The curtains to his room are open now, and he’s accepting in-room photo shoots with kids again. You don’t know how long they’ve been closed, but from the looks of the lines outside on the morning it was announced, you suspect it’s been a while. Sometimes he even calls you by your name, the days of hostility almost feel like a faded dream. If he’s in a good enough mood, he’ll lift the hallway benches so you can sweep underneath.

You never see him and the Daycare Attendant at the same time, not when you run into two of your friends on patrol, or walking around outside the Daycare. Monty doesn’t go near the space, and Moon disappears when another animatronic comes into the picture at night. He doesn’t leave though. He’s…somewhere. Watching. Really living up to the security job’s name.

Freddy tells you that it’s because he’s shy. You know better than that.

“What does Sun say about me?” You ask him one day, in the middle of the afternoon. You plan on waving at Sun later through the glass, not to interrupt him, but Freddy asked for some help stitching up a giant teddy of his in his room. His fingers were too big to thread the needle, and the kids don’t like looking at a rip of stuffing coming out of a toy of their favorite figure, even in the photo. “I mean, you said he talks about me sometimes. Is there anything bad?”

Freddy is sitting at his vanity, signing autograph books when he turns back towards you on the couch. “Anything bad?”

“Yeah, like-” You think for a moment, careful not to prick yourself with the needle as you fix up the teddy bear’s stitching. “Like I’m nosy? Annoying? Pushy?”

“Nosy, yes.” He says with a voice full of warmth and softness like it was learned, and not programmed into him. The smile he wears is gentle. “But the other words were...not used. The Daycare Attendant uses much nicer words than that.”

You miss a stitch on the fabric, pulling it out and redoing it as you raise a brow. “Oh?”

Freddy’s eyes turn softer. “I’m afraid I’m sworn to secrecy. Fazbear honor.”

“Bleh.” Bottom lip out, you blow a raspberry. “You’re just saying that so he’s not put on the spot.”

“I stop by the Daycare sometimes so the little ones can meet me, ones not old enough to roam the pizzaplex alone, or go into the main hall.” The scratching of a pen, he has returned to signing autographs. Judging by the pile sitting on his desk, he had quite a lot more to go through. “It’s a very funny fellow, the Sunny one. I don’t think you ever leave its mind.” A pause. “Or the night one either.”

You finish the stitch, focusing a little too much that you hold off on responding until you’re sure you did it correctly. Leaning back so you can view the giant teddy in all its greatness, you nod at your work, and start to pack up the sewing kit. “…Wow. How special.”

“Special, indeed.” Freddy hums, unbothered when you come over to peer over his shoulder to watch him sign his name in the exact same spot, in the same font, and the same color a hundred times over.

He’s kind like that. He sneaks you a voucher for a free café meal later in the day as a thank you, and you have two meal breaks that shift instead of one.

Roxy lets you sit on her couch when you need a breather (and the Daycare is packed with kids, and you don’t feel like distracting Sun from his job) She doesn’t like to talk as much as her fellow band members, but she likes it when you occasionally look up from your phone to tell her that her eye make-up looks nice. She did, in fact, have green claws again by the end of the week. You don’t mention it, and she never mentions Parts N’ Service, outside of complaining about how dingy it was down there.

Chica and you still had your trash bag routine going on, only one morning she tells you that Freddy caught her chowing down on some pizza boxes in her room. Luckily for the chicken, the bear doesn’t mind the oddity, save for the slight worry that she’d get something stuck in her beak in the process. You convince her to go tell Roxy just so everyone is aware, and when she takes you up on it, Roxy tells the two of you that she’s known since the beginning; her vision can see through walls, she just didn’t care.

Whoops. Chica had her head and beak buried in a pillow for at least an hour after that. You pat her on the back and promise to sneak her some pizza from the cafeteria during your break.

Sun is, by all accounts, not impressed with your ‘exposure therapy’ continuation. Neither of the Daycare Attendants are, but there’s nothing they can do to deny it’s working. All attempts to get him to leave the Daycare are futile though.

Sometimes you crack up plans to try and get him out, including lying about a child being lost outside the daycare (didn’t work, all little ones were accounted for in his head, and you momentarily forgot that he could see them with his special vision when you convinced them to hide to trick them)  lying and saying that management said he could leave (not according to the protocols still embedded in his head, he says) and even going as far to snatch one of the bells from his wrist when he wasn’t paying enough attention.

Looking back on it, he probably let you take it, but at the moment while you stood proud of yourself outside of the Daycare, grinning back at the calm and collected animatronic standing in the doorway, you hold the bell up in the air as your little hostage. “If you want it back, you’ll have to come and take it. Ten steps. That’s all it takes.”

“Oh my! What a villain.” He’s grinning, eyes lidded low, and seemingly not as conflicted as you’d like him to be. “Not my precious bell.”

You’re haughty. “Yep. C’mon. Take the first step, or you’re not getting it back.”

“Oh no, that’s alright!” Sun’s smile flashes brightly, and he holds up something from behind his back. Your car keys dangle from his finger, swinging back and forth in mockery. “I found something just as shiny! I think I’ll keep them.”

You’re cursing him under your breath as you do the walk of shame back into the Daycare, and he tuts at you for your language as he slips your keys back into your pocket, and reties the bell around his wrist with smooth motions.

Moon, too, is drastically different from how he was when you first met him. You think about it sometimes, and mention it often. Often enough that he’s probably getting annoyed by it.

One night, when you’re taking the coins out from one of the vending machines, you wonder about how some of the snacks would taste. “I don’t like Bonnie’s carrot cake. It’s stale, probably cause it’s prepackaged. I mean, who packs little cakes into a vending machine?” You talk while you work, knowing your only audience is the warden hovering ten to fifteen feet above you, far away from the flashlight you’re using to see what you’re doing. “Chica’s chips are probably okay. I’ve never had any of Roxy or Monty’s branded stuff. Or the Fazbear graham crackers. When was the last time these got replaced, anyway?” You pop the panel back into place. “I don’t ever see a worker coming and refilling these up.”

A hand lowers into your vision, ribbons brush over your nose and threaten to make you sneeze. You crane your neck back, squinting. Raising the flashlight, you shine it on Moon’s hand, and the candy he holds in between his fingers.

“Try it.” He offers, and there’s that sinister playfulness in his tone again. “Helps you sleep.”

Without looking upwards, you point the light of the flashlight up toward the ceiling. Your action is immediately followed by the sound of the wire going taught, air rushing as he moves and a hiss of vile repulsion and bells jingling away. “I don’t want any cavities, Moon.”

“Not my problem.” A moondrop candy lands on your head and bounces to the floor. “Naughty Brat.”

So, yeah. The usual behavior. You can read them pretty easily now, most of the time. Things that used to scare you...still, do, not to the extent where you freeze anymore, but you’re smarter about this. Moon, himself, has become more careful. Now he knows you try to get close, and the distance is a good protection from a bad impulsive decision. You don’t take offense when your friend goes from joking, jesting, playful behavior to the still, quiet, almost predator-like motions he takes up in the shadows.

One second, he’s laughing and pulling the strings of your hoodie together while it’s over your head until your vision is blocked off and only your nose peaks through the hole. The next, he’s sitting on top of the exit sign at the end of the hallway, and a cold chill runs down your spine as small pupils track your every movement, not responding to your talking, not getting close. You talk for the both of you in those moments, now.

Sun does this too sometimes, you think.

It’s uncertain the extent of separation, or the complication of identity, but it’s personally not your business. Though, you wonder, how intertwined the two personalities are when the Sun’s smile feels a little bit too sharp, his words a little too soft and his hands fidget whenever you yawn, or when Moon gets a little too excited when you’re in direct line of sight, just out of reach, or the split second moments where the sentence they speak feels like it belongs to both of them. When they pause, if only for a second, and you wonder.

It’s a late Tuesday night when you see it once more. The children are all checked out, Sun and you are both cleaning the Daycare, joking about how silly he looks covered in glitter glue and construction paper because that day was ‘art day’, and some kids thought it would be great to draw on his sun rays. In non-toxic, washable marker, of course. That was going to be a bit of a chore to wipe off.

Said animatronic was busy taking a baby wipe to his head and face and rays while you gathered the leftover crayons and markers from the little tables, dumping them in their respective bins and tubs for the next day. He seems to be having some trouble, pausing in his sentence to talk about where he was going to be hanging the finished drawings, and messing with his sunrays.

You approach where he’s standing, and you see it better than he can. A piece of construction paper, folded and torn, is stuck in between the place where one sun ray goes in and out of his head. Thin enough to slip through, but an obstruction, and it’s making the specific sun ray look jammed, a slightly shorter length than the rest of them. It looked like you could get it for him, so you gesture for him to lean down. “C’mere for a sec.”

He looks quizzical, but he’s already doing it by the time he asks. “Yes?”

You forget to ask before you stick your hands out, one on his face to keep it steady, and the other pressing your thumb around the sunray, trying to catch the edge of the paper before it slides any deeper. Sun freezes mid-sentence, hands hanging in the air. You pin the page by the edge of your nail, slide it out, crumpling it in your hand and tossing it into the trash by the security desk. “There you go. You should be able to retract the ray in and out normally now.”

The animatronic does not answer you. Rather, Sun’s body is too still to be comfortable. You lean back to give him space, and briefly panic in your head that you maybe touched something that would cause a short circuit somehow before you notice the eyes. They’re locked on your own, and in the shadow of his height, you see white pinpricks.

It breaks you out of your stupor, raising two fingers and pointing them at the pupils. Except your hands get a little too close, and end up poking them right in the middle of his eyes. “You do have pupils! Why don’t they paint them again? Do you want to look like you don’t have any?”

There’s a jolt at your touch, a pause. Then, Sun is suddenly back, attitude loud and teasing as his arms drop to the side and stares blankly into your fingertips. “Gee! If I had real eyes, I’m sure this would really, really hurt!”

You retract your fingers with a cringe. “Sorry! Sorry!”

He doesn’t hold it against you. He does, however, pinch your nose until you sound like a kazoo complaining and the two of you end up making paper airplanes to throw at each other. You’re smart enough to use the security desk as cover this time.

All you need to do to help them is spend time with them. What’s going on now is what’s working so far, so you’ll continue this…whatever this is. You’re the guinea pig and that’s alright. It’s been working so far. There can’t be any downsides to this, not if you keep to it.

You find a pile of names on small sheets of paper, the kind you’d slip into locker labels, stashed away in a drawer like forgotten trash when you decide to clean up and restock the employee room to its full potential since you’re going to be spending even more time here.

You don’t recognize any of them, not even the ones that you might have known for what little human workers you briefly introduced yourself to before the firing, when you first started. The ink is smeared and the paper aged, so this was older. Much older than when you first started. Possibly when the Daycare Attendants weren’t daycare attendants, and instead actors on a stage for an audience that didn’t know anything of their reputation, save for the stories that they told.

The security desk still has that list somewhere, the information of prior employees, the old list of kids’ allergies and other protocols. You make a mental note to clean it out, make it like your own, despite not being an actual assistant. You’ll stock coffee and snag a coffee maker from the kitchens to put in here, and threaten Moon with the flashlight if he tries to break it. Snacks in the cupboard, extra clothes in the locker, shoes and socks too. You don’t even use the couch in the employee room, considering you default to the daycare or one of the band member’s sofas to rest your legs if you needed a moment.

You bring a blanket from home, anyway. Just in case you needed to nap. You don’t say this to Moon, not out loud at least. You’re actually not sure if you’d even want him to know. Sleeping around him...could be safe, not the worst decision ever. Best not to risk it.

There’s a draft in your phone’s emails to management, something you’ve had written up for a month now. It’s been rewritten, revised, and untouched for as nervous as it makes you. Asking the Management to reconsider the Daycare Attendant’s policy on leaving the Daycare and reinstatement of naptime is tricky when you’re just a general no-name-no-face type of employees whose jurisdiction should be fixing hinges on doors and taking out the trash, not helping one of their biggest scandalized animatronics overcome a glitch with no explanation to the point where they’d be willing to make it public again. A fixer-upper, with high risks.

You don’t send it. Knowing yourself, it’ll sit there in your drafts until you’re ready, but you’re nowhere near that.

Openness or not. Sun still won’t leave the daycare, and Moon comes close, just a bit too close, every time with you. Progression is certain, but they’re not ready. The barrier has started to crack, but they need more time.

You’re sitting on the edge of the fountain in the main area, the one with the big statue in the middle and the water was almost copper colored with the number of pennies and Faz-tokens that were thrown in it. The draft email stares back at you, and you stay like that until your phone screen goes dark, your own reflection against the screen. It’s a wonder if this is a disservice to the person they killed, the people they hurt, before you.

No. People can change for the better. They’re halfway there. Sort of.

You sigh, lowering your phone when a voice speaks right above you, and you jump. “Hey-”

“Jeeze-!” With a startled jump, your phone flies from your hand and you’re too slow to do anything except watch it take a cartwheeled tumbling towards the water-

Moon’s hand snatches it in the air before it splashes, and brings it up. He hovers upside down, plain faced, and expectant. The phone is held out back to you. “Watch it.”

“Oh, thanks.” Relief in your voice, you pocket the device, rising from your position. “The banner good and set up?”

The animatronic gestures his head towards the upper wall, bell jingling as he does. Said banner was fully up on the highest part, announcing the welcoming back of Fazbear’s beloved DJ Music Man sometime next week. He looks like a cool guy. You’re too scared of heights to hang up his stuff, though, so Moon does the work. Maybe you’ll get to meet the DJ soon enough.

You checkmark that task off your list, and move onto the next. “C’mon. I still have to take out the trash in Gator Golf, then I only have a few more things, and we can hang out after.”

Moon is swimming in the air. Literally. He mimics a fish, snicking once you look up and realizes what he was getting at. “Don’t slip.”

You grumble something, pushing the cart along to the next area. “Ha, ha. Very funny.” You swipe at the bell hanging down from his cap, and boo when it floats just out of reach. "Jerk."

The nights continue like this, the days close behind.

Chapter Text

The last few weeks have been eventful, full of trial and error and scary nights and softened talks. And an incident with non-toxic markers and ice cream that you’re still not letting Sun live down just yet, but the time comes and it comes slowly.

But the days, the weeks, they’ve been full of happenings. This one will be no different.

Monday is when you receive the results of your exams. Passing grades. Nothing stellar enough that you’d be graduating with honors, but enough that you won’t feel terribly guilty by taking a gap year now that the semester is over. The college counselor doesn’t stress too much about your absence since you were really just going for your basics at the moment, but the wrinkles in her smile tells you she believes you’re probably not coming back. Figuring out whether you’ll qualify as a college drop-out in a year or so isn’t exactly at the top of your list of concerns, but you assure her you’ll take a single curricular class during your break months so you don’t ‘fall out of schedule’ with being a student.

You sell most of your textbooks back to the bookstore on campus for a little extra cash, but tear out the doodles the Daycare Attendant did in one of them, and give away the textbook to whoever is lucky enough to be standing outside the bookstore in need of that specific one and doesn’t care if it’s missing a page or two.

The doodles go on your fridge, hung up by two Mr. Hippo and a Bonnie Magnet that you may or may have not pocketed during one of your shifts where the staff bots were subjected to the whims of children again. The staff bots appreciate getting demagnetized.

Returning to work that evening, the band congratulates you on passing your exams. Freddy gives you a warm smile and encouraging words, and a star sticker that reminds you of what middle schoolers are given for being a good noodle. Chica gets you a celebratory pizza, which she ends up eating mostly all by herself, and Roxy slaps you on the back firmly, laughing that she didn’t think you had the brains. Monty adds on by saying he thought you had worms for brains, but he sneaks you a coupon for a free coffee at the Fazcafe, so you’ll let the malice-less insult pass.

Monday is only an afternoon shift, so you don’t see Moon that evening. Sun, however, greets you at the door of the daycare as you’re dropping off the weekly restock of diapers and wipes and other necessities and presents to you a card, folded neatly and secured with a small sliver of tape. It’s a sweet gift, the image of Helpy as the graphic with your name and a ‘congrats’ spelled horrifically wrong in crayon on the front. More than likely taken from the nearby gift shop. He and the children wait patiently as you thumb open the tap, opening the card.

A small puff of glitter comes up from the card, decorating your shirt collar, chest, and the lower half of your face in silver and gold. You blink at the card, which carries a bunch of children’s signatures (and Sun’s rather neat one,) beneath a generic ‘good job’ with a picture of Helpy giving a thumbs up.

You hear Sun’s slight noise of discontent when you look up from the card. The animatronic turns back to the waiting children, hands on his hips. “Now, when I said we could add glitter, I meant that you’re supposed to glue it on.”

He addresses them as a whole group, watching as a few giggle and some hide behind their friends, but you don’t miss the sharp, amused look he sends to the twins in the corner, one of whom you’ve heard notorious stories about the boy eating glue whenever the Daycare Attendant has his back turned.

It’s laughable, so you do so. Brushing off the excess, you carry out the rest of your shift a little sparkly when you leave the Daycare. Chica says you look ‘glamorous’, and Monty points and laughs at you later.

Tuesday; you have an evening shift.

Your list of chores sent by email is little to none, though you’re expected to mop the center stage, which is time consuming by itself, but nothing too bad. Staff bots were busy unloading and relocating some heavy items, stores of boxes and a couple of cylinder machines you’ve only seen in passing in the maintenance wing, so you’re given their janitorial duties for the night whereas they wouldn’t have the time.

The rest is general, early-in-the-week chores. Restock the soaps, the garbage bags in the staff-bot’s janitorial closet, pick up a few wet floor bots and put them in the correct spot. (You apologize for the trouble. You have no idea whether the little guys are as sentient as their animatronic coworkers, but you still smile at them gently as their head swivels to you.)

And as per usual, you try to tempt Sun to leave the Daycare. That goes just about as well as it does any other time; fruitless.

Like now, when all the children have been properly checked out and the Pizzaplex is officially closed, you stand a distance away from the Daycare’s doors, hands on your hips, and staring the bright animatronic down. “One step. Like, half a foot out the door.” You stick your leg out in a dramatic fashion, mimicking the movement. “One step. You don’t even have to leave the Daycare for real.”

Sun’s head tilts in a fashion that suggests he’s having more fun analyzing your behavior than heeding your ideas. The animatronic raises a foot in the air, brings it forth until it ‘kicks’ something invisible. He tries again, a shocked look coming across his features as he attempts to step through the threshold, but finds an unseen force holding him back.

You squint at his movements as the Daycare Attendant mimes in the doorway, palms facing you and pressing up against the ‘glass wall’. “Really?”

Sun cups his hand around the side of his faceplate, and makes a face like he couldn’t hear. He holds up one finger, telling you to wait, and then pretends to yank very hard at an imaginary door. When that doesn’t work, he starts ‘pushing’ it instead, dramatically skidding his feet across the floor but still not crossing the threshold of the Daycare.

After a solid moment, he stops, hands on his knees, and pretends to pant like he’s out of breath. Your foot taps on the ground, arms crossed. “C’mon!” You pull your phone from your pocket, glancing at the time, and sighing. “It’s like, two minutes until closing! You can’t step out even for a few seconds? Not even as a trial?”

Sun makes no move to acknowledge you, instead standing and tapping the bottom of his faceplate in thought, staring down at the invisible wall. You huff, only a bit amused, and approach. Raising your fist, you ‘knock’ on the ‘barrier’ that was seemingly in between the two of you.

Sun perks up, bringing out an imaginary key, unlocking an imaginary lock, and swinging open an imaginary door. He fakes a gasp and beams at you. “Oh, a visitor! At such a late hour, too. I’m afraid you’re too late for a party.”

You raise a brow. “Wanna go for a nightly stroll?”

“Like every night, of course.” Sun leans on an imaginary wall, which is a feat you’re not sure how he’s managing but somehow he makes it look natural. “But how about we play a game this time?”

Oh, you know where this is going. “Is this payback from earlier?”

Sun’s smile is enough of an answer. (There’s probably still dried ice cream in his chassis from last week, something you should really offer to help clean.)

The animatronic leans away, not shutting the Daycare doors this time, but you know you’ll be gone before the lights are out regardless. He holds up a wrist, tsking at his own bells like a wristwatch. “You’ll have about a fifty headstart this time.”

You snort. “I’ve won with shorter times. What about a quick step, out and in again?”

He doesn’t look up from the bells. “Forty-five seconds.”

“It’s like, right there.”

“Hmm. Thirty-seven seconds.”

“C’mon.” You hold your arms out, stepping away from the door. “Do it for a hug.”

“Tempting!” Sun’s gaze is faintly entertained. “Thirty seconds.”

Wrinkling your nose, you turn on your heel, but not before sticking your middle finger up in realization for the workout that’s to come. The Daycare Attendant does not scold you for your rude gesture, but you hear a clicking sound of his head turning that spells disapproval, and a possible harder difficulty to the game of hide and seek that was about to commence. Or tag, in this case, since your time to hide away was swindling by the second.

You’re running, exiting through the main hallway just as the lights turn off above you and the pizzaplex is officially closed, empty of all customers, and left only with the robots and its single human personnel.

It’s when you’re rounding the corner do you almost trip over a wet floor sign robot, turn around to apologize with out-of-breathe speech, and freeze at the sight down the hallway. Red eyes and the sounds of a distant bell emerge from the darkness among the ceiling rafters. He’s on his wire, and he’s either taking his time, or tricking you into a sense of security.

Actually, could be both. That and being on the wire means you can’t hear any approaching footsteps.

Making an ‘L’ shape with your fingers, you hold it over your forehead in a mocking manner and turn your heel with a spurt of apology to the wet floor sign bot, and run. A chuckle resounds from behind you, low and fitting for him.

It’s becoming a routine, playful behavior like this. At least, the more involved ones, something you wouldn't have done a year ago, maybe six months ago. The hairs on the back of your neck still raise sometimes in unpleasant memories, but the fear is quickly overruled by the sound of your own laughter as you barely duck underneath the arm of a confused staff bot as you barrel your way down the stairs.

You hear the sound of the wire going taut, and a metal body clipping the corner of a neon sign because he couldn’t maneuver to avoid it in time. A glance behind you, and he’s pulling one of his slippers back on. You cackle. “Nice try, Starboy!”

A flash of red in the darkness looks like a challenge.

You’ll need somewhere to hide.

The lower levels of the maintenance wing are not somewhere you often go, but you’re familiar enough with it that you can navigate your way down there into the employee’s section, past the signs and into the darker, brick hallways you hardly ever see a staff bot down in. There’s a hallway blocked off by grates and fences, pipes and electrical wiring running along the walls and ceiling. The hallways here were smaller, damper.

The ceiling is too low for Moon’s wire to be supported here. He will have to detach. That will add a few extra seconds.

You ignore the signs pointing to the laundry room, the freezer, to Parts n Service, and head directly for warehouse storage. Photo booths were used before and hiding under a table or behind a poster was just not putting enough effort into it, but there was a new possible place you could try without considering the idea of stuffing yourself into a washing machine and hoping he didn’t open the lid.

Something echoes off the brick walls in the damp place and you quicken your pace, though you don’t even have to make it to storage to find what you’re looking for, coming around the corner and skidding to a stop.

There. A charging station, one of the sorts Fazbear Co. had been acquiring recently, though it sits unplugged and unused in this hallway. Undone wires near the back suggest that it’s in the right spot, but perhaps not fully hooked up just yet. Perfect.

You rush inside quickly, ignoring the sting in your chest from the sudden claustrophobia that comes over you, and slide the heavy door shut. The charging station wasn’t lit up, and although you know his robot vision would give you away anyway, you press your back to the far wall of the station, away from the window, and wait.

You count the seconds. Last time it was Fifteen.

Fourteen. Thirteen. Twelve. Eleven-

There’s a silent shift, a dark shadow moving across the window. Weight lands on top of the charging station, soft enough that there’s no thud, but the slight creak of metal brushing against the fabric, and scuttling limbs. Your pulse quickens.

Ten. Nine. Eight. Breathe. Seven.-

Tap. Tap. Tap.

He never stopped that habit.

The window is only an inch thick, a small one but big enough that you see the darkness outside take over the hallway. You do not make out hands or a face, but red eyes and a clack, clack of hands coming down from above the container where the animatronic bends down, contorted, and peers upside down into your hiding place.

Moon taps against the glass, in a fashion not unlike the first time you’ve met.

You press your face up closer to the window and push up your nose, sticking out your tongue. “Too slow!”

It’s too dark on the outside to gauge his expression, but you hear a low chuckle. Fingers scratch against the glass where your cheeks press into, like he wanted to pinch them.

You raise your own hands to the glass, match your fingertips to hover over his own and drum against the surface, matching his pace. “Feeling okay?”

The drumming playfully continues for a moment, Moon’s grin reflecting back at you through the window. His head tilts once, and you imagine the clicking sound it makes at the joints, though you don’t hear it through the door. His eyes are amused and his smile feels warm.

“Okay!” You smile back. The charging station isn’t plugged up, so it doesn’t shut and open automatically, so you move your hand to the side and forcefully push it to slide back. “Coming out.”

The weight of the door carries the momentum when you push. Moon’s hands lose their grip, leverage gone, and you see a quick flash of surprise through the window as the animatronic’s form crumples down and almost flails, falling from the top of the charging station. His faceplate hits the metal of the door with a resounding clang.

You step out quickly, hunching over your friend and hands moving widely in a panic. “Sorry! Sorry!”

He’s a pretzel on the floor. Limbs are bent awkwardly in a way that would make a human being flinch, facedown on the floor. “Ow.”

“Sorry!” You repeat, crouching low enough down that you hover a hand over the back of him. You don’t touch him, but make the motion of patting the air around his back in a frantic way, staring at the stillness. “Are you hurt? Damaged?”

Moon’s upward limbs settle on the floor until he’s completely planking. “Yes.”

“Where? On your face?”

“I’m dead.” His voice sounds theatrical, falsely sad. “Very dead. I have died.”

You pause, then scoff. Leaning back from him, you sit on your haunches and watch as the animatronic jester contorts back, head turning to face you at a backward angle. You wrinkle your nose at the sight of his grin. Raising a finger, you press it against the top of his faceplate where his forehead would be. “I’m not seeing any cracks. You’ll live.”

Moon makes a non-committal noise, contorting further until his body does a near-full cartwheel. Stepping back and standing straight, you watch as the robot returns to his full height like the fall never happened, and shake your head. “What am I going to do with you?”

“The worst.” Moon’s response doesn’t miss a beat. “Take a nap.”

“Not right now.” Your own response is second nature by this point. There’s no underlying fear in your voice. Turning away from him, you look to the charging station. “Do you use one of these? They’re new, staffbots are supposed to install them in different places around the pizzaplex, I think.” You give the unplugged charging station a light kick. It looks heavy, and the inside is big enough it was sure to fit a single member of the Glamrock Band just fine. Its use was obvious. “Looks like management is making some changes.”

Moon is quiet. He looks at the station with mild disinterest. White pupils scan the object dully.

You ‘elbow’ the air around him to gain his attention again. “Hey, if they’re still making changes, maybe they’ll promote me to a security guard and I won’t have to run around fixing small problems all the time.” You jest. The animatronic says nothing still, but his head tilts in a semblance of one who raises their brow, and you snuff at him. “What? Scared I’ll take your job?”

Moon snickers something low, and you don’t flinch when he leans back and decides crawling up the wall is the best stance to have. “Where’s your mop?”

Ah, bastard. You roll your eyes, turning on your heel towards the direction of the stairs.

He follows you, as per usual, all the way up and out into the main area again. Moon hangs on a wire limply and bored while you struggle to once again unstuck the cart from the janitorial closet (asking him for help means you get a rather encouraging, or mocking, thumbs up thrown in your direction) and wheeling it over to the main stage.

The auditorium is large, and the carpets and little edges on the floors are annoying to run over, but you gotta give the staff bot kudos: they keep the Pizzaplex shiny and clean. You can practically see your own reflection on the floor. Shame it’s a job on you tonight, you doubt you can do as good of a job as top-of-the-line technology can.

The holograms of the Glamrock Band are present when the power is on; you’ve seen it many times, large, bright mirrors of their real life counterparts, but the power is out and the stage lights are not activated for this time of night. You realize a problem as you park your cart near the stage and pull out the mop and cleaning products, a bucket of water freshly made and sitting on the lower shelf of the cart.

It’s a bit dark. You’ve gotten used to working in low light conditions, but for the sake of not slipping and falling off the edge of the stage, you need just the overhead lights on. The buttons to activate them were on the other side of the auditorium on a higher level.…way over there.

Moon looks like he already knows what you’re going to ask when you crane your neck back to bat your eyelashes at him. The animatronic that likes to hover above you has a sour, disgusted look.

You put up a falsely cute face. “Wanna.…maybe, turn the lights on for me?”

“No.”

“What if I slip on the wet spots and fall and die or something?”

“Lmao.”

“...Did you just spell that out loud? And you don’t even care if I die?”

“No.”

You put up a hurt, offended face, the most dramatic one you can muster. Moon glares at you for a solid, long ten seconds before the wire shifts and he makes a noise that reminds you of a child being told to take out the trash, body limp and dragging as he flies towards the control station on the upper open level.

You wave a hand out to him. “Thank you!”

He doesn’t respond to you, but you watch as his limp body floats across the space, bumps purposely, dumbly into the railing like a wet napkin before the wire drags himself over the fence, dragging across the carpet and into the power station. The overhead lights of the stage turn on two seconds later.

So dramatic.

Pulling the mop and the bucket up onto the stage, you get to work. There’s gum and soda and the remnants of food caked around the edges of the stage, probably from kids throwing whatever their grubby hands could hold toward their idols in an attempt to gain their attention. There’s scuff marks and faded paint from where you can tell the band probably stands the most, but aside from a little clean up and polish it looked fine. You’ll be finished in no time.

Still, you try to mop as best as you can. There’s a line in the floor where the metal divets in, a thin pattern where the water tries to slink in even when you push the liquid away from it. You tap on it with your foot, and know the feeling of hollow ground beneath you. If memory serves correctly, don’t they rise in and out of this thing?

You’re not really present for their actual shows, now that you think of it. It’s a thought you mull over as you lean the mop to the side, feeling the night’s exhaustion creep up on you and raise your other hand to cover your mouth when you yawn.

Two clicks of mechanical steps break through your yawn. You blink tired eyes open, and turn towards the noise.

Moon stands ridged at the end of the stage, pupils like pinpricks, a familiar uncomfortableness at the edge of where the light ends and you’re just out of reach. Mechanical hands curled into fists, his faceplate wide with startled eyes.

Ah, oops. “I’m sorry.” You smile apologetically, and wave a handoff. The tension in Moon’s shoulders drop. He steps back down away from the stage as you continue. “I know it makes you uncomfortable. I’ll try not to do it again.”

There’s still a smidgen of discomfort in the animatronic, hidden by a false smile you’ve gotten better to read, but not perfect at the practice. Moon keeps a distance away from the stage, enough to be in the ‘front row’ to speak to you, but well enough away from the glare of the stage lights. You await reprimand, or maybe a comment asking if you’re tired when he already knows the answer, but none comes. The animatronic busies himself with the bells in a fidget, but keeps eye contact.

He’s doing very good, and he knows it.

The inkling of fear from dark memories comes and goes as quickly as your yawn did. You kick at the floor for show. “This stage lowers into the maintenance tunnels, right?”

There’s a pause of silence where you don’t look over at him, busy with trying to mop up something suspiciously blue off the edge of the stage, and you wonder if he’s decided to be quiet for the rest of the night when you hear a low answer. “Yes.”

You look up at him, eyebrow raised. “And you let me walk all the way back up those stairs.”

The Moon’s fidgeting stops, and his hand comes up to his hat, fingers going underneath the fabric. “And you are missing something.”

There’s a quick pause where you freeze, hand flying to your belt where you expect there to be a space of air where your keys were hooked, and feel a sense of relief when they jingle against your palm. You breathe deeply, turning back to the animatronic with a victorious stance and and confidence in your face, you snark at him. “Ha! Nice try, but I still have my keys. You’re not as good as a pick-pocket as you think.”

Moon’s smirk turns smug, eyes thinning into amused crescents as he pulls your phone out from underneath his hat.

Oh. “I hate you.”

“Lol.”

“Stop doing that.”

You don’t even want to know how or when he acquired that. Probably at the charge station while you were too busy freaking out about hitting him with the door.

The Daycare Attendant plays with his new toy while you mop the stage, and it’s not a very lengthy process. The cleaner does a good job making the stage look shiny and new, and while you can’t get it as streakless as the staff bots can do, you at least have the sense to pack a towel in the cart to dry it off faster. You didn’t really feel like making a poor little wet floor bot have to come stand on the big stage by itself all on its lonesome. The little guys probably talk to each other in the storage rooms or something.

You pause on your drying, sitting on your knees and watching as the robot uses silicone fingers against the fingerprint scanner. When that doesn’t work, he types a random assortment of numbers into the pin, gets denied, and reluctantly goes back to the only app he can access while the phone was still locked: the camera.

The shutter clicks on and off several times. You glance back occasionally to see him pointing it towards the floor, the ceiling, a staff bot zoomed in from a very far distance, you at some point…you’re going to have a camera roll full of blurry pictures of the pizzaplex. “Having fun over there?”

Moon doesn’t look up from the screen, taking a photo of you that you suspect is very much zoomed in on your face to a comical amount. “Password.”

“No way.” Sighing, you look at the stage, decide whatever wetness that remains will be dry by showtime tomorrow and stand up, tossing the towel to the cleaning cart parked nearby. The towel misses completely, landing on the floor in a disheveled lump. Moon turns and takes a picture of it.

You press your lips into a pout. You’re pretty much done for the night. “This stage isn’t as charming as the Superstar Theatre one.” You tap the pointers of your shoe onto the newly cleaned floor to make your point. Moon’s head doesn’t shift, but his pupils dart up from the screen. “Wanna come up here and do a show?”

He takes a picture of you. “Pass.”

“I’m still looking for footage and scripts of your old shows.” You talk out loud, gathering your supplies from where you left them on the stage to prep for closing. “But...it would be totally easier if you showed me yourself.”

His gaze is half-lidded, apparently amused with however you turned out in the photo, bringing the phone closer. Moon makes a noise akin to a robotic snort. “Good luck.”

That answer was expected, but it didn’t hurt to ask. Still, you sigh, and tease through the smile. “Whatever. I could always just go back to the security office and find th-”

The ground underneath you slips out, colors blur past you. The panic is immediate, instinct making you flail for a split second as your shoe slips on a single wet spot (because you missed one, and you’re just that incompetent) and makes an awkward squeaking noise as you fumble to catch your balance.

You catch yourself, feet firmly planted and arms spread out. Blinking, your gaze goes from your feet to your audience, who’s halfway out of his lounging position, eyes wide again. The two of you share a solid moment of eye contact. The movement was obvious, and you don’t know if you want to point out that he would have crossed the light’s threshold if you were to fall.

Your overthinking is interrupted by Moon leaning back, relaxed again, raising his hands and give you a slow clap. “Encore.”

“Wha- I didn’t...” It dawns on you as you collect yourself. Moon snickers at the realization painting across your face. “Mean!” You say, this time with laughter under the emphasized word. “I wasn’t dancing!”

“We know.” He continues to slowly clap in between his words, a chuckle coming forth as your face burns. “Wouldn’t call that dancing. Good try, though.”

Oh, burn! Well, he was right, but you really did kinda look like a flailing idiot there. Still didn’t fall though, so score for Team You. Making extra sure there’s no conspicuously placed wet spots you’ve missed, you step over the side of the stage where the steps are. “Says the robot who I’m pretty sure has dancing coded into them. Like, c’mon. Maybe you just don’t like my human moves.”

Moon’s clapping pauses, watching as you step down from the stage. His head is completely upside down. “Hmm.”

“What’s ‘hmm’ supposed to mean, huh?” Walking up to him, you do your best to mimic his own tone. It comes out a horrible mimic, but the flash in his eyes sends the jest across well enough. Palm upwards, you hold your hand out to him. “Wanna dance?”

Red eyes and white pupils fall from your face, to your palm and back up again. There is a quiet stillness, and you think your joke isn’t going to land until Moon’s hand shifts at his side, raising to meet yours-

“Sike.” You flip your hand upwards at the last minute, leaning forwards and pushing the edge of his faceplate hard enough it makes his head spin. Literally. Moon’s hand dangles still in the air as you watch his faceplate rotate like a spinner until you pause it again, not quite upright but more so looking. You pull your arm back. “There. Fixed ya face.”

Moon’s facial expression is deadpan, his hand curling in and out once before falling to the side. He could have stopped that at any time, but he didn’t. “Mean.”

“I know you are but what am I?” A childish phrase, but there’s mirth in your tone. Ignoring the small ‘naughty brat’ comment Moon mutters low in his voice, you turn on your heel, pick up the dejected towel and go to unpark the cart.

(You forget to take your phone back that night until you’re already clocked out and in the parking lot. Moon seemed to enjoy your tired pleading at the shutter doors for it back, and you find scuff marks on the volume buttons that weren’t there before.)

(A very unflattering close-up of Moon’s face at an awkward angle was set as your background when you check it later.)

(You have no idea how he was able to do that.)

Wednesday was supposed to be an off-day for you, but Management emails you early in the morning like a normal shift and asks you to come in for a few meager hours to help sort out some inventory that Staff-bots were too busy with other chores to be able to handle.

Management was making some pretty significant changes, or maybe it was the on-the-job authority over them. Either way, you don’t pass up on the extra pay. Since you’re not currently attending classes, your days at home are spent watching TV, bothering your maintenance man aka Gramps who despite loving your company, is a bit too old to hang out so often, and doing more research on the Fazbear Company and its extensive covered history.

There are several browser tabs constantly opened on your phone all at once, all of which you had to restore after they mysteriously disappeared (Though you suspect a certain Naptime Attendant had something to do with that.) consisting of forums posts, archived webpages, Youtube videos, and several social media threads where others just like you questioned the lack of transparency with the company, including some testimonials from concerned parents, and witnesses from events not published in the news.

You make a habit of screenshotting most of them. It’s not uncommon to try and return to a post questioning about Bonnie’s removal from the Glamrock Band or an old video of a previous Fazbear  Pizzeria location just for the post to be removed or archived. Half of your camera roll is now unorganized screenshots, blurry pictures of the pizzaplex, and a selfie you took with Freddy at some point when he wanted a picture of you with the bear ears.

Your research stays glued to your hand even as you prepare for the call-in shift, stopping at the gas-station per usual to pick up your coffee. You’ll need a notebook or something to write your thoughts down, maybe something cute from one of the gift shops. Plus, it’d be pretty fitting to unravel the Fazbear Entertainment Mysteries with a Fazbear-themed notebook.

“I like your nametag.”

You look up from your phone, surprised. The staff-bot’s face does not change, and the voice that said the sentence was as monotone as every other phrase it’s spoken, but you’ve never heard anything unscripted outside of simple pleasantries and prices and customer service protocols that were programmed into its system.

The staff-bot (Joe, as you’ve taken a liking to calling it) stands ridged as normal. It holds out your receipt for you to take with a blank expression.

“Thanks!” You smile, taking the receipt and stuffing it somewhere in your pockets to be forgotten. A hand comes over your name tag, thumbing under the sun and moon parts, and inwardly laugh at the silliness. “My friend made it for me, actually.”

‘Joe’ does not respond to your information, but static eyes flit to your nametag, then back up to your face.

You can’t gauge what the bot is thinking. At the very least, the Glamrock Band and the Daycare Attendant was more animated, more expressive. Staff-bots were a lot harder to read, and more so when they weren’t in the pizzaplex and thus restrained to emotionless, monotone movements and voices. Still, you offer. “Do you want one?” You ask, making a light gesture towards its uniform, bare and without a nametag that a human employee would have been given. “My friends are really good at crafts, I could ask them to help me make you one. It would say ‘Joe’ on it. Or something different. Is Joe okay?”

You’re rambling a bit. The staff-bot doesn’t make any movement or voice any protests against it, but your own nerves shoot up at the silence, waving your own words and laughing it off. “Nevermind me. Thanks for the coffee.”

“I like Joe.”

Its voice is dull, void of emotion and short, hands politely folded over the counter and never breaking eye contact. You cut yourself off, staring for a moment. This is the most sentient interaction you’ve had with the bot. Fascinating. “Okay, cool!” You turn your shoes towards the door, pausing in the doorway as the bells jingle above you. The staff-bot’s head tracks you. “I’ll see what I can do. See you tomorrow.”

You don’t wait for a farewell while walking back to your car, but you do see the robotic wave through the windows of the gas station as you pull out.

The robotic rights of the world were gaining, you’ve seen it happen slowly. The sentience of them are questionable, debated over in TV broadcasts and clickbait videos and a series of online articles that you often come across during your search for the entirety of Fazbear’s history. You wonder if the robots inside the Pizzaplex ever read them. You wonder if they’re even allowed to. By Sun’s reaction to your suggestion a while ago, probably not.

The list of chores for your short shift is little to none: stock some inventory shelves, fix some of the panels in Fazer Blast, clean and polish the edge of the giant Freddy statue, etc. You do the easier ones first, the panel and the cleaning don’t take too long. Some folks had an issue with you doing it during open hours, so a few sour kids and parents shot you a mean look when you closed the Fazer Blast for five minutes to fix the maze, or paused all photoshoots with the statue so you could scrub off god-knows-what has been tossed onto the concrete, but they forget your name and face soon enough when you finish and depart without any trouble.

The nice thing about being general staff; you are easily forgettable.

…But hopefully not replaceable. Maybe. You still don’t know why you’re the only human employee still here.

It’s the middle of the afternoon, so the Daycare is during working hours. You’re not going to be clocked in for long, so there’s no sense in waltzing in and bothering Sun when he already had a gaggle of children he needed to look after. Besides, with the amount of time that you spend here, you imagine the animatronic could use a break from you.

It makes passing by the Daycare windows feel a little awkward when you don’t stop to say hello, so you just smile at the sight of Sun performing some sort of show for a group of toddlers who seemed to be very invested in his story telling. His body twists and turns, robotic movements animated and bouncy in a way that reminds you of old cartoons. The Daycare is soundproof, but the expressions of children are giddy and awe struck.

His head swivels once to face you dead-on through the glass as you pass. There’s no search of the space, and he doesn’t scan the area, but rather his eyes land directly on you. Pupils or not, the gaze is evident, lingering only for a second. Then, it swivels back around, attention remaining on the children. There’s no wave, no change in expression outside of the excited look he was already wearing. He’s busy, no time for that.

He did that when you first saw each other too, on your tour through the pizzaplex before your first day. Monty did that as well, just before he pulled you into a rather interesting talk. You’d like to say that strange behavior doesn’t phase you, but if existence of your newly bought Fazbear Logo themed notebook has anything to say, you tend to over analyze things.

Robots definitely have some sort of sixth sense to know whenever someone is nearby. Or it’s technology. Roxy has freaking X-Ray vision, so it’s probably something like that. Cool.

There’s a lot of new items being added to the pizzaplex constantly. Heavy boxes of mechanical parts are being shifted from zone to zone by staff-bots who pass you by like worker ants, straight rolling lines and paying you nor the customers any mind. They slink back into the employee’s only hallways, disappearing into the maintenance tunnels as you find yourself in the storage room.

One staff bots comes in, drops a box labeled for stacking on the floor, picks up a differently labeled container and turns towards the door. You’re shifting through research tabs on your phone, thumbing through your little notebook when you look up and realize you’re not alone just yet, and the staff bot is staring blankly at the door. At the presence of your gaze, the bot’s head turns a full circle to stare at you. Probably trying to make use of some sort of robot telepathy.

You snort as you approach, opening the door for the staff-bot with arms too full to turn the handle. “There you go, bud.”

The bot doesn’t say thank you or a greeting, not that you expected it to, and carries on its way.

Stepping back, you take a deep breathe and turn to your task. You’ll continue your scribbling notes later, but what you’ve found out so far mulls over in your head as you start pushing boxes onto shelves, ignoring how the flimsy metal of the legs of the cabinet creaks a bit as weight starts to pile down onto it.

So far, you have found many theories circulating the web that include but are not limited to: Fazbear Entertainment Co and the Pizzaplex being a cover-up business to hide secret government activities, a social experiment, that the animatronics weren’t real and were just people in really well-made suits (you pay little heed to that theory since their ‘evidence’ for this was the belief that there’s no way that robots could be ‘this lively’ like humans are), the darker, more gruesome theories and rumors that seem to be very popular in several forums.

That last one you expected. Fazbear Entertainment has dedicated plenty of time and money to mock rumors, turning stories of missing children and gruesome murders into tourist attractions and haunted houses they charge $9.25 admission for. You know that there are other locations that Fazbear uses, some of which are direct mockeries of online speculations and bad news rep. For a company shrouded in mystery, they do a shameless and fantastic job of turning bad reputation into monetary gain.

You tackle the boxes one by one, piling them up on the shelf. When they shift, they clink like metal was inside. Curiosity gets the best of you, peeling open the flap. Parts, hard pieces you can’t decipher what for in bundles labeled for ‘arms’, ‘fingers’, and so forth. These are exoskeleton parts.

You were essentially holding the equivalent of a human skeleton for robots. This was normal, not unusual. They’re mechanical, but a cold feeling still creeps up into your fingertips. Maybe management needed more parts for repairs or something. It’s not really your business until you decide it is, so you push the box back up to the top shelf.

Except you forgot to close the flap. A grating piece of metal starts to fall out in a fashion that would have hit your head hard, but your hand catches it just in time, pushing it back with your fingers, only with the other hand being the only stability for the full box, gravity starts to work against you-

A mechanical hand comes forward into your vision, pushing the box back and keeping it there to make sure it stays. “Hey, hon!”

You freeze, spinning in your spot and pulling your arms back down to yourself. “Chica! You surprised me!”

Chica’s grin is wide, hand on her hip. Even as the shortest of the band, she’s still taller than you. “Check it out! Kabedon!” She makes a show of keeping her arm straight, playing into the roll as a snort comes out of you. “I’m totally kabedonning you right now.”

You fake a swoon. “Am I supposed to blush?”

Chica laughs. It’s squawky and high-pitched, fitting for her. “Please, I don’t think I’m your type. Still got you, though.” The ends of her beak bends upwards in the metal, a smile that only Fazbear Co can allow robots to have. Her arm falls back, stepping away to give you more space. “Whatcha doing?”

You gesture to the pile of boxes you’re halfway through with on the floor. “Inventory. What are you doing here? It’s still Pizzaplex operating hours, I’d think you be chaperoning a birthday party or something.”

Her voice raises at the start with giddiness. “I don’t have any gigs today! Monty and Freddy are all booked for the birthday parties, and Roxy is the one doing solo musicals on stage, so I can do whatever I want.” She says, then pauses with a hum. “Well…technically I’m supposed to be patrolling the Pizzaplex as a mascot and taking pictures, but my eyes hurt from all the flashing lights...so I’m hiding back here.“

You mimic her hum. “Bright lights hurt robot eyes? I thought you guys were like, super advanced.”

She sends you a cocked look. “How would you feel if you had bright flashing lights in your eyeballs every five minutes every single day?

“Note taken.”

“You need some help?” She looks down at the boxes remaining. “I don’t know what's in those things, but they look heavy. I can give you a hand if you want, gives me something to do.”

It’s a very nice offer, but you’re not sure if you’re comfortable with Chica handling boxes that contain what is essentially her type of skeleton and stacking it like commodities, so you shrug. “No, it’s okay. I’m done here, anyway. I’ll stack these my next shift.” You pat for your phone and the small notebook in your pocket, finding a spot on the floor against a bare wall, and pat the spot next to you. “Wanna join me?”

“That carpet probably hasn’t been vacuumed in years.” She huffs, amusement in her tone, but crouches down beside you anyway. She creaks when she does, joints making a noise like old hinges on a doorframe. You don’t say anything about it, but something tells you that Chica was maybe a little overdue for some work. Her interest peaks when you scroll through a series of tabs, notebook resting on your knee. You’re not really that shy with it since it’s Chica with you. Besides Freddy, she was easy to talk to.

“What’s the paper for? I thought you were finished with classes for now.” Chica’s head cranes over to look at your phone screen, and dangling earrings brush over your shoulder. “…Superstar Theatre shows?” She asks. “What, does Management have you writing a new script for it or something?”

You shake your head, and offer a smile. “Nah, I’m…actually trying to find old versions of the shows.”

“They’re not very good.” Chica leans back, voice flatter. “No offense to the staff bots, but they, like, lack any sort of life or drama. It’s all comedy stand-ups now, mostly.”

“I know, I know.” You thumb out of a tab and into your notes app, purposely avoiding the file that contains a bit too much research than you’d think Chica would be comfortable seeing. “I meant the shows that took place before the Daycare Attendant became...well, the Daycare Attendant. Before they were repurposed.”

There is a pause in the air while you scroll through your tabs and bookmarks. After a second of no response, you look up from the screen. Chica’s face is a little surprised, but not negative. “Oh! That’s...old. Very old.” She leans back against the wall as she talks, making a clunking noise as metal hits the brick. “Really old. Why don’t you just ask them?”

You give a heavy sigh. The hand that holds your phone drops into your lap. “I’ve tried.”

Chica seems to catch the hint. “How much of a ‘try’?”

“Like a broken record type of trying.”

“Yikes.” She whistles. “Want me to talk to them?”

“No, no, it’s fine.” You wave her off, then side-eye her a bit. “You’re not even gonna ask why I’m trying to figure it out?”

“I figured you have one reason or another. I don’t really care.” She states, a mirthful look in her eye. “I like watching you mess with them though, all your little back-and-forth drama. It’s like, entertaining. Like a movie.”

You huff through your nose, smile crinkled into a line. “Chica.”

“Like, I was telling Roxy earlier like, ‘oh my goodness, finally something interesting that’s good is happening’! And it’s not a publicity stunt and you’re not like a secret journalist or anything, no journalist would work here over a year for a news story, and-”

You try to keep the chuckle out of your voice. “Chica!”

“I can help!” She squawks, grin beaming. Chica puts her hands underneath her chin, framing her face like she was posing for a portrait. “Give me an interview! I do them all the time, I’ll have you know I’m an expert at answering questions on the fly to any family and kid that asks!”

You raise a brow. “What would you say if someone asked if you eat garbage?”

She pinches you in the arm. “I will simply refuse!”

“Okay, okay, first of all- ow, second of all…” You forgo the notebook to rub at the soreness in your arm as the animatronic snorts, getting herself comfortable with you pretending to dig out a pen from your jacket pockets. It’s buried by a gas station receipt, a Faz token you stole a few weeks prior, and something crumby against your fingertips, but you eventually find it, making a show of clicking it and turning to your friend. “Fine. What was it like before I started working here?”

Chica’s happy look deflates only the slightest. If she didn’t have a beak, you’d think she’d be pouting. “There were a lot more humans working around here, I can tell you that much.”

Well, yeah. You’d figured that part out already ages ago. You tap your pen against your chin. “So…not that much different? Outside of some positional changes.”

A wild look comes across Chica’s face, she makes a show of cupping her beak to lean in close and talking quietly, giddy. “Before the mohawk, Monty used to wear a cowboy hat.”

This time, you can’t stop the choked snort in your throat. “You’re kidding.”

“Roxy used to walk around without a tail because she was sick of kids pulling on it, so she’d only wear it for shows!” Chica continues, enjoying herself. “I used to have a completely different aesthetic, by the way. My body paint used to be yellow. Like, the same color as Sun’s rays. We clashed in photoshoots so badly.“

“Photoshoots.” You repeat, leaning against the wall with her. “Like when Sun used to roam the Pizzaplex freely?”

Chica claps her hands together. It makes a slight twang noise as her palms connect. “Yeah! He used to joke about putting Sundrops on pizza.” She makes a fake gagging noise. “Worse than pineapple.”

That’s…actually cute. You can imagine a candy pizza, or maybe a Daycare Attendant themed one. Maybe the pizza would be cut into the shape of their heads, with extra slices being used to make the hat and sunrays, pepperoni for the eyes, the cheeks, and the bells. The mental image is hilarious. “I can see it.”

“Moon wouldn’t patrol the pizzaplex often, back then. But he still came out of the Daycare to help out after hours if he wasn’t booked for anything else.” She continues, using her hands to fake writing something. “Moon has pretty cursive handwriting. He’d help me sign autographs when I was getting bored of it.”

You hum. “I’m pretty sure that’s forgery.”

She laughs once, waving you off. “He said the same thing. Still helped me though.”

You enjoy the warmth she gives off in her demeanor, a shrill voice that carries fondness in her tone. “Was he more of a talker back then, or has he always been so-” You search for the right words. “Reserved?”

“He talks when he wants to, but he’s always been more of a listener.” Chica sighs, head resting in her hand. “Sun can rabble on for hours, though. Me too. Though I’m sure you already knew that.” She elbows you, gently this time, and you don’t miss the wink she sends with a perfect purple eye. “Freddy hangs out with him sometimes. I think they have like, deep talks about life or something. Or about birthday parties and glitter glue. Probably both.”

You remember hearing something about that. It’s sweet. The normal life of the animatronics feels so mundane compared to now, and knowing that they had a vibrant life of events and even boring tasks before you ever showed up makes listening feel more special. It’s a wonder who they all were before you ever appeared, or before bad things started happening.

The memory of your own incidents lingers among the wonders you have, and you feel your fingers tighten into the fabric of your pants.

It feels lonely. You know how the heartwarming stories end.

“What about after...you know,” Your hands fidget in your lap, phone, and notebook forgotten to the side.

Chica remains chipper. “Know what?”

“The incident?” You answer, and the words feel heavy rolling over your tongue. It feels like you’re mentioning something taboo, something that needs to be left unspoken. “With the…previous Daycare Attendant. The one before me, like two years before I started working here.”

There’s a moment when her face still glows with the positivity she radiates, then it falters. The corners of her beak fall, and the light in her eyes dim a little. A sense of unreadable confusion flashes across your face, and you instantly regret saying anything at all.

The automated voice breaks through on the intercom. “Glamrock Chica will be joining friends and families in Mazercize in fifteen minutes while spots remain! Or come see Roxy shred the track over at Roxy Raceway! Children under the height requirement must have a supervising adult.”

Chica completely ignores it, blinking at you. “That’s not public information.”

Maybe you’ve gone and ruined the good mood, and further more, there’s a nervous dryness in your throat. “Yeah. It’s uh-” The phone and notebook feel like evidence somehow. You shift them back into your pocket, not meeting her eyes. “Sorry, shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

The silence that follows is permeating. An anxiety ridden core settles in your chest, and you hope you didn’t just taint the friendship you have by turning your gossiping into something heavier. You’re not sure who knows that you know, other than the Daycare Attendants alone.

Sun was right. These histories were not your stories to learn.

...No. You’ve come too close to death too many times to start doubting now.

“If I tell you something, do you promise it doesn’t leave this room?”

Your thoughts are broken by Chica’s voice, quieter now. She’s still upbeat when she talks softly, but you don’t know if it’s because she’s trying to be light hearted, or if that’s programming she can’t fight against. You keep your own face neutral when you respond. “Yeah?”

Chica’s knees are pulled up to her chest. For an animatronic taller than you, she’s starting to feel so much smaller. “The Daycare Attendant is not the only one who has problems sometimes. You know. With the violence.”

You already know this. “I know. Monty’s uh...the situation back then.” You need to choose your words carefully. Monty said he had spoken to Chica before about it, so certainly by now she knew. “He told me you talked to him. I never got to thank you for sticking up for me, by the way.”

Her smile is present, and it thins. “Monty isn’t the only one, either.”

Your fidgeting stops, brows furrowing. The room feels a little dimmer.

Chica shifts in her spot. She’s uncomfortable, and there’s a whirring sound like a cooling system kicking into gear the way a human would take a deep breath before speaking. “About a year or so ago, sometime before you were hired, I almost took a kid’s hand off with my beak.”

You don’t know what you’re expecting to hear. You remain quiet.“

“It was a birthday party.” She continues. “Me and Freddy were chaperoning. All the parents were in the adult’s lounge, so it was just kids in the room. There was a birthday cake, Freddy has his presents, I brought pizza. You know, the whole spiell. It was going great. Everything was fine.” How she talks is distant, like narrating a movie. You wonder if robotic memories are just that, a playback in their minds. “One of the kids started…misbehaving. Started throwing food everywhere.”

You curl your knees up to your chest too. “Sounds pretty normal for a kid’s birthday party.”

“It was.” Chica starts, and she does not meet your eyes. “I don’t know what happened. Something in me just…snapped. I got angry, even though that sort of thing never made me angry before. Like…like I was there but I wasn’t really in full control. Like, I don’t know, a new program was installed and it was just…overwriting my thoughts if that makes sense.” She’s staring off into space, like she’s talking more to herself than to you. “I started acting in a way that wasn’t like me.”

You know where this is going.

Chica’s hands fidget between each other, hands curling in and out. “The boy pulled his arm back holding a piece of pizza and I jus-”

You put a hand on her shoulder and try not to flinch when she startles underneath your touch. “I get it. It’s okay.”

She doesn’t look like she believes you, but the tension in her shoulders sags. “Yeah, I just…” Chica attempts to straighten her posture. An attempt to recollect herself. “The kid is fine, just got scared, is all. Fazbear Co did a great cover-up. No one ever asked me about it.” Unclasping her hands, she keeps them coiled under her legs, resting her head on her knees. Her earrings clack against the 80’s style ‘leg warmings’ loudly in the quiet room.

You ask before you can think of a more tactful way to say it. “Who else knows?”

“Only Freddy. He was there.” She answers. “To everyone else, it just seems like a malfunction, not something that was deliberate in the moment.” A pause. “Not that I wanted it to happen, not like normal. I did, in the moment, but that was…it was just...you know, a glitch or something. It wasn’t my fault.”

Ah.

It feels like ice is running down your spine. Gears are turning in your head. You do not voice the pieces clicking together out loud, save for one. “That’s why you’re not afraid of the Daycare Attendant.”

Chica smiles something sad, and shrugs.

What an awful feeling this must be for her. You offer reassurance the best way you can. “I…haven’t found anything online about an incident with you, if that helps.”

It’s not subtle. The relief in her face is sudden and evident, even when she looks away and tries to play it off. “That’s good.” A pause. “Why are you trying to find out more about Fazbear Entertainment’s past?”

The question isn’t out of the blue, but you still feel like the wind gets sucked out of your lungs for a moment. The answer you think you have prepared doesn’t come naturally like you’d hoped, and the weight of your phone and the notebook, to the security card still kept with your keys in your pocket feel pressed against your skin. In a nervous fidget, you fiddle with the edge of your nametag. “I want to help you guys. Finding out the past might help me be able to do that.”

Chica’s next question is quicker. “Why bother?”

You fiddle with the nametag still, fingernail tracing the sun rays. “I think the whole point of having friends is to bother, Chika-dee.”

There, in the corner of her mouth, you see a twitch of a smile. She turns away before you can see it fully. “I don’t want to be given the same treatment. The publicity, I mean. Like with the Daycare Attendant, or Music Man, or even Monty. But Monty’s normally just crass.” She laughs a little at the last part, stretching her legs out, like a bug coming out its shell. “That’s why I’m happy you’re friends with them. And me. I’m happy you don’t let first impressions or bad pasts affect what you think of people.”

“Yeah, I-” You swallow, and it feels like a sour rock is lodged inside of your throat. “You guys have been nice to me, too.”

(Did she say Music Man? As in DJ Music Man?)

(Giant musical robot spider who you’ve had met to meet because he’s been in undisclosed maintenance for over a year?)

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to have a super weird heart-to-heart with you when I walked in here.” Chica perks up, chipper and taking advantage of the end of the topic. The intercom goes off again, and you hear her name spoken before she talks over it. “I mean, I like to gossip but this sort of this isn’t really my basket of eggs, yeah?”

You give her a look of kindness. “Chica, it’s okay. Friends talk like this, sometimes. Look.” You mimic her earlier movements, ‘zipping’ up your lips and throwing away the key. Holding your open palms up, you wave them. “Nothing is gonna leave this room, no one is gonna know!”

She huffs through her beak. “Freddy knows. He was there.”

“Freddy knows a lot of things.” You retort. “Freddy has some sort of secret dad bear power or something. He knew I had a cold last week just by booping my nose and detecting fever in like two seconds flat.”

Chica laughs, and it’s lighter than how she looks. “Freddy has been around longer than anyone else, I think. I think he’s older than he looks. Like an old man.”

“Does that make you an old woman?”

“Hey!”

“Kidding.” You return the light heartedness. The tint of the conversation still hangs between you, but there's a lesser chokehold on your nerves.

The intercom goes off once again, and it’s starting to grate on you. You hear Chica’s name spoken in a monotone voice but drown out the instruction for the sake of your friend, who doesn’t seem focused on the call at all, rather, Chica stretches out her legs and neck. She thinks for a minute. “Freddy might be able to help you with some of your questions. He remembers some things that I don’t. I think.”

It’s a dully noted suggestion since you’re still processing the last few minutes of your conversation. You watch as Chica stands up, arms stretching over her head like a human would fix their joints sitting on a hard surface. Standing up as well, you say nothing about the slight creak of her joints, or scuff of paint you notice on her arms. She was overdue for maintenance. You wonder why she hasn’t already.

“I should go back to my post before they start calling out a missing animatronic on me. Don’t wanna get put on lockdown for misbehavior.” Hands on her hips, she turns back to you with a smile and a sense of joy. “Management hates it if we miss a gig.”

You’re not completely buying the sudden change in attitude. “Are you okay to keep working? I can lie and say you’re in rest mode or something if anyone asks.”

She makes a noise similar to blowing a raspberry, all tricks from her voice box since her beak could never mimic it. “I think you could get fired if you do that. Or maybe not. Management seems to like you for some reason.”

She waves you off as she saunters to the door, all the demeanor of the Pizzaplex’s favorite chirpy chicken coming back into show as the robot assumes the role of cheerful and playful once more. “See you tomorrow!”

You raise your hand. “See you!”

The light from the outside room thins into a skinny line until the door shuts fully behind her. You stare at the handle for a minute, then to the boxes remaining on the floor containing parts of your friends that they will not be using. You leave them, a problem for a future you. and walk past families and children enjoying their stay as you avoid the Daycare, the Auditorium, or any other place where one of the animatronics could be positioned to the clock-out station where a little Helpy chibi taunts you as you slide your card.

The night is spent filling out pages in your notebook that results in several crossed-out lines and scribbled-over thoughts because you used a pen instead of a pencil.

If the ‘glitch’ was something more…widespread, more contagious, then why hasn’t there been a fix for something so obviously detrimental to the Fazbear name? To the animatronics? Or do they not care enough until something becomes public enough that it hurts their reputation in a way that would hurt their revenue? Is it something even fixable? A software patch? A hardware update?

Your time with the Daycare Attendant tells you that it’s something to be adaptable. It doesn’t disappear (you’ve had too many close calls and mini-heart attacks for that, and that’s without going to say that the Daycare Attendant themselves weren’t extremely uncomfortable with every instance it gets too close.) but it’s...manageable? You’re not sure if that’s the correct word.

Your understanding of the glitch is still too little to fully assess how to help it, nevermind that you weren’t the person actually experiencing said glitch. You don’t know anything outside of what they tell you. You are bound to make mistakes and make mishaps. You don’t understand enough, and it’s frustrating.

Except…you know that there’s a very high probability that whatever caused the Daycare Attendant’s violent urges was the same glitch that was coursing through the rest of your friends; Chica, Monty, and allegedly DJ Music Man, maybe the others too if they haven’t told you.

Only, the Daycare Attendant caught the most repercussions because their incident was highly public. Killing someone in front of a crowd isn’t exactly subtle.

Everyone else was...not as severe. If Chica’s happened before you were ever hired, there was nothing online to suggest it ever did. Monty’s set was closed off, but that was most of it. For DJ Music Man...well, you’ve never met the guy. He’s been out of commission for a long time, though. There was nothing on his card that explained exactly what he was put out of commission for.

Searching for anything pertaining to the DJ come ups with nothing more than a couple of deleted thread posts that can’t be restored, and a comment stating ‘who cares if he’s gone, his music was shit anyways.’

You keep your research on Fazbear’s Co incident reports and rumors online written to paper. The theories stay in your head. You don’t write Chica’s story down or the theory that the glitch is more widespread than just a single animatronic, but the rumors of missing persons, children, murders and cover-ups from a big cooperate power take up several pages in the book.

You’re getting somewhere with these answers, but you’re not sure exactly where you’re going to end up.

Chapter Text

By Thursday afternoon, you’ve got screen burned eyes and dark circles underneath from a night of half-sleep, half-continuously going down conspiracy rabbit holes that may or may not be true depending on how patient you are to read some guy’s online rant about how Fazbear Entertainment was secretly hiding aliens from the public and was going to replace the general populace with robots.

You have an afternoon shift from 9PM until 3AM, nothing out of the ordinary. The list that Management gives you isn't’ short this time, but you clock in with a coffee and hold off on doing any sort of chores until later in the night; the lights will be on in the Daycare only for so long, and you’ve got a couple of questions for your Sunny friend.

The last child is checked out by the time you arrive, cart-less this time. No need for that thing tonight, and good for you. Pushing it around all the time was bound to cause you some aches. You didn’t need to take out the trash tonight anyways (you still planned to, though, if just to drop off a bag at Chica’s door like a comfort snack later) and instead, your list contains a very detailed instruction manual of how to replace the wheels of the go-karts in Roxy Raceway. Fun.

Sun is cleaning up per usual when you waltz into the Daycare, crouched in front of the security desk with a rag and a spray bottle. From a distance, you spy half-cleaned words written in marker across the surface, some crude images and drawings of the animatronics. There was also the faint imprint of a cuss word on there, seemingly the first spot to be cleaned.

You stomp up to him like you own the place, leaning on the desk and taking a rather loud sip of your coffee. “I have some questions and theories about the glitch!”

He already knew you were there, they always see you coming, but Sun looks up rather with a faintly surprised look and a tut in his tone. “How rude!” He scolds, leaning back down and seemingly becoming very, very focused on getting a scribbled drawing of a rabbit off of the desk’s surface. “Barging in here without so much as a ‘Hello’ and straight to the snooping, I see!”

You blow a raspberry, sticking your leg in between him and the desk, setting your coffee to the side. “Hear me out-”

“Nope!” He ignores you as you spin around to his front, side-stepping and hovering almost. He’s tall enough that he can switch his cleaning to the top of the desk where even more marker drawings appear. Any attempt to stick his attention is met his him turning his head. “No manners! None! Just being invasive and rude! Not even a ‘hello’!”

Lifting yourself up, you sit atop the desk, legs swinging over the edge. You kick lightly at his chassis. “Hi.”

Sun bats your legs away, gently. “Hello, sweetheart.”

“Hi.” You repeat. “Why was DJ Music Man out of commission for over a year?”

The animatronic hums something low, moving around you to get to the blue marks on the wood. He has no problems taking a hand to your hip and sliding you a few inches to the right just to scrub at something crass written on the desk. “I think that’s a question you should ask the big man himself.”

You blow hot air into his face and scoff when he’s unphased. “I haven’t met him yet.”

“We’re sure he would love to meet a new friend!”

“I’m nervous. Come with me?”

“Of course.” Sun then takes a hand, puts it on your side, and nonchalantly, comically, pushes you in the opposite direction to get to the other side of the makeshift mural. His hand remains on your knees if only to prevent you from bothering him from working any further. “But I’d be oh so super grateful if you did me the kindness of not smearing paint all over the desk or your pants.”

“What?!” You hop off the desk quicker than the surprise comes out, almost smacking into the animatronic as you do so. Sun watches you with mild mirth as you spin in a circle, checking your back pockets, the sides, anywhere the desk would have touched only to find that it is indeed, still marker, and not paint like he suggested. A pitched chuckle comes from the Daycare Attendant as you deadpan at him. “Oh, hilarious.”

“You are very much so, yes!”

Boo, fine. Maybe you’ll help just to speed up the process. You leave Sun to tidy up the rest of the room, which isn’t a lot. There’s a few towers and misplaced balls out from the ball pit that you pick up and throw into their proper spot, occasionally taking a pot-shot at the back of Sun’s head just to see how the animatronic reacts. Sometimes he catches it and tosses it back, sometimes he dodges it and you have to do the walk of shame to get it back and toss it in the pit. You’ll need to interrogate the animatronics one day about having eyes in the back of their head somehow. Or maybe a camera. Whatever it is.

“Not a lot to clean tonight.” You muse out loud, arms full of toys. They go into their proper trunks and cubbies, and you stand back and scan the mat area. Colored pencils, crayons and pencils were the last things scattered, but it was easy enough to collect them and toss them into the arts n crafts bin. “Anything big happen today?”

Sun is finishing up the removal of the mural, wiping down the wet surfaces and gathering the cleaning supplies, which he stores away in their proper cubby. “Nothing super important! Just another silly plain day. We made crafts and macaroni arts that everyone got to take home. Mostly.” He hums, head tilting towards the opposite wall.

You follow his gaze. There’s a new line of drawings hanging from the plastic with little names scribbled in the corner. “Sweet. They all look great. Must have been an easy day.” Your eyes follow each and every drawing, sweet images of parents, friends, stars and suns and moons, animals and robots. The last one makes you squint, though. “Why is there a picture of a kid puking rainbows?”

Sun makes a non-committal noise behind you. “Thomas threw up today. Madeline thought it was funny, and decided to memorialize the moment forever. I convinced her rainbows looked prettier than sea-sick green.”

You whistle. “Kids, man.”

“Indeed!”

You open your mouth to ask something else, head turning back to the animatronic, and freeze. Sun, having finished his cleaning, leans against the newly shined security desk with a little book in hand. Large silicone fingers flip through tiny pages. The Fazbear logo on the front feels oddly incriminating. “Hey-”

“Ooooh, I thought you were done with all your note taking! Taking a crash course class, maybe?” Sun doesn’t look up from the pages, even going as so far to fake licking his finger before turning another. You run up to him, hand outstretched for the notebook but you come up short as he leans away, height used against you. Eventually, you hear the pages slow, and he tuts akin to a human clicking their tongue. “Ah, don’t know what we expected.”

You make another swipe for the notebook. It’s futile, and your hand comes through empty as Sun holds the book high above you. “Don’t mess up my notes!”

“I would never!” He raises a hand, doing a ‘magical’ gesture with his fingers and moving the hand behind his head. When it comes out again, he holds a golden sharpie in his hand. “I do have a question, though.”

You’re squinting at him. “Where did that marker come from?”

“Magic!” Flipping to the back of the book, he’s scribbling something you can’t see on the last page. “We’ve told you plenty of our history. We promised to be honest.” He starts, and Sun’s hand continues to write even as his head tilts and he gives you a wide, stretched smile. “Why are you still digging?”

You’re not gonna be intimidated. Crossing your arms, you meet his stare. “What? I’m not doing anything wrong. I work here, I can research as much as I want. It’s not like you are going to tell me about the History of Fazbear Entertainment.”

His rays spin. “You never asked!”

“You said the same thing about not telling me about the Superstar Theatre.” You scoff. Another half-hearted swipe for the book is useless and not even acknowledged. “So does this mean you’re gonna spill the beans?”

Sun makes a show of tapping the pen to his ‘chin’, flipping through a few pages so quickly you wonder if he’s even reading them. Or maybe he’s doing it really quickly. Stupid robot vision. “We don’t have all the answers you’d want to hear, so it’s not like we’re hiding much on purpose.” Sun, with as much exasperation as he usually takes with you, flips the book back down into your reach. “But as your friend, I’ll humor you.”

A triumphant grin breaks across your face, swiping the small notebook back. “Wow! You’re being surprisingly cooperative today! Does this mean you’re going to step outside the Daycare?”

Sun’s response isn’t even an answer, but a chuckle. There’s a pause and eye contact, the animatronic coy and waiting, and the usual disappointment on your face.

Taking a long, dragging sip of coffee as loud as possible just to be extra annoying, you pout a frown. “Fine.” You toss the book to the side, papers riffled through and lean against the desk. “Questions.”

Sun checks a non-existence watch. “Answers! Maybe!”

“Why do some of the animatronics have scary features? Like sharp teeth, claws-” You splay your fingers to mimic clawed hands, bareing your teeth just for show. Sun grins at your display with mild amusement. “I never thought that robots made for ‘family fun’ would have retractable claws.”

Sun brings out a hand, bending his fingers to mirror your own movement. “People like it! Don’t you know that people might like those things just because they think it looks cool?”

Without asking, you grab his hand, and he lets you. Holding his palm, you rotate it with both of your own hands since it’s much bigger than your own. All five fingers and several many joints with the smallest's of tiny mechanical workings on the inside make it as fluid and naturally moving as a human being.

There are no claws. Weird, considering you’ve been on the other side of them at least twice, mainly at night. But you’ve also seen Moon with plain fingers. Was there a thin line that hides them somewhere that you were missing.

There’s a pause in the air while you search, then the palm in your hand shifts. You gasp as the smallest's of shifts in Sun’s hand show fingers that reveal sharper ends, a shift right before your eyes but seamless enough that they blend in with the rest of the colors. “They’re retractable, like Roxy's! And Freddy...All the Glamrocks have claws too, I think.”

You don’t look at Sun’s face, but the arm you’re holding tenses a bit when you press the tip of your finger to one claw, and the finger bends back, away from you. “All a part of the Fazbear aesthetic design! Except we’re not exactly animal themed.”

There’s a small, tiny voice in the back of your head that does not like the twinge of memory that comes with sharpened fingers. You ignore the uncomfortable feeling. You were well on your way to replacing bad experiences with new good ones, inspecting his hand like one would press the pad of a cat’s paw. “It’s because you were actors, right?”

“Correct!” The claws disappear, and Sun’s fingers close around your hand. “We used to be equipped with all sorts of features-aesthetic and functional-that would help make us look scary, or heroic, or brave-” He flips your hand around, securely trapped just like he planned it, and brings out the golden sharpie that you had forgotten about prior. “Whatever fits the role, we could do it. I used to have blue eyes, you know.”

You nod, pressing your lips together as you allow Sun to draw something onto the palm of your hand. “Right. I forget you were built for showbiz.”

“If we were built directly for our current occupation, I’m sure we would look a bit more like a nanny than a jester.” He’s drawing a Sun, a full circle and little triangles as the rays. “Jesters aren’t usually the default option for childcare.”

“Jesters don’t usually have sharp teeth and claws, either.”

He dots the sun, finishing. “You’re not well versed on the history of Fazbear’s previous establishments, are you?”

You don’t pull your hand away, so it rests in his grip. “Working on it.”

He makes a non-committal noise. You could understand it, maybe. It’s no different than humans enjoying normally ‘scary’ things, like horror movies or dark stories. Only, the animatronics were not given a choice of what parts they were built out of, or the theme they were supposed to play. Like tools or props. No one ever asks the famous Freddy Fazbear if he ever actually wanted to be a bear. You wondered what they’d be if they didn’t have to be performers.

You’re oh-so casual about it. “Can I see the sharp teeth?”

Sun’s eyes thin, his smile taut. “Pushing it a bit, don’t you think?”

“It was worth a shot.”

“Have you ever heard of ‘Fazbear Frights?’” Sun asks. White eyes are cast downwards as he fans with his other hand to dry the marker, but the feeling of pupils on you is undeniable. “Scary place. Haunted house type of sort, except with animatronics. It was a horror attraction they built based on the worst rumors the company accumulated, from scary things like-”

“Murder and ghosts and stuffing bodies into suits?” You cut him off, a little too much excitement in your voice as Sun tilts his head in an almost comical sense of disapproval. “I’ve read about all of that! They used real parts and everything. It even had a rabbit animatronic.”

Sun’s head tilts. There’s a slight hesitation that you don’t miss, a flash of something unreadable in his expression. “Bonnie?”

“A different one, I think. I don’t remember its name.” With your free hand, you cross over the other elbow and grab your coffee, taking a long sip. It’s getting cold now, since you’ve been distracted. “Like, a scarier one. Based off all the rumors and conspiracy and the legends.”

Sun’s thumb runs over the drying ink on your hand. “You sound like you’d enjoy going to a morbid place like that.”

“It actually never opened.” You say. Sun’s head tilts up in mild surprise, interested, and you get a sense of pride for knowing something that he doesn’t, at least this once. “There was some sort of issue with the security guard or something. The place burned down before it was supposed to have its opening night.”

“Hmm.” His thumb presses into the drawn sun on your skin. “What happened to the rabbit?”

“Dunno. I’d thought you’d know about it.”

“We’ve only been around as long as the Pizzaplex has.” Sun’s hand drops yours, and it falls to your side. “Most of our knowledge about what came before is...limited. Freddy should know more about it. That old bear has been around for a very long, long time.”

“I’m telling Freddy that you called him old.”

Without missing a beat, Sun plucks the coffee cup from your hand, holds it just above your reach and dangles it with a wide, smug grin. “And I’ll be sure to tell him about your caffeine addiction!”

Swiping for it is gonna be useless, so you pout while the animatronic does a dramatic show of faking to drink the coffee, pausing, and then pretending to choke like it’s the vilest thing he’s ever tasted. “Do you have any idea how much caffeine is in your sundrop?”

“It’s tastier!” Like a magician, Sun waves his hands; the coffee cup disappears and in the palm of his hand is a single sundrop that he pinches and holds out to you. “Give it a try?”

You’re more concerned about how he just made an entire cup disappear. “My coffee-!”

Sun holds up one finger to silence you, all the dramatic motions of a stage performer taking his role. He grabs your hand, tucking the sundrop into your palm, right into the little sun drawn into the skin, and closes your fingers around it. He pats them while you glare. The jester pulls back, palms facing towards you for a dramatic pause, flipping them, showing you there’s nothing hidden, no secret compartments or anything up his metaphorical sleeves.

Then he points to the top of your head. You narrow your eyes, but bring your hand up to your hair. There’s a styrofoam cup balancing on top your head. “How are you doing that?!”

It’s a silly prank, but Sun laughs and claps his hands together, his torso spinning once in a disconnected fashion. “The kids have always loved that one. Although it’s usually me making a sippy cup disappear, instead.”

You bring the coffee down, careful not to spill the liquid still inside, and set it on the desk. It’s far too cold for you to enjoy now. “Question.”

Sun leans against the desk again, hand on his cheek, the other on his hip. “Listening!”

Tucking the sundrop into your pocket, you check the time on your phone. You have another few minutes of light before the daycare shuts down for real. Sun must already be aware of the time limit, because you see a brief glance towards the open Daycare doors.

You’ll be meeting the DJ soon enough. Pocketing your phone, you look up at the jester. “Do you prefer the Theatre or the Daycare?”

Sun fakes a gasp, hand over his chassis like deeply offended. “You can’t possibly expect me to answer that!”

Grinning, you fashion your hand into a finger gun and point it at him.

“…Rude.” Sun huffs, pushing away your ‘weapon’ with the tip of your finger. “…The daycare.”

“Explain.”

“Pushy.”

“I’ll tell you something about me if you spill.”

“Really, now?” Sun snorts. “My, you drive a hard bargain. The theatre is the stage we were quite literally built for, it’s not an easy decision.”

Upturned eyes, you drawl out. “But.…?”

“On the stage, everyone loved us as characters.” Sun’s gaze casts out into the room. A brightly colored headache of a place that smells of disinfectant and plastic. His brightly yellow form fits right in among the colors. Sun’s gaze drops to the mats, to the plushies in the trunk, and his tone feels softer when he looks back at you. “In here, we are loved as a friend.”

Nodding, you answer with a sly tone. “Like a person.”

“Careful, there.” Sun says, taking on the expression as he does with every one of your speeches. He raises a finger in the air to wag it, and spews the usual automated response. “Promoting or discussing the rights or sentience of Faz Co. robotics will result in immediate termination and/or the deactivation of the involved animatronic!”

A cold feeling sinks through your chest, raising bumps on your arm. You hate the way he talks about deactivation so casually. “Hate when you do that.”

“So sorry.” Sun responds, voice going softer. His smile doesn’t leave, patting you on the head one would do to a child who just told him that they’re scared of the dark. You don’t like that, either, but Sun pulls away his hand before you can bite at him. “And what’s your bit of lore, hmm?”

Your phone vibrates in your pocket with a silent alarm set to let you know that the Daycare will be closing in two minutes; a setting you put on a few weeks ago just to make the Daycare Attendant happy one night. You ignore it, hitting it quietly without ever taking it out of your pocket, even as Sun’s eyes narrow from hearing it. “I’m scared of heights.”

“Oh, we knew that.” Sun leans up and off the desk, and you’re starting to get the cue. “Not exactly fair if you tell us something that we already know. I think I deserve a retry.”

You take the hint before he ever puts a hand on your shoulder, and you grab your belongings- a cold coffee cup and the notebook you stuff back into your pocket-before turning on your heel towards the door. “Okay, fine. Ask something you don’t know about.”

Sun seems satisfied enough that he doesn’t have to metaphorically kick you out, or that you’re not bugging him to step outside the Daycare just yet. “What do you do when you’re not here at the pizzaplex?”

You make a show of stepping over past the Daycare door’s boundaries, turning so the line is in-between the two of you. “Why are you asking? I talk about my stuff outside work all the time.”

Sun leans down, a little closer to your height. “Humor me.”

“I usually just do my classes and laze off at home.” Your answer is immediate, then a pause. “I help Gramps with the housework sometimes, you know, the apartment maintenance guy? He had a hip surgery, so I feed his cat when he’s out and water his plants. Sometimes I’ll hang out with a classmate or friend or something but I don’t like taking them back to my apartment. It’s always too messy.”

You think you see maybe a twitch in his eye at the mention of your living space is messy. “And surely not because you’re hiding a tiny robot in there, riiiiiight?”

You squint-glare at him.

“A little birdy told me you were going to take one of the Baby Music Man home with you.” Sun states, and immediately you groan into the air as he continues. “I’d like to remind you that kidnapping is very, very bad and immoral, no matter how cute they are-!”

“It was a joke! I told Chica that as a joke last week, I wasn’t serious!” You chant. “A joke! I’m not going to kidnap any robots!”

“We never know with you.” He jests. A quick movement, Sun plucks the coffee cup out of your hand, and pretends to shut an invisible door with the other. You don’t bother trying for it this time because it’s no use, and it’s probably grody and cold anyway. “Don’t worry, I’m sure the DJ understands. He won’t hold it against you.”

You resist the urge to stick out your tongue, turning away as the doors creak tighter. “I’m going to the arcade!”

“See you in a moment!” And the doors shut behind you.

A quiet moment with just the hum of the pizzaplex’s air conditioning, and the sound of your footsteps on the polished floor. One by one the lights dim or turn off, and the glow of the neon signs are what lights your way through the pizzaplex. Now empty, you spy a few spots needing cleaning, scuffs on the floor, candy wrappers and paper plates and other forgotten trash that the staff bots are starting to pick up and put into plastic bags. Some of them wave robotically when you wave back. The usual routine.

Passing a few sweeping staff bots, you head for the nearest elevator. The Fazcade is on the fourth floor, while the Daycare was on the ground floor, so it was a bit of a rise, and you had no intention of wearing yourself out by climbing four sets of stairs. It’s not that far, only a corner and a hallway away, though the pizzaplex feels much too big when you’re walking alone.

You’re just wondering who has patrol tonight when Roxy comes into view around the corner. She’s mid-stride to the Glamrock rooms, and almost shoulder-checks you as your round the corner. “Whoa-, hey, this isn’t bumper cars.” She sidesteps you, blowing air through her muzzle. There’s no hostility in her tone. “Where you off to?”

You falsely surrender, palms up and rounding her. A playful grin on your face. “Sorry! I’m heading to the arcade. Gonna meet the big guy.”

Roxy doesn’t break her walk, rather just turns around to walk backward to face you as she talks. “Hope you’re not arachnophobic. Where’s your warden?”

You mirror her, walking backward at the same pace. The distance is growing between you, so your voices get louder as you cross the room. “Probably somewhere! You?”

“Security, but I’m doing rehearsals!” Roxy calls out, shooting up the typical ‘rock n roll’ sign with her hand and waving you off. She turns on her heel, continuing on her way and calling out over her shoulder. “You’re about to trip, by the way!”

You freeze, foot holding in mid-air and spin around. There’s nothing behind you, no obstacle on the floor or anything to slip on. Roxy’s amused cackle echoes off the walls and disappears with her as she makes her way. For being the only human in the building at night, none of your coworkers waste any time messing with you.

Moon is probably waiting for you in the Fazcade. The elevator comes into view, and you press the button to call it, waiting there. Fidgeting with your pockets, you feel for your notebook, your phone, and whatever other items you keep stashed away; lint, a paperclip, spare change. One coin feels a little bit bigger than all the other ones though, bigger than a quarter, and you pull it out of curiosity.

Oh! The Faztoken. You should probably return that, or at least use it while you’re in the arcade.

“Hi.”

You jump, coin flying into the air and spin around. Red eyes meet yours, and you hiss. “Moon!”

The bastard stands a solid five feet away and yet has all satisfaction of someone who is able to even get this close. The sound of the elevator arriving thuds on the other side of the door, and he watches in his spot as they open, light pouring out onto the carpet. He steps back once as the light reaches his slippers. “Fourth floor.”

“I know that!” You snuff, stepping inside. Searching for a moment, you find the right button, and hit the mark. “I’d invite you inside, but...”

Moon’s gaze glows from the low light. He stands awkwardly in the darkness.

“I’m not going to race you to the fourth floor. You would win.” You add on. It must have been on his mind, because he lets out a low laugh, something you wrinkle your nose at. “See you up there!”

The animatronic brings up his hand to a wave as the doors slowly close, and you see the curve of his fingers in slow rhythm as he watches your send off, the glint of a wire hook behind him. The door shuts, the elevator dings, and you’re stuck in the bright lights for a few moments as the box you’re standing in jolts.

The bar in the elevator is a good rest to lean on while you have this moment to yourself, and you think, briefly, if this is going to be an encounter that will end badly. You’re not exactly an expert at first impressions. Hell, your own first impressions to the band and the Daycare Attendants were worse than subpar, arguably miserable.

Would it be appropriate to ask DJ Music Man the reason for his long-term ‘vacation’, or was that something you’d have to investigate on your own? Would it be okay to ask if it had something to do with a glitch? Or was that rude to assume as such? Chica made it seem possible, but it’s not like you can just rat her out for some credibility. What kind of first impression would that make, anyway?

Like, ‘Hi! I’m the only human left here and made friends with all of your little underling mini-yous and also I’ve been investigating a glitch that seems to plagueing your fellow animatronics that’s causing them to act unusually violent and hostile towards others without any known common cause or trigger. Would you happen to know anything about that, Mr. DJ, sir?’

Yeah, no. That would not exactly be the best of first impressions-

A heavy jolt. The elevator that was slowly moving up comes to a hard halt, the ground and walls shaking. Your heart leaps up to your throat, knuckles white around the bar you were holding. “What the-”

The music playing over the speaking cuts out suddenly. No drawl out, no static, but a straight cut out. The overhead lights flicker, and you’re wishing oh god no, oh please no, please don’t fall as the lights flash once, twice then finally dim out and you’re left in the darkness with little more than the glowing numbers on the screen telling you what floor you’re on.

There’s a slight creak of metal on metal, the elevator shifts, going down maybe an inch and it’s not a hard jolt, but you’re pressing your back to the wall, staring at the closed doors. (Please don’t break and fall like they do in the movies, it would really SUCK if out of all the horrors you’ve faced, a freaking elevator incident was how you go out.)

You can’t see anything, but you hear it. The latch on the ceiling of the elevator clicks open, and the door swings downwards, barely missing your head. Your eyes follow the noise and up through the gap.

Red eyes peer down at you. They illuminate a calm smile, and a hand reaching down to you, holding something small and golden colored, orange with red lights. “Dropped this.”

A normal person would be terrified. And you are, more of the drop than the robot, but relief comes first at the sight of him, and then annoyance comes second. “Was all this really necessary?”

Moon’s shit eating grin grows as you grown. He closes the rejected token back into his palm. “Scared of heights?” His elbow pulls back as he contorts inside, grinning face upside down to meet yours. Inches away, you he’s easily amused. “Promise I’ll catch you.”

You blow air into his faceplate. “You did this just to mess with me, didn’t you.”

“Yes.”

“Asshole.”

“Hmm.” His smile never leaves. Without disconnecting from the wire, Moon’s arm twists back and reaches the panel, where he hits the button for the fourth floor. The elevator starts up again, moving upwards with an open latch and no lights. You don’t know what he did up there in order to disconnect them, but by his comfort level you’re assuming he has no intention of turning them back on.

It makes you sigh. “Do I have to fix that later?”

He rotates back to. Comically, like a hanging decoration. “The staff bots will.”

Great. You’ve given the poor bots even more work, already super busy running around doing whatever the hell management had plans for. No way you’re going to fix that though. The last time you tried fixing the lights somewhere, you really did fall down. You doubt something is going to be at the bottom of the elevator shaft to save you if you tried.

The fourth floor dings and the doors open up without issue. You’re quick to dart through, ducking underneath where Moon hangs (he tugs at the collar of your shirt as you pass like a cat would attack an owner’s feet, and you swat at him with curses while he snickers) and outwards into the arcade.

The sound of soft bells and slippers hitting the elevator flooring lets you know he’s dropped down. Crossing your arms, you peer out into the arcade. Nothing seemed any different, and you didn’t see anything to suggest the DJ Music Man’s presence, besides a couple hundred promotional posters welcoming his return from ‘vacation’ and offering renewed discounts on musical birthday parties. “Where’s the big guy at?”

Moon walks past you, slumped and sluggishly tilting his head for an order. “Follow.”

There are multiple levels to the arcade. The elevator did not spit you out on the lower level. A different one would have, but the one you chose was closest to the daycare. A couple of things stick out to you; trash that needed to be emptied, a lost sock sitting on the ground, someone’s Freddy toy that’s halfway out of a claw machine and unluckily stuck. All stuff you’ll have to take care of on your shift when you’re done lollygagging.

You follow close behind, spying something in Moon’s hand. The Faztoken. He’s mindlessly playing with it, toying it over his fingers and under his palm and back again. Maybe you should get him a fidget toy one day, something from outside the pizzaplex.

The quiet is nice. But you pass by a spot that feels familiar, and find a space on the carpet and the wall that’s cleaner than the surrounding area, like when you take a painting that’s been hung up for decades. The imprint of something been there.

You stop walking to think, and Moon stops when you do. Red eyes dully drag to you. “What.”

“Whatever happened to that...bouncy boy game?” You think for a minute. It’s been a while since you last thought about it. “Or was it Balloon kid?”

Moon stares at you with an unreadable expression. The token he was flipping has paused.

You snap your fingers. “Balloon boy! That’s it, yeah. Whatever happened to that-?”

“It-” Moon starts, then stops. There’s a long moment where the robot does not move, eyes straight forward to you lacking any pupils. His fingers close around the token, and a deciding click of his neck tilts his face to the side. “Not important.”

Oh, okay. If you remember correctly, it almost electrocuted you when you touched it. Totally not safe. Better if it is in storage or dismantled than some kid getting zapped.

There is a stage in the arcade that is always empty whenever you come in here, but this time there’s a large black curtain concealing most of its entrance. It’s large, off-putting, and judging by the number of speakers positioned around it, this was DJ Music Man’s center stage. There were holes in the walls and tunnels that go around the arcade, but there was nothing else like in the rest of the pizzaplex. The large spider animatronic would be restrained to this area and this area alone. It kinda reminds you of Sun and the Daycare.

Standing in front of the curtain, you await to hear a booming voice or some sort of call out to your presence, but you are met with silence. Uncertain, you turn to Moon, who flips the Faztoken in the air, looking back at you with a side-angled faceplate.

You scratch at the back of your neck. “So do I just...stand here, or?”

Moon leans back against an arcade machine a distance away, the way he’s flipping his new coin reminds you of old noir detective movies. He doesn’t offer you a response, just a tired look and a default smile.

Great, he’s not helping.

You’re about to snark at him for it but the sound of curtains shifting stops you. The black curtains move, something large coming out through the middle, (a hand, white-gloved like a cartoon and much, much bigger than you’d thought it be) extends and is followed by another. The faint sound of muffled music beats through as the animatronic spiders through the opening; black eyes and a mouth full of keyboard teeth.

DJ Music Man’s gaze lands on you, eyebrows raising, and a large finger taps the side of his headphones. The muffled music stops.

Moon is chuckling lowly when you squeal. “WHOA, okay buddy y-you’re-you’re a lot bigger than I’d thought you be!” You’re laughing, whether out of nervousness or because of the sheer size of the animatronic spider, the recipient doesn’t seem to mind, eyes turning upwards. “You’re a big fella, aren’t you! Hi! Hello!” Waving your hands, you introduce yourself. “Hi!”

There’s no booming voice or even an autotuned one like you expected, but the corners of the DJ’s mouth turn upwards into a warm smile. He's only a wee bit scary, with teeth as big as your head at the very least, but a hand comes forwards pointing out an index finger. Stepping back in surprise, you stare at the offering before the realization dawns on you. You grab DJ’s finger and give it a good, big shake. “Nice to meet you!”

Somewhere behind you, Moon mumbles something about you sounding like Sun in your excitement, but the comment goes unnoticed as the DJ’s hand pulls back, and they start to move in a pattern you can’t read very well. Whatever it is, it’s cheerful, upbeat, like the music he was playing moments earlier.

It’s after a pause when he’s finished do you realize he’s using sign language. “Oh!” You halt, fingers diving into your pocket to look for your phone. While you weren’t exactly fluent in sign language, the Daycare Attendant has been teaching you enough to at least hold a mild conversation, and anything else you didn’t understand right away you could always translate on your phone so you could talk better with your new friend.

A large white finger comes forwards and presses down the phone when you bring it out, causing you to look back up. DJ Music Man shakes his head, other hand going to cup the space around his headphones.

“He can hear.” Moon speaks up from behind you. “No voice box. Not functioning, something with the autotune.”

Ah, makes sense. Straightening your posture, you give the spider animatronic a warm look. “I’m happy we finally get to meet! I’m general staff here, so I just do some cleaning and minor repairs. We’ll probably see more of each other whenever I need to come and do a task in the arcade.”

The DJ looks as pleasant to meet you as you are to him. He signs again a little slower this time, and you inwardly appreciate the consideration. ‘You are welcome here. We can share music together.’

What a sweet idea. You like him already.

Moon keeps his distance away while the two of you introduce each other. He doesn’t interrupt unless you don’t catch something in the translation, and even then it’s brief. The Daycare Attendant keeps to himself, and for a moment you feel bad for neglecting him. An occasional glance shows he looks back to the other side of the arcade, towards the blank spot of the missing machine, but like all animatronics do, he senses your gaze, and red eyes rotate back to you.

Moon seems calm and content, still flipping the token. An air of comfort surrounds him, and his very presence close to you and DJ Music Man already brings the suggestion to light that he felt safe enough to be present, something he didn’t do with Chica, or Freddy, or any of the other animatronics. You don’t even think Moon bothers with the staff bots now that you think of it.

It brings a warmth to you, perking up mid-conversation while the DJ is telling you about how his headphones work (Non-detachable, speakers on the inside and the outside, and a mic that works as his ‘ears’ on the underside.) Moon is not the upbeat type, but he’s clearly wanting to be here. No disappearing into the rafters, no hiding in the shadows. You’re glad he has a friend to talk to on nights when you’re gone.

The DJ’s next sentence breaks you from your thoughts. His movements feel upbeat and positive. You don’t catch all of it, but contextually you can make out what he’s saying. ‘I knew you worked here before we met. I know a lot about you.’

“From the employee registry, right?” You suggest. A comfortable spot opposite of the DJ, diagonal to Moon has been found, leaning against an arcade machine with a Bonnie mural painted on the side. “Figured you’d know about me since all the animatronics have access to it. Must be nice to have a computer in your head to know stuff immediately, yeah?”

DJ responds, and the next sentence you grasp better. ‘Moon talks about you.’

Oh! Oh, oh no. You spare a quick glance at your jester, but the Moon is staring off into another direction, having missed the conversation. His faceplate isn’t visible, head turned towards the upper levels of the Pizzaplex, the token frozen in hand. You’re not sure what’s caught his attention, but the awkward pause was stretching longer.

You turn back to the DJ and feel nervousness in your throat. “Oh, ha. Does he?”

DJ Music Man looks almost amused when he signs the next few words. ‘You kicked my baby.’

Uh oh.

There it was, that’s what you were afraid of. An awkward, cringe feeling creeps up on the back of your name as your face starts to heat up in shame. Yeah, how exactly are you to explain to this guy that his mini-him jump scared you and you sent it flying across the room, and NOT sound like a heartless asshole.

You’re fumbling with words. “Yeah, I-…I am so sorry about that, by the way. I had no idea at the time, and I just-” DJ Is already signing that it’s okay. His body moves like he’s laughing. “Sorry! Again, just-you know. Sorry!”

At the very least, he doesn’t seem to be angry. It does nothing to stop the guilt and embarrassment from being known, though. You probably look like a panicked little ant to the DJ that’s constantly looking to the Daycare Attendant for backup since it looks like your first impression on the big guy really ended up being an attack on a min-him.

Moon’s face is still turned away from you, staring off into the other direction. His posture has straightened, no longer leaning on the arcade. You look up to the higher level of the arcade and find nothing. From his angle, you can’t gauge his expression.

Whatever it is, maybe he’ll tell you later. You turn back to the DJ. “So, uh. How was your vacation?”

The DJ’s upturned look falters for a second. You fear you may have spoken something wrong, something too sensitive. Then, he answers with as much enthusiasm as he’s had all night so far.

‘I don’t remember.’ He pauses for a moment. ‘Do you like it here?’

Interesting. You’d ask further if you didn’t feel like it would be very rude. “Yeah! The pay is great and all my coworkers are my friends.” You wave a hand, nonchalantly. “I just do the stuff that staff bots and other animatronics can’t do, nothing super big. I get some free time a lot, so I can hang out with the Glamrock, or at the Daycare. I’m...usually hanging out at the Daycare.”

The DJ beams. ‘So I’ve been told.’

“And you?” You ask out of conversational habit, adding on. “I mean, now that you’re back from vacation and all. Are you gonna be allowed to roam the pizzaplex?” DJ tilts his head, and looks at you like you’ve asked a very obvious question. Which, you have. “Okay, scratch that. Your little guys, the baby Music Men-” His face brightens when you speak of them. He must be proud. “I haven’t seen one all night. I’d think they’d, you know, be here hanging out with you?”

The spider animatronic holds up one finger, the universal ‘wait’ motion. You sit back against the arcade machine and watch as the DJ reaches back behind him, past the curtain to a space you can’t see. Craning your neck, you try to follow what he’s doing, but the white glove returns quickly enough with closed fingers. DJ Music Man holds his opposite hand up to his teeth, hushing you, and opens his hand.

Not one, but two little Music Men were settled in his palm. Their legs were curled underneath themselves, heads tucked into the side similar to how a cat rests. From a distance, they’d look like overlapping metal, like old toys with scratched paint. There’s no shine in their eyes, no awareness in them. Despite any signs of life, of the mischief they like to do, they’re still cute.

Still, you look back up at the DJ with a concerned look. “Are they...okay?”

The DJ looks at you kindly and nods.

“They’re in rest mode.” Moon’s voice cuts through the air for the first time in a while, breaking the quiet. His tone sounds stoic, a little colder. You turn your gaze to the Daycare Attendant to find that he’s glaring holes into your back. There’s no telling how long he’s been doing that already.

Black iris and white pupils linger on your face. Then, he turns and faces the direction he was staring off to again. The Faztoken rolls over his fingers. “Sleeping. Like you should be.”

…O-kay. Did you do something wrong?

It’s something you’ll ask later if he’s still feeling off, but you’ll take the hint. Ignoring the creeping feeling in your spine, you turn back to your new friend, brandishing a warm smile. The DJ doesn’t seem to mind when you reach out to brush against one of the Music Men’s heads. “You know, I’ve heard of types of spiders whose babies sleep on their mother’s backs.” You start, stepping back so the DJ can close his palm, and stretch the hand back behind him. It’s gentle enough you wonder if the little robots are capable of being woken up by noise or movement alone. “I think it’s pretty cool you’re doing the same thing. They must have missed you.”

‘I missed them.’ DJ signs. ‘Thank you for babysitting.’

You’re not sure how to respond to that, so you give him a thumbs up. “I think Moon may have done all the babysitting, to be honest. They’re fine on their own, though. They climb into my cleaning cart sometimes and ride around with me.”

DJ points to the Daycare Attendant, who’s still ignoring the both of you. ‘Like he does?’

“Yeah. Sometimes I have to spray him with disinfectant until he comes out.”

This amuses him, and the Music Man’s body shakes with a silent laugh. ‘I can understand why he calls you a brat.’

“…Really?”

‘Yes.’ Apparently, the DJ finds your dynamic with the Daycare Attendant to be quite amusing and judging by his casualness, there’s probably an inside joke or details in between the two you’re missing here. ‘A nosy one. He says you have terrible self-care habits.’

You resist giving the Daycare Attendant a stink eye. Suddenly, you have no more shame talking about said animatronic a few feet away from you, and it appears the DJ is as much as a gossiper as Chica is. “Oh yeah? What else has Moon said about me?”

Simultaneously, you hear the jingle of bells and a crick of a Moon’s neck turning at a speed like a man broken from a trance, and DJ’s face brightens. His hands raise and start to sign that starts off slow, then quickens to where you can’t make out a full phrase or two. You blink, open your mouth to ask him to let you catch up before footsteps on the carpet sound off behind you.

Fingers slide over your eyes, shutting them closed with the palm. The hand on your face gently pulls you backward, away from the DJ. “Time to go.”

“Moon!” You hiss, clawing at fingers that don’t budge. Bells and ribbons knock against your nose as you are unceremoniously dragged by your face away from your new giant spider animatronic friend and further towards the inevitable tasks of actually getting to work cleaning the pizzaplex.

His grip does not falter. Fingertips gently press into your cheeks and temple. “Say bye-bye.”

“Knock it off!” You slap at his face with a free hand. It just rolls against your fingertips like a wheel. “Quit it! You're pushing up my nose!”

Moon hums. “Slacking.”

Your attempts at fighting him off are futile and embarrassing, but you’re able to pry a finger out of the way to look at the DJ. He’s still signing, though no longer to you and has his sights set on the Daycare Attendant. His expression pulled up into playful mirth and moving too quickly for you to understand, but you’re pretty sure he just called Moon a ‘coward’.

Suddenly, Moon’s hand falls away, and you’re almost sent tumbling to the floor from the sudden lack of balance. “Hey-!” You catch yourself, whirling around to glare daggers at your animatronic friend, but instead of frustration; surprise, then laughter starts to shake your shoulders.

A Baby Music Man is attached to one of the legs of the Daycare Attendant, hooked to the fabric with many of it’s several legs. Said animatronic is holding the leg upwards, staring wide eyed at the new intruder. Moon’s probably debating two moments from kicking the little guy off before the Baby Music Man starts scuttering up his leg further.

Oh, this was fucking hilarious.

You laugh something hearty as Moon’s leg flails, shaking the robot off onto the carpet. It doesn’t faze the little one, rather hopping right back onto his feet. You whistle and cheer it on as it starts rampaging toward the Daycare Attendant. “My savior! Get him! Get Moon!”

Moon, who crouched to all fours, backing away and crawling at the same pace as the little robot approaches like a devil on a mission. Moon looks hilariously comical panicked, gaze shifting between you and the smaller bot. “Little traitor!” He hisses, baring teeth as he climbs backwards up the wall and has to go even further when the baby music man starts doing the same. “Rulebreaking..., naughty brat-!”

“Bring the Moon down!” You woot and holler. From a distance, DJ Music Man is allowing more and more little Baby Music Men to step down, using his shoulder to his arm to his hand as a ramp. A few look groggy and disoriented, and a few are watching the scene. Some are scuttling over to join the fight. It’s wildly comical. “Get the Moon! Get him! Bring him down! Steal his hat-!”

“You-” Moon grabs the back of one Music Man’s neck, and gently tosses him to the carpet where it lands unharmed. Red eyes and a wide smile, now playful but menacingly, zero in on you. “-are supposed to be cheering for me.”

Funny enough, you don’t feel like you’re in danger at all. “Get fucked!”

A wild glint in Moon’s eye, and he lunges for you-

-And is intercepted mid-air by a jumping Music Man that smacks him right in the center of his face. It throws him off balance, sending the Moon spiraling to crash on the ground a foot or so from you. He’s slowly being swarmed by more and more Baby Music Men who probably don’t even know what’s going on but just want to be included, and you’re cackling at the Daycare Attendant who’s gone limp on the ground and resigns himself to his fate.

If all of this happened a few months ago, you’d be afraid. Now you’re just having fun.

(Moon throws the Faztoken at your forehead when you least expect it later, so at least he gets his revenge in the form of a circular red imprint on your forehead for the rest of the night.)

The DJ Music Man gets a proper farewell later when all has calmed down. He sends you off with a promise that you’ll stop by the arcade again and keep him company when you do your rounds. That invitation extends to the Daycare Attendant as well, obviously.

It’d seem lonely to be trapped in the arcade, with only tunnels and a curtain to have as your own, but the DJ seemed to be a very positive robot, albeit with some strange musical tastes, that in his company you’ve completely forgotten to ask if his vacation had anything to do with an aforementioned glitch that seems to be plaguing some of the animatronics.

You don’t pry further than what is naturally allowed for you to learn that night. Moon helps you put up the rest of the banners promoting a new deal on gift shop items and floats above you unhelpfully when you’re taking out the trash. He tells you to sleep once, twice more in your shift, an attempt that is quickly thwarted by using rolled up napkins as projectiles and threatening to drink chug energy drinks in the stage light and make him watch if he didn’t stop annoying you.

He does. But there’s a suspiciously placed Moondrop in your lunch bag when you take your break that shift.

Friday; you wake up to the shortest email from Management you’ve ever received:

Shift 8pm-10Pm. Finish weekly inventory before Saturday morning along with other duties. Fix the lock on the fire escape on the fourth floor. Clock out early if tasks are finished. Do not remain on site.

Thank you.
-M

...Odd. They’ve never told you that before.

They’re probably just trying to avoid paying you an hourly wage since your technically their only worker who’s even still on a payroll; none of their animatronic employees get paid. Whatever. Regular shift. You won’t be on the clock long enough to say hello to the Daycare Attendant without risking not getting your tasks done in time, so you’ll just stick a sticky note on the outside of the glass and hope they get the picture.

No one greets you at the station when you clock in. Not unsurprising, but there’s usually a staff bot that waves you in or a Glamrock that’s doing farewells by the shutter doors as families start to leave. Instead, there’s only people leaving like any other evening. There’s some visible disappointment on some children’s faces as they come to the exit and find no animatronic to wish them goodbye, but they’re quickly ushered out by impatient mothers.

They must be busy elsewhere. You check your phone for the map attached to the email, a red circle plotted on the upper fourth floor of the pizzaplex where the repair was needed. Easy enough, you’re not a mechanic or a locksmith, but all you needed to do was put a basic padlock on it for now. If the damage was bad enough, a staff bot or real locksmith would come and officially change out the deadbolt.

Why there’s a lock on the fire escape for the pizzaplex is another issue entirely, but Fazbear Entertainment wasn’t exactly known for being entirely up to safety code.

No need to break out the cart, so you just grab the spare lock that’s left for you in the storage closet. Coming through to the elevator, you frown at the sign hung above the button for the fourth floor, the option to go to is greyed. An image of Helpy with a sad face is present, the words ‘This floor is currently closed for maintenance. Sorry for any inconvenience!’

The stairs say the same thing when you go to check, with a staff bot standing nearby to redirect customers when they try to go up. Weird. Still, the staff bot nods you by and you make the climb. The lights are still on where needed, and there’s nothing off about the upper level except for the notable lack of families. You remember where the fire exit is supposed to be on this side.

You hear their voices before you round the corner and see them. “I did my job, I didn’t do anything different than any other patrol. What’s the problem?!”

It’s a sight that makes you pause. All of the Glamrocks, every single one, stand near the fire escape. The door is closed, but there’s notable scuff marks at the edge where it would open, and the lock that usually sits on it is missing. Bits of wood and paint from the doorframe are chalked onto the ground, stomped underneath Roxy’s feet as she spews something defensively. “I was on patrol. I didn’t see anything.”

Freddy, back straight and appearing neutral, opens his mouth to speak, but Monty overtakes him. “M’ not saying you weren’t. I’m just saying you missed something.” The gator’s voice sounds low and calm, but there’s an anger in his tone that feels familiar, like boiling water threatening to boil over. “Maybe you need to get your eyes checked. Could be malfunctioning-”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!”

“Um.” You speak up, and feel four sets of eyes turn toward you. Freddy looks concerned, Monty looks irritated, Roxy looks panicked and angry, and Chica looks like she would rather be anywhere else but here right now. An odd, cold feeling is seeping down your spine. You’ve seen your robot friends upset before, but you’ve never seen them upset like this. “I’m…here to fix the door. The fire escape.” A pause, a quiet moment. You weakly gesture towards the broken handle. “That one.”

Roxy is the first to speak up, arm swinging out to point at you. “Tell them you saw me on patrol last night!”

“I-”

Chica cuts you off, this time. “Let’s not yell at each other, okay?” But Monty is already growling your name, and Freddy looks like he doesn’t know what to do.

“I did! I-” You swallow. There’s a lump in your throat and your palms are starting to sweat. You’re not sure what’s going on, but the attitudes of the friends around you wasn’t doing wonders for your nerves. “I ran into Roxy while  she was doing patrols-”

Monty cuts you off for what feels like the millionth time. “Where were you-”

Your response is immediate. “I was working-”

“Where were you?” He cuts you off for what feels like the millionth time. A few steps forwards, Monty’s hand comes around your arm; not harsh, not hostile, but an obvious demand for an answer. “Who was with you last night? During your shift.”

You don’t like this.

Brows furrowing, you tug for your arm to come out of his grip. It doesn’t come. A glance towards the other Glamrocks doesn’t save you. Freddy looks offended at the action, but doesn’t say anything against it. Surprisingly, neither Chica nor Roxy even comment on his behavior. Or really, his panic. It shows in his face, all of their faces, actually. A strange way that metal bends to show a robot’s anxiety.

Why were they so anxious? Whatever it is, it must be serious enough that they were waiting for the same answer.

You fix your numb tongue and keep a neutral face as much as possible. “I went to the arcade to meet DJ Music Man.”

Immediately, Roxy backs you up. “That’s what I’m saying.” She hisses, like it’s a story she’s already told several times. You don’t doubt it, even as Monty side eyes her. “I even talked to the guy myself. Most of the kid’s shift over here was spent goofing off with all the minis.” She sighs, and it sounds like she’s trying to calm herself. There’s a hint of a growl in her voice when she speaks. Amber eyes drag from you, to the arm holding you, and to Freddy. “DJ said it was a nice chat. Don’t believe me, go ask him. He’s got a couple of hundred minis to vouch.”

You’re not sure why it’s even relevant, but you don’t like being spoken for, so you speak up. “I was with the Daycare Attendant before that.”

“Yeah.” Monty’s hand runs down your arm to your wrist and pulls it up. The dried, not-quite-washed off marker of a sun is still scribbled into your palm. “I figured.”

He drops your hand like it burns. You close your fingers into your palm, bringing it up to your chest. A silence comes over the group, and you. There’s no joking, no light-hearted jests. Something unspoken between the band that you are not involved in yet somehow included. The broken fire escape exit is an obvious clue that no one has deduced out loud yet.

After a few heartbeats, you ask. Your voice comes out quieter than normal. “…What happened?”

A few more heartbeats pass. The hum of the air conditioning fills the silence. Then, Freddy speaks up. “There was a break in last night.”

“…A break in?”

“We’re trying to figure out what happened.” Chica talks next. She looks melancholy, not her usual chipper self. You really hate the sight of her unhappy. “Nothing seems stolen, and none of us found anything left behind.” She steps a little ways further from the door, and gestures towards the obvious scuff marks. “They tried to get in through the fire escape, but we can’t tell if they actually came in through this way or not, or how they even got to this level. No one knows about this access point except the employees.”

Another long pause. The tension is heavy as everyone exchanges glances. You feel the anxiety heighten in your chest when a few eyes are spared your way.

Monty’s words feel a bit harsher now with the context. “If you are accusing me of letting someone inside-”

“They broke the lock off the fire escape door, we’re guessing probably around the same time you were in the arcade.” Roxy cuts in. Her arms are crossed and her voice is firm. She’s angry, but not at you. “We’re not accusing you of anything.”

Freddy starts to speak as soon as her sentence finishes. “We thought maybe you’d seen or heard something around that time?” He’s gentle, soft with you. You’re not sure if that should make you feel comforted or alarmed. “If someone did get in, and you were in the area…”

“I didn’t see anything.” You answer.

Freddy continues. “I meant, it may not have been safe for you.”

“I didn’t feel unsafe.” You speak too quickly. Too many eyes are glued to your face. “My friends were with me. The Daycare Attendant was with me. I would have been fine. Sorry, but I don’t know what to tell you.” With a cold hand, you bring up the lock replacement for the door. “I didn’t even know about all of this until just now.”

At the mention of the Daycare Attendant, you see four reactions. Roxy sends Freddy a look like she was telepathically communicating to him that she was right, Monty’s eyes narrow, mumbling something crass, Chica looks relieved and Freddy just looks tired.

Chica goes after you do. “An angry former employee, maybe?” Her tone is upbeat but falsely chipper. “They didn’t take anything, right? What could they have even wanted? I’ve heard horror stories of humans getting angry with places they were fired from. What if they come back and try to torch the place?”

Freddy looks particularly disturbed by that comment. “I don’t think it would be that extreme-”

Roxy cuts him off. “I’d like to see them try. We were built with claws and teeth for a reason.” She unsheathes her own, just for show. “We don’t have security protocols in place just to sit back and do nothing.”

Chica visibly cringes. “That doesn’t mean anything! I don’t want to hurt anyone, or see anyone get hurt-”

Monty growls something sour. “It’s a bit late for that.”

Roxy joins him. “Don’t forget what happened to Bonnie.”

“We don’t even know what happened to Bonnie!” Chica’s voice gets higher pitched. There’s a crack in her voice box. “That wasn’t fair to say and you know that-!”

Monty and Roxy speak over each other, but one voice is louder than the other. “Do you think we’re going to be taking any chances?” The gator hisses. “Our luck is looking up and now we’ve got some intruder journalist thinking they can ruin it for us. Or some kid-”

“Friends.” Freddy starts, but his voice goes unheard.

“We just got DJ Music Man back.” Roxy suggests. “Maybe that’s why?”

“That’s a stupid reason. Why would they break in at night to see the big guy?” Monty almost rolls his eyes. “He’s got a public opening ceremony and everything-”

“I don’t see you coming up with any theories.”

Chica tries to dispel the tension between the two. “It’s probably just some teenager that wants to get some ‘cool points’ by breaking in and vandalizing the place. You know, like a dare?”

“Or it’s an idiot that’s about to get a face full of metal.”

“Monty.”

“Look, I’m just saying-”

“Stop.” Freddy’s voice overtakes all of them. A hush falls over the group, several sets of eyes falling on the bear. The bear sighs. “Please.”

Monty is the first to talk back. “What, bear?’

“I think…we are making our friend here very anxious.” With a careful, gentle face he has, he gestures to you.

You stand frozen in the same spot as before, arms locked to your side, neck tense, unmoving. The fist you’ve started clutching around the lock is tight enough to pale your knuckles, ears starting to ring from the yelling that was bouncing off the walls. There’s ice in your skin, and a sinking feeling in your chest. You look like a deer caught in the headlights.

“I’m-” You start, and your awkwardness is so apparent you see a glimpse of pity even in Roxy’s eyes. “I’m just tasked with fixing the lock on the door tonight.”

“I can help you.” Says Freddy, and it sounds like he’s trying his best, hands clasped together. “We can start helping you during your shifts, too. You know, with some of the chores.”

“I don’t need help, I’ve got it.” It comes out harsher than you meant it. You’re an adult. You don’t need to be babied. “I don’t need an escort, but thank you.”

Roxy looks at you like she disagrees but her muzzle stays shut, Chica looks like she’s about to offer and Monty's expression has remained unreadable, the gator’s arms cross and his sunglasses covered his eyes. You do not like being the center of attention, nor the uncertainty of their nerves.

“I’d like to hang out with you, actually.” Freddy offers. His smile is full of warmth and comfort. “It’s been a while since we’ve had some good old one-on-one Freddy time.”

You’re calling bullshit. But the smile you bring forth seems to dispel the tension in the air; Monty’s eyebrows soften, and the girls seem less apprehensive. “Sure, why not?”

They’re worried about you.

It was just an attempted break-in. It can’t possibly be that serious.

Roxy’s arm comes around Chica’s shoulders, a mumbled ‘I need to talk to you privately’ is barely heard as the wolf excuses herself with the chicken. Monty and Freddy both stare at their retreating backs like they know something you don’t.

What are you thinking? Of course they do. You’re not in their immediate circle, not in their close friend group. You’re an outside friend. What research and information you might have on them or the pizzaplex’s past will not change that.

You rub at the tingling sensation on your arm, through your sleeve. “Why did you grab my arm like that?”

You don’t name who you're speaking to, but Monty looks to you. There’s a brief moment of confusion, then masked regret. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t like it when you march up to me and start interrogating me.” You keep your tone even and neutral. Setting the boundaries. “Please just talk nicely to me, next time.”

“Yeah.” Monty rubs the back of his neck. He looks uncomfortable, but he’s not snarling anymore. “Yeah, sure. Sorry, runt.” It’s not spoken in sarcasm. Monty looks genuinely a little ashamed. He turns away, sauntering off toward the direction the other two went. “I need to talk to the girls. Don’t fall in my river.”

“Okay.”

He waves you off behind him, disappearing around the corner.

Freddy stands to the side, a witness to everything. His eyes turn upwards when you turn to face him, and you bite your tongue, forcing your shoulders to relax and step towards the fire escape door.

“I’m sorry for the yelling.” He comments. He stands behind you as you crouch, inspecting the damage. “They are all very concerned about the possibility of a break in. We take the safety of our workers and customers very seriously.”

It sounds like something out of an official statement a big company would make, but coming from Freddy, it feels genuine. You don’t look towards him, hand on the handle and pulling it back. “Yeah, it’s okay. This is you guy’s home.” Scuff marks around the door. Bits of red and brown like chipped rust are flaked onto the grey metal, like a crowbar was breaking. “I’d be a little freaked out if I found something like this on my apartment door, too.”

Freddy crouches down to your level. It would be insulting, almost, how he’s behaving like you’re some sort of overwhelmed child; but you realize you do not mind the proximity as the bear holds up the metal piece from the door frame to let you push back in the screw, keeping it in one spot to slip the lock through. “How was your meeting with the DJ?” He asks. “Sun tells me you had quite party last night in the arcade.”

“I like the DJ. He seems pretty cool.” You shut the door, clicking the lock into place. Probably a terrible idea to lock up what’s supposed to be a safety feature in the Pizzaplex, but it was also dangerous to have it opened from the outside. The staff bots will fix it to where it can only be opened from the inside; this was temporary. “I’m not that fluent in sign language yet, but the Daycare Attendant has been trying to teach me. Moon still had to translate some things.”

Freddy hums. “Moon stayed with you all of last night?”

There’s a slight change in his tone. You look up from the finished task. “Yeah?... Is that a bad thing? He usually does.”

A look flashes in Freddy’s eyes that you’re not fast enough to read. It’s only brief, a minor slip up, but you know there are some gears turning that he doesn’t say out loud. The bear keeps his positive demeanor, but is quiet for a moment.

You realize it seconds later. “I distracted him.”

“No, no!” Freddy reassures you. “That’s not-”

“Oh my god.” You lean back, the behavior from last night all suddenly making sense. “I distracted Moon from his job as security patrol. If I hadn’t-, I mean, if I didn’t need him to chaperone me to the DJ, he would have caught whoever was trying to break in-”

“I highly doubt you forced the Daycare Attendant to stay with you.” Freddy is quick to speak, cutting you off for the first time ever since you’ve known him. A large metal paw raises and pats your shoulder. “It’s not like you knew what was happening, and it was their decision to remain. They may have not even known.”

You doubt that. Cupping your palm to your eyes, you groan. “Freddy, he was acting off last night. I didn’t even ask why! I just through he was being...you know, him?” Dragging your fingers down your skin, you stare at the fire escape, and sigh. “This is so stupid.”

“You can’t know what they’re thinking if they don’t tell you.” He pats your shoulder. “Your shift ends very soon. How about you let me finish up here and go talk to your friend before you clock out? I’m sure they’d love for you to stop by and say hello!”

You cringe a little, sinking into your jacket. “Freddy-”

“C’mon now, up you go.” Freddy stands to his full height, a rather intimidating feat, and offers you a hand. “You only have a twenty minutes left until you need to clock out. I’d like to remind you that Fazbear Co does not offer overtime to its employees.”

You mumble something under your breath, but take his hand anyway, standing to your feet. “I should go apologize.”

If he were human, you’d think you’d see wrinkles cease at the corner of his eyes when he talks. “You have done nothing wrong.”

“Is a single break in really that serious?” You start off, ignoring his statement. The anxiety has lessened, but it still lingers in the back of your mind. This incident has only added more questions to the massive list you were chipping away at. “Like, is Fazbear Entertainment hiding some top-secret government files here or something?”

Freddy’s eyebrows shoot upwards, blinking. Then, he laughs, and it’s hearty and welcoming echo that bounces off the walls. “Sun told me you were a very questioning individual. Or..nosy.”

“Hey, man. I work here. Kinda need to know these things.”

“Later.” Freddy starts, and gestures towards the direction of the stairs. “You only have a few more minutes to say hello to your friend before you’re breaking the rules by staying past what you’re scheduled.”

There’s something about that sentence that feels off, like there’s more to it, but you don’t have the energy to delve too deep into it right now. Turning on your heel, you walk across the space, waving a handoff to the bear animatronic. “See you, Freddy.”

Freddy waves you off with his signature wave, all the pose and attitude of Fazbear’s most famous character, and looks to the fire escape door

Sun is hanging upside down on the jungle gym with his head being spun like a wheel by two kids when you arrive.

You barely even remember the walk down here, but it’s certainly a sight to see when you approach the Daycare. It’s near closing time, and you’re not going to be here for cleaning up or when the lights go out, but it’s still nice to see the robot interact with the kids. Currently, said animatronic had his knees bent around a particularly sturdy part of the jungle gym, arms dangling to the floor. A girl with braids is spinning his head like a steering wheel and making noises like she was driving a race car. A toddler boy with a paper hat sits nearby, babbling in baby speak and keeps trying to touch the Sun’s rays with his hands, and cooing when they shrink back into the animatronic’s head before he can even touch them

These must be last kids to be checked out for the day. You check your phone; you still had a few minutes, but there was no need to bother him if he was busy with a couple of little ones. Without being noticed, you turn away from the doors-

“Helllloooooo, Friend!” Nevermind. Cover blown. Stupid, fancy animatronic technology and their sixth sense of knowing wherever you are.

You turn back to the Daycare Attendant and his charges. The Sun’s faceplate has turned to face you, albeit upside down, and his smile is wide. His voice echoes back out to you from inside the daycare. “Come to say hi to little ole me? I’m not busy!” His torso rotates, swinging with the gravity. “Don’t mind me, I’m just hanging around.”

It’s not a very funny pun, but it gets a blow of air out of your nose at least. “Har har, very funny. I’m just stopping by before I clock out. I don’t have a regular shift tonight, just needed to fix something.”

The Sun perks up. Suddenly, the animatronic flips. In one smooth motion, arms grab the child in front of him, (the girl with braids scream, but not in fear, giggling all the way) flips her to his chest as he does a practical cartwheel, to which while upside down he manages to grab the toddler as well. By the time he’s upright, both children are cradled to his chest, one on each arm.

You raise your hands and give a light clap. “Great gymnastics.”

“You seem a bit sad!” He marches up to you in long strides, more dramatic than usual. For the children that are in his arms, it’s a definite bonus. Sun spins his torso around at a pace that makes the children giggle and ‘wee’ while he maintains eye contact with you. A god of multitasking. “Do you need a hug?”

You match his smile as best you can, hands on your hips and look down at the two kids attached to his sides. “You only have two arms, and they’re a bit full, aren’t they?”

Sun looks like he’s about to say something witty in retort, but stops, settling to give you a kind look instead. The rotating of his torso comes to an end, the toddlers giggle. They’re very young, probably young enough they won’t understand what you’re talking about if you were to bring up the break-in. But you’re not going to risk it. If anything, maybe that was an out for you.

“I have a shift tomorrow to finish up all my duties from this week that are left over. Inventory and stuff.” You speak nonchalantly, leaning against the security desk.

“Ooohh, sounds like you’re going to be a busy body for a while.” Sun mimics the sound of a whistle. “My, do stop by on your break! I can sneak some Fizzy Faz from the back for your lunch.”

“I think I have more Fizzy Faz in my body than blood at this point.” You sigh. “It’s fine, the others offered to help me with my chores. I think I might ask Chica if she wants to do trash runs with me.”

Sun chuckles. “That would be a quicker way to make the garbage disappear.”

“Yeah.” Your arms cross, looking away. “Yeah, it’d be faster.”

How awkward. You’re not even sure why you came in here to say hello when you can’t talk about what’s bothering you, and you can’t think of any other conversational topic. It’s not like you’re going to start bombarding him with questions about the Pizzaplex’s history or his previous position as the Theatre role when he’s got a couple of tots in his arms.

“I should get going.” You muse, and watch as Sun’s head tilts. He shifts one child to his shoulders; the boy that hooks his fingers into the crevices of the animatronic’s faceplate, poking at his rays and pulling at the ruffles around his neck. Chubby baby fingers palm over white blank eyes, and it looks like it would hurt, but the Daycare Attendant’s gaze remains calm and on you.

You shift uncomfortably, feet pointed towards the door. “I’ll see you later.”

“We’re not upset with you.” Sun tuts. It’s so out of the blue and casually spoken, it almost makes you trip over a mat piece. Sun bounces a toddler on his hip completely unphased by your surprise. “You’ve really have to stop thinking people are upset with you before even talking to them, darling. That kind of thinking is just not healthy!”

You flinch, almost. “You…know about the break in?”

“We’re robots connected to the main system. We have little mini Music Men that like to run around and ramble in code for hours about everything they see, the staff-bots share a collective informational database and we animatronics do talk to one another, even if I’m remaining here.” Sun’s tone is almost deadpan, not in an unkind way, but spoken like it’s something a bit obvious. He sighs. “So yes, we are well aware.”

You fidget. “You detected it?”

“No!” Sun says quickly, chipper. A pause, and his head tilts to the side. “Yes.”

“That’s too different answers.”

“There was something…” He trails off. Metaphorical gears churn in his head. Even as he thinks, his arms are busy keeping the toddlers bouncing, busy and giggling. The boy is currently chewing on a ribbon. “…else?”

“…Else?”

“I think!” The Daycare Attendant perks up, a free hand raising and comes to your chin. Silicone fingers pinch at your skin, and you wrinkle your nose as he leans down and tugs at your cheek. “This conversation should really be saved for later. You! On the other hand, look like you need a good cup of hot chocolate and maybe a nap!”

You bite at his hand near your mouth. The hand retracts, palm facing you, and Sun fakes surrender as you huff. “Everyone is babying me today!

“It’s less of a you thing, and more of a friend thing. I imagine the others feel the same.” He chuckles. He brushes the space underneath your chin, then pulls back and shifts the boy back from his shoulders down to his arms. “We have worries, too.”

“Okay. Sorr-.”

“None of that, now!”.” He says. You frown at him. Sun simply grins. If he has concerns, it wasn’t something that he could voice right now. He can’t tell you.

You want to ask him why they didn’t leave, but this wasn’t the time. It’s proven more so by the sound of knocking from behind you. White eyes and your own turn towards the door; a set of parents have arrived, knocking on the doorframe to announce their presence. Their eyes scan the Daycare until they land on you and Sun, and the parent's faces beam. The girl in Sun’s arms stops messing with the buttons on his chest, and stretches her arms out towards them.

You’ll leave him to do his job. “I’ll see you tomorrow for my inventory shift.” A pause. “Maybe you can come out of the Daycare and help me with it?”

He says nothing, he can’t with parents present, but you feel a comforting farewell brush against the back of your neck when you pass, just out of sight as the Daycare Attendant greets the parents with the usual pleasantries.

Chapter Text

Management’s emails are shorter and more to the point nowadays.

Besides the generic orders, the email sent to you the next morning is rather quick to the point: trash, refill the soaps in the bathroom, inventory check, clean Roxy’s vanity, restock the gift shop’s supply of magnets, etc. Outside of a few odd tasks here and there, nothing new. Save for the inclusion of the newest additions, like the charging stations being put out onto the floor.

There’s a small map attached to the email of the pizzaplex with dots in red locating where staff bots should have put the charging stations, to which you were supposed to be the one to make sure they were hooked up. Not that you were actually doing any of the hook-up, more like you just needed to look at the thing and checkmark off a list if it was actually plugged it, and made sure the lights came on. A scheduling change is listed at the bottom of the email too, but there’s nothing stating what it’s for. A small note about some changes coming to how power and electricity were going to be handled was there.

Looks like Management wants the animatronics to start charging more often. These charging stations were public, too, at least the ones out in the plex and not in the maintenance tunnels or the animatronic’s respective rooms. Any families and their series of kids could peek in and see their favorite character recharging a few feet away in a cylinder in typical Fazbear colors and lights, watchful eyes as the robot ‘sleeps’, or what you assume would be the equivalent of sleep.

It’s no privacy at all. Not like it was any different from their rooms having massive windows for the outside onlookers either. It must suck being popular; you’re just public property for strangers to enjoy. Maybe that’s why the Daycare Attendant is so adamant about you not seeing their private room; it’s the only place humans can’t reach.

There’s a lingering sour taste in your mouth when you’re making your daily coffee at the gas station. You hadn’t caught hardly any sleep, and it shows in the thin skin under your eyes, redness evident too. You dreamt of a shadow at your doorstep, though your front door was steel and not wood, and there was ugly 80s carpet instead of your welcome mat. You hardly remember your dreams, but something dark crept in through your broken lock, and it felt cold enough that you woke up with goosebumps and raised hairs.

You’re not a stranger to nightmares, but you didn’t go back to sleep that night. The notebook got a few pages thicker, though. It was the closest thing to you at the time, and instinctively, you wrote down what you could remember on a spare page that didn’t have anything else written on it, away from your theories and whatever research you’ve gained.

There’s still a prickling anxiety you’re trying to ignore as you pour the sugar packet into your cup.

Joe, as you’ve finally resolved to calling it, is as default as ever when it rings up your daily drink. You don’t have the energy to respond as chipper as you usually do, but if the staff bot notices, he doesn’t say anything. “Hey, buddy. Just the usual.”

You’re pulling out the money before it actually says the total, and to your surprise, it simply takes it. The monotone routine voice is absent for the moment, and the pause of silence actually breaks you from your thoughts, making your eyes focus. Joe does not have facial expressions to mimic emotion, but the way its eyes are locked onto your face is odd. Well, odder than how you’d usually feel when plastic eyeball cameras linger on you for a bit too long to be comfortable. “…Can I help you?”

The staff bot says nothing. It won’t, it’s programmed probably not to. It’s still quiet, though. The receipt is pushed back to you across the counter. “Please, have a nice day.”

Huh. It’s never said please to you like that before.

…Aw.

“I’m just tired.” You’ve gotten good at this game of telling what a robot that can’t express itself very well feels. Or at least, ‘feels’ in a metaphorical sense. “I just stayed up too late working on a project.”

It’s not a lie, technically. You’ve drawn a few red lines in those pages of yours. The staff bot that mans the counter still doesn’t make any movement like it’s convinced or if it even agrees, and you start to feel stupid for even talking until it continues.

“Have a nice day.” Joe’s ridged hand raises, and it waves in that typical, stocky programmed Fazbear style. “A nice day.” It repeats the same recorded voice line.

“I will.” You falsify a smile, and tilt the cup up towards its direction as you leave through the glass door.

Your shift starts one hour before closing time and up until the early hours of the morning, notably shorter than some of the other shifts you’ve had. It’s a little suspicious, and for a second you wonder if Management is weaning you off the schedule in preparation to fire you, but the weekly days on the calendar attached to your tasks list asking you to confirm what days you were available tell another story. You highly doubt you were at risk of being fired if they were starting to ask you if you were available for work on the days you were normally off.

With the goal of chugging the coffee before the eventual turning off of the lights, you find that maybe you should have gotten a bigger size when you down it in only a few mere minutes, and maybe because you weren’t really feeling the effects of the caffeine. Maybe Sun was right: you did have a caffeine addiction, and at this point it was too far gone that it wasn’t even doing anything for you anymore. The cup is tossed into a trash can as you walk to the clock in station, giving a dull nod of the head to Roxy who’s doing farewell routines at the door.

Amber eyes glance to you momentarily and linger long enough for a moment you think she’s going to say something, but the wolf turns back to the family that called her over as she departs, cackling loudly at the child’s racer costume he sports and poses for a picture. You blend in with the other humans well enough, you don’t keep her from doing her job.

The maintenance hallways are dimly lit and unpopulated as you make your way down; the staff bots are probably busy at the ticket booths and manning the gift shops that you have this time to yourself. One of the spots on the map is a place dotted red of a station that was unconfirmed hooked up, while the ones out of the floor were probably prioritized first for customer safety. The charging station you’re looking for is situated in the hallway between the laundry room and the room where all of the extra merchandise is stored, unlit and powerless. It looks out of place against the dingy grey walls.

It’s interesting, though. You muse about it as you pocket your phone and give it a look over. There’s a large coil from the top of the machine that looks like it should connect back into it somewhere, and a power outlet was nearby, the connector would take up both of the inserts. Supposedly, this was going to be able to charge the animatronics in under five minutes, but you can’t imagine a machine using that much power without possibly risking the entire building blacking out. Unless Management had some sort of plan for that to happen, it was kind of a dumb idea.

The small light from a single light bulb above you is enough for you not to pull out your phone flashlight to work. You’re pushing up your sleeves, hands raised to start shifting through the wires before a heavy, weighted sound echoes down the corridor.

You turn your head towards it. Stomping. Solid footsteps, and a pattern you’d recognize anywhere.

You call out down the empty hallway, and your voice echoes against the walls. “Freddy?”

The stomping stops, then starts again, this time coming close as the animatronic changes direction. You see the shadow of him appear around the corner as two bear ears and bright eyes pop from around the wall. The bear scans the room, and his face brightens at the sight of you. “Oh, hello there, Superstar!”

“What are you doing down here?” You ask, sitting on your haunches. Easier to reach the outlet this way. “Aren’t you supposed to be on greeting duty?”

“Technically, yes. But I needed to get something from Parts n Service. I was a bit low on the fluid they use to keep our movements easy. It’s like oil, but better.” He walks as he talks, casually approaching you although his footsteps feel like a giant is closing in on your position. “How did you know it was me?”

You snort. “You have a very specific way you walk.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You ever hear of a ‘dad sneeze?’. It’s like that, but you with walking. You stomp more than Monty does.”

Freddy huffs a chuckle, glancing towards the charging station. “Would you like some help? I have some free time at the moment.”

Instantly, you’re about to tell him no, but the bear is already lifting the large coil up from the ground with ease that you wouldn’t have managed, and you’re not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Some of the switches on the side become exposed, all neatly labeled. It’s easy for you to checkmark which one needs to be turned on before you plug up the machine. “Thanks. I want to make sure you guys’ new sleeping pods are functioning when you need them.”

“Sleeping pods.” Freddy hmms, and it sounds only a bit uncertain. “The charging stations look a bit intimidating, don’t they?”

“Not really. I was inside one the other day. While it was off, of course.” You talk while you work, eyes focused in front of you. When you hear no interjection, you quickly continue. “Not doing anything weird; I was playing hide and seek with Moon.”

A quiet, content hum behind you. “Did you win?”

“Yep. Accidentally smacked him with the door, though.”

“Oh. Poor Moon. You should really play nicer.”

“He threw a coin at me later.”

“Ah. Nevermind.”

Casual conversation. Freddy makes a noise of acknowledgment while you turn the knob to the correct setting that would allow how much electricity to course through the machine, shutting the panel. There’s another topic on your mind, and you ease it into your speech as cleanly as you can. “So, any news on the break in?”

There’s a thick wire that connects the coil to the main machine, and you hook that up as he answers. “No. But the staff bots have locked the fire escape again. It does not appear functional anymore, at least not as an escape route.”

You press your lips together. “That can’t be up to health code.”

“It’s not.” Freddy says. “I should file a complaint to management. They will surely fix it.”

You highly doubt this, but you’re not going to voice that opinion out loud. Rather, you continue the small talk as the minuscule work comes together. “Isn’t there a stage down here that goes up and down?”

“Oh yes!” He sounds excited. “It’s fun, especially with all the lights. It’s used to make our entrance into our main shows; you’ve seen some of them.”

Standing back, you gesture to the port where the coil should connect, and motion with open arms to take it. Don’t want to risk Freddy’s metal touching the machine and getting a static shock, just in case. “Yeah, yeah. You’ve been around for a long time, right? So you know all the secret spots of this place.”

He either ignores your unspoken command or doesn’t understand it, because Freddy steps to the side of you and secures the coil itself. It clicks low and heavy as it turns into place. “Of course! I’ve been here since the pizzaplex started. I know plenty of spots where cameras don’t reach. Not that they’re active, but if they do come back, there are blind spots you can take a break in.”

It’s not exactly what you were getting at, but you catch onto one detail, looking up at him. “Just the pizzaplex? I thought you were the main character. What about all the other Fazbear locations, and the prior one to this one?”

The coil clicks with finality, and blue glowing eyes cast down at you. He has an unreadable expression, a hesitation in his hands that wasn’t there before. From this angle, you are suddenly reminded of all the endo skeleton parts that are trapped in boxes that you have yet to sort.

Oh dear. Please say you didn’t just give the idol Freddy Fazbear an existential crisis.

Before you can derail the conversation, he interrupts your train of thought. “I have been around long before the pizzaplex, yes, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t be much help if you’re looking for information about our prior or other establishments.” He smiles, and it doesn’t feel fake. A little uncertain, but a real one. “I’m afraid vintage memories are not important data to keep backed up when upgrading or repair, as long as we do our duties as performers.”

There is something sad and morbid about that sentence spoken so casually that it makes your skin crawl. There’s not really a relatable connection between that, and how a human might view it. You keep your eyes downturned, lifting the doubled outlet to the wall and lining it up. “So…you lost them?”

“Maybe not lost.” Freddy muses for a moment. There’s a pause where you just hear the hum of the pipes along the walls before he pipes back up again. “Does it ever feel like you have a thought, or a memory that’s not pieced together? Like you’ve forgotten something, but you don’t remember what you’ve forgotten? Like-” He searches for the correct word, and you’re listening. “Locked away behind a firewall?”

“Repressed?” You offer, glancing up towards the bear.

“Sure, if that makes sense.” He laughs lightly in his sentence like it’s something silly. “I’m afraid I don’t remember much of our older vintage songs, or what we used to look like, or how my old shell felt. I imagine it wasn’t as glam as we are currently.”

You whistle. “I saw pictures of the old shell. It was really something.”

“Oh?”

“You looked like a stiff walking Mr. Potato with bear ears.”

“…I’ll take that as a compliment. Kids love Mr. Potato toys!”

A genuine laugh. “Sure, sure.” Careful to line up to the outlets, you insert it.

There’s a small spark, then the machine flickers to life. The charging station glows a pretty blue color overall, Freddy’s theme colors illuminating against you and him turns the grey hallway into a soft array of colors. Standing back, you put your hands on your hips and mentally check that task off of your checklist.

Freddy admires it as well, standing beside you. His eyes turn upwards, ears swiveling when he speaks. “You seem pretty interested in Fazbear history. I can give you a rundown on our most popular attractions throughout the years, and we have staff bots and tour bots well verse in tours and giving speeches about the history of Fazbear Entertainment and its many rumors and legends, all stories for a family-friendly audience and fun for all ages!”

It sounds straight out of an advertisement pamphlet, and honestly, the chipper go-lucky tone of voice never got old with him. You wave him off with half a smile. “I was kinda looking for different info, you know? Stuff that isn’t on the website or in the papers.”

The bear’s demeanor stills, and his face slackens. “Oh.”

Odd behavior. The sight of Freddy deflating is not a good feeling in your chest. “What?”

“Were you…approached by a journalist maybe?” Freddy asks, and it’s missing any of the grandeur he had just moments ago. His hands are clasped together, polite, almost guarded, and the hallway feels a touch too small right now. “Or someone who asked you to provide information about us?” He continues. “I assure you, whatever they offered-”

“I wasn’t approached by anyone!” You say quickly, and it comes out a little too much. He’s nice enough to pause as you gather yourself. “I’m just trying to figure some stuff out so I can help the Daycare Attendant with…something. And you guys too, if you wanted.”

Right. You haven’t exactly had the ‘glitch’ talk with anyone else outside the Daycare Attendant, Chica and Monty. Even so, the former two didn’t have much of a scope of how in depth you actually were investigating.

Freddy is still for a moment. Blue eyes feel like they’re scanning you completely, and the low lights of the charging station feel dimmer. For the first time, his presence is starting to make you nervous, even as the bear smiles in what looks like relief and warmth.

“Of course. I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions.” For someone much taller than you, he’s gentle in every way that matters. “I worry that you might be harassed outside the pizzaplex for details about us. Being the only human working here can’t be without some sort of publicity. Or jealousy.”

You return his smile. “I haven’t had any, actually. I honestly don’t think anyone really knows I exist. I’m just staff. That’s it.”

“Oh!” Again, another change, this one positive. Relief floods across Freddy’s features, and he claps his hands together. “That’s very good. In that case, while I’m not sure I have all the answers, I can try to help as much as I can!” Freddy’s upbeat tone echoes around you. “What do you want to know?”

How, exactly, does one go about asking Freddy Fazbear if rumors of kidnapping and murder that plague the history of the establishment that he shares a name with if they’re true.

How does one do that?

Like, hey, was there any other bloodshed and killing outside of the time the Daycare Attendant killed their assistant one day? Or was that just a one-off thing and totally has nothing to do with a glitch that seems to be coursing through your friends? You wouldn’t happen to also victim of said glitch, would you?

Are you? All of you?

“Oh no, that’s alright.” The small notebook weighs heavily in your pocket as you bite your tongue. “It’s okay, I was just wondering.”

Your friends are stressed enough as it is. You should probably step back and stop making your own goals everyone else’s mental burden to carry.

The smile doesn’t leave his face, but Freddy’s ears tilt forwards. “About?”

You think about what Sun said the day before, how loving fans and children see them. The positivity of Freddy radiates safety, and honestly, maybe it was the way he was programmed, but you feel like the comfort in his voice and the softness in a metal face was something he had to learn over time.

Yeah, no. You’re not going to interrogate Freddy Fazbear about the company’s bloody laundry when the poor bear looked like he was on the verge of a metaphorical stroke just from a simple break-in.

“Don’t worry about it.” You step back from the charging station and the bear, heel turned towards the exit. “I should get going. Let me know if anything pops up about the break in or if I can do anything to help, okay? Good luck with your evening farewells.”

“Oh! Alright, then. Have a good shift!” Freddy pipes up, a large hand coming up to wave you off as you gesture back the same over your shoulder.

You disappear around the corner, find the path back up the stairs and through the employee-only doors that lead you back out to the main floor and the neon lights and viscously beat yourself up in the head for not having the guts to ask about Fazbear Entertainment’s past when potentially all of the answers could have been given to you right then and there.

A heavy sigh settles in your chest and comes out through your nose. It’s whatever. You’ll have to work with what you have and talk to the Daycare Attendant some more. Maybe there was an old code or something, a security protocol that was causing the glitch that was never fully wrung out. Freddy did say something about memories and such being locked away, but maybe not entirely erased. You’re not an engineer, but the animatronics are self-sufficient enough. If you can pinpoint the problem, they can fix it. Probably.

Customers are already starting to do their pack up as you make your rounds. The cleaning cart doesn’t get pulled out of the closet today because all the supply you have is already at their location; the staff bots have already done most of the work. The one manning one of the many gift shops nods to you when you restock the isle of plushies and keychains by the doorway, and one impatient father taps his foot at you rather obnoxiously while he and his kids wait for you to refill the film in the photo booth machine.

(You need to ask Moon whatever did he do with those pictures that were taken of the two of you, long ago. It’d be nice to have a copy for a scrapbook or something.)

But aside from a few mishaps, the rest of your chores go by rather uneventfully.

It’s a speedy process because your mind is elsewhere, not that it isn’t usually like that, and at the end of your list and by the alarm you’ve set on your phone, you find yourself walking towards the Daycare.

It should be closed by now, but judging by the figures standing in the doorway as you approach, a parent was late to pick up their child again. You faintly hear the father apologize as you approach, arms cradling a sleeping child who was way past up their bedtime. Sun is standing in the doorway, height towering over the man but all gentle and smiles as he reassures the customer that all was well and that there was no trouble at all.

He’s also covered head to toe in what looks like those silly colorful handkerchiefs clowns like to pull out of their ears and sleeves. You have to stifle a giggle as you walk past the pair. Sun does not turn to face you nor acknowledge you, but you don’t miss the slight twitch of his rays swiveling to an angle as he continues to assure the parent that the child was no trouble, and that she was well behaved at the daycare today.

The amusement is short lived. The rest of the daycare seemed to be littered with the same amount of colorful sheets, albeit some with frayed ends and obviously torn apart. It looked like a rainbow fabric massacre happened in here.

You’re gathering up a few clumps of strewn about fabric into a ball when you hear the Daycare Doors shut. Without missing a beat, you take the balled-up fabric and toss it over your head like a basketball. A faint ‘oh!’ is sounded out from behind you, and you turn your head.

Sun stands with his arms folded behind his back, tutting pitifully at the ball of fabric that landed a few feet off the mark and away from him. He tsks while you frown at your miss. “Might need to work on your aim!”

“You dodged it to make me look bad.” You jest, watching as he bends down to pick it up. The fabric unravels in his hands, but fits easily enough into the trash bag near the security desk. Judging by the size, it was put their prior because of the mess. “What’s with all this?’ You gesture mindlessly out to the daycare, and then to him with mirth in your voice. ”And your new...accessories.“

“Party tricks! Clownery! Magic! I can make rainbows come out of thin air!” Sun plucks one string of handkerchiefs from the top of his head, pulling it down further and further until the end gets caught on one of his sun days. He prods at it while he continues. “Ah, and did you ever use those big multicolor sheets in elementary school? The one your gym teacher would lay out for you and everyone would pick it up and whoosh under it, making a big bubble?”

You nod. “Yeah?”

“We did that-!” At the end of his sentence, the fabric rips. Sun’s face falls flat as he pulls more stringing threads and thin sheets from the top of his head in pieces. “…But I may or may have not caused a bit of a…tear, underneath in the bubble, I’m afraid. No good. Such a waste.”

Ah, so his sunrays got caught in the fabric and ripped a big hole in it, probably ruining the colorful illusion to all the kids and causing an upset among toddlers. Wonder how he handled those temper tantrums. You approach, motioning for him to lean down (he does so, almost instinctively) and you pluck the piece of fabric that was troubled around his ray, removing the one from his shoulder and neck along with it. “And how’d you bounce back from that?”

“We turned it into a bit of, eh, art project.” Sun laughs, eyes flitting to the mess of the daycare. “It tired them out good enough! And everyone worked together, even if it was a bit…destructive.”

“I’d think it was more than a little bit.” You smile, then pause. There, on the Daycare Attendant’s shoulder was something poking out just from the edge of where the joints connect. You blink at the sight of a disconnected wire nearly peeking out from the silicone. “Uh, Sun? Your shoulder-”

“Whoopsie!” Suddenly, the animatronic is leaning away from you, and said arm is being rotated and swung and stretched like a baseball pitcher getting ready to swing. “Don’t mind that! Just need some oil and elbow grease, is all.”

He’s jesting as he talks, but you hear the slight creak of metal and something grinding, just barely audible underneath all the movement, but it reaches your ears regardless. You frown, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “I thought you’d have that checked out at Parts n Service by now.”

“No need! See?” With a forceful click, the shoulder joints are locked back into place. You can still see the disconnected wire peaking out from the line where the torso and arm meet, up until Sun prods a finger and pokes it back down into the crack where it can’t be seen. “See there? Not a biggie.”

You deadpan. “Does it hurt? It looks like it would hurt-”

“Oooooooh-” He cuts you off. Sun pulls the rest of the fabric off of himself, doing a wide swipe and wrapping it around your neck like a scarf to pull you closer, and grins. “How’s my favorite doll doing this evening? Anything exciting happen? Get all your chores done?”

Welp, yeah. He’s totally avoiding the question. You’d keep pushing if you didn’t already know that he would just dance around the idea of actual repair like a master, but you still glance at the damaged shoulder with a sour look. “I have inventory left over to do, but Management said I could clock out early and save it for tomorrow if I got overloaded tonight.” You pluck the pieces of fabric off from around your neck, balling it up and tossing it to the garbage. Sun’s hands fall from where they laid, but slide to your hip instead. “…They asked me to take on more shifts, I think. You know they were asking me if I could start coming in on days that I’m usually off?”

Sun hums, and the fingers to your side shift, and instinctively you shift back. Sun’s hand slips from your jacket pocket, a small notebook in between his fingers. “My, they just keep asking more and more of you, aren’t they? I wonder what they have planned.”

You glare deadpan as the animatronic flips through the pages nonchalantly. “So much for ‘keeping your hands to yourself’ in the Daycare.”

“Anything that walks through those doors is subject to confiscation at the Daycare Attendant and staff’s discretion!” Sun spouts off the default policy. He chuckles when you roll your eyes, snapping the book closed. “Still writing theories, I see. Your handwriting has gotten much better. Bravo!”

“Haha, gee, thanks.” You swipe for the notebook back, and he lets you. Pocketing it again, you send the Daycare Attendant a wrinkled nose as you turn back to continue cleaning. He takes to the left side of the Daycare, and you take to the right. “I’ll have you know I actually made some progress. I had a chance to talk to Freddy about Fazbear’s history earlier, actually. You know, like you talked about.”

Sun is currently peeling some fabric off of a mountain of plushies and rearranging them from when they fall down. “And? Find the answers you wanted.”

You sink a little into your jacket, and busy your hands with picking up scraps. “I chickened out.”

“Oh!” Sun exclaims, then pauses. “Oh.”

“He’s stressed out about the break in!” You rush to explain yourself, only because when you turn, Sun is giving you a look that crosses over between pity, confusion, and almost relief. “I can tell. They all are, but they won’t tell me exactly why.” Now that you mention it, the sunny animatronic himself starts to look more uncomfortable. You squint at him. “Also, why didn’t Moon leave me last night when the break-in was happening?”

Nervous laughter from the animatronic. Sun picks up a large bundle of scrapped fabric, neatly folding it as nicely as he can into squares for no reason before dumping it into the garbage bag. “Would you believe us if we told you we just didn’t feel like it?”

“…Yes, but I wouldn’t be satisfied by your answer.”

He hums, turning on his heel back to clean up what else there was left over on the mat. “You never are, aren’t you?”

“Sunny.”

“We-!” And he’s dramatic, making a show of picking up the large Roxy plushie like it was the heaviest thing in the world despite the fact you’ve certainly seen him lift several times his own weight, and plopping it down in the proper corner. “-had to choose a priority.”

You blink. “Like…conflicting orders?”

“Sure! Something like that!” The rest of the fabric is properly cleaned up, and you mimic him as he picks up wrappers and a stray sock, mumbling something about how children really needed another lesson on how to clean up after themselves. “We had to choose a priority between staying with you, or going to the site of the break in. We chose the correct option.”

You side eye him as you pick up a stray wet wipe, tossing it in the bag. “Right.”

Your tone must not have been convincing, because Sun’s head does a complete 180 swivel from the block tower he was trying to fix to stare at you. “What? You act as if humans don’t also make decisions all the time too.”

“I don’t think choosing me over your literal job as the security bot was the right decision.” You voice before you can word it better, and back peddle when you see white eyes start to narrow at you. “I mean! I’m not complaining, but I’d think that you’d, you know, feel like it’s more important to go after a stranger in the pizzaplex instead of an employee.”

“For your information, little critic-” Sun starts out, deadpan, and walks backward with his head still turned. “We aren’t the only security patrol that night. The other animatronics are just to blame, thank you very much. Besides, there wasn’t a stranger in the first place.” His body swivels to face correctly, reaching down and dumping what appears to be leftover scrap paper into the trash.

Hands on his hips, Sun turns to huff at you. “Try doing our job for a change.”

You’d snap back with some witty commentary if you weren’t currently baffled by his statement. “…What do you mean there wasn’t a stranger? Someone tried to break in.”

“That’s not what we detected,” Sun states, the false haughtiness in his voice lingered until it drops, and his demeanor falters. “We didn’t detect anyone coming in. None of the other animatronics did.”

The daycare is pretty clean now. You close the trash bag strings, and mull over the words. “So…what did you detect, then?”

Sun thinks for a minute. A long minute, actually. You lean up against the security desk as the silence prevails, only drawing your brows together as white eyes seemingly stare into nothingness, or you, for a period of time that has you waving your hand in the space between you.

“Sun?” You ask, and no response. The animatronic’s hand twitches at his side, and you watch it closely as you approach, half-tempted to snap into their vision. “Moon-?”

Suddenly, as if there was no break, Sun speaks as normally as he was a moment prior. “The default security system, the mainframe, if you will, of the building lets us know if a door opens without the proper authorization, like a security card or employee badge!” The Daycare Attendant speaks in a default chipper tone. His smile looks default, too. “But we didn’t detect any life.”

The hand you had raised to their faceplate drops without acknowledgment. Confusion settles in the back of your mind. “Like, a heat signature? Or you funky robot vision? What do you mean by ‘life?’”

“Human life, specifically!” He perks up, raising one finger to make a point before bringing it to his chin, tapping the bottom like a consulting detective. “Funny, really! It’s as if the locked door opened up all on its own. Maybe it was a ghost. Or a rat!”

You frown. “There were signs of scrapping at the door. I saw it myself. It looked like they were trying to break in by using a crowbar or something.”

“...It must have been a really strong rat!”

You blow air forcefully out of your nose, turning back to lean against the security desk. The animatronic follows, bouncy in his step. There’s no acknowledgment of his apparent stillness moments before, and it feels weird to bring it up if he’s okay for the time being. Maybe just thinking, or having a conversation you can’t hear. “Why don’t you come upstairs with me and check it out? We can scope out some clues. Play detective, if you want.”

“Now, what did I say about playing detective?”

“…Don’t do it without supervision?”

“Nice try.” Sun makes a noise akin to a sigh, shaking his head. “Your feeble attempt of luring me out of the Daycare again is thinly veiled, I’m afraid.”

You’re pouting, sparing a quick glance to your phone just to check the time. Plenty of time before the lights go out. The two of you cleaned up rather quickly today. “All I’m saying is that you’re missing out on a lot of stuff by not sticking out of the daycare while the lights are on. C’mon. No one’s going to know but us.”

A silicone finger invades your space, pushing up your nose until it hurts and pulls away again. Your hands come up to curse, shielding your face as Sun reels back the rather forceful ‘boop’. “You’re still being pushy with that one. I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but there’s nothing you can do to make me break the rules here. I’m not a rulebreaker, unlike someone.”

Okay, ignoring the rather passive aggressive nickname, you glare up at him through low lids and rub at the soreness in your nose. “Nothing?”

“Nope! No-sir-ree!” He stands to attention in a soldier stance, giving a fake salute. “I’m a bonified goody two-shoes!”

You huff. “You won’t even humor me?”

“Oh, we humor you plenty.”

“You tease me.” You refute, matching his tone. “But you don’t actually go along with any of my ideas unless I keep trying.”

“Have you considered maybe, and just maybe-and don’t take this the wrong way, just an observation! Just a tinsy bit-!” He rambles, pitch climbing higher and bringing his fingers up to pinch them together. “That maybe your plans are...not good?”

Oh, great. This argument again.

Ouch. You feel the corners of your mouth turn downwards, arms crossing. “I don’t see you coming up with anything better.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, friend! You see, our idea is that we simply-” Sun makes an invisible rainbow over his head. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Ouch. Again. What the hell was that for? “You know, for someone who has stupid ideas, my plans seem to be working so far.” You feel a touch of sourness in your tone that comes out of your throat without will. “Or is someone just a little salty that their idea of no solutions turned out to be wrong?”

Sun hums, and it’s low and mirthless. “Ah, yes. Solutions with a risk of dismemberment and decommission.”

“Dude.” You cut him off, shoulders going tense. White eyes flick elsewhere, a burning sensation of a gaze running up your body before returning to your face. Your tension wasn’t one of fear, more out of frustration, but the animatronic didn’t know that. “That’s fucked up-”

“Language.”

“-Wish you weren’t so casually hopeless about it. I mean, c’mon.” You make a general gesture in between the two of you. “Look at where we started and look at us now.”

Sun mimics it, posed like a thoughtful philosopher. “Of course! Why wouldn’t you be proud about your progress on your fixer-upper project.”

Okay.

That was uncalled for.

A deep offense settles in your chest. Maybe he feels it too because the smug look on his face is suddenly faltered with something unreadable like there was a break in his stream of frustration. Strange.

But the damage was already said. Heat flushes in your face and not in the good way. “That’s not funny and you know that. I want to help because you’re my friends-”

“And?” There’s a laugh at the end of his word that doesn’t hold any joy in it. The animatronic’s form is ridged, towering, and the way he leans closer to you to make his point doesn’t ease the thickness in the air. “You are my friend too. Our Friend.” Sun utters. “So how come everything needs to be about us, hmm? Do you know how little we know about you?”

What a farce. You scoff at him, rolling your eyes to the ceiling. “Please. You said you know plenty about me.”

“From your employee records.” Sun states, deadpan.

“You see me almost every day-”

“We don’t experience you.” He cuts you off. There’s an underlying static in his voice, only briefly. “We know what your file says, we know what you tell us when you’re here, your birthday, and whatever you decide to grace us with your presence, while you get to see us at every angle you poke your nose into.”

His tone is loud and venomous in a way you’ve not felt before. Whatever anger he’s bubbling, it’s starting to mirror in you. “Are you kidding me? It took me months, all the way up to a year just to know that you were a freaking actor in the Superstar Theater and you want to act like I’ve been reading you like an open book-?”

“We see nothing of you outside these walls.” Sun hisses, sun rays are shrunken, twitching. “Everything that we are resides in here, practically on display while we see none of you. Not when you wake up, not when you go to bed, not when you’re not here-”

“What the hell does that have to do with the glitch?!” Your voice is starting to raise, cracking at the end. The security desk is pressed up against your back as the shadow of the Sun looms over you. “What the fuck does that have to do with getting down to the bottom of something that has almost gotten me killed? I’m allowed to look into something that’s affected me too!”

“You can walk away from this!” Sun hisses. Fingers fidget in a blur at his side, but you’re too locked in a glaring contest with blank white to focus. “You don’t get to be nosy in our lives and we don’t to yours. Not when you can walk away. You’re being unfair-”

“Unfair? I’m the one being unfair?” There’s a crack in your voice. “You think all my snooping and ideas are purely just to be unfair to you? You’re not the only one with the glitch!”

A cold, hard pause broken only by the pant of breath you have to take after the sentence leaves your mouth. It’s too late to realize you shouldn’t have said that, whether he knew it or not. The blankness in the Daycare Attendant’s expression is too close for comfort. The stillness that overtakes his body remains.

Until hands come down on either side of you, palms down on the security desk, sharpened fingers splintering into the wood.

“Do you think that makes it better? That you’ve made your case?” Sun whispers. “You understand how that is worse for you, right?”

You have a valid argument against him; you’re your own person. You get to decide whether or not you take risks with your friends, the Daycare Attendant or otherwise, and you’re not going to let anyone else talk down to you for doing what you feel is right.

Except you don’t say that out loud, because you’re too distracted by the sight of his eyes flickering from white to red, to black. It remains there, one eye white and the other a void, both with pinprick pupils that feel like scalpels to your face.

“Listen, friend.” Sun says. His tone sounds oddly even. Restrained anger, maybe. Judging by the coolness in his tone, he too, can feel when the argument is going too far. “You were not asked for help. And while your help has been…helping, you are not… obligated… to help your friends with things that can kill you-”

You’re snapped out of your daze. Sun might be trying to calm down, but you’re tired of being cornered. “You’re such a broken record about that. I get it.”

“No.” The Daycare Attendant does not sound sunny, and the voice mimics the night. “No, that’s not-”

You throw your hands up in the air beside your head, a false surrender between the two of you. “Look. Worst case scenario? If I’m fired or dead, they’ll hire someone else. Or not. You’ll have the daycare to yourself again. And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m replaceable here.” A flick of your wrist, you gesture to the empty daycare. The animatronic’s widening eyes don’t move from yours. “What other humans work here? I’m not exactly needed, and you can do what you’re doing with me with Freddy, or Chica, or anyone. You don’t exactly need me to continue working on the glitch-”

“That-” He does not have a kind voice. “That is enough.”

You want to laugh, not the good kind. The kind that’s partly a cry and party a yell because the frustration builds up thickly in your throat. A chuckle does come out, and it’s mirthless, matching the racing pulse that’s crawling in your chest. “It’s kinda funny that you’re more worried about me dying than I actually am.”

Movement from your side. Sun’s hands raise towards your head. “It’s not funny.”

Not even the jester can take a joke. You groan. “God, who cares-”

Hands clasp around the sides of your head. There is a brief, and only brief moment where human fear surges through every vein in your body, but it’s frozen by the expression you’re forced to look at. Silicone fingers cradle your head, palms to your cheeks, not crushing you, not squishing you, gentle like the holder was afraid of anything else.

“I care!” Sun hisses. “We care! The rules exist for a reason. For our sake. Your sake, the children’s sake! We already had so much taken from us. Do you really think we’d be able to remain if the glitch took you too?!”

Your hands hover over his, covering your ears. The grip lessens, but the sourness from the last half hour has not dissipated. “Took me?” You try to scoff, but it sounds more like genuine fear than something you were trying to brush off. “You’re a robot. You can just erase me from your memory or something.”

The silence in the daycare is permeating. The fingers locked around your head are warm to the touch of your own, and the security desk is pressing uncomfortably against your back.

The Daycare Attendant is staring at you, unmoving, with eyes void of any light.

“What?” You snuff after some silence. The opposite crescent side of his face has darkened to the night’s colors, and you narrow your eyes at a change that seemingly happens before your eyes.

He doesn’t answer your call, and this time, your voice sounds nervous. “What?”

A surge of emotions make a vile feeling in you. You pull at his fingers, and it takes considerable pull before they fall away from your face. “Whatever. I don’t have time for thi-”

“Get out.”

You freeze. The hands that cradled you fall to your sides. Not away from you, not on you, but rest limply on the desk. The words process and with it comes another surge of negative feelings. At this distance, Sun’s rays cast a shadow on you that takes you over completely, and the shade feels colder. “I-”

“Get out.”

The chill runs down your spine, but fine. “Gladly.”

Steeling yourself, you turn your gaze towards the door and shove yourself out from underneath his arm. He lets you. A glance back towards him on your walk points his faceplate away from you, but with a grip so tightly pressed into his palm you’d think the knuckles would be pale if he were human.

You don’t tell say goodbye or goodnight. A wobbling sneer stays on your face for as long as you can keep it up as you cross the threshold of the daycare, and out further into the pizzaplex.

You were mistaken. You’ll never truly understand them, or any of the animatronics. You’re an outsider, sticking your nose into places it shouldn’t have been. You’re not actually their friend, more like the friendly company to keep up with until you’re eventually emailed your termination letter because you need a living wage to live and a staff bot can fix a broken cart wheel better than you can.

You’re just a liability at this point.

The lights turn off oh-so-right on cue as you’re halfway across the pizzaplex, not quite to the clock-out station. You have maybe two minutes, tops, to slide your card through the reader and get out for the night. Not for any other reason than you just didn’t want to see the crescent faceplate right now. Day or night. What was said to you was not adhering to simply one.

It is, of course, just your luck to run into Chica and Monty as you round the corner. You’re spotted before you can come up with a valid excuse to hurry by, and neither of them are known for taking a hint.

Except this time, it must be written across your face. Whatever chipper greeting Chica had at the ready is wiped straight off her beak as she approaches, slowing as you search for any possible escape route. “Hey, everything okay?”

“Sorry, just clocking out.” You talk a little too quickly for your own good. “Have some stuff to do at home.”

“Get into a fight with the jesters?” She asks. It’s right on the money, and while you’re inwardly cringing at how obvious it must be to everyone if her first guess was the correct one, both animatronics visibly react to the cringe you tried hard (and failed) to suppress. “Oh, dear-”

“It’s fine, actually.” It’s a blatant lie. Without looking him in the eye, you see Monty’s sunglasses shift as the gator’s brows furrow.

“I’m sorry. Our rooms are open if you need to talk!” Chica, ever beloved chicken, is costing you time. “Maybe I can go talk to them, knock some sense into their brains.”

Monty growls and opens his maw to say something harsh but the chicken beats him to it. “Hush! It worked on you. I’ll have you know I’m a very good pep talker-”

“Excuse me. I don’t feel very good.” You’re trying really, really hard not to look up at the ceiling, as if your gaze alone will summon the Naptime Attendant. Brushing past the both of them, you avoid the green and purple hand that tries to lay itself on your shoulder, and the calling of your name that echoes behind you.“

It feels like a stretch to the exit. The motions to clock out are robotic, routine as much as they are, and you’re so caught up in your own thoughts you almost don’t hear the soft sound in the darkness above you. Almost.

It’s worse when you know damn well that the bells don’t ring unless Moon wants them to. He’s not there when you turn, but you know he’s hovering. Somewhere, suspended by his wire. He’s always been there, since night one. And he toyed with you then, too.

They keep saying they trust you and then they don’t-

Your voice cracks when you scream curses at the ceiling.

“If you followed me because you changed your mind and you’re not finished, I don’t want to hear it! And if you didn’t, then I don’t need an escort! Or a guard! Or a fucking warden!” You search in your pocket, hand closing around the notebook; new and broken in only by half of its pages, and raise it up to the trash can in the corner. “And I’m so tired of fighting you over the same, damn thing. Do you hear me? Moon?!”

You throw the notebook into the trash. “You win!”

If there’s a response from the darkness, you don’t stick around to hear it. The shutters of the door close behind you, and any energy you have to drive home is fueled by the heartache that’s stewing in your ribs.

.

.

.

You don’t go to sleep, and you regret everything.

You said a lot of really mean things.

Really mean things.

You didn’t mean them. You hope the Daycare Attendant didn’t mean them either.

Either way, you are so fucked.

Any attempt for sleep that night is plagued with visions of a heartbroken faceplate and the actual pain of heartache itself. You wonder if robots can even feel heartache, and if the feeling was mutual, or maybe they were lucky and had some way to shut it off with a flick of a button. You have no such luxury, and staring at your phone doesn’t help to distract from the scene rerunning through your head again, and again, and again.

When you finally do pass out from sheer exhaustion, it’s late in the evening since you’ve slept the day away, and you body feels like it’s internalized every negative emotion from the past week into your bones like the universe had a personal mission to make it so.

All your notes you’ve put to paper, all your research, was probably sitting at the bottom of the bin covered in Fizzy Faz and pizza grease and honestly that felt like the part that stung the least.

You call in sick for the next 2 days.

You’re not actually sick, at least not physically, but you don’t often take personal days since your employment began, so it was approved even if Management was rather curt in the email responding about it.

Very briefly, and with emphasis on the brief, you wonder if it would be better for everyone if you just quit.

It’s rather fleeting, and more reactionary than something you’d want to do. Maybe there’s a satisfaction in knowing you got the metaphorical last word, or you’ll never have to face the awkwardness of repairing whatever was broken by not stepping into the pizzaplex again. Maybe you’ll find another way to fill that emptiness you feel when you take a picture of something on your phone to bring show them, just to remember that, oh yeah, you don’t go there anymore.

You’d miss the others too. Chica and Monty and Freddy and Roxy. They wouldn’t even have an idea of why you never came back if you left. Well. Maybe they would. If you remember correctly, they sure did like to talk about you.

The idea never comes into play because when you wake up on the first morning of your day off, you check your emails out of habit. Management sent you one asking to confirm your new availability dates and hours, and you hit accept and send, and stare at the ‘message sent’ with a blank look before realizing what you’ve done.

That day is spent in bed. You’re not home often much anymore, between work and college classes, so it’s a chance to clean. All the cleaning you do in the daycare to help the Attendant out has become second nature. You find yourself deep cleaning places that don’t really need it, like the sink or the tub just to keep yourself busy. It’s all finished by evening time; your apartment is spotless, and you’re not even tired.

Well, you are tired. But not in the way that allows you to get some good sleep that night.

The second day feels like a daze. Boring, uneventful. You bite your tongue at rehearsed apologies in the bathroom mirror and forgo eating breakfast to watch TV. You don’t really remember much of the day save for when you’re taking out the trash around the evening time, and your neighbor is opening the door down the hall at the same time as you do.

The apartment maintenance man, the old guy you call Gramps, has a bad back and weak knees. You offer to take the trash down for him, grabbing the bag from his hands before he can protest because he knows you do this every trash day that you can, anyway. But for once, he calls you back.

“You’re usually at work about this time.”

You turn back to him, and smile. “I took some off days. Don’t worry, I can still pay rent.”

“M’not worried about the rent.” He scratches at his mustache, adjusting cracked glasses. He said he’d get those fixed months ago. You’ll have to see if you can get him a new pair for the holidays. The elder drags a finger under the space of his own eyes. “Got some dark circles there, buddy.”

You keep up your smile. “Just a little sick.”

“Need some vitamin C in ya, and proteins.” His cat comes around the corner at his doorway, curling around his feet and looks to you with big green eyes. Gramps huffs once more. “I’m making casserole. Come get a plate when you get back here.”

“Okay, Gramps.” You like his casserole, and the fact that he’s slightly nosy, just like you.

You tell him about the fight, and nothing more. The words spoken, to be specific, though you carefully cut out anything that would reveal anything about a glitch. As far as the old man was concerned, you had a spat with coworkers that doubled as your friends, at least in the way you tried to phrase it.

Gramps sits and drinks his orange juice with his meds while you stuff your mouth full of casserole bite after bite because it feels like if you don’t busy yourself with eating, you might cry. If he noticed, he doesn’t mention it. “You have terrible dating experience.”

“We’re not dating.”

“Okay.” He takes a long swing of his orange juice. The glass makes a clunk noise when he brings it back down to the table. “It doesn’t sound like they’re sick of you. Just sounds like they want you to give more of yourself as much as you’re asking of them.”

You make a snort noise. “They hate me, Gramps.”

“Did you ask them that?”

“They hate me.” You repeat, stabbing a piece of food hard enough like attacking the morsel would somehow fix all your problems. “They’ve probably hated me for a long time and just tolerated me because I worked there and kept bothering them-”

A flying piece of casserole hits you smack in the center of your forehead. It slides down your face, plops pathetically onto the table, and you glare at the assailant.

Gramps puts down the fork and points at the cat, who timidly looks up from her grooming. “Screwdriver thinks you’re being stupid. Communicate like adults.”

He delivers wisdom in a fashion that really sticks to your head. Sometimes literally. Maybe that’s why you keep coming over on the holidays instead of going home. He’s nosy in a way that doesn’t ask questions, but he listens.

He does, however, ask why you’re still wearing your nametag when you sit at his dinner table ( a bit out of place on your simple T-shirt) and you’re not lying when you say that you put it on out of habit and didn’t realize it until now. He doesn’t ask about it again when you don’t take it off.

On the third day, you clock into work for your mid-afternoon to closing shift, and tell yourself that you’re not going to the Daycare that day. You don’t even go to the gas station to get your daily coffee.

You’ll just inventory, something you’ve promised Management you’d do long past the due date, and then clock out early once you’re done under the guise of still feeling unwell. Not that stacking a couple of boxes of endo skeleton parts was going to make you feel any better, but the break in routine was starting to grate on your nerves.

Both a comfortable and anxious feel wash over you once you step through the front doors. To any outsider, you’re blank faced. On the inside, your stomach feels as grimy as the carpet looks.

Clocking in feels like a haze; you don’t wave to the staff bots that greet you at the door or at the ticket booth counter; They always stare dead ahead anyway. They probably never really noticed when you wave back. It does, however, make you feel bad about a certain staff bot manning a gas station somewhere that haven’t seen in a few days after the first it initially was commenting on your tired appearance. That can’t seem good.

Clock in, no cleaning cart to pull from the closet, you won’t need it today. Walk to the maintenance hallway, go up the stairs in the main room, avoiding customers. Avoid staff bots and any wet floor bots that try to say hi and appear as focused and busy as possible so no customer stops for you a question. Pass by the fountain, by the photo lounge-

“What’s wrong with you?”

It takes a moment for Monty’s voice to process before your feet stop moving, head turning towards the voice robotically. “What?”

“You’ve been out ‘sick’.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He’s sitting on the fountain. A sign is nearby encouraging families to do photoshoots with the animatronic. No one has approached him, so he sits with his bass in hand, strumming the lines. There’s sarcasm in his tone when he talks. “What’s wrong with you? Flu?”

Oh. Different meaning than what you thought it meant. “Something like that. I’m better now.”

His muzzle hikes up like he doesn't believe you. Of course he doesn’t. He saw you storm out. “You look like shit. bags under your eyes.”

“Thanks, Monty.”

“M’jus saying.” He shrugs. Claws mindlessly pick at some strings. “Get some sleep. You look tired as hell.”

You fake a smile, and bring your hand up to salute him. “Will do. but I have chores first. See ya.”

You’re gone before he can comment again, knowing well enough he cannot follow you without leaving his post. A simple sign is powerful enough to keep the Gator in his assigned position until schedule is deemed otherwise.

It’s just your luck that there are two staff bots already in the room you’ve left the endo parts in what you feel like ages ago, both holding boxes and turning towards you once you arrive. You glance down to the parts; arms and legs, now with boxed with lids and properly labeled, already partially sorted and stacked up to a certain point.

Oh, good. They’ve already gotten to work with replacing you with the staff bots. Good to know stuff will be taken care of just fine when you’re gone.

Still, you feel bad for leaving all the work behind, and it’s not the staff bot’s fault that you’re going through it. You coax up the same smile from before and upturned eyes as they turn towards you, pick a box at random and follow wherever they seemed to be sorting them. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt. Just clocked in to finish some of the stuff off the weekly list.” The box goes on the bottom shelf, fitting neatly and perfectly into place next to one labeled as fingers. “I just have this and then some other chores to do for today, then I’ll be out of your hair. Or, hat.”

You’ve never really needed to explain to the staff bots what you were doing before, and you're going to chalk up the off, blank looks they were giving you to that. Whatever might as well try to be useful since you came all this way. They watch in a pause as you gather another box, this one labeled as something internal that you cannot pronounce, and find the proper spot for it on the shelf.

One of the legs of the shelf creaks slightly as you let the weight settle, causing you to look down toward the bottom. There’s a screw that’s missing out from one of the supports, but it shouldn’t be important enough to cause a problem.

You are lightly bumped when the staff bots finally break out from whatever stupor they seemed to be in, and between the three of you, the work is finished rather quickly. A little too quickly. Your excuse for being at the pizzaplex wasn’t going to last very long if your list of remaining tasks were handled more efficiently than human robots. Monty was right; you’re not sure why Management keeps you around in the first place.

It’s when you’re putting the second to last box in place do you see movement out of the corner of your eye. Your head swivels, and your gaze falls upon one of the two companies you shared the room with. The staff bot has no discernable facial expression (they never do) but his hands were raised up in the air, fingers splayed and surrounding its head. The second one was also doing some sort of motions, hands clasped together to mimic the sign for ‘sleep’.

Their movements are quick and jerky, but it doesn’t take an expert to realize they were signing, or at least doing charades, of Sun and Moon.

You cringe a bit. “Y-yeah. Haven’t seen em today. Probably won’t. Got stuff to do at home. You know?” You busy yourself with keeping your hands moving, finding the last box and deciding that was a perfect excuse to keep your eyes locked away from the questions. “No biggie, just not going to the daycare today. I’ll be clocked out before it’s lights out, anyway.”

Given that it was only two hours before closing, it gives you plenty of time to get what you needed finished and still bail before the Daycare Attendant could find you. He already knew you were in the building the moment you swiped your security card to clock in if your conversation from yesterday did anything to confirm it.

A cold, solid touch makes you jump slightly as it lands on your back, just above your shoulder blade. Throwing your gaze over your shoulder, you process the feeling of it going pat-pat before recognizing the staffbot’s hand. It pats you like a child would comfort a teddy. The realization dawns that this was about as comforting of a motion you were going to receive from these types of bots, but it makes you smile. For a type that doesn’t express or talk much, they were the least judgmental of them all. Probably because their constant presence around the pizzaplex means they probably know everything already.

“Sorry for being such a downer.” You offer, settling the last box in place and stepping back from the shelf. The staffbot’s hand retreats, and you offer a semblance of comfort in return. “It’ll be fine. I just need to get something finished and I-”

Crack.

The sound of metal scuffing against wood, something metallic popping and clinking out to the floor. You hear the tilt and the sound of all the boxes sliding against the bottom of the shelves before you process seeing it, but it’s too late.

The bottom support for the shelf gave way, and instead of crumpling downwards, the furniture tilts, taking all the boxes and the actual shelf with it. You’re quick enough to step back in time that it doesn’t fall and crush you fully, but not enough that it doesn’t catch you by the hips, the legs, and the weight of the tall shelf sends you crumpling down to the floor with a half-breathed curse and a sharp pain in your lower half. “Fuck-!”

There’s a sharp wack of your head meeting the floor. It doesn’t knock you out, and right away you can tell that you tried to break your own fall and succeeded enough that the force isn’t going to cause hard damage, but a throbbing headache starts immediately as you shoot up from laying position, sitting on the ground with your head cradled in your hands and a growing sting coming up from one of your legs.

Blinking, you scan the damage. The staff bots are okay, though one of them rolls back away after a box of endo hands scattered across the floor and decorated the bottom of its rollers. There’s a mess now, what was previously organized is not mixed between boxes that did break apart and those that were lucky enough to stay taped together, but are now pressing against the soft part of your legs. The other one, not so trapped, popped out with only a risk of trying to keep your shoe when you pull it, but any budge to the other tells you that the weight was not something you could slide out from underneath.

Fucking hell. Just your luck.

“Great.” You sigh, and it’s heavy. “Just…great.”

Your attempt to turn to the staff bots to apologize for ruining all their hard work is quickly shot down by the panic that seems to be radiating off of them; one was hovering over you, head darting to and fro and looking for any seemly damage that was visible and the other was hooking its fingers under a foothold on the shelf, trying to pull up furniture.

You cringe when metal creaks, and it’s not coming from the shelf. “Wait! Wait, hold on. Let’s…do it together, okay?” The pain hasn’t hit you yet, so you lean forwards and hook your fingers underneath the shelf. “On three, okay? One, two, three-”

The three of you pull. The shelf barely budges. A box kept underneath by the shelf’s backing shifts on your leg and you can’t help the wince that comes forwards when it touches something that is now undeniably tender. “Okay! That didn’t work. Lets…” You fumble, taking a deep breath. “One more shot. On three, ready? One, two-”

Another lift, this time straining the muscles in your arms. You’re no stranger to heavy lifting some things, but being grounded without the use of your legs and the fact that there were items attached to the thing was not helping. The attempt continues, and you’re just about to call it there when you hear yet another crack of metal, and the pop of something coming out of place.

You drop your focus to turn to the staff bots; one staring at the arm dethatched from its torso, still hooked to the shelf, and the other now switching its panic from the shelf to its comrade. The staff bots shoulder clicks as it looks at its stump, two wires poking out of the socket of its arm, and the sight reminds you of the Daycare Attendant.

The staff bots were clearly panicking, and you were starting to follow. So! You clap your hands together, muster up an awkward smile and talk big. “It’s okay! I’m fine. I’m not going to die. I need...I need you guys to go get some help, alright?” The staff bot with the missing arm fakes a motion of pulling up its sleeves, one literal and one non-existent, and attempts to lift the shelf again. “No! No no, really, you should go get help. Find Monty! Or Freddy? Roxy might be free.” You have no idea, actually. At this time of day, they might actually all be booked.

The other staff bot manages to pry off the other’s arm as you talk, and both stand to attention like soldiers taking orders. They’re still a bit nervous, just by the way they’re moving a little quicker, but they give you a salute and a thumbs up (the secondary waves you off with the other’s arm, and that at least, you find a little funny even if it was a bit morbid.) and disappear behind the door with you sending them off with a thumbs up of your own.

And now you’re alone. Trapped beneath a shelf. Surrounded by scattered robot body parts.

Great job keeping a low profile on your day back to work.

The pain is starting to creep in, more from the cutoff circulation to your leg rather than the pressure. You can still move your toes in your shoes and barely shift your knee, but any attempt to lift the shelf or to slide the limb out from under it comes up futile. It’s not broken, at least. You’d be able to tell that, but you’re going to have some gnarly bruises once you get out of this mess.

Not like there’s anything else you can do for yourself except take deep breaths for pain management and check your phone to keep up with the time and to keep your boredom at bay. You really wish you had one of those radios, the kind big companies give their employees so they could talk to each other long distance; except it was kinda useless when all your ‘employees’ were robots that could connect to a mainframe for communication and you were the only human.

Time passes. The pizzaplex doesn’t close for at least another 35 minutes, and the lights don’t go out for at least another hour. If you’re lucky; the staff bots will find someone not busy, one of the Glamrocks that aren’t booked by entertaining the customers and therefore able to sneak away for the time being. Or maybe they’ll come back with a staff bot army. Or you could just be stuck here until closing and you’ll have no choice but to throw away your pride and dignity by begging Moon to free you once the lights go out.

Or he could just leave you there. There’s that, too.

You weren’t exactly nice on your way out two days ago.

Massaging the leg that you can reach does little for the blood circulation, but hardly anything for pain and the numbness that was starting to creak in. It’s been a few minutes, and you don’t know who the staff bots would go to first or if they were running out of options, or maybe they’d gotten distracted with some other order they needed to attend to first. By this point, you should think of another way out of this, and hope to hell you don’t have a notable limp (or at least one that you can’t mask) when you make your way out of the pizzaplex.

Briefly, you imagine you could use one of those endo parts as a lever to lift the shelf, but the thought of touching those with your bare hands sends an icky feeling down your skin that you can’t quite pinpoint. Right, back to square one then.

You’re practicing steady breathing when you hear the click of the door opening and shutting behind you. It hurts to twist your torso to see who enters, but shadow overtakes the single light bulb in the room, a taller figure than the staff bots then. They don’t say anything when they enter, not even an exclamation at the sight of the mess.

You don’t blame them. You’d probably feel the same way if you walked into a room and saw the floor covered in scattered remains of human limbs, too. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.” You don’t know which Glamrock is behind you, but you apologize for the inconvenience regardless, assuming they’re here because of the staffbot’s directions and that they’re not just accidentally stumbling upon the mess you’ve found yourself in. “I just need to-”

Footsteps circle around to your front, and the animatronic stands ridged before you.

You blink at striped pants, gaze rising upwards to familiar ribbons and buttons and a smile that’s a touch too sharp at the edges just before it thins. White, narrowed eyes look darker under the shadow cast by sunrays, and the light above him does nothing to make him look like what was supposed to be your angelic savior.

“For a moment,” Sun says. The jester is unnaturally still, even for a robot. “I thought you had put the staff bots up to lying about you having an accident to lure me out of the daycare.”

His words sting, but your leg does so more. That does not remove the feeling of anxiety bubbling in your chest, or a lump that finds itself lodged in your throat and threatening to spill out of your tongue.

Your brows furrow. Luckily, your voice sounds even when you respond. “If you thought I was faking, why’d you still come?”

Sun’s smile thins. He crouches, one hand coming to hook under the hold of the shelf, the other hand goes underneath your leg. “Be still.”

“I can wait!” You speak up, palms facing outwards in surrender and inwardly beat yourself up for how pathetic it comes out. “We can wait for Freddy! I’m not-”

Any protest you can think of dies with the sound of the shelf creaking and the sudden airflow to your lower half. Sun lifts the shelf with ease, one handed, and pushes it back hard enough that it knocks off into the opposite wall. Heavy boxes either go with it or fall off to the side in the process, none of which hit you because the hand underneath your knee slides the limb towards him, away from the damage.

There’s a notable crack in the drywall from where the shelf comes to a rest. You...highly doubt the show of strength was necessary. Or maybe it wasn’t a show. The tension in the Daycare Attendant’s shoulders was clearly visible, even when you still spy the same damage and disconnected wires peaking out from the joint, now several wires instead of just one.

You can feel sweat start to bead on your forehead. This was not how you planned on facing the Daycare Attendant after the whole fiasco, not like this. “Let me just-”

“Oh dear.” Sun cuts you off mid-sentence, voice rolling smoothly like a prettily packaged bomb. “Looks like you can’t walk for the time being. That’s okay! I’ll carry you.”

You’d shrink back into the creases of the floorboards if you could. “Actually! I can try to walk-”

A hand, gentle but firm, locks on your shoulder, and fingers dig into the fabric of your jacket, pressing points into your flesh. Sun’s face is a bit too close, too in your bubble for you to feel any semblance of escape.

“No, you can’t.” He states, calmly, and firmly. His smile is locked wide and defaulted. “Walking on that leg right away is a bad idea.”

He’s not wrong. The numbness in your leg has turned into a painful tingle that aches as blood rushes back to your limb, something that you’d probably be wobbly on if you put weight on it right away. But Sun isn’t even entertaining the idea. He’s just not giving you any out or a choice, this time.  The lack of politeness is, frankly, intimidating. “You’re…out of the Daycare-”

“Clearly.”

The hand underneath your knee goes under swoop to gather the rest of you, and a limb goes around to your back. You are lifted with ease, rather curtly, and any form of protest you might have left comes out quickly in a strewn chaos of sentences shot out as you try to put as much distance between yourself and the subject of your woes for the past three days. It doesn’t work, considering you’re clutched to the animatronic’s chest as he backs into the door, and promptly leaves the room. “Wait! What about the endo parts mess?”

His response is curt. “Staffbots will clean it up.”

That doesn’t make you feel any better about it. “Why...aren’t you on Daycare hours? Who’s watching the kids-”

“Staffbots.” The answer is so quick and dead that you’re reminded more of Moon than you are of the sunny figure that currently has you locked into a hold. You almost shift out of his grip, and feel a jump in your ribcage as long fingers deepen into the hold of your body. “Put your arm around my neck so you’re steady.”

Considering you were about as useful as a scuffed cat, you hesitate. “I’m…steady.”

White pupils flick back down to you and burn into your face. “Now, please.”

You do as you're told, and keep your eyes remaining on your lap, willing your focus to stay on the aching in your leg rather than the racing pulse that was drumming against your ribcage at the moment. His grip immediately readjusts with the added support, and you’re carried quite comfortably. The proximity doesn’t bother you; you’ve hugged the Daycare Attendant plenty of times. It’s the thickness in the space between you that remains unspoken that makes it feel like the animatronic’s body is hot to the touch, too much that it burns.

You swallow on your tongue. You should probably shut up, considering it was your big mouth that started this whole fight in the first place, but the silence is itching in your brain. The words escape before you can figure out how to phrase it in a way that doesn’t air out the obvious. “Are you still angry with me?”

Sun has to duck underneath a door frame in order for the rays not to be caught, and you are momentarily squished as he compresses himself, making his way out of the employee’s only hallways. He doesn’t look down to you, nor respond.

Fine. Whatever. “I’m still mad at you, too. Let me down-”

He moves sideways through the final doorway, angled so his back pushes open the exit, and your legs don’t hit the doorframe. “Hush.”

You know Moon’s voice when you hear it, even if the neon lights were illuminating yellow and gold.

The two of you exited from a door that doesn’t bring you too far from the Daycare, and despite it still being the open hours of the Pizzaplex, you don’t see any large groups or families in this space. There’s a group of teenagers looking over at the window of the gift shop, oblivious to the scene behind them, and a couple that seems to be talking casually on one of the side benches, supposedly the parents of a nearby child who was quite busy getting an autograph from two of Glamrock’s finest.

The Glamrock girls themselves, Chica and Roxy, are in full performer mode. You don’t hear from this distance, but you imagine the encouragement and sweet things they say as they see the girl off, watching as she runs back to her parents with two new signatures on the shoulder of her Fazbear trademark T-shirt. Neither of the adults acknowledges you, attention busy with the child, and you’re suddenly hoping that Sun’s pace of walking is fast enough that you don’t catch the gaze of a wolf or a chicken.

Except today is just not your day, and amber eyes drift dully over in your direction.

Roxy does a double-no, a triple take, staring at you for a long moment before her eyes calm from her surprise and she clicks her tongue. Chica stops talking when she notices her friend’s gaze elsewhere, and the robot’s head turns like clockwork to where the two of you are.

Sun’s walking stops, and you feel him perk up at the sight of the other animatronics. His grip around you, however, tightens. Fingers dig into your clothing and skin in a fashion that you can’t tell if it’s excitement or nervousness, or anger. Roxy catches it, you think, judging by the slight shift in her gaze, but at least she has the restraint to not say anything.

Chica, on the other hand, is shamelessly beak-open gawking. “I’m witnessing a fanfiction momen-”

“Hellooooooo, Girls!” Sun calls out, cheery and bright. He’s changed his tune as they approach, all smiles and bright eyes. “Fancy running into you two ladies!”

Wow. He really is such an actor.

“What’s going on here?” Roxy is the first to ask the obvious. She’s not one for beating around the bush, and while Chica is locked wide eyed with your own with an expression that tells you she’s defiantly taking screenshots of this scene if she has the capability, amber eyes flit down to Sun’s grip on your body, and up again, hand on her hip. “You’re out of your space.” She states the obvious, and turns to you. “And I thought you were out sick.”

It’s not like you were lying, but you didn’t exactly have an explanation as to why you had to take a sudden day or two off without bringing up something you really didn’t want to bring up right now. The Daycare Attendant, however, talks before you do. “Rescue mission! I’m afraid our friend here had a little mishap with a shelf in the maintenance wing.” As if it was funny, Sun’s grip adjusts, and the light movement swings up your legs.

His head tilts at an angle as a gesture, and both girls' attention briefly scans over your the space of your lower half. If there was any time you felt like a show animal, it was now.

“I’m fine.” You’re quick to add on, waving your free hand off. Trying to appear as casual as possible, and totally not embarrassed or panicked at all. “It’s just going to bruise. It’s not broken.”

“Oh, good.” Roxy hums, monotone. There’s an expression she has that you can’t read, whatever she’s feeling, she’s guarding it. Wide hands with green painted claws raise up towards you, and you blanch at the idea of yet another animatronic holding you. You are an adult, damn it. “I’ll take you to the first aid station.”

The Daycare Attendant’s grip does not falter. “Oh, no need for that! We have a little hang-out planned later, and we’re very good at first aid. Certified expert!” He nods his head, and apparently has no remorse for speaking for you. “Must be on our way, though. I left three little ones in the care of staff bots. I’m afraid they make very subpar babysitters.”

You conceal your reaction as best as you can, but Roxy’s face scrunches as her hands lower, and if Chica’s eyebrows go any higher than they already are, then they might break her face plating.

“I’ll see you guys later?” You offer. A gentle wave off, mainly because you want to get into the Daycare at this point just to get away from the public eye, away from caught looking like a caught fish.

Roxy doesn’t say anything but gives you a nod, and Chica calls out to your retreating backs as Sun makes his farewells, and excuses himself to head toward the daycare. “O-kay! I’m glad you’re feeling better! I’ll check up on you later, hon!”

That chicken is going to interrogate you later.

The rest of the walk to the Daycare is short and quick, and as soon as the animatronic passes through the threshold, you feel a slight relaxation underneath your arm that you’ve attributed to worst things. The first thing you see inside are three children; twins that you remember that like to eat glue, and the pigtailed girl that doesn’t talk much. They were regulars, and quite fixated on the two staff bots in the middle of the mats that seemed to be doing their damnest to keep the young ones entertained.

You recognize them as the staff bots from earlier. One of their arms is still disconnected from the socket, but the bot doesn’t seem to mind because it’s made use of turning it into a bat to playfully ‘bonk’ the other staff bot in the head with it as it speaks with mono-tone, prerecorded jokes. A brief eavesdrop tells you that it’s the same jokes that the staff bots that handle the current comedy show in the theatre do. At least they had that tactic going for them.

The grip on you does not lessen, rather, Sun mumbles something quietly to tighten your grip around his neck. When you do so, one arm comes out from underneath your back, stretching over the security desk and grabbing the office chair by the back end. Without crossing the boundary, thanks to a long arm, he swings the chair around to the front, facing it toward the rest of the daycare. It’s the only adult-sized chair in the room.

You are promptly plopped down into the seat, hissing in between your teeth as an ache of pain shoots up your leg at the movement. A flat hand presses down into your lap, the other on the back of the chair, an unspoken command to stay put.

You speak before he does. “What is your deal?” For the first time, you fire back. The shocked nerves at seeing him outside of the daycare are starting to dissipate.  “Why bother-”

“I can’t treat your leg until the parents pick them up.” His voice is low, hushed, to where the children cannot hear your conversation. From behind him, the coo of a child noticing his return is evident. Sun’s attention stays on you. “We need to have a discussion, after the daycare closes.”

“I don’t need your treatment.” You wrinkle your nose at him, keeping your sneer light and your voice low. “Why bother coming to get me if you’re still angry-?”

“By my stars, you are dense.” An underlying sound coats his voice. “Stay.”

You recognize it anywhere, and coat your tone with the same deadpan. “Hi, Moon.”

“Stay.” The Daycare Attendant repeats. “Do not leave the Daycare. I will bring you back.”

Not like you had much of a choice. Sure, you could limp to the doors just fine. It’s not like you couldn’t walk, albeit with pain, but it was certainly doable. Still, you press your mouth into a thin line as the Daycare Attendant leans back from you, sparing you one more glance over.

Sun’s fingers find the edge of your jacket and pull back. Nothing is said, and it needed no adjustment. White eyes focus on the nametag sitting plainly on your chest, and he lets the fabric fall back into place.

He’s turned away from you quicker before you can ask what his problem is. The daycare is suddenly filled with the sound of the remaining children’s excitement at the return of their attendant, and Sun’s gleeful, cheerful demeanor is bright and chipper when he greets them. A complete 180.

The twins run into his arms. The girl stays seated by the staff bots, and wipes snot from her nose. “Goodness, you were all very patient while I ran my little errand! Did you behave? I sure hope so. They behaved, didn’t they?” He turns to the staff bots, who give him four thumbs up, though it takes them a second for them to adjust the disconnected hand to have the same gesture.

Sun claps his hands together in delight. “Very good! Good behavior means everyone gets a sundrop! But we have to say goodbye to our guests, okay? They have some work to do. Say bye-bye!” He waves kindly to the staff bots as they make their exit, bright and cheerful and sparing you an open glance as they head towards the doors. The children wave and coo goodbyes as they depart. “There they go! It was fun meeting new friends, wasn’t it?” He gathers the children, back turned to you, and captures their attention once more.

Yeah. What an actor.

Your options are to try and make an escape from the social consequences of your actions, or to sit there and stop prolonging the inevitable. Considering even if you did make it out of the Daycare, Roxy or Chica or the other Glamrocks might catch you limping on your way to the check out station, since there was no way you could finish your other chores for the rest of the evening. From most viewpoints, you clocked in, made a mess, and are now doomed to an uncomfortable conversation.

You search your pockets for something to keep your hands busy, fingers looking for the square feeling before you remember, oh yeah, you tossed your notebook into the bin a few days ago. Your phone will have to suffice, even if the Sun sticker on the back and Moon’s face blown up as your background wasn’t the most poke in the gut your past self did to you.

One of the staff bots returns just as the parents of the twins arrive. Two mothers, both who speak kindly to Sun more so than some of the other parents, thank him for watching the children and taking them on their way. The Daycare Attendant makes no attempt to stop the staff bot that rolls past him and up to you, cupped hands together holding something lumpy.

Wordlessly, you lean back as it’s offered to you. A cold pack, probably frozen from the freezer that the cafeteria uses. You don’t have to ask what it’s for, taking the offering by pinching the corner of the bag so the cold doesn’t sting at your hand. “Thanks.”

The staff bot straightens, gives you a thumbs up (to which you return) and rolls wordlessly back out.

Time to inspect the damage. For the last few minutes, the numbness has subsided, though the ache remained. Leaning forwards, you roll up your pants leg to your knee on the bad leg, pushing down your sock and raising it towards the light. It stings when you move it, and it’s only been a short amount of time, but there’s swelling. Not enough to be an emergency, but this will become a wide green and purple blotch on your leg by tomorrow morning.

Taking a deep breath, you lean down and press the cold pack to the spot where the pain swelled the most. A deep, cold sensation crawls through your skin and you wince. It’s uncomfortable, but you’ll thank yourself later. Now you just needed to hold it there for a while.

Promptly, a shadow comes over you, and a yellow hand snatches the bag of peas from your leg. “Applying a cold pack directly to the wound can cause skin and nerve damage.” Sun spouts off, long legs settling down to sit crisscross in front of you. “You need to put something in-between the skin and the pack, first.”

Fingers wrap around the bad ankle, not quite touching the bruise, but holding it firmly enough that you couldn’t pull it away without aching for it. You sink a little into your jacket, eyes darting elsewhere. They land on one remaining child. “The girl-”

“She’s sleeping,” Sun says. He rotates your leg without looking up, scoping the damage. Another quick glance tells he’s correct. The girl is wrapped in a blanket on a sleeping mat. A Moon plush too worn to be new is trapped between her arms as she suckles on her thumb. “It’s alright. She doesn’t care for me much anyway.”

You swallow on your tongue, hands fidgeting at the end of your seat. “Your shoulder is still busted.” Voices a still low, calmer. You’re not as heightened as you were before, though the sight of the damage looks like it must have hurt while he was carrying you. “You said you’d get that fixed months ago. I can see more wires poking out.”

He’s careful not to press too hard into the swollen skin. “Looks like we’re both a little broken today.”

Reaching up, his hand searches for the handle behind the security desk. You watch quietly as Sun finds what he’s searching for while barely leaning away from you (perks of being tall and lean, you suppose) and his grip returns with a cleaning rag saved usually saved for crayon graphite. It’s folded neatly into a square, pressed up against the swelling of your leg and the cold pack following soon after.

One hand remains to keep the cold pack in place, the other brings his wrist to his mouth. The ribbons catch at the end of his teeth, and you blink as they start to unravel. “You said some not nice things before.”

Ah, there we go. He can probably feel your pulse rate from this proximity alone, so any attempt to appear not nervous will be false. “So did you.”

“We did.” He sounds regretful, actually. Low, mature, but honest. Silicone fingers wrap the ribbons around the cold pack and the leg; a temporary securement. The fingers hover there, remaining. Uncertain.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.” One of you has to start somewhere. It might as well be you. You prepare for the rejection. “And I’m sorry we…don’t agree, on some stuff. I shouldn’t have continued to argue when it was getting heated. I shouldn’t-” You fumble to find the correct words. Those apology rehearsals meant nothing right now. “

There is a pause in the air. Sun’s fingers pull away around your leg, but instead of moving away, his arms cross over your knees, head coming to rest down on them, propped up. Even with him sitting on the floor, crisscrossed like this, he uses your lap like a table, almost. Like a strategically placed weight to keep you in place. Go figure. “Why do you think we won’t forgive you?”

There’s a sudden dryness in your mouth.

“We already have.” Sun adds on. His face is kinder, softer now. But he looks up at you from your lap like a curious dog. It’s almost scary, even, how casual he is. How resigned he is. “But you seem to have this idea in your brain- this tiny, silly idea-” A hand raises, a single finger pokes at your forehead. “-that every bad thing that happens is the end of a good thing. That every fight is the end of when someone cares for you.”

You don’t really have a response to this kind of reaction.

“I wonder who taught you that.” He muses. “How little we know about you.”

You think for a moment, hyper aware of the animatronic who currently has you weighted down to the chair. Escape poofed in any instance. Your arms are just kinda awkward, so you don’t know whether to let them hang, cross them, or maybe rest them on his head. Actually, wait, not that last part. You hold on to the sides of the chair if anything else. “It’s not like you don’t do the same thing with the glitch. Like every setback is the end of the world.”

He grins, and you feel with some sense of shame that he would predict you would say that. “The consequences of our problems are of two very different severity levels, I would think.“

Your face wrinkles, curling into yourself. Your collar does nothing but hide your neck, not the flushed feeling that’s heating up your skin. “This is the part where you say you’re sorry, too.”

“We’re not sorry.” The Daycare Attendant speaks, then pauses. “We’re sorry for yelling. I’m not sorry for what I said.”

This time, a laugh bubbles out of your mouth. It’s only a single one, and it’s more out of awkwardness. “You’re not even sorry for kicking me out of the Daycare?”

"I would have you banned from the Daycare." Sun says immediately, and it stings. You frown as he continues. "I'd do something to get you fired. Just so you'd be safe."

"…Don't do that."

"We won't"

You're not convinced, eyes narrowing. "Why won't you?"

Sun chuckles, oddly pleasant as white eyes peer up from your lap. "I think we're quite addicted to your company. You'll have to forgive the selfishness and the confusion. We’re only just now accepting our fate."

It’s its jest that’s trying to lighten the mood, it works, even when you try not to show it. “Ha ha, very funny.” You hum. There are other things you need to discuss; unpleasant things. But suddenly they don’t feel impossible to voice anymore. “Back then, when I was yelling…I said that you weren’t the only one with the glitch.” You start. Silicone fingers tap a rhythm against your pants leg, listening. It’s Moon’s habit, and you’re aware of who’s present. “I didn’t say that just to make you feel like your experience was any less.”

“I know. We believe you.” He starts. His faceplate tilts at an angle. Sunrays are shrunk near the bottom, so they do not hurt you. “How you know this, is what concerns me.”

“Nothing happened! Really-” Your voice jumps to normal volume, but hushes quickly as white pupils dart over to the form sleeping across the room. The girl does not stir, and Sun makes no indication that she’s awoken, so you continue. “I mean. I talked to…one of the Glamrocks. Two of them, actually. One confessed something to me and the other,” You pause. “Well, the other is just Monty.”

Sun hums.

“Did you know?” It’s a genuine question. “That Monty could also have the glitch? Or do you just not like him because he was mean to me once.”

“It’s cute that you think our dislike of the gator started with what happened with you.” Sun chuckles, patting your unhurt knee lightly. “But the incident certainly did not help.”

“So…you did know?”

“No. We just think he’s a jerk.” He clarifies, and for a moment you hear Moon at the end of his sentence. “Then again, you can’t really tell with us at first glance either.”

You shift a bit. The stocky feeling of your hurt leg along with the bells and ribbons and cold pack that’s been strapped to it feels heavy as your knee bumps against his chest plate. “I thought looking into the past would help me figure out if there was a pattern, or a vulnerability. I’m still not sure why the glitch affects Moon more than you.”

Sun’s rays shrink back, only a bit. His wide smile remains.

“That’s right, isn’t it?” You meant to ask it as casual confirmation, but your tone comes out a bit harsher than you meant it. “You’re not affected by the glitch as badly as Moon is?”

Uneasy tapping on the sides of your chair. His hands find where you're gripping the edge of your seat, and pull away when you brush against the back of your hands. “It’s awful that Moon’s incident was so public. Completely ruined naptime. The others with the glitch might feel the same, if they were in that position.”

“Sun.” You stress, because you’re tired of cryptid avoidance, and you’re tired in general. “How much safer am I in the light?”

The Daycare Attendant hesitates for a minute if only, to wonder if by trapping you here, he’s cornered himself too.

“Barely.” He says. “Just barely.”

Oh.

…Alright, then. Good to know.

“Okay. That’s…” You breathe. Funny enough, you’re not angry in your tone, or disappointed. You understand why they hide things better, now. Every detail they reveal must be treated with respect. With caution. “That’s…good to know. I think. Some things are starting to make sense. I guess…you don’t want to break your own rules when you...”

You pause. The realization comes at the end of your sentence. You had already known, obviously but it hadn’t hit you yet until just now. “You broke the rules.”

Sun’s rays shrink further, and a wince is pressed into his mouth. “Don’t remind me.”

“You broke the rules.” You repeat, the gears turning. After all the anger and the turmoil, something like satisfaction, even excitement, is starting to spark. “You…left the daycare. You actually left the daycare. Holy shit.” He tuts something about your language, but you’re still going. “Sun! You left the daycare!-”

“Friend.” By the tone of his voice, he’s not finished with what he was saying. Or maybe he wants to go back to the original subject, away from the blatant fact that he was now a rulebreaker. “What you said earlier-”

A small thump comes from the other side of the room. Both white eyes and your own dart to the sound, to the girl who’s been sleeping peacefully on her mat. Except she wasn’t anymore, sitting straight up, eyes wet and watering. There’s a pause when everyone knows what happens next, and a weak, feeble cry starts to water out of the toddler’s throat, calling out to no one.

“Nightmare?” You whisper, questioning. The grip on your wrist tightens, only momentarily, and you turn back to the Daycare Attendant. White is replaced by a red color in a blink, and his teeth are pulled downwards into a grimace. This child was afraid of the Sun, but the Moon cannot come out with the lights on. A glance at your phone tells you that the Daycare isn’t even closed yet.

They’ll have to figure it out. “It’s cool. Go, hurry.” You talk in hushed whispers, robotic pinpoints dart from you to the crying child. “I’m not gonna leave the Daycare. I’ll stay here.” Mumbled encouragement to a robot now uncertain of how it’s going to comfort its child charge, you let go of his hand. “Good luck.”

As if your encouragement would change anything, the Daycare Attendant leaves, hurriedly over to the child left alone. He uses the bells right away, you notice, stopping a distance away from the child, not taking her into his arms like he would most of the others. Certain children need special approaches, and they’ve memorized every hushed word they needed to have prepared.

You are, by all definitions of the word, exhausted. Technically, you don’t have to clock out until sometime past closing, and you’re not going anywhere soon with a weight attached to a hurt leg. So you grab the security desk by the edges and use the rolling wheels of the office chair with you, pushing you back to the other side where it’s easier to rest your head.

Elbows on the desk, head resting in your palms, you watch as Sun uses the child’s Moon plushie to act, low to the ground and moving it’s limbs, speaking a familiar low, hushed tone that only the Naptime Attendant can possess. Moon was speaking through the plushie of himself, and the child appeared to respond positively to it. Huh. Smart thinking.

You settle your head further into your arms and close your eyes. You survived the shift. Mostly. Save for a shelf falling on top of you. And getting cornered for a confrontation you didn’t think you were ready for. And the realization that the Daycare Attendant, after many months of you trying and failing, has finally left the daycare, even if it was only for a few minutes. And the reason still ended up being you.

That was...hmm.

You wake up with a headache and a newfound soreness in your leg, registering the space behind your eyelids as red and dark before you even realize you had fallen asleep.

A yawn bubbles up your throat before you open your eyes. You’re not awake yet, so the motions come naturally. Stretch, sit up straight (the office chair was not exactly comfortable, but you’ve slept at your desk on long study nights not to be used to the feeling) and rub the sleep out of your eyes before they open. Blinking blearily, the lights around you are dim.

There are no sounds of a child crying or cooing, but there are two bright red pupils a few feet from your face that send a jolt through your heart. “Fucking hell, Moon-!”

You jump in your chair. It makes a creaking noise as you collect yourself. The animatronic across from you doesn’t so much as flinch at your sudden scare, eyes wide and blown open like madness.

You blink away the bleariness, and wipe the feeling of slight sleepy drool from the corner of your mouth. “What’s wrong?”

There are scratch marks on the metal parts of the desk that fit his fingers. His smile is stretched thin, and not joyful.

“I. Cannot.” Moon’s voice is low, grated, speaking through gritted teeth. “Reach. You.”

Oh. Whoops.

His programming will not allow him behind the security desk. Whether it’s because of security protocol, the rules, or some other deeply embedded nuisance, a simple detail that has him situated in front of you, the click click click of something mechanical continuously moving as red pupils seem to blur in your vision.

All that talk and show, and you go and do the one thing you promised not to trigger him with.

“I’m sorry!” The apology comes immediately, slurred only because you’re still not quite awake. Moon’s response is a noise that sounds like a mechanical growl. “Sorry! I shouldn’t have fallen asleep. I didn’t mean to do it on purpose. I know it bothers you-”

“Bothers me.” He hisses. There’s static in his voice and a shake of red in the void. His repeated words come out mocking you. “Bothers me.”

“…I really didn’t mean to. I was-” You almost say that you were just so tired, but you cut that sentence off quickly before it’s out. Swallowing the anxiety, you will your nerves to chill out. This isn’t your first rodeo with a glitch triggered Moon. You feel like shit for giving them back to back stress, though. “I-”

“No.” He cuts you off. “No, you come here. You’re going to get rest. I’m…going to help you sleep.” An oddity in his words. Fingers curl in and out of a space he cannot contain. “It’s past your bedtime, rulebreaker.”

Your response is rehearsed. “I’m not tired anymore.”

His hiss is low and vile. “Liar!”

The intensity of his tone makes you lean back. Immediately after it’s said, the animatronic stops. An expression flashes across his face, apologetic, confused even. It’s dulled as the Moon sits back. A routine hush falls down both of you. There’s a hyper awareness you have of the bags underneath your eyes, and the way that Moon’s gaze never falls from them.

“You know-” He starts, and struggles. “You know-my code, the protocols.” The Moon’s hand fidgets. He looks askew. Nervous. Irritated. Small pupils against black voids dart to you, up and down, to the line where the security desk ends, to your face.

It reminds you of how a computer AI in games would try to map out a pathway to a destination, the fastest way, and find a blockade. Only it’s just air here, and there’s physically nothing preventing the Daycare Attendant from vaulting over the desk or simply walking over the side. You don’t understand how code works.

Though, there’s a list of prior Daycare Attendants still collecting dust in one of these drawers that would hint that it’s a safety precaution put into place at some point, and given the highest priority. Right. That could be it.

“You are unkind, naughty brat.” He sounds like he’s calming down, only slightly. Threats turn into rude commentary. “I hate you.”

It’s a joke. You know it’s a joke, plenty of times have you said it before, but it still stings. It must have shown on your face too, because the Moon’s hands stop moving. Red pupils freeze like one in the realization of a mistake.

You swallow thickly, and deadpan. “A little too soon for that one.”

“I-” Moon’s voice is jilted. Whatever he was going to say cuts off with static, but it's willful. Any confession is held prisoner behind sharp teeth. “I don’t hate you.”

“I can leave?” You offer. Maybe he needs space. You have your phone flashlight to use if needed, and limping to the clock out station shouldn’t be too hard as long as you were careful. “I think...we’ve both had a really stressful day. Maybe we can call it a night-”

“No.” He’s quick. You blink at the sudden crack in his voice. The nerves in his face say fear.

Ah. This was...a different situation.

You have no olive branch to offer, so you hold out your hand instead. Moon looks at you like you’re insane, but then again, he always does that. “I’m here.”

Fingers that crack and click with robotic anxiety. You trust him, and he knows this. Shaking hands find yours. Silicone fingers enclose around your own; pressing into the skin above your veins,

“This time, you will listen.” His voice is barely above a whisper, leaning over the desk, as far as it will allow. There’s static in his tone. “You are constantly breaking the rules. You don’t get an exception this time. You will not break it. That is the boundary.”

You nod with every word he’s saying. It’s the least you can do. “Okay-”

Moon continues, and he rambles. “You will not repeat those things. You will not entertain the idea of it. You will not suggest them again. This rule you will follow, understand?”

You do, except you don’t. Not quite, exactly. Sun didn’t have the chance to finish what he was saying earlier. “What…to repeat-?”

“Our memory of you.” Moon hisses. “Our promise of you. Do you understand?”

Oh, my. Maybe that last word you left with did more hurt than you realize. A wave of guilt starts to sink into you all over again. You nod your head.

There is a pause. Black voids remain on you, unshifting. Then, it’s like all the tension from the robot's body deflates. His faceplate slams into the wood almost comically. There’s an audible creak from the animatronic’s shoulder, now visibly a few inches distended from the socket.

As the weight and the tension of the day and night start to leave you, you feel a lingering sense of doom weighing in around that injury. “Moon.” You squeeze the hand of your friend. His fingers stay deadlocked. For someone who gave you quite the lecture a few seconds ago, you’d think he was out like a light. No pun intended. “Moon. Your shoulder. It’s starting to disconnect.”

His faceplate starts to spin, still face down on the desk. A grating, horrid noise comes through and it feels the equivalent of someone slamming their head into a wall out of frustration.

“At least let me get some tape? I can tape it so it doesn’t move as much.” You make a movement to hop off the chair, but two things stop you. A sharp pain in your leg with the movement, and the tightness the animatronic has around your wrist. You remain in the chair, dumbly. “Okay. Got it. No tape.”

Moon grunts something into the desk. Lowering your ears closer to hear it doesn’t do anything but brush your cheek up against your hat, and cause a slight twitch in the grip around your held hand. Fine. A quick glance at your phone makes you frown, though. “I need to clock out soon. I can’t be here for overtime or Management is gonna start asking questions.”

He mumbles something almost incoherent, and the tone is mockery. “You don’t need an escort.”

...when will the universe stop punishing you for your constant misdeeds?

“…Sorry.”

“The wire.” He starts, head lifting up from the table. The eyes are red again, though they look more tired than what should be physically possible for a robot. “Would be the easiest way.”

Your nerves are already shot to fried, there’s no way you’re going to start flying. Clicking your tongue, you look off to the side. “Not a fan of heights.”

“I’m aware.”

“I can walk.” You suggest, leaning down from your position. One hand stays locked with Moon’s, the other pulls the ribbon from your leg. The cold pack, although no longer cold, falls to the floor with the rag, and you bring the ribbon and bells back up to the desk. Ignoring the stinging, you find which hand is missing the red, and see it’s conveniently the one already attached to you. “Here.”

Moon watches you retie the ribbons with a hazy look. It’s not the best attempt, but it secures it well enough. Whatever knot they use isn’t something you’re very good at, but they fix it later. The animatronic makes no move to fix it once it’s finished, though you see the faint quirk of a metal brow at your handiwork.

“Hey, I’m trying.” You huff, and move your legs to settle on the ground. “Getting up, now-”

The wire descends from the ceiling as you lower. There’s a faint click of it hooking into place, and the Moon’s rising. For a fearful moment, you think he’s going to yank you up into the air and swing you all the way to the doorway like a sack of rocks in some sick form of revenge.

Rather, Moon simply hovers at a distance, body as nearly limp as your own, but hand tight as you use him as a guide to prevent putting too much weight on your leg. You test it, wincing as an ache tingled up your calf when your body weight eases. It hurts, but not as nearly as you thought it would. The swelling has gone down, and the skin around the mark has already started to discolor.

You’ll be able to walk on it okay tomorrow, as long as you’re careful and don’t touch the tender spot. You shoot a grin up at the Moon. “Alright. Good to go.”

You’re lucky you don’t have any stairs on your trip to the clock out station and the front doors. It’s even luckier that you don’t run into any of the other animatronics on your way out. Knowing Moon and his avoidance, you’d be left crumpled on the ground to pick yourself back up as he makes his escape. Or maybe he’d just take you with him up into the rafters. You’re not sure which option would be worse, but you’re leaning into the latter.

He’s’ careful to pull you back upwards when you wince, and you reassure him that it’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be. It’s just a bruise. You’ve had plenty of those.

“Want to know something funny?” Moon breaks the silence as the clock out station comes into sight.

A little chibi of Helpy is flashing colors onto your face as you search for your card in your pocket in one hand, and keeping your balance with your friend in the other. “What?”

“The wolf came to the Daycare, after hours.” Moon muses, faint amusement in his tone. “Said the chicken told her we were bullying you.”

…You’re going to cook that chicken alive if she keeps getting the wrong ideas. Cradling your face in your hands sounds appealing at the moment, but they’re too full for that. “I don’t think I like being the center of gossip around here. What did Roxy want?”

“Didn’t want anything.” Moon’s head is rotating a full 360 as you swipe your badge, the pop-up window stating you’ve been officially clocked out. “Called me a ‘paper plate idiot.’”

The giggle stops and comes out more like an ugly snort through your nose, but it’s too late to take it back. Well, that certainly paired well with her reaction earlier in the day. With an awkward expression, you look up at him, and clear your throat. “That’s…a little bit funny.”

He only lets go of your hand when the shutters unlock, moving them to hold up the exit without you having to lift anything more. “It is.”

“Let's…have a normal day tomorrow. I work from closing until 6AM.” You ask that of him because you don’t know what else to say. At the very least, it looks like something he’d want to do. Things are going to go back to normal, even if something changed a little. “I’ll see you tomorrow, night. Goodnight, Moon.”

“You should tell me about your nightmares.”

The sentence is so out of the blue, it doesn’t immediately process. You turn away from the exit, back up to the hanging animatronic, and raise a brow. “What?”

He hesitates. Then, Moon’s hand slips underneath his hat. Between his fingers is a familiar notebook, clean and undamaged. Something retrieved after you had thrown it away. “I am…good. With nightmares.” He talks like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn't have done. And he has, in a way.

Your surprise flits from the offered notebook, back up to him in disbelief. “...I thought you liked it when I had nightmares.”

He doesn’t answer, not until your fingers wrap around the book. A quick flip through spells that all the pages are present. A golden signature was on the back page, something Sun did a while ago. A new one is there, too. Blue with a star at the end. They liked to put their names on things.

“I need practice.” Moon hovers. “You can help me. I’ll help you.”

You blink down at the handwriting. “Is that all it is?”

“No.”

That’s all you’re going to get. The fact that he even had this was something tugging at your chest, still. What a day. What a night. You put the notebook back into your pocket, sliding it next to your phone. “Okay.” Your keys are in your back pocket; you find them next. A smile is your usual farewell. This is a normal goodbye, and you’ll have a normal tomorrow. “Goodnight, Moon.”

“Nighty-nighty.”

He lets you leave through the shutters, and you limp-walk back to your car with a little more beat than what you walked into the pizzaplex with.

The email that Management sends you in the morning comes at the ass crack of dawn, and you’re too dead tired to even acknowledge the outside world until a few hours until 10PM when you’re actually expected to clock in, so you see nothing about your checklist until it’s an hour until you’re supposed to clock in, you haven’t showered, you haven’t eaten, and all because you had a much needed sleep that your body desperately needed that not even your loud alarm could stir you.

It’s the usual stuff, mostly just checking off the rest of the chores that you hadn’t completed during your week. For having held off on a lot of these, and even making a mess or a ruckus like the shelf incident yesterday, there’s no note of it in the email. Rather, they were being oddly patient with you. Weird.

Not like you were going to complain about it. It’s something you pocket in the back of your mind as you brush your teeth and button up your uniform.

This time, you don’t get coffee at the gas station purely because you’re going to attribute a lot of the heart palpations from the last several days to a mix of caffeine and anxiety, and you can only control your intake of one of them. That doesn’t mean you’re not hungry. A small pack of snack donuts is about the same price as a cup of coffee, and it’s easy to walk it, find a package, and walk up to the counter with the exact change in hand. “Hey, buddy. Long time no see. Just these, for now.”

Joe stares at you like it’s seeing a ghost. Or maybe you’re just imagining it. It does stare at you, though, even when you’ve been holding out the change for the donuts for a solid twenty seconds. “…Everything good?”

“That will be $4.89.” Like right on cue, the gas station attendee snaps back to normality. It takes the correct change from your hand, drops it into the register and collects your receipt, which you collect and toss into the bin by the counter in the same motion. Joe doesn’t ever mind. “Thank you, please come again.”

You’re already stuffing a donut into your mouth as you raise the half-empty package in the air as farewell, one foot out of the door. “Laters.”

Freddy is the one at the doors doing last-minute farewells when you arrive. For being the most popular idol, he’s swamped as you walk in, and barely even has enough time to acknowledge your arrival. You don’t take it personally and wave over to the bear as you go to clock it. His response is a smile from you at a distance, though you see him laugh at something your way. It’s not until you’re swiping your badge and having trouble with donut powder getting on the scanner do you realize your face is covered in the stuff.

Not the worst embarrassment you’ve had in the last 24 hours, so it’s an easy wipe-off on the sleeve. To work, then.

You are going to have a normal day. You needed a normal day. And you needed to cut down on this list management was reminding you of or eventuality they really are going to start replacing you with staff bots. No offense to them, of course.

The cleaning cart comes out of the janitorial closet only scuffing the door frame once, but it doesn’t require the assistance of a larger animatronic getting it unstuck for you, so you’ll call that a win. The soap dispensers in the bathrooms are easy enough to refill, just tedious since there are so many bathrooms on several floors. You get the first floor done first, then the second, third, and finally the fourth when you realize that your next task puts you right back down on level two. The elevator ride back down of shame is only a little annoying.

Photo booths are refilled. The batteries in the smoke detector in the main kitchen are replaced. The coin machine in the arcade needed to be emptied out and the process shouldn’t take too long now that you’ve gotten the hang of it. The task ends up taking longer than expected, though, because you have an audience while you do so.

The DJ Music Man is a quiet observer, you like him, and sometimes he even helps you with the heavy lifting around the arcade. This time, Chica is there though, sat up against a table with baby music men around her feet in a circle like children would gather for a story, and all the robots are very keen on producing commentary while you dump the bucket of coins back into the ticket machine. “Sooooo, we were just talking about-”

“Chica.” You start, and refuse to turn around. You’re crouched down to clear everything out, careful not to lean too much on your bad leg. “I swear, if I hear one more thing about being a damsel, I’m going to tell Monty that you’ve been eating his bass picks when he’s not looking.”

A squawked gasp sounds off from behind you. “I told you that in confidence!”

You check your phone. The daycare should be closed by now, and usually by this point, all the children, even with late parents, have been checked out. You’ll want to hurry up and finish if you want to get there in time to help Sun clean up the Daycare. And maybe, hopefully, have him walk out of it again. Maybe.

Tiny spider legs pull at the edge of your pants when you struggle to stand up, careful to keep your balance. They don’t say anything, but all the robots in the room look at the bruise that pokes out from underneath the fabric when your sock drops too low. Maybe it’s a morbid fascination thing, even if they seem a bit squicked by it. You can’t say you didn’t feel the same when you saw the Daycare Attendant’s shoulder.

You’re careful not to accidentally step on the baby music man that’s been holding your screwdriver for you as you finish up and make your way back to the cart. As terrible as that thing was with the wheel, it was a good crutch to lean on to give your leg some rest. “I’m off. I’ll be back to get the rest of the trash out of the third floor, later.”

The DJ signs to you before you turn. ‘Tell them I said hi.’

“Sure, we can stop by later tonight. Me and Moon, maybe.” You start to roll out. The carpet bumps the cart sometimes. Someone should really vacuum the place. Hopefully, Management won’t make it to you.

Chica calls out from behind you, unbothered by the baby music men climbing up her legs, and into her lap. One of them is swatting at her earrings. “Off to the castle-?”

“Bye, Chica.” You stress, and ignore the snickering from behind you. It’s a stupid joke, a dumb tease. You’re smiling though, so at least there’s that.

At the very least, you’ll end this week feeling okay.

The Daycare doors are closed when you arrive.

Blinking, you give a glance towards the windows. You can see toddler chairs and toys still on the ground, but no sign of the Attendant. The lights are still on, and a glance to your phone tells you it’s going to remain on at least for the next 20ish minutes. Pocketing your phone, you roll up to the doors, testing the knob. Closed, but not locked. It pushes away easily. “Sun?”

No response. Probably up in his room. You roll the cart over the threshold of the daycare. It bumps awkwardly over the mats, but bring it to a parking spot in the middle of the room. It doesn’t look like there’s a lot of trash today, and no special activities can be seen in sight. A few Sundrop wrappers are on the ground, but those require you to crouch down repeatedly to get each and everyone of them. Not a viable movement with your current injury. You’ll leave that for the Daycare Attendant, and tend to the restocking the diapers instead.

“Hey, Sun?” You call out to the empty room, hoping your voice reaches the balcony. “Where do you want these? The storage cubby they belong to is still full.”

No response.

An inkling, small part of you whispers that they’re still angry. It’s a fleeting thought that floats in your chest, something you swallow down with the silence that lingers in the air. “I’m just...gonna put them in the one beside it, okay?” You do so, pushing the box back so it still makes a somewhat neat look, even if it was in the wrong labeled spot. In fact, there were a couple of items that were in the wrong spots.

Formula bottles and baby food was sitting in the spot for blankets. The first aid kid was partially opened, although nothing seemed to be missing from inside of it, sitting in the spot where missing socks go. You blink at the mess. It was a bit unusual for the Daycare Attendant to leave something like this. They didn’t like disorganization. “I’ll just-” You go to fix it, reaching for one of the empty, sided bottles. “I’ll just fix this.”

“Friend.”

“Hell-!” You jump, and the bottle drops from your grasp, shattering on the floor. Whirling around, you come face to face with who you’ve been calling out for the last few minutes. Taking a deep breath, you blow hot air out. “You have got to stop doing that.”

Sun looks off. White eyes drift down to your feet. Shards of glass crack underneath when you step back.

You follow his gaze, looking down. “I can sweep that up.”

“I can!” The animatronic perks up. There’s a blur of grey coming from behind him, a line you see. The wire that unhooked from him seconds prior raises and disappears into the ceiling. Sun’s hands clasp together with a bright smile. Chipper, upbeat. Like how you saw him acting yesterday. “Don’t you worry about that. I can take care of that, no-biggie. How's your leg?”

You give it a little shake for show. It aches, but not it's prominent anymore. “Bruised, but only hurts if I strain it-”

“Good! Very good!” He laughs, then stops. “I mean, not good. Not good at all. Not good in the way that you’re hurt but good in the way that it’s not broken. Not that we don’t know how to treat broken bones, we wouldn’t want to treat your broken bone. Well, not like, we wouldn’t, but we wouldn’t want you to have one in the first place!”

You blink. “Yeah. That would suck.”

“It would very much suck!”

“Are you…okay?” You sidestep him, heading for the cart. If anything, you can pull the trash out of the bin by yourself so you’re not entirely useless. “I mean, like are we okay? I don’t you to feel like you need to be overly friendly to me because of what happened, I mean…” You tie the strings of the bag in the can, turning back to your friend.

Sun is still facing the cubbies, back turned towards you.

“Sun?” You call out for him again. “I can sweep up that glass for you, really.”

Silence prevails. There’s movement, only slightly. His arms raise, then lower again. Sun rays turn at an angle and readjust. There’s life in the robot, but it wasn’t responsive. Your eyes narrow at the animatronic. Maybe he was…updating, or something.

There’s a jolt suddenly. Sun’s head turns to face you, and there’s an oddness in his expression. He stares at you as if you’ve teleported behind him, somehow. “Oh! I didn’t notice you come in.”

“Uh, yeah. I called for you.” You scratch at your chin, pouting your lip as the animatronic approaches. He doesn’t move to clean up any of the messes he passes, despite shifting white eyes looking at them in darts. Actually, now that you think of it; it took you some time to get down here. Most of this would actually be cleaned up by now. “Did you really have me tuned out that badly? I’ll be sure to cuss next time.”

It’s a joke that’s meant to get some witty banter back from him. But he simply just stares. “We didn’t notice you come in.”

“Yeah.” You lay your hands on the cart handle to rest your leg, raising a brow. “You said that.”

“We always notice when you come in.” The Daycare Attendant cuts you off. His voice is lacking something lively. “We were designed to.”

Okay. Not exactly where he was going with this, but something seemed to be upsetting him. You stop, turning back to the animatronic. “Are you okay?”

No response. A sunray flits in and out for a centimeter, his fingers are curled into his palms, back straight at attention. The casual bounce and playful demeanor that he carries even in his more serious moments seems to be missing. Memories of yesterday still linger fresh in the back of your mind.

It takes a moment, only a moment, too long for him to turn and answer you, like a lag. Or searching for an answer. “Just peachy! Dandy! Right as rain!” The grin he wears is grim, but there’s something underlying about it. It’s too fake, like he forgot smiling was his default expression.

You don’t look convinced, because Sun waves you off with one hand, and delivers a quick pat to your head with the other. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head-”

The end of his sentence cuts out with a sharp static, and a cut record.

You blink. The animatronic’s form is unnaturally still, hand frozen mid-air. White eyes are black and reflectionless. “Dude, did you just… short circuit-”

Your sentence gets cut short because with the smallest of a sway, the Daycare Attendant’s ridged form begins to tilt and fall-

“Whoa! Whoa whoa whoa whoawhoawhaoholdon-!” Your verbal attempts for mercy go unheard of as a force much, much heavier than a simple tall shelf comes crashing down upon you. This time, at least, the play mats beneath your feet as softer than the hard floors on the maintenance. That luxury does nothing to cushion the crushing dead weight of an animatronic’s form on landing on top of you, or the fact that your feeble leg does nothing to break the fall.

The sound of pain you make on the way down is anything but dignified, but at the moment, you don’t care. “Ow, what...what the hell. Sun? Hello?!” It’s an awkward position. His faceplate hangs over your shoulder while you’re flat on your back. Sunrays locked into their default out-position press uncomfortably into your cheek. “Dude, get up! You’re crushing me! Humans aren’t exactly built for this!”

The animatronic remains limp. One arm sprawls out to the side of you, and now you get a full view of the damage done to the shoulder, closest to your face. It looks like it was forcefully popped back into the socket, scuff marks on the inside where you could see. Except now it was being dragged by its own weight down. Two wires pop out of their connectors right before your eyes.

“You’re crushing me.” Nervous laughter. It causes your chest to heave against the pressure it’s being put against. “Hugs don’t work like this.”

No answer.

“Sunny...y-you’re really starting to freak me out here.”

No response.

For the time being, you have an impromptu weighted blanket that was for all intents and purposes, the lifeless body of your best friend.

Okay. Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out.

Ignore the pain that’s flaming through your leg at the moment, even if it’s enough to make your eyes prick wet with tears. You’re going to need to get yourself, and him, up somehow, and possibly up onto something that can hold him.

The cleaning cart might be your best bet. You are very grateful you put that stupid thing in park when you got here.

“Okay, okay…I’ve got you.” You’re don’t know whether you’re talking to yourself, or to him, but you breathe reassurances out to empty air. Both hands on the Daycare Attendant, whatever muscle you’ve gained by working at the pizzaplex and doing its heavy lifting tasks for over a year was going to be put to a test. It doesn’t mean it’s pleasant, not at all, but you find a grip with one hand flat against his chest, and the other on his side, and push.

He doesn’t budge. Try again. Okay, this time he did. Now, you just need to do that a little bit more, each time, up until you manage to lift both him and yourself up off the ground enough that you can stand, all while doing this from underneath, and with one leg currently shooting up nerves upon nerves of agony through your entire leg.

Sounds a like a plan. A possible one? Probably not, but it’s that or wait and lay here until something happens, and the silence your friend was giving you was screaming red flags in your nerves and shooting adrenaline through your veins. “Okay, buddy. I’ve got you. Just, gotta move...”

It takes forever.

It feels like forever, at least. It’s probably twenty minutes and a couple of thousand agonies later do you finally get to the point where you’re at least off the ground high enough where you can get both feet underneath you. One leg is aching miserably, and the other is starting to follow suit from putting as much weight on it as possible without having you crumble, but you manage. By hell, you managed.

“Okay, I’ll...” You’re panting, out of breath. From the panic or the lifting, either one. In a manner that’s almost gentle, Sun’s head lulls next to yours, drooped downwards his arms hanging limply at your sides. “I’m just gonna get you in the cart, okay? I can…roll you. Yeah, I’ll roll you down to Parts n Service.”

The lights go out right as you finish your sentence. Just your luck. The world is a stage and there was a director out there determined to make sure this act was miserable at every twist and turn. Whatever.

The cart is close by anyway. You’ve got him halfway situated in, hands holding him steady. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you...”

The Daycare Attendant moves. Quickly.

Hands twitch against you. The weight suddenly lightens, but the movement happens too quickly for you to step back, no warning, no time to process as fingers and hands suddenly dig into the fabric of your jacket as arms encircle you. Crushing you, like moments prior, except instead of dead weight, this felt purposeful.

It hurts.

“Stop!” You beg, and it comes out more like a wheeze. Hand curled up into a fist, beating against the Daycare Attendant’s back, and it feels like your ribs are this close to snapping like wires, Sun rays and fabric stars shifting beside your shut tight eyes. “Stop it! You’re hurting me!”

A freeze. The hold around you stops its enclosure, then slacks. Both shoulders are held by dark hands as they pull you back. Your lungs expand. You breathe. You curse. “Finally!”

The body is starting to recollect itself. You’re seeing stars and white dots in your vision as blurry shapes on the ground turn into your shoes, their slippers, the sparks that spew from the open casing on their side-

“What the hell was that?” You don’t shout it, but it comes out cracked instead. Your hand raises to your chest, patting the fabric there. You don’t feel like you broke a rib, but you came close. Bruised maybe. You’ve been getting so bruised lately. “Explain to me what’s going on.”

Moon’s wide, red eyes stare back at you. The hands that fall from your shoulder stay up in the air, save for the arm that drops to the side. It hangs longer than the other. You flinch at the sight of exposed wiring and inner workings that are supposed to be hidden away.

“Moon...what…what is going on?” You’re trying to calm your breathing. A whirring sound from the animatronic, quiet sounds like hard breathing of his own. A spark comes out from the damaged socket. You swallow. “You…you need to go to Parts n Service. Right now.”

Blown out eyes scan the Daycare. They fall on the cart, to the off lights, to the floor, and to you again. He doesn’t look at his arm. White pupils dart up to the balcony.

“Moon.” You stress. “Please-”

He tries to run.

You see the wire before it clicks onto his back, and while you’re not fast enough to stop it from attaching, you’re fast enough to lunge forward. “Wait-!”

Hands wrap around his arm, and the Daycare Attendant almost takes you flying up there with him. Instead, you jerk to a stop with your feet going inches off the ground as you hand him down by his arm, red eyes whirling back down to stare shocked.

Except you don’t calculate which arm you’ve grabbed. You realize in horror you’ve pulled the damage down with your weight. The Daycare Attendant hisses, lowering only to minimize the damage. The noises he makes in pain are cut off at the sound of your own, landing bad on the hurt leg.

This was a horrific thing.

“Parts n Service, please!” You repeat, and steady yourself only when the Moon lands back on his feet. The wire does not detach. He only does it so you do not follow him, a hand wrapping around your wrist, trying to pull you off-

“Stop!” You grab onto that hand instead, the good one, and it's enough to force him to look you in the eye. “You are falling apart! Please. You’re freaking me out!”

You wish he would say something. But red only stares at you. The view goes lower, down to your chest, then flit back up to your face. Your chest heaves with heavy breaths. Something hot and wet falls into the corner of your mouth, down your chin and drops down your neck.

“You’re crying.” Moon’s hand curls around your closed fist, hooked on the ruffles on his neck. His eyes move to the right of you. “Your ear is bleeding.”

“Parts. And. Service.”  You sound out every word deliberately. “Your arm is falling off and you’re blacking out. Please don’t make me beg you.”

He’s going to say no. You can see it running through the gears in his mind. The Daycare Attendant is going to pull you off of his clothes, and run away.

“Okay.” Moon sounds monotone. He can’t take his eyes away. “Don’t...cry.”

You sniffle, breathing in deeply. Pulling back, you don’t release him. “I’m not crying.”

It's a pointless lie. The Moon doesn’t say anything else though. It’s a numb feeling to pull away after a few seconds. The room suddenly feels a lot small and bigger at the same time. You both needed to leave.

Your leg and chest hurts, and you’re only briefly aware of the stinging sensation in your ear, but it’s not the most important thing on your mind at the moment. Bypassing the cart, numbing walking to the Daycare doors. You mumble. “Elevator.”

It doesn’t take anything to explain which one you were going to. The one with the broken light that the staffbots haven’t fixed. They’ve been too busy picking up after your own leftover work, so a paper sign that said ‘out-of-order’ has been hanging there instead.

Moon follows you out of the Daycare. You still check behind you every few seconds out of fear that he’s taken off somewhere you can’t follow. Your robot shadow is there every time you look, though, gaze locked firmly onto your back. Arm dragging low enough that it could reach the floor if he wasn’t careful.

You stop walking to let him catch up to you, and frown deeper when Moon pauses to keep the same distance. “Please walk beside me.” I’d feel better if I knew more clearly that you were here.

Not like you say that last part out loud, but Moon doesn’t respond anyway. Hesitation, a few seconds too long that you almost keep walking, but he takes the few steps needed to match your own.

The walk to the elevator is quiet and short; it’s the closest one to the Daycare, and there’s no animatronics or staffbots nearby to witness this. Either all busy in their own groups or doing their own work. It’s a lucky thing. Only a wet floor bot spares you both a glance under the neon lights.

You’ve never been to Parts n Service personally, but you knew where the room was. Locked away by a security clearance (something you don’t have, you realize, but it’s going to be a hurdle you face when you get down there) but experience tells you it’s not exactly the nicest place. And the Daycare Attendant does not care for it. Feared, even.

“Roxy says that the automated repair machine down there is easy to use and doesn’t need instruction.” You talk quietly as the elevator brings you both down. The small chime of the floor lowering to the number is the only thing that breaks your speech. “I can just…use the computer for you. It should work. You’ll go inside the tube thing, and It’ll fix your arm for you.”

Moon stands ridged beside you. His hands are curled into pants, fingers curled into the fabric.

“It’ll be okay.” You raise your hand to cover the wet feeling on your ear. A small sliver of blood comes back on your fingers. One of Sun’s rays got you while you were being crushed, early. You wipe the blood off on the side of your pants, and barely catch Moon’s pupil darting back to face the front when you turn back to him. “We’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out.”

The travel from the elevator to the double doors with the sign for repairs. There’s an electronic padlock on the door with a card reader for a Security badge. It’s not the right shape for your employee one, and you highly doubt you had the clearance. You look down at the doors. They’re a little older. With some force, you could probably budge them open. “I think, maybe-”

The padlock’s screen flashes for a few seconds, then blue screens. You blink as the sound of a lock unclasping reaches your ears, and turn towards your company.

Moon looks at the padlock dully, and finds grounding in focusing on you instead.

You’re not going to question it, pushing open the doors first.

Parts n Service looks...almost exactly what you imagined in your head. Except maybe a bit cleaner. There were what looked like to be singular chambers to the side, possibly for testing out new features. Neon signs for Freddy, Chica, Monty, and Roxy are to their each own part of space, posters next to their names that detail some basic repair for claws, teeth, and animal ears.

You frown. There’s nothing in sight that looks to be labeled for the Daycare Attendant. But there’s a large glass cylinder in the middle with some sort of robotic arm at the top, and despite the lights behind off on the inside, you can see a recliner for a large humanoid animatronic to lie down on it. It’s attached to it is a computer console. That must be what Roxy was talking about.

Moon is staring at the cylinder like he’s approaching the gallows. Your hand finds his own. “Hey, don’t…think about it too much?” You offer a smile, fingers curling around his palm. His own don’t close around you, but they twitch. Pupils stay locked on the glass. “I’ll be here the whole time. At any point you want to leave, you can just say the word and I’ll stop it.”

He still doesn’t say anything, but he lets you lead him to the cylinder entrance. When you let go of his hand, his own curl around your palm, just for a moment, and the hand drops. Moon steps backwards into the darkness of the glass, and watches as you round to the computer screen.

Take a deep breath. You’re fine. She said the machine did most of the work for you, and clearly, the Daycare Attendant needed work. Maybe after all of this, things will look up. Maybe if you face this fear, this will solve so many problems.

“Okay.” You pat your face for self-encouragement, blowing hair out and steeling yourself. There’s a power button on the front, plainly marked. “I think this might turn on the lights, so be warned.” You speak clearly, pressing your finger to the mark. “Maybe-”

The glass door to the cylinder slams shut. You jump at the sound, and Moon does too, though he looks like he expected it. He just hates it.

A monotone, robotic voice that you’ve known for doing the announcements over the pizzaplex’s intercom speaks through an unknown speaker. “Welcome to Part and Service. The protective cylinder is now closed. It is recommended that all personnel remain outside the protective cylinder. Please select your desired procedure.”

The screen is booting up, flashing symbols and words that you’re a bit too fry-brained to read at the moment. “Moon?” You look up from the keyboard. There is now a barrier between you, and while you were not a stranger to having glass act as a shield between you and the Naptime Attendant, this time, you wish it didn’t exist. “You okay?”

Only...it’s no longer Moon in the cylinder. The lights had come on while your gaze was turned away. Sun looks around the space feverously, nervously. The hanging arm clangs against the metal of the bed inside.

“Hey! It’s fine! It’s only temporary!” You gesture from the outside, and eventually, Sun turns to face you. No sentence comes from him. Soundproof, it looks like. The glass must be made out of the same glass that the Daycare had surrounding it. Or vice versa.

You don’t want them to panic. The faster this gets over with, the better. Turning your attention back to the console, you scan over the options. There are several: names of the Glamrocks are neatly organized firstly; Freddy, Chica, Roxy, Monty all with their full names and corresponding colors. You feel your teeth grit when there’s nothing for the Daycare Attendant except for a potential ‘Other’ category at the bottom.

You tap it. Another set of names appears. Staffbot. Mapbot. Mini Music Man. Wet Floor Bot. The Daycare Attendant.

There! You tap on the screen and look up.

Sun jolts in place when the arm above him suddenly powers to life; the edge of the machine shifts to reveal smaller tools. One piece folds out a connector; a small square piece that looks like a black magnet. The sight of it makes the Daycare Attendant freeze.

His eyes find you, and you shoot him the nicest thumbs up you can possibly muster, smiling. You needed to be calm so that they could be calm.

You’re not sure if it’s working. But Sun doesn’t move away from it as it travels to the back of his head. There’s no audible click from your end, but you see the slight jilt of his body, and the nervous wring of his hands. The computer’s screen flashes a loading bar and then a ‘Connected’ message at the top. New images start to display one by one, each followed by a label and an action option.

In green lines is a diagram of the Daycare Attendant’s endo skeleton. It’s as if you were looking at a human’s x-ray. There’s too many wires and inner workings for you to understand what you’re looking at. Really, the only thing you can comprehend is the shapes in the headspace that look triangular enough to be where the sun rays go when they’re not out. There’s spaces in the Daycare Attendant’s torso, too, but those don’t make sense to be there. They’re too big.

The screen flashes for a second. The bar at the top of everything glitches, coded lines covering the rest of the UI. It turns the neon green words into something incomprehensible; purple pixels start to appear.

This thing looked old. Must be a display driver or screen disconnect issue. You frown, using the butt of your palm to lightly smack the screen. It returns to normal.

Okay! Half-way done. If there was a way you could tell the animatronic he was doing, great, you would, but he’s just going to have to survive off of whatever positive energy and calmness you can exclude right now...and hopefully have faith that you’ll select the right thing.

There’s still a loading bar at the top of the screen. Maintenance check. You leave it alone, and search where the damaged limb was located. There. A button on the screen gives several options between diagnosis, upgrades and repairs.

“It looks easy enough.” You talk out loud because you know he reads lips. Selecting diagnosis and repair, you look up to your friend.

Sun’s head is down and his eyes are black. His body looks slumped, slouched like he was being held up by the connection on the back of his head by itself. A blue color is overtaking his limbs. There’s no indication that he’s conscious.

Panic. No, stay calm. Nothing on the screen reported any sort of issue. Everything was fine. You just needed to be patient and let the machine do its thing-

A blurred color comes out from the corner of your eye. You turn back to the cylinder to see the animatronic’s body shift, leaning at an odd angle as something unfolds from the space where the two torso parts connect. It’s long and thin, and it looks like it would hurt if the subject was aware. It bends unnaturally as it emerges, almost in rhythm as more pieces come about the Daycare Attendant’s head.

You gape in stunned confusion as another starts to come from the opposite side, quickly turning to the computer for any semblance of an answer. “I don’t…I don’t know if that’s supposed to happen! Um.” Fidgeting hands, start to press cancel out of fear. The button does not respond to your touch, nor does the rest of the screen when you desperately try to stop the process of whatever you had started.

It gets worse as the screen flickers again, and now you can’t understand any of the code or the worst flashing across your screen. Only a purple-tinted haze over the led and a stuck loading bar that’s overlapping the rest of the UI, and continuing to fill up. “No, no no. This wasn’t supposed to happen-!”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Your hands freeze over the keyboard. Panic is interrupted by a series of noises, familiar in a way.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You look up.

Beyond the glass is your friend, except they have too many arms, too many sun rays, and red discoloration all across the body that doesn’t fit the Sun’s golden glow or Moon’s nightly mood. Its face is dark, with a wide, sharp toothed smile, pressed close up to the glass. Shifting colored eyes that fade in between black, red, white, and finally on a bloody orange. Small pinpricks of light zero in on you.

You don’t know what else to do, so you raise a hand and wave.

The being’s head tilts at an odd angle. One of the four arms raise, and waves back.

Oh, alright.

The tension leaves your shoulders. The Daycare Attendant was fine. As about as fine as they could be, anyway. You just freaked out for a moment there, that’s all. So much for keeping yourself calm as an example for them. The anxiety still bounces around in your chest, but it’s quickly overrun with relief, even if you’re not quite sure who you’re looking at.

You glance at the computer screen. It’s returned to normal again. The loading bar at the top says complete.

The Daycare Attendant doesn’t flinch with the robotic arm behind them shifts, and lowers down to the hanging, damaged shoulder. You flinch as it coldly rips out a wire from the still robot, small tools coming to work on the exposed portion of the damage. It’s not nice to look at, so you avoid staring at it while the machine works. At least you were correct in the assumption that the machine would know how to do all the repairs. “Are you okay?”

They don’t even look to their side as the robotic arm drills a screw into their open socket, busy at work. Instead, orange eyes remain on you. One of the good arms raises again, and a pointed hand comes to the glass. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Ah, Moon used to do that when you first met. Maybe they can’t see you clearly or something. Could be bright lights in the chamber. You approach the glass. The computer doesn’t need your supervision at the moment while the machine works. Up close, it almost feels like they got taller someone. You try again. “Are you feeling okay? Sun? Moon?”

They blink at you, but that’s the only response you get.

You bring your hands up, signing. Are you okay? You haven’t said anything.

Again. Just staring. It’s actually getting a little unnerving, especially when they don’t flinch as the robot arm juts something metal into the socket, pulling the hanging arm up to its proper place, and using a small flame tool to meld the metal together.

No good. Some silly thought enters your brain; you breathe onto the glass to make a fog stain, raising a finger to draw several crossed lines, drawing a circle in the corner of them. The contrast in light doesn’t make the tic-tac-to board very visible, but a quick glance from the Daycare Attendant’s eyes tells you that they see it.

They tilt their head, but nothing more. The robotic arm is finalizing its work on repairing their shoulder.

Your frown goes deeper. Maybe your friend wasn’t going to be up to par until they were disconnected from this weird machine.

You should...ask management. Let them know about the repair, just in case. Hopefully, they can tell you about it without you needing to be an engineer. Besides, you don’t want to get in trouble for using the Parts N Service repair unauthorized without having a chance to explain yourself. And you had a very valid reason.

Pulling your phone out, you work quickly. You highly doubt they’re up at this hour, but it couldn’t help to try. You go for the email format, and type up a brief summary. ‘Daycare Attendant had a damaged part, severe enough to affect work performance and customer safety (You word it that way in particular, just in case) and state a plain state of repair. There’s no need to put in any extra details that aren’t needed.

“I’m sending Management an email.” You continue to talk out loud, just in case. Hitting send, you bring your phone up to the glass of the cylinder carefully so the Daycare Attendant can see the contact and the message. “Maybe they can help out if there’s still an issue later-”

Thunk.

You blink. There’s a newly formed crack in the glass, right over where your fog breath was. The Daycare Attendant’s stare lingers on the phone before it falls to the glass, glaring at the barrier like it was an annoyance. His newly repaired arm pulls away from the glass, fingers curling into the palm.

You let out a lungful of air and force your shoulders to settle over something so trivial. “Uh, buddy. That’s not how you play tic tac to. And you should probably recalibrate the arm if it’s going like a truck.” You stick out your bottom lip, pocketing your phone and looking to the damage. Now the cylinder was going to need repair, and you’re not sure how you’re going to explain that one.

The Daycare Attendant’s arm flexes in and out, standing to his new height. You were right, they do seem taller. Maybe there was something that explained that little detail over on the computer screen. Curiosity makes you glance back at it.

The sound of tapping against glass brings your attention back. His hands are pressed up against the glass, slumped figure and lowered closer to your height. One hand is pointed, a finger hovering over the cracked glass and the ruined fog beneath it. Making a deep scratch in the surface of the glass with a claw that doesn’t look friendly, they draw an ‘X’ mark above your circle.

Oh! You lean forwards, drawing an ‘O’ beside that one.

Their eyes narrow. You can’t help but giggle, uncaring if the robot’s thin gaze moves to you when you do so. You can’t help it, it just reminded you of how people used to play against computerized AI with downloaded checkers or chess.

They repeat the motion with the ‘X’, and you follow suit with your circle above it. Two ‘X’s in the middle, three circles, one in the bottom corner, the middle and one at the center bottom. They scratch another ‘X’ besides that one, and you finish off by drawing a giddy circle in the top corner, dragging the diagonal line through. “I win!”

The Daycare Attendant’s hand pulls back, narrowed eyes scanning the glass. They find you again as you grin in their defeat. The corners of their mouth turn upwards.

The moment is broken by the sound of beeping. Your attention is torn away to the computer. It makes a shrill, annoying noise, something you rush to turn off after it starts to grate your ears. A couple of strings of code you don’t understand come across the screen, along with some informational data that you don’t comprehend, but the message at the bottom is something easy. Repair Complete.

The options to complete the procedure appear. You look up from the keyboard with a big grin. “We’re done! I can let you out now!”

The Daycare Attendant is standing at their full height now. Its head tilts at the sight of you. Four arms raise upwards, like readying for something.

“I’m gonna end the process now, okay? It should open the doors, but I don’t know if it’s going to keep the light on or off.” You click through whatever confirmations the UI has you do first before coming to the final screen. Your clicker hovers over the ‘Finish’. button. “Okay! Ending it now!”

You hit the button, and the lights turn off. An automated voice starts to play through the speaker. “Now unlocking the protective cylinder.”

There’s the sound of hissing air as something airtight unlocks. The inside is dark, and the door is still rising slowly as the machine powers off. You move to the front of the machine, away from the computer, and peer into the unbroken glass for any sight of your friend.

Finally, the last piece raises. The door is completely open. You blink into the dark. “Hello-?”

A hand juts out from the darkness. It finds purchase in the collar of your shirt, fingers hooking into the fabric as another hand comes around to the small of your back-

-only two hands, you note, as a tall body comes forwards onto yours. The hand around your collar go around to the back of your head, arms wrapping around your form like you’re the one thing that will keep him from falling. You are pressed unceremoniously into the figure that found you, and it covers you completely.

Somehow, between spitting out the fabric of Moon’s hat and breaking your own arms free, you laugh. “You did it! You’re repaired now! No more broken arm! It went great! You did great!” Your hands move to hold on as tightly as he was to you. Bubbly laughter is plagued with relief, and by the stars, it’s a good feeling. “And we’re hugging! We’re hugging, Moon!”

There’s a shudder in the animatronic’s body that you feel against your own. Your ribs still hurt a little, and your leg was still aching from earlier, even if the robot’s grip was threatening to take you off of the ground, but you don’t care. You’re not even scared. In fact, you feel pretty great. The smile in your cheeks is genuine, hurting your face as you attempt to pull back from him.

You have no room to do so, but it’s not like you minded. He doesn’t say anything wrong with your laughter, and the hold around you doesn’t feel like he’s going to snap your spine in half or anything. All in all, you were feeling pretty happy.

“You did so good!” You repeat, finally able to lean back as the animatronic gives you the smallest amount of space in a timeframe that feels like forever. “I know it was scary. I mean, I got scared at one point too, but you did great! And we won’t have to do it again, not unless we have to. See?” You pull back further, hands searching to hold the animatronic’s face. You pause when there’s no response, and blink at the faceplate a few inches from you. “Moon?”

He looks...confused. Unreadable. But no longer scared or angry or any other negative emotion, and you’ll write that down as a win. Moon’s eyes shift from staring into nothing, to yours.

…At this proximity, it was getting a little...much. Not to mention there are still hands locked onto you. “Hey, say something!” You offer him a chance. “How do you feel right now? What did it feel like?”

“I don’t-” The words trail off. His face scrunches up into something that you can’t decipher. A bit of your joy starts to dampen, but he continues. Eyes red, low-lidded. Moon’s head falls over your shoulder. “I’m tired.”

God, you want to laugh at the irony. You do a little bit, actually. “You can’t be tired! At least not on me. I still have a whole list of chores left to do after this.”

“Ha.” A low, raspy voice. Moon’s hold around you is still a locked cage, even as his body starts to shake. A sound you haven’t heard in a good minute but makes a welcome return; a chuckle reverbs against you. “Aha. Ha ha. Too bad.”

“Moon.” You utter in warning, but there’s no malice in it. This time, you really are swept off your feet, and are spun in a slow circle that doesn’t seem like something you’d want to break away from. “Moon!”

“It’s past your bedtime.” He’s laughing. Actually laughing. Whether from madness or anxiety or simple joy, it’s something that feels like safety. “No more work. Time for a nap.”

“I can’t nap, asshole, I need to get these done or I’m going to lose my job!”

His giggles are pitched high at the end. “Break time.”

“I can’t!” You spit and huff as the bell from his hat almost smacks you in the face as he twirls you for a third time. “Later! Later! I need to take out all the trash. There are banners I have to put up.”

“Let Chica do it.” He saunters. The pep is back in his step. “Banned from banners.”

You pull at his bell. “No!”

(For the record, the chores do get done that night, and mainly because you force Moon to help you under the thinly veiled threat that you’ll never, ever come back, though you both know it’s a lie.)

He doesn’t share what happened in the cylinder with you, and you don’t ask. You want to ask, oh so you really want to ask, but after a week of stress and shortcomings and fights and just ugh, maybe there’s a break needed. Maybe the two of you just needed to exist for a little while.

The trash is taken out, or really; dropped off at Chica’s front door. You only see one of Glamrock on patrol the whole night, and it’s Roxy’s with her back turned. You don’t go to greet her, as she’s obviously busy with patrol, but Moon sticks his hand underneath the bottom of his faceplate, and spins it with a coy look. You suppose he’s not quite forgiven the ‘paper plate’ commentary, or whatever that was supposed to be.

He doesn’t like your request for a hug at the door when you’ve clocked out and standing at the shutters with your arms open. “C’mon. We’ve had a whole year to get to this point and you’re snuffing me out, now?”

The Daycare Attendant hangs upside down from his wire, although in a more striking pose than his normal limp self. The arm looks to be perfectly functional, at least in the hours he’s been able to use it. Occasionally you’ll see him flexing his fingers, like now, a casual fidget as he sways in the air.

“Don’t push your luck.” Moon’s voice is honest, genuine. Playful, again. You’ve missed it. “I didn’t mean to hug you.”

“Then, do tell, what exactly were you trying to do back there?”

His head angles to a sharp point. A sinister grin curls on his face. “Shouldn’t you be having nightmares, right about now?”

“You’re terrible. Horrible.” You huff, turning to the shutters. He holds them open for you, just like last night, and you’re careful to watch how you put weight on your bad leg. “You’re the face of my nightmares.”

The jest doesn’t affect him. “Share.”

“I will, thank you very much.” You cross the threshold, ducking your head underneath the grey shutter just to get one last word in. Or really, the last gesture. Your middle finger comes up with your grin. “Goodnight, Starboy.”

There’s amusement in watching his face twist into a sense of disapproval. The fact that he drops the shutter in your face makes it even funnier. It feels like a dream, almost. Like the calm settle you get after a roller coaster, pulling into the station after riding on a high of fear and adrenaline for so long.

The awkward wobble walk back to your car is just about enough time for you to crawl into your seat, buckle your seatbelt, and start the engine. You sit there for a few minutes. Maybe thirty. Just…processing, until you drive away.

.

.

.

You expected a response from Management about Parts and Service. You receive a different kind of email the next morning.

Due to new developments, the Sun AI will be allowed to leave the Daycare center after hours and join regular security detail. The Moon AI will be reinstated as the Naptime attendant. Following these changes and due to your effect on the animatronic, your new position is to monitor the Daycare Attendant for behavioral issues and to ensure that the transition runs smoothly. You will remain the general staff for non-robotic duties, but the daily list of tasks will prioritize Daycare Assistant duties.

You can keep your current uniform attire, though it's recommended you have your nametag visible at all times for customers purpose to see it. There should be notes and equipment available to you behind the security desk. Please see the previous notes about initiating controlled shocks. The Daycare Attendant animatronic will fill you in on any questions about your role you may have.

We here at Fazbear Entertainment value your status as an Employee, and thank you for your impeccable work ethic. Fazbear Entertainment is not responsible for any mutilation, phycological damage, or death due to employee negligence.

Thank you for your cooperation - M

Chapter Text

There’s a small hole in your jacket that you don’t notice until some time later. It’s barely anything, a small pinprick of where a metal claw might have caught your clothes maybe a few weeks ago. Or months. Or days. A quick stitch from a sewing kit you keep underneath the sink fixes it, and the red thread you use isn’t noticeable in the rest of the fabric.

Management sends you another email after you don’t respond to the one prior, but you doubt they need a response. This one details things a little further; talking about some of your new responsibilities as the Daycare Assistant while still maintaining your general duties as staff. Not much is different except maybe your hours are a bit more stretched, you still only qualify for one meal from the cafeteria if your shift goes over six hours, and your location. There are a few PDFs attached to the email, all carrying some basic instructions for general childcare and some extras, like how to heat up a baby bottle or how to perform CPR, to refuse outside food from the daycare for allergy reasons and to be diligent that all children are accounted for and to alert security immediately if one goes missing.

Considering the date and that there technically wasn’t any security at the pizzaplex (save for the animatronics, of course), the instructions were a bit dated. In fact, they were terribly lacking. Management seems to offset this by leaving a bolded note at the end of the email that emphasizes that the Daycare Attendant was to do most if not all the work, and you were there to simply supervise. They want you to just be present, it seems. Weird.

It ends a reminder of your schedule and wishing you well on your new ‘promotion’ despite the fact that a pay raise was nowhere in the text, but you’re a bit too mind-fuddled to even ask about it. The email you had made not long ago ready to ask for the Daycare Attendant’s reinstatement was still sitting in your drafts, now unneeded as everything you would ask for was now being handed to you, in a rather, well, odd manner. Your response is a generic ‘thank you’ that you googled a template for so as to not think to hard about it and a quick question about whether or not the crack in the protective glass cylinder in Parts n Service was going to be fixed and if so would it be docked from your pay. They respond back; Don’t worry about it.

Alrighty then.

Gramps is at the mailboxes when you’re about to leave. He’s painting them again, this time in a sky-blue color. It wasn’t uncommon for him to change the mailboxes’ colors every month, and he wasn’t the type to ask around what shade it ought to be. “Headin’ to work?”

You’ve stopped to retie your shoe at the bottom of the stairs if only to just give yourself an excuse to talk to him a little longer. “Ye-up. Where else?”

“You sure do spend a lot of time there.” He returns to his painting. A few droplets fall on his boots but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or care.

“Got a promotion.” You say, standing up straight and giving his handiwork a lookover. Last month there were mayflowers and marigolds, this month he’s painted lilies and some other flower he hasn’t finished enough for you to decipher yet. “I’m the Daycare Assistant now, so they’re changing some of my duties up. Maybe my hours too. I might be gone for longer.”

Gramps whistles, and it makes his mustache look funny. A touch of playful sarcasm lingers in his tone. “Ain’t that surprising.”

You bid him goodbye and leave him to his mailbox flowers.

Sitting in the parking lot a few minutes before your shift, you run through the email one more time if anything to just wring the rest of the disbelief out of your system, under the guise that you were refreshing yourself over your duties for the nights. Except there wasn’t really any to do, except the usual of taking out the trash and refilling the paper towels and toilet paper in the bathrooms, and to report to the Daycare Attendant to receive the rest of your instructions for your new position at the Pizzaplex.

In the meanwhile, online promotional posts and ads were being created and scheduled to welcome back the naptime attendant back to the Fazbear Entertainment’s, and to announce some changes to the Pizzaplex. Not just concerning the Daycare Attendant, but a surge of things, like how the company is going ‘green’ by reducing it’s power usage, and how it’s combatting burnout and employee fatigue by making it’s entire employment force automated or animatronic-based. Funny.

The date for all this is the middle of next week. Management makes it clear that you need to have all your affairs and be adjusted by this time period.

You have one week and a half to make sure the Daycare Attendant, and yourself, are fully ready for the transition.

Great.

The mix of emotions and thoughts whirring in your head makes you feel like a robot yourself walking into work. You should feel happy, ecstatic even, but there’s a feeling of wrongness that you can’t exactly pinpoint. It makes you zombie walk to the clock-in station and linger there, staring at the screen as a little Helpy chibi runs across welcoming you back to work, card in hand and unswiped.

You jump only slightly when a claw taps you oh-so delicately on the shoulder. “Geeze-!”

“Whoa. Whoa.” Roxy’s voice. You turn your head as you jump, eyes locking with amber. A silicone brow raises on her forehead. “You look exhausted. What’s the wide eyes for? Staring into nothing?”

You blink dully at her. Without looking at the screen, you swipe your ID badge as you have many times before. “Just got a lot of stuff on my mind. Nothing to worry about.”

Roxy makes a noise akin to a snort. “Right. Any promotion recently have to do with any of that?”

It’s not in an unpleasant tone, but you still narrow your eyes, thinning your lips as you pocket your badge. “How do you know about that?”

“You were staring off into space so hard that you didn’t notice my footsteps.” She starts. And she’s right, all of the animatronics had a stomping metal sound when they walked. You must have been very out of it. “Besides,” The wolf continues, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. “We all know. Or, we will. I do. We’re all connected to the main system, so we can see your employee profile anytime, and any changes to it.”

You raise a brow. “Uh-”

“Don’t worry; changes to your profile don’t send out an alert of anything. It’s rather silent. No one knows yet but me. I was just nosy.” She continues, admitting to her snoop as if it were as casual as day. “Well, me and whoever decides to check before you tell them. And the Daycare Attendants.”

“Right.” You inhale a deep breath you didn’t know you needed and ignore the solid look the wolf gives you. “Right. Of course they would know. If an alert was sent out to anyone, it would be them.” A motion of your head for her to follow, Roxy leans away from the wall, the two of you walking in rhythm away from the clock-out station. You’ll take the long way to the bathrooms, through the back hallways, if just to talk to her a little longer without her being pulled away by bright eyes of customers and kids.

“Chica is gonna be stoked when she finds out.” Roxy looks amused if anything. “She was rabbling on about you and the clowns earlier.”

“Oh, geeze.”

“It’s kinda wild. She has whole theories in her head right now.”

“Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not.” She gives you an encouraging shrug, which could mean anything good or a mockery at this point. “Considering we’re constantly stuck here in the pizzaplex, and this is the most dramatic thing that’s happened here in a long while, I don’t blame her.”

Roxy waits for you to unlock the door nearest to the bathrooms, though she lingers behind you in the shadows. You can hear families and kids talking on the other side as the light pulls in, so you only keep the door cracked by your foot if just to give her a few more seconds of leisure before she has to go perform for the masses again. “I highly doubt what’s going on with me is any more interesting than any of the other stuff that goes on around here. I mean, c’mon. You guys are superstars. Literally.”

She fiddles with her nails in a bored manner. Or maybe a distracted one. “Yeah, you’re right. You’re not the most interesting thing that’s happened in the last few years.” She states, and you half-snort and half-mummer ‘harsh’ as you open the door a little further for her exit, but she continues. “You’re the only good thing so far. For a lot of us.”

Your movements pause, and you turn to look at her with widened eyes. Though, she carries such a casual stance about her, you force your expression to bit a little less, giving a smile. “Damn. Never thought I’d hear praise like that from Miss Roxanne Wolfe of all people-”

“Shut it.” She punches you, albeit gently, in the arm. It still hurts and it’s going to sore later, but it brings a short laugh out of you as the animatronic composes herself. The wolf is smiling too, even if she looks like she’s trying not to. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“I’m gonna definitely let it get to my head.”

“Watch it.” She warns, though there’s a grin in her teeth and playfulness in her tone. “I think I’m rubbing off on you. Let Chica have her fun, anyway. She’s been through enough.”

You return the tone, although a bit damp now. “Yeah, she’s told me.”

Roxy’s smile falters. “She’s told you?”

“Some things, yeah.” You start, slowly, because the dawning realization comes when you remember that Chica’s conversation with you in the storage room might not have been all that long ago, but it was something still sinking into the back of your mind. “She and I had a heart-to-heart not long ago.”

Roxy blinks at you. Her hands fidget, claws picking between each other. “Huh. She doesn’t talk about Bonnie to me anymore.”

There’s a weighted pause in the air as the words process. Your eyebrows furrow together. “…Who?”

There must have been something that clicked in the animatronic’s brain because the staring look Roxy has suddenly snapped back, something you didn’t even notice she had until she seemed to come back to attention, maybe because it mirrored your own.

“Nevermind.” She says quickly, a little too fast, you think. She realizes it too, because a follow-up is close behind, amber eyes darting away briefly. “It’s just one of those things that I was saying. You know, things that happen here. Things do happen here. You’re just not the worst one.”

The tone of conversation suddenly feels less lighthearted than it did seconds prior. Are you supposed to pry? Are you supposed to apologize? Maybe tell her that she could vent to you if she needed? Or did you need to stay out of this? You go for joking, because that’s all you’ve learned how to do when you spend most of your time around jesters. “Give it a few months. I’ll turn into a supervillain or something. Make it my personal mission to spite you all somehow personally. I’ll dye Monty’s mohawk white while he’s in rest mode.”

This gets a short laugh out of her. “I don’t care what you do to Monty, but if you mess with me and my hair, I’ll string you up with the banners.” The wolf brushes past you. Instead of venturing out into the open floor where she’s spotted immediately, she walks straight to the janitorial closet. Without asking, she’s opened the door and yanked out the cleaning cart with one hand by the time you catch up with her. The scuffs on the doorframe have become permanent marks now. “Don’t you have some bathrooms to clean or something?”

You accept the cart, and lean on its handle. “Maybe, but-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence. As excepted, as soon as Roxy is out in plain view, she is spotted and you cut yourself short as two children run up faster than their parents can keep up with, each sporting Glamrock merch to the nines and already spewing praises and talking quickly to the animatronic.

Roxy’s change in demeanor is immediate, a well-versed actor, as she switches her attention from you to the children. Whatever conversation you had would have to be on hold for now, and you quietly excuse yourself as the wolf flexes and starts giving off her usual choir. Her eyes dart to you only briefly as if to say a silent goodbye, and you just give her a thumbs up as you wheel the cart away, already stocked with toilet and paper towel refills thanks to staffbots, presumably.

The bathrooms don’t take long to change and for once they are relatively clean, save for the weird green stain on the sink in the upstairs women’s restroom that you can’t tell if it’s dried puke or makeup. You do all the routes planned out in a manner that makes the Daycare the last place to stop, per usual, even if that means you have to cut through the arcade and through a gift shop or two (DJ Music Man is in the middle of a song and manning the stage full of dancing children and one really enthusiastic and haywire mother, so he doesn’t say anything to you, but a rather blink respectively as you dip your head and nod on your way out.)

Trash taken out? Done. Rolls refilled? Done. Gum underneath the cafeteria tables picked off? Also done. For the sake of it, you take a rag and wipe off the grimy fingerprints at the bottom of the golden Freddy statue in the main atrium as you pass by to the other side of the Pizzaplex only to sigh as another child tries, once again, to climb the height until an older child plucks him from the activity and scolds him for it. The routine is mundane, and you follow it as you pass by staffbots that are too busying vacuuming crumbs, wrappers, and snot balls out of the 80s carpet as you wheel the cart by. It’s all autopilot by this point.

Until you pass by a familiar door and the squeak of the cart's wheels slows to a stop.

The old security room. The one that’s still locked, the electric pad only keyed by the security badge you still have stashed away somewhere, although you can’t remember if you’ve lost it at home or if you might have forgotten it in the employee’s lounge. Given your memory, the computer system should still be in there, along with all the dust and the lights and the weird reddish-brown stain on the desk that the staffbots never enter the room to clean for some reason.

You discovered the Daycare Attendant’s past through those screens. Well, a part of it.

You could, theoretically, see the rest of the Pizzaplex’s history through such a personal source instead of relying on whatever statement the company puts out officially. See what’s up with Bonnie, maybe the rumors about the franchise in general. Maybe you’ll get lucky and find old screenings of the Daycare Attendant on stage.

You make a mental note to come back to this later. But for now, your chores were done and you didn’t have any other excuse to procrastinate or hold off the inevitable. You needed to go check in for your ‘promotion’.

The Daycare’s doors are open and welcoming when you arrive, with some parents sitting on the tables outside the glass, eating what is presumably ‘dinner’ considering the time. Pulling your cart over to the doorway, you peer out into the playmats.

Sun is sitting on the playmats surrounded by a circle of children with his back facing the doorway. From this angle, you can see a book in his hands, rather comically large with pictures that he turns around for the children to view after a few sentences. It must be the middle of story time, and considering that all the kids were quiet and starry-eyed, they seem to be well-invested in whatever tale he was spinning. They’re all wearing birthday hats, the biggest one on the head of a boy with a tiny mohawk and star glasses.

You’re careful to push the cart slow enough so that the squeaking wheel doesn’t make any noise, pushing it over the bump in the floor and into the daycare, parked where it won’t block the doors from shutting when the room closes.

Sun pauses, going still for a split second when you enter the room.

You freeze. Maybe you were too loud?

One of the children wastes no time in complaining. “Mr. Sun!”

“Oh, I’m so so so so so very sorry!” The animatronic pipes back up, sitting straight. His sunrays whir around his head, all silly and poise in his tone. “It’s just that this is a very difficult word for me, I don’t think I can read it! Nope! No-can-do. Do we have any good readers here today?” Deflection at its finest, you watch as an array of tiny hands raise and a bunch of kids starts chanting to volunteer. “Oh, goodie! Didn’t know I had a couple of smarties in the Daycare today! Well, go on!”

He picks a girl nearby with wide glasses and a missing tooth, turning the book towards her and smiling encouragingly as she reads the next part of the story out to her peers. You smile, though biting your tongue. It’s better if you don’t introduce yourself right now.

In the background noise you try to tune out, Sun is telling of dragons and knights, of princes and tooth fairies, goblins, and witches, all getting dressed up fancy to go to a ball out in the middle of the woods (because fantasy stories always have a mysterious castle in the woods) where their vampire host asks them all to help him find his lost cat. Judging by the direction of how the children’s book was being told and the occasional asking of the children where they think the cat is, it’s probably the witch all along who can turn into the cat, but it’s fascinating to hear them all dance around that detail until they figure it out.

In the meantime, you slide behind the security desk to make yourself scarce. It's been cleaned and dusted, whether by the Daycare Attendant himself or the staff but it's uncertain. For the sake and at the excuse of your 'promotion', you might as well make yourself at home in this new spot, so you rummage.

You pull open the drawers, and frown.

They're about as clean as the top of the desk, and a bit more organized, but the contents from inside are missing. The old notepads from the precious Daycare assistants were missing. All the pages that detailed the name of kids, medical notes check in and check-out times; Gone.

It's not empty. There's a new notepad and a pen there, more out of formality than anything else considering with the Daycare Attendant's abilities, you won't really need it, but it still spoke a tale. That, and a black Velcro box with a small strap to hook to a belt. A quick investigation tells you it's the tazer, weighing heavy in your palm.

This feels...wrong. Those who came before you are missing, traces of their history erased. Like a cover-up before a cover-up.

You shut the drawer closed as quietly as you can and look up from the security desk. It’s only for a split second, but you spy sunrays tilting away from your direction as Sun goes to show a boy a particular picture in the book he was begging to see. Your mouth presses into a thin line. It would nice, lovely even to have prior Daycare Assistants to talk to, but considering the reputation of the job and the lack of information on them, you highly doubt anyone who had the position prior would be willing to talk to the stranger current employee who’s way too intertwined with their coworkers for it to be considered normal.

You should work on cleaning up to keep yourself busy. Rising from the desk, you seek out the minor things on the ground; wrappers, stray plushies, a sock that was missing its pair, most thrown in the trash and otherwise put in lost and found. You work quietly in hopes that you don’t disturb the storytime. A few children’s eyes turn towards you in curiosity but find watching you in the act of cleaning to be less entertaining than the jester-themed robot that’s currently acting out the scene of a dragon being slayed, so little eyes barely linger on you.

The Daycare looks a little cleaner due to your efforts, and you’re almost done before there’s a little knock on wood. Your vision (and the children’s and Sun’s) trails over to the entrance, where a green figure stands at attention, hands on his hips and in performance mode. A smile comes to your face in greeting and you speak before you think. “Oh, Hi Monty!”

Said Gator’s sunglasses find you, and he gives a big wide grin and a tip of his head. Children start to coo and scramble in excitement at the sight of him. “Howdy, runt.”

“…Howdy?”

“Look like the main star of the show is here to take you away!” Sun’s voice interrupts the greeting, accompanied by children getting up from their spots, some crowding around Sun and the rest already running up to the gator who greets them with a hearty laugh and some choice catchphrases.

The birthday is already running before Sun can finish his sentence, almost running you over on his sprint toward the green animatronic. “Monty! Monty! I have the same hair as you!”

The gator laughs, crouched down and prodding at the kid’s sunglasses. The boy looks like he might explode with excitement, almost vibrating in place. “It’s a real punk hairstyle kid. You one of them punks?”

He nods so fast his head is a blur. “Yeah!”

“Good!” Monty leans back, children linking hands and raising them as he flexes, showing ‘guns’ and bellowing out. “Who’s ready to Rock n’ Roll?!”

The children all burst into a choir of cheers. One of them throws their birthday hat into the air and then hits himself in the face with it trying to catch it again. It’s all so corny and cheesy that it’s a little sickening, but in a cute way. Your face hurts a bit from smiling, even if you’re a touch confused. Then, as quickly as they came, they start to leave. You blink, faltering as you watch children link hands with one another as Monty steps away from the Daycare, each child following in a line with the birthday boy up front. The kids are…leaving? The daycare doesn’t close for at least another hour.

“Now, remember the rules!” Sun calls out to them as they start to disappear, and some of the kids in the chain stop, causing the whole train of motion to pause. “Hands linked together! Wear your birthday hats the whole time! Never, ever separate from Mr. Gator and no running, no fighting, no yelling-!”

“We ain't got time for rules.” Monty says. His tone is performative, similar to how he speaks on stage. “Real rockstars don’t worry about that-”

“-And remember to have lots of fun. Be safe!” Sun ignores him completely as if the fact that Monty set foot anywhere near the daycare was offensive of itself. He waves a hand in rapid movement. “Have a faz-tastic time! Get to golfin’! Buh-Bye!”

For a split second, there’s a look on Monty’s face like he might say something else, but he refrains. Instead, his Rockstar persona continues, addressing the children to follow him with a bellowing chant that they all respond with equally enthusiastic calls. They follow him one by one, and the parents outside the daycare cafeteria actually seem to follow, although further behind and lost in their own conversations amongst themselves.

As they disappear, Sun approaches the doors and brings them to a close, which prompts you to look at your phone for the time. Yep, still not regular time for the Daycare to close. The lock clicks into place right as you repocket it and mull over the possibilities. “So, the daycare was booked for a birthday party all day, or is there a schedule change in the opening hours? I didn’t read anything about it.”

A pause in the air. Sun’s hands linger on the handles of the door, still for a moment then dropping slowly to his side.

You keep up the grin though your stomach is starting to twist into a knot. “You, uh, seem stiffer than usual.”

The silence is thick. Finally, Sun turns to you with a default smile. There’s a rigid stiffness in his motions, more so than what you’d expect from the normally limber robot. The sense of a carefree jester was missing. “Hi, friend. How’s your leg?”

Oh! You put up a smile, a thumb up, and kick your injured leg for show. The edge of your shoe thwacks against the security desk and sends a painful throb up your leg all the way to your spine that makes you flinch. Your shoulders hitch, biting your tongue, leg hanging in the air. Thumbs up, you hiss through your teeth. “I’m doing great!”

Sun stares at you. “Why are you like this.”

“I’ll be fine.” You urge, half-leaning on the security desk if to take on a more casual pose. It really just makes you look like a swauve idiot, but you’re too invested in it now to back out. “Really, I’ll be fine. Everything’s gonna be fine. I’ll probably be completely healed in time for next week. You know, for…” You think for a moment, waving a hand in a general motion.“-the changes.”

“Oh, yes.” Sun’s smile is blank and tone falsely cheerful. “Your new promotion.”

“Yeah.” You chew on the inside of your cheek. “…Any thoughts about that?”

Pale, white eyes stare at you.

“I don’t like it when you’re quiet.” You say, and you surprise yourself with your own honesty. The silence from him reminds you more of Moon, but the anxiety that lingers in the air could belong to either one of them. “Say something or I’m gonna go crazy.”

“Ha! I don’t think it will change much!” Sun finally speaks, laughter in his tone. The perk seems to reignite back in him, and he takes long strides up to you, before his torso swivels to the side and he pulls pages left on the edge of the desk. Children’s drawings, it looks like. “You already spend quite a lot of time here, now you’ll get paid for it! I say that's a win!”

You whistle at his back as you watch him pin a few drawings to the plastic walls of the play center. “They didn’t exactly offer me a raise. Management says I have to help you out with the daycare a little bit more now. Like, they sent me childcare pdfs and everything.”

“Oh, ho ho ho. I assure you we can handle the daycare’s duties all on our own.” He pins the last one in place, thwacking the paper just show before his torso turns to face you and his legs walk ‘backwards’ to you again. “So that’s not why they promoted you, is it?”

You exhale through your nose in a loud fashion to make noise on purpose, just to snarf at him as he leans over, grabs few more stacked pages of art, and reverse walks back over to where they’re being hung. Tone light, you joke with him. “What? Are you worried I’ll out-work you or something?”

“With all due respect!” He does some sort of contortionist movement for his arms to reach higher up, bending the elbows at angles unnaturally in order to get all the art pinned in the proper place. “I can do a lot of things that you can’t. So no! Not worried at all, no sir-ree! The daycare’s ratings have been sky-high without any human assistance, mind you, and the kids really like it here, so I highly doubt the management would have your position geared this way for any reasons such as clownery or tomfoolery or being a nanny.”

It’s obvious. You know that he knows, but still, you follow the flow of the conversation. “Oh yeah? How’d you assume that?”

“Hmm!” He makes a noise of philosophical proportion, hand coming up to his ‘chin’ in a thinking motion as the robot turns on his heel and starts to strut back to you again, motioning hands as he speaks, counting fingers for every point. “Leeeeet’s see here. Nosy employee lasts over a year, isn’t ran off by…unconventional work environment or coworkers, survives rather deadly circumstances, suddenly gets a change to the staff profile to allow for security clearance in my room, alternate hours and duties in my daycare, except of those duties state that it’s to directly care for the children! In fact, there’s no real duties for you here except to simply supervise.”

Sun is towering over you again, looking down at your wrinkled nose with a stretched smile. His pointed fingers curl into just one, pointing at your chest, where the nametag lies. “Supervise who, exactly, when we’re the ones keeping you out of trouble?”

Back pressed to the edge of the security desk again. The last time Sun had you like this, the argument wasn’t pretty, and it hasn’t been that long since the sting from those words left, either. “…Alright, I get it. It’s not subtle.”

“Congrats on your promotion to Daycare Assistant!” Sun says in a typical, company-friendly manner that has you searching for the lying undertone in his voice instead, and finding it in the way he looks at you. Softer than you thought. “Looks like we’ll both have each other on a leash.”

You wrinkle your nose. “You’re mean to me.”

He boops it. “I think you like it when I’m mean!”

“…What do you mean by that?”

“Excuse me!” Suddenly, Sun’s hovering form ‘falls’, if by falling it means he’s practically thrown himself over you while his arms are reaching over for the other end of the desk, long enough to get to the drawers even at this disadvantage but making a show of losing his gravity as his torso bonks you in the head. “Whoopsie Daisy! Looks like I’m falling! I’m fainting! Falling!”

“What the-!” Both hands on the animatronic, you push back to no avail. “Hey! HEY! Sun! You’re too-, Wait a minute, you’re too heavy!”

“Falling! Gravity! Increasing on me!”

“You’re too heavy! Your stupid sun ray things are gonna poke me in the EYE!” You’re struggling against his weight and he’s laughing. The yellow bastard is actually laughing. “You’re gonna collapse AGAIN-?”

Suddenly, the weight disappears as Sun pulls back, standing up to his full height like he didn’t almost just squish you, hands folded behind his back, sun rays spinning. “Oh my! I’m suddenly feeling a whole lot better!”

You inhale, letting your lungs expand to their full size again, and huff. “REALLY?”

“Really honestly truly and deeply!” The jester’s chirp is back again, wide stance and bouncing on his heel. “Now! Hold out your hand! I have a surprise for you. It’s a very special one.”

You squint at him. “Is it a sundrop?”

“Do you want one?”

“...Maybe.”

“Then maybe I can get one for you later.” His eyes turn upwards, leaning back to give you some room. His arms are still held behind his back. “Hand, pretty please!”

He’s either having fun with this or making a mockery of you, but there’s a cut laugh in your throat that Sun has always been good at keeping alive, so you humor him. Deep breath, you hold out your hand and watch as one of the animatronic’s arms come around from behind and takes your hand into his, making your palm face upwards while he holds it steady. The second arm comes around in a blur, a little black shape placed solidly in your palm.

Sun pats it there in your palm all kind-like. “This is a tazer.”

You stare at him as if he grew two heads. “…What.”

“A tazer! Used for self-defense.” He repeats, and pulls the Velcro piece off of the top, keeping your hand in place. Carefully, he shows you where the buttons are with his thumb, but doesn’t turn it on. “Be very careful with it. Shocking little tool, this is. Tricky if you’re not careful. This is how you use it, this button here, and you need to keep this on your person at all times. Use it for emergencies-”

“What-” You try to pull your hand back but it’s kept securely locked in the Daycare Attendant’s. A quick glance towards the glass tells you that there’s no one around to see this scene, but you’re still suddenly feeling anxiety fill up in the bottom of your ribcage. “What on earth would I need a tazer for at work?!”

Sun is still, you think, but you catch the smallest of shrinking of sunrays before they come back out again.

You blanch at him. “Fuck no-”

“Language.” He interrupts you but you’re still chanting no as if it’s going to somehow make the context of the situation any different than what it currently was. “I’m not saying you have to use it, we’re saying that you should…keep it nearby! Maybe in a pocket! After a while, you won’t even know that it’s there-”

“No, Sunny, I’m not-” You pull away your hand again, this time with a little more force. There’s a moment of pause where his hands linger in the air, and you keep your shoulders tense as you force the words through. “I’m not doing that. No ‘maybes’ ‘ifs’ ‘or’ or any compromises, I’m not carrying that with me. No one is getting shocked.” You finish your spiel, and he appears like he’s going to argue so you shut him down. “I have no reason to worry about having a tazer on me. No reason. None. No.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to argue. He’s uncomfortable, even when the body language and the way he’s smiling screams that he’s trying desperately to keep it light-hearted and as unconfrontational as possible, but you’re prepared to stand your ground and argue again until the animatronic leans back, setting the tazer on the desk and resigning. “Okay.”

“Good.” You sigh. Another inhale, and you turn towards the offending object with a scrunched look. With a quick movement of your arm and stretching over the desk, the tazer is dropped back into the drawer with it shut and locked away forever. Or at least until the next time you decide to pull it open. “…Dunno what makes you think I’d use something like that anyway. It’s not like anything is really changing.”

Sun’s hands wring together. His eyes are still upturned.

“Freaked me out a minute ago. I thought you were collapsing again.” You start, letting the tension drop from your shoulders. “I thought maybe I’d have to put you in the cart and wheel you back downstairs all over again.”

For the first time in a few minutes, his expression changes. Sun’s head tilts at an angle, discomfort replaced by confusion. “Hmm? Now why would we do that?”

You raise a brow. “Dude. You collapsed. You fell right on top of me. That’s how we ended up in Parts n Service.”

Pale eyes blink at you. Fingers twitch twiddling with one another, stop in a stiff rigidness, then suddenly the animatronic is lively again, making an eureka gesture and bouncing on his heels. “Oh, right! What a dreadful thing. That, yes. Terribly, terribly. Sorry. I hope I didn’t crush you. Well, not before. Before, I mean. I totally meant to do it just a moment ago, but I was being very careful about it, really. We weren’t really putting all of our weight on you.” He laughs, lightly kicking the security desk with his slipper for his point. “Don’t wanna hurt that leg anymore, doncha? Might have a heart attack if I did! Well, you know-” He gestures absentmindedly at his center. “Core attack. Whatever floats the boat!”

You’re confused. “But, Parts N Service-”

“Let’s not talk about it!” Sun interrupts you in a cheery voice. It drops into something solemn. “Please.”

Your tongue moves around in your mouth dancing with unspoken questions. As much as you want to argue that he owes you answers (rightfully so. You’ve gone through shit here too, and you’re too intertwined for your own good) you bite your tongue. Sun was so uncomfortable it was coming off in waves, feeling like a tangible layer on your clothes. You don’t like whatever anxiety-riddled coding is causing him to feel like this, your poor friend.

“Alright, alright.” You kick at the floor in a nervous habit, and immediately regret it when a small bit of pain comes up from your leg, choked back by a neutral expression to seem normal. “You, uh, said I was given security clearance to your room?” You ask, looking up. “Does this mean I can go inside?”

Sun looks relieved at least, but not completely. “Yes, technically!”

“You still don’t want me to go in there, do you?”

“Oh, dear it’s…it’s a mess.” He laughs awkwardly, taking a step back, waving his hand around. He gestures for you to follow. “There’s cobwebs all over the ceiling and peeling wallpaper and all sorts of nasty little details! Not the proper place for a human, nope. There’s probably asbestos in the walls!”

“Dude, it’s cool.” A little strange for a robot that is very keen on keeping the daycare very clean, but whatever. You follow as he walks backward, inwardly confirming that he must have some sort of camera or sensor in the back of his head since he avoids the children’s chairs and the play structure from behind. You give a smile and hold up your hands in mock surrender. “I’m not gonna push you about it anymore if you don’t want me to.” You offer, then pause. “If you come outside the daycare.”

Sun’s head does a full rotation, still walking back as his arms cross and he taps his chin. “Interesting-”

“I’m kidding! Kidding!”

“What a silly purposely!” He says, leading you further into the back of the daycare, no questions asked as to why. “I do believe I already have!”

“Hey, wait. That didn’t count!” You urge. You’re in the back part of the daycare now, away from the front windows, almost to the farthest wall. “You’re allowed to now. You can leave whenever you want!”

He tuts, waving a finger. “That is simply not true! I still have duties in the daycare!”

“Buuuut you can take the kids out of the Daycare, a tour around the pizzaplex, maybe? Like what’s Monty doing with the birthday party.” You talk as Sun suddenly changes course and steps to the side. Without breaking yours or his stride, a yellow arm darts out, fingers grab you by the head and slightly rotates you so you’re walking in the same direction until you stop to the side of him. You don’t even blink. “You can take them to the arcade! To the main stage! Mazercise!” You think for a moment. “Gator golf?

Sun huffs. “Ah yes, wrangling kids in an enclosed area is a full plate by itself, but I’m sure taking them out of the daycare where I need to keep track of every single one of them in a very large facility surrounded by strangers, loud noises, and a plenty of nooks and cranny's a child could hide in if they didn’t want to be found!” Sun’s head rotates downwards, sarcasm dripping from his tone, hands underneath his ‘chin’ again. “You know, I don’t quite think the rule should apply to daycare working hours. It’s a Daycare for a reason. No more field trips!”

You put your hands on your hops. “Phamplet says you used to do them.”

“Oh, certainly! When we were first refitting for the daycare.” He tuts, chuckling. “We know better now. Did you know children can climb inside of the vents? Not that they wouldn’t fit, oh no, we can fit inside the vents. They’re certainly small enough to do that. But did you know that they have no problems with it? They think it’s fun! Unless they get stuck in the ceiling and you have to have an army of staffbots taking out part of the tile in order to get little Andy down before his mother arrives. Not the most fun thing to do!”

“You sound like you speak from experience.”

“We have seen things.”

“Sure, right. Hey, Sun?”

“Yes?”

“Why are we in the back of the daycare?”

“Why did you follow me without thinking about it?”

“Avoiding the question.” You bring your hand up in a finger-gun shape, and jab it at the robot. “Why’d you take me to a second location?”

Hands up, palms forward, Sun mocks a surrender. “Alright! I confess! It’s about time for that birthday party to drop off, and I didn’t want the gator coming back for any chats. Specifically, if he saw you through the glass.” He chuckles, lowering his hands, leaning forwards as you mumble and lower your own. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to follow robots into strange places?”

Ok, fine. So no ‘field trips’. It makes sense. Children could absolutely break away from the group and even if the Daycare Attendant does a good job in an enclosed space like this, there’s not a good chance he’ll do as well keeping up with the wrangle of kids should they be out of their area of comfort. Realistically, the only way for Sun to be a mascot again was if he left the daycare unattended, or…

“But you can come out of the daycare after the normal hours when there aren’t any more kids to watch?” You ask.

Sun hums. “That’s no different than regular security protocol.”

“Except the lights are on.”

He stills for a second. The sunrays click to an angle. “Yes, the lights will be on.” Bringing up his wrist, he looks at an imaginary watch and nods his head. You already know what he’s about to say before he says it. “Speaking of which, the lights will be turning off soon!”

Has the Pizzaplex started closing already? You didn’t even hear the intercom. Whatever. “I know the routine. "You say, turning on your heel to head back towards the door. ”See you in a minute-“

Your stride is broken by the tugged feeling of fingers in your collar, and you are pulled away from your path, back to Sun’s front. “Leaving so soon?”

You blink dumbly. “Uh. Yeah. I usually do.” They never liked to let you see them when the lights change. Although you think about mentioning how you saw some sort of transformation in the protective glass cylinder, the time in Parts N’ Service wasn’t something they want to talk about, obviously. You thwack at the fingers still hooked into your collar (Sun chuckles when you hurt your fingers snapping against metal but you’re determined, tongue sticking out of your mouth as you’re continuing to flick at the intrusion until he lets go.) “So unless that’s part of a change, then…I need to walk out of the daycare.”

Sun checks the fake watch again. “Things are changing, aren’t they?” He sounds calm. Decisive. He looks down at you with a gleeful grin. “Like the lighting is going to change…right about…” The hand raised towards you is now inches from your face, and your own widen at the realization. “…Now.”

His hand covers your eyes, and you jump as darkness covers you. Your own grip flies up to his fingers to pull them away but it’s futile, and you scramble at ribbons. “Hey! HEY! What gives?!” Your shout raises in pitch as suddenly a second hand comes to your shoulder, using the first hold on you as leverage, and you are quite literally spun in a circle like a top toy. “HEY-”

“Ha.” A low, gravelly laugh.

The weight over your eyelids leaves suddenly, and your scrunched eyes open, blinking to adjust to the new lighting conditionings. The daycare’s lights were off, only distant neon illuminating the space around you just enough that you could see a few feet in front of you. There’s a whoosh of air near your head, but no sign of the Daycare Attendant. You curse out into the darkness. “Oh, COME ON!”

Moon chuckles somewhere above you. You throw a middle finger up in the air and hope that it’s facing the right direction.

“And here I was thinking you were gonna show me something cool.” You sniff, kicking at the floor all dejected like. (Terrible idea. A pang of pain goes up your leg and it takes a good bit of willpower not to wince.) Thankfully, there’s no mockery from the shadows at your stupid habit, but the quiet is not what you want, so you call out to him. “Moon?”

No response.

“Moon. Dude, buddy, Pal. Are you coming down here or am I doomed to talk to the void again?” Another boat of silence. You don’t need to wonder whether or not he’s listening. He always is. “There’s some stuff I gotta discuss with you. Like, pronto. There’s been, uh, change in my employee duties. You know-” You thumb at your nametag, walking around in the dark daycare, head tilted up towards the ceiling instead of watching your feet. “You’re uh, kinda put on the spotlight buddy. In about a week and a half, maybe. I don’t think we’ll have more time.”

Quiet resounds around you. You almost trip over a child’s chair, and you kick it with your bad leg again, (Dumb idea. Stupidly dumb idea. You didn’t know a tiny plastic chair could make you feel this awful.) and hear a slight start of a laugh as your hiss, rubbing pants leg like it was going to do anything for you. Damn, not again.

“Moon, seriously! We gotta figure out what our game plan is!” Maybe he’s not in the air. Maybe he’s in the play structures. You don’t hear any metal on plastic, footsteps or scrambling about, but it wouldn’t hurt to check. “Showtime is in a week and a half, and I only work for SOME of those days. I know you’re anxious-” You dip your head low quickly to peer inside the tunnel. No Moon. You rise back up and continue looking. “I mean, I get it. Considering...everything. But we’ve made progress! Massive progress! I think you can do it!”

Silence.

“You can’t avoid me on this!” Another pause. “I have security clearance now! I’ve got the credentials to prove it!” No response. You stand there for a moment practically twiddling your thumbs. Fine.

Fine. Sure, whatever. Here comes the great (bad) idea!

The play structures are meant for children, so they don’t actually get that high, you tell yourself. There are plenty of holes with the gridded plastic that you can slip your fingers into and pull yourself up, as well to use as a foothold. And that’s exactly what you do. “Okay! I can come up there if you want! Works for me!” Stupid robot and his stupid wire and his stupid-“Do ya hear me, Moon?”

You hear something. Like a coil, distantly. The wire on its track shifting, but no voice. Whatever Moon was doing, he was on the move, and close enough that you could hear the wire’s mechanics in the quiet. You steadily pull yourself up higher and higher, not looking towards the ground (it’s fine, you’ll just climb back down. You’re an adult. Worse case scenario, you’ll get a bruise or something.) “One day, I’m gonna get a slingshot, and I’m gonna make it my personal mission to shoot you out of the sky every time that you do this-!”

The foothold on your injured leg falters. Whether it’s because the plastic decided to be slippery or it’s because you keep forgetting your leg isn’t exactly in the best condition, it doesn’t matter because gravity is shifting. There’s a leap in your heart but no scream, just a sharp intake of air that you hiss as you start to fall backwards-

Then you’re not. Claws dig into the back of your jacket, scrunching up the fabric around your arms and holding you about seven feet off the ground. It’s not comfortable, but you look from your hanging shoes to the animatronic you know who’s there, beaming up at him with a wide toothy grin and a glint in your eyes. “Hi.”

When you fell from the ladder so long ago, the Moon that caught you had a manic smile and an uneasy aura. This one just looks frustrated. His faceplate’s smile looks as exasperated as a grin could get.

You swing your legs like it’s as casual as a date. “Is that twice now?” You ask, holding up your fingers. You think for a moment, raising a third. “Three times? Is it twice or three times that you’ve caught me so far?”

Moon’s eyes are narrowed. “Four.”

“Four! Okay.” You raise four fingers with a goofy face. “Don’t give me that look. I knew you wouldn’t let me fall.”

“I should drop you.” He still has you swinging from a decent height, something you’ve decided you won’t acknowledge. Moon looks unimpressed. “Should have let you fall.”

“You won’t do that.” You deadpan, and ignore the nagging nerves in the back of your head. You don’t look down. “You promised to catch me. Bozo.” The insult at the end was a last-minute decision, but it makes Moon’s face twist up into something funny even as it rotates a full spin, so it’s worth it. You throw him a thumbs-up. “Okay, funs over. You can put me down now.”

The look he’s giving you is one of dull defeat. There’s a second where you hang, white pupils dragging along your face while he decides what to do with you. Then, Moon’s face goes from dull to a wild sharp grin, and suddenly the floor is going farther and farther away from you as you’re rapidly being dragged upwards.

Honestly? You should have seen this coming. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, what do you think you’re doing?!”

The Moon laughs, and it reverbs against the Daycare’s walls and echoes in the silence as your shoes dangle towards a floor so far away that you can’t see the color anymore. As far as your eyes can see, it’s just blackness below, and the only thing that keeps you from plummeting into the unknown was a robot clown with a death grip on your jacket. The echo of your scream comes back to you in repeats. “Are you NUTS?!”

“Yes.” Moon has started to spin in a circle, albeit slowly, and you’re still struggling. “By design.”

You’re panicking. (You’re fine.) Your hands fly up to the Attendant’s grasp just to fall away out of fear that you’ll somehow mess up his grip and doom yourself (It’s a rather tight grip. You’re fine.) Legs kicking, all care for the bruised leg thrown out of the window as human fear rises and makes a home for itself in your ribcage as you try to find a solid grip, (You’re fine. He’s not going to drop you.) latching onto the only other thing that would keep you afloat in the darkness; Moon’s arm.

It’s a bit of a twist and turns of your torso but the panic makes it work, and you are oh-so-glad you helped him repair that shoulder earlier or else the risk of your weight on the bad joint would have made the nightmare of falling to your doom and taking a dismembered arm down with you a reality. The movements are so quick and in a flurry that you barely register the shift of weight as you climb, cursing under your breath as your legs move and twist and bend so that there’s something solid underneath you as you pull yourself upwards.

You don’t realize what you’ve been doing until your arms are wrapped around the Daycare Attendant, body hugged closely to his own and slowing in your inner overlapping dialogue of ‘oh fuck please don't let me fall’ to understand what a rather peculiar situation you’ve put yourself in.

You cannot see his face at his angle, but the animatronic has gone quiet.

Weakly, you breathe a joke. “Hey. We’re hugging again.”

Moon is very quiet.

“Um.” You swallow the lump in your throat and honestly, you’re both close enough that he probably felt it. How awkward. How scary. Acting brave whether from the heights or the knowledge that what kept you from falling to your potential injury or death was a robot that nearly provided it all the same. If your hesitance didn’t give it away, he would have determined your fear from your pulse anyway. “The…schedule. You’re reinstated as the Naptime Attendant. What do you think about that?”

The air is still quiet, and while you’re used to that from the Moon, it still unnerves you, especially like…this. The motions of you two are still swinging, only slightly, though from this position you can tell even in the dark that he’s changed how he’s settled with his wire, probably hooked a taunt part of it around with his ankles and whatever else he had to do to keep a solid horizontal-diagonal position. He’s like a floating bed, if a bed was made of metal and silicone and had a knack for leaving you hanging no pun intended) in almost every conversation.

“You’ll be reintroduced to the kids soon enough.” You talk because it’s not like you can just crawl off of him and plummet to whatever’s below. Even if it was the ball pit, you’d be screwed. “We should probably amp up on the whole plan. I mean, I think we’re doing great so far.” Laughing nervously over Moon’s shoulder, your wide eyes search the dark for the sign of the floor. It finds the glint of a bell from his hat, instead. “You know? This is pretty great compared to how we first met. I don’t feel unsafe at all.”

The body underneath you tenses, slightly.

“Okay, I lied. I thought I could handle the heights.” You confess. “But the you part of the equation is fine, Moon. More than fine, actually. Please don’t drop me.”

A touch on the back of your head, and you tense up. It’s one of his hands, the other you now register wrapped around your midsection, and it freezes for a second before coming back down again. It pats you twice, gently, before resting on your skin. “Hush.”

Inwardly, you know you look kinda pathetic, but you still curl tighter.

“You’re-” His voice trails off. “Panicked.”

It takes you a moment to think of a response. “You’re kinda…rusty at this whole comforting thing, aren’t you?” The grip on you tightens, not in a way that hurts you, though it spooks you if just for a moment until you realize that it’s just Moon’s way of letting you know he’s frowning. You blow air through your nose and wait for the anxiety to subside. “No pun intended.”

Carefully, very carefully, the arms you have around his shoulders loosen. The animatronic is very still and rigid as you pull back far enough to see his face. His eyes are black, but they’re lightening. You’re not sure why, but white pupils feel as warm as the daylight does, so you know you’re not going to fall, even if the screaming voice in the back of your mind tells you that you will. “The um, email…management said-”

“No.” Moon’s answer is low and sharp. If you weren’t currently using him to balance yourself like a surfboard, you’d think he’d turn over and disappear away from you. Perhaps this way, he’s trapped you both.

“I don’t think we have a choice.” You start. A deep breath. Let the anxiety subside. Nothing to worry about. Moon has a grip on your side, anyway. Don’t swing your legs. “It wasn’t phrased like a question, and they’ve already upgraded my employee status. They’ve even made plans to announce it, like a big thing I think. As far as Management is aware, you’re fit for Naptime duty.”

“No.” Moon’s smile thins. “I don’t want to.”

“…You don’t want to see the kids again?”

You know that’s not what it is. You know what he’s afraid of. You can’t exactly wipe a killing, two years of isolation and one year of almost killing another into oblivion before throwing him back out onto the floor, especially now that you know that the daytime attendant also struggles with the same glitch that seems to be spreading to all the band, if not already infected. That’s not something that can be forgotten, or erased. Or maybe it can be. But the last argument with Sun makes it very clear that it’s not an idea to ever be entertained.

Moon looks hurt. You cringe back into yourself.  “Sorry.” You sniff, looking away. “…Why did you yank me up here? I know we’re not still hiding from Monty. If that’s the reason, I can’t believe you.”

The expression Moon carries lingers on being unreadable for a moment. Then, the default smile thins into the same mischievous look from earlier, just a touch. “Aha. Haha.”

“Moon.”

“Yes?”

It’s less of an accusation and more of a fact. “You’re doing this because it’s funny.”

“I told you.” He starts, amusement underlying in his voice. His head spins a full rotation at a slow pace as you glare at him, neck joints clicking. “It’s funny when you squirm.”

“You’re like, the worst friend ever.” Your mouth is downturned, but the combination of nervousness and Moon’s contagious giggles is what turns it into one of those weird smile-frowns. “Zero out of ten. Wouldn’t recommend.”

“I will never drop you.”

“That does-” You freeze midsentence, a bead of sweat on your forehead as his balance starts to shift. A hand on your side, probably the failsafe if you actually were to tilt and fall but not enough to calm your nerves as gravity teeters your position. “That does NOT make me feel better when we’re this high and only one of us has a wire!”

A hand raises in your vision, illuminated red by the animatronic’s eyes. He offers you his other hand. “Stay steady.”

Sure. You’ll take it. Maybe it’ll shut up the anxiety and actually calm your nerves. You put your hand into his and fingers curl around your hand and wait, no, yep. It was just a trick, a way to keep better hold of you while the wire suddenly drops what ten feet and he starts snickering like a hyena. “MOON!”

He stops the drop, the two of you in mid-air, and the jester’s laughter fills the air. “Don’t worry. Don’t worry.” He’s cackling, repeating himself. Whatever game this was, he was enjoying it immensely. “It’s just a quick trip down.”

He drops again, and its faster this time. “Okay! Okay, that’s enough!” You’re laughing, a mix of fear and fun. While it’s nice to be this close, the fear of heights is something taken one step at a time, not several feet into the darkness. Moon drops a few feet further just for good measure and it the drop makes you bite your tongue as the robot lets out a laugh that’s low and high at the same time, like a dark clown in slasher movies you watched as a child. There’s not really any part of him to grab for solid leverage, so your hands scramble. One hand grips his own, and the other flails for a grab on his shoulder.

Another drop, and this time you see the color of the floor in the corner of your vision, and the fear that was covered by fun shenanigans comes back full force. “Okay! I’m done! Time out! Time out!”

The sudden movements stop. Barely swinging from the weight, the wire stabilizes, and clicks can be heard as Moon’s head rotates back up from its upside-down position, hands still secured. The smile he carries never leaves, but for the moment, the animatronic goes still.

You don’t respond immediately as you wait for your stomach to settle. The curious eyes of the robot linger, and a squeeze is felt in your hand.

Whew. Okay. Alright then. “Put me down, please?”

“How polite.” Moon says, and the wire starts shifting again, though it’s slower. The ground you refuse to look at slowly approaches. His weight shifts as his feet come near the floor, and he moves the wire to untangle from him, unhooking you from him also. “Stand.”

The feeling of the playmats underneath your shoes feel foreign but welcome, and your legs feel like jelly but the world has stopped spinning and your brain is no longer telling you that you’re in absolute mortal peril, so at least there’s that. “Okay.” You inhale, exhale, half bent over as the swirling pit in your stomach subsides into something other than fear-induced nausea. “Okay, alright, listen-” You raise a finger to the animatronic standing over you, probably with a lidded look since you looked out of breath for just existing. “Look. We have…one week-ish. I think. But I don’t think you need it. I think you’ll be fine.”

The noise he makes above you is similar to how a human clicks their tongue. “Your opinion-”

“My opinion-” You cut him off, finger still raised, recollect yourself before continuing and standing up straight to give Moon the stern look he deserved. “-is based on the fact that you haven’t told me to go to sleep yet, if at all some nights, you just…toyed with me in the middle of the air, which is an asshole move, I’ll give you that. But you don’t try to kill me. You don’t hurt me.” You urge. The animatronic looks at you numbly. “We’re like, hugging now. That’s a big thing.”

Something in Moon’s face twitches. If it were possible, you wonder if he would be gritting his teeth.

“Everyone misses you. The kids, I mean. Chica too. I’m pretty sure the rest of the Glamrocks would love to have you active in and out of the daycare.” You start, unaffected as the towering animatronic coils his neck, casting a shadow over your face. “And I’m not saying this because we don’t have a choice, because I really don’t think we have a choice, but because I think you’ll be great and I’m behind you all the way.”

“Nice speech.” Moon says.

You huff. The air you blow bounces off his face and bounces back onto yours. “My job and your job are both on the line here, forgive me if I need a little enthusiasm from you.”

“This...” A low hiss. At this distance, you can hear how the sound travels up from the voice box up to the faceplate. “Is more complicated than just losing our jobs.” It’s still not proximity you’re used to, not like this. He doesn’t normally get this close. “If I don’t comply, I can be deactivated. If I do, you could die.” He states, matter-of-fact. “Both of these would end us.”

There’s a twitching hand in the corner of your vision, but you’re rather used to that now. “But you trust me and yourself, right?”

A soft touch. A silicone thumb presses into your cheek, and the rest of his fingers linger around your jawline. “…Yes.”

You blink. There’s a very high probability that this robot hasn’t felt safe enough for human touch in years. This must be it. “You’ve never been this touchy-feely before. Well, not usually.” You mummer. “Did Parts N Service mess up your brains?”

“No.” A pause. The hand on your face stills. White pupils linger. “Maybe. But not like this.”

Cryptic and vague. Now that sounds like Moon. “Well, you’re being invasive.”

Moon hums. “And you’re letting me.”

“And see how everything is comfortable?” You grin, inwardly snickering as Moon’s hand stills again, just to drop to his side. If you didn’t know any better, you might have detected embarrassment in that faceplate of his.

The Moon’s eyes narrow at you. It’s a suspicious look, and it follows your form as he steps away, a little further into the shadows. You watch with usual content as the jester contorts his limbs into something more tool-like, finding a sturdy piece of the plastic play gym and hanging his legs off of that. Not using the wire, but still far enough off the ground that your head is matched with his, though his torso can swivel, hanging like a bat.

Yep. There’s the usual avoidant Moon behavior you were used to.

“One week. Every day I come to work, we’ll try something new. Any scenario we can think of, maybe get the band members to help.” Moon scoffs at this, but you continue. “Maybe we can get one of the baby music men to pretend to be babies or something. How long has it been since you held a baby? There’s like, a whole specific way how you’re supposed to support the head.”

“I know how to hold a baby.” He states the fact like it was obvious.

“Okay, great! Because I don’t.” You find a comfortable spot to lean against the jungle gym, watching as your friend hangs with his arms dangling beside his head, bell ringing slightly with every swing. “I know Sun already told me, but I hope you know how to take care of toddlers because I sure don’t.”

“Ha.” He snickers. “Moron.”

“Hey. I’m not the one who had childcare protocols chipped into my brain. They sent me, like, three pdfs and a week to get acquainted. Plus, I’m not a robot clown. I’m pretty sure the kids are a lot more interested in a robot clown than a regular staff member.” You jest, light-hearted. The air feels easy now, the adrenaline from before lowering. The comfort in the company of a friend, and a will.

Moon looks lost in thought, so you ask him again, this time tilting your body until you can pretend to be as upside-down as he is, locking eyes. “Are you nervous?”

He holds your gaze. “I don’t know what to tell them.”

“Tell them what?”

“Why I’ve been gone for three years.”

Oh. Right.

Children don’t care for official statements about robot repair or faulty equipment. They’ll need something more comprehensible at that age because explaining the glitch to a gaggle of kids didn’t spell good things.

“We can always make something up.” You offer, voice going quiet. Three years. That’s three years where Moon didn’t see the kids, at least not personally. Three years is a long time for a toddler. The babies he saw in diapers are probably starting preschool right about now. “Tell them a story. I know you like to tell stories. You’re really good at them.”

Moon hangs there in the quiet, hands curling in and out. After a moment, he raises one and slides it underneath his hat (how it hasn’t fallen off of his head yet is beyond you) and pulls out something small and familiar. A notebook. Your notebook, specifically, along with the pen you’ve attached to the rings on the side. You give a little gasp at the sight of thievery, reaching out to swipe back the book while Moon chuckles at the display. “When the hell did you pickpocket that?”

Moon’s grin is swaying, red eyes turned to crescent moons in amusement.

“You know what? Never mind I asked.” You clear your throat, subconsciously pulling down your jacket to smooth out any wrinkles from the earlier joy ride. Flipping to an empty page, you click the pen and sit yourself on the floor, crossing your legs. At the top of the page, you write ‘Moon’s three-year vacation’ at the top, which you turn the book back to the animatronic for his approval. Your response is a hum, Moon’s head rotating 180 degrees to face the pages upright before pulling it back to yourself. He draws a crescent moon shape in the air with his claw, and you know to trace it in the corner of the page, just for him.

“O-kay, Starboy. We have all night, and I know you like the dramatics.” Moon’s head has returned back to a level position, and you meet his calmer smile with your own. “Go on. Tell me a story.”

Chapter Text

Once upon a time, there was a knight, a dragon, and a jester.

The knight, bold as he, loud as he, has the sun glinting off of his shiny armor as he tells of glorious stories. A crest of yellow and gold with oranges that burn in red ribbons, with a smile etched into his armor. He protects the kingdom’s children from goblins and terrors, telling them wonderous stories of adventures in the morning light, watching as they play, ever the protector. Ever the guardian, slices away worry and tears with swords and smiles.

The dragon, ever a beast by design, by birth, is proclaimed to be the villain. The one the knight must face off to protect the kingdom, and it falls into this role if only to keep the peace. But as the stars settle against its scales and its wings blend in with the falling night sky, and the first child begins to yawn, the theatrics are over, and the children gather around the dragon, curling into slumber as he huffs fire into the shadows that might try to chase them in their dreams.

One does not function without the other, and they function well. Very well, falling into their roles, as the knight defeats the dragon, then the dragon defeats the knight. A story of a knight transforming into a dragon to protect the ones he loves. The tale of a dragon transforming into a handsome knight after true love’s kiss. Same but not quite, or maybe so. Doesn’t matter. It’s all cheesy bedtime tales and imagination; fairytales perfect for the stage lights, although their stage is overgrown with weeds and crossed wires by this point, but that detail doesn’t really matter when an audience is still present.

The knight and the dragon were, after all, built for this purpose.

So was the Jester.

The Jester, who is missing the shine of the knight’s armor but carries stolen gold coloring around his head and his wide smile. Who’s fingers, teeth and eyes are as sharp as the dragon’s, but is missing the calm, sleepiness a roosting beast ought to have. Who carries a bounce and a grin that you can’t quite read, because clowns are well versed in the art of deception, and acting comes naturally to a Jester who can pretend to be whatever, or whoever, they wanted to be.

And the Jester loves to tell jokes, stories and entertain. To sing songs and weave tales, to bring joy, and chase away sorrows and misery with the promise of fun and humor.

Even as you sit numbly in the blackness, blinking at your friend, and wondering out loud. “Why are you telling me this story?”

The Jester pauses in his tales of knights and dragons, looking at you with dark eyes and a razor-sharp smile that both feel all too familiar and too warm for a meeting like this.

“Friend.” They say, and laugh. “You’re helping me write it.”

You wake up with a pounding heart and coated in a thin layer of sweat.

It’s not like it is in the movies; you don’t shoot out of bed or gasp for air, but instead just suddenly awake with a jolt in your chest, and stare blankly at the ceiling until your body catches up with your brain and your brain works on deleting the finer details of the dream out of your memory.

You’ve had nightmares. Plenty of them over the course of the last year, and even stranger dreams still. Waking up wondering what was going on in that mind of yours wasn’t unusual.

But that one was...new.

Weird.

But with all respects, you don’t have the time or the mental space to overanalyze that one. You’ve gotta get ready for work and make sure this next week and a half counts for everything you and your friends have to do or you might be in for a real-world nightmare soon enough. Or at the very least, make sure all you and your friend’s hard work doesn’t go to waste.

A quick shower, dress up and something scarfed down from the fridge and you’re out the door. You only have an afternoon shift today, so you probably won’t see Moon tonight, but Sun will be introducing you to a few of your duties (and patrons) before your official promotion starts. Might as well get acquainted with some of the regular kids since you’re going to be present there during regular Daycare hours a lot more often now.

Follow routine as normal; coffee stop by the gas station (There’s a soda stain in isle 5 and you think Joe is pointedly ignoring it when you ask, and it only gives your change back with a solid farewell), the drive to the pizzaplex plex, clock in (your job title now has an asterisk next to it on the employee check-in screen, which you’re presuming is pending for an update or an add-on.) say hi to Chica who’s on door greetings, stop by Monty’s room to drag out the trash bag he’s set out for you (full of sofa chips and tape balls. Poor Gator was trying to clean his place up, it looked like) and giving Roxy a thumbs up as she poses for pictures in the arcade.

DJ Music Man is doing bunny ears over her head as the photos flash, and whether or not the wolf can tell, neither break character even as children and their parents giggle. The Music Man has fully settled back into his role and place in the building and among the other animatronics. Good for him! Freddy is scheduled to be on stage doing solo songs by this point in the day, so you’re not going to bother him, doing misc. tasks as you make your way through the plex until the clock hits Half-Past Noon.

Management said it was best for you to stop by the Daycare for an introduction around lunchtime, offering some advice in the email about it being easier for adjustment, and that if you had any concerns, the kid’s attentions would be more focused on snacks and eating rather than the new adult that’s taking up space in their playground. More than likely, Management did not consult Sun on whether this was true or even a good idea, but you’re at the Daycare Doors at 1 pm anyway.

The daycare doors are open, and there are children and Sun in plain sight. A few parents are seated on the outskirts just outside the glasses, deep in their own conversations. There seem to be only about 15 children today, one of which looks young enough that Sun is carrying the toddler on his hip, and the little boy is barely bigger than the width of his torso.

You take a deep breath, ignore the awkward glance from a nearby parent, and re-adjust your nametag.

Alright! Ten days until the Daycare Attendant’s full reinstatement.

The moment you set foot inside the Daycare, Sun’s head does a complete 180. “Oh ho ho, looks like we have a brand new friend coming to visit us today!” He’s cheerful, standing to his full height. Children, all sitting on mats with napkins laid out in front of them but no snacks yet, follow his line of vision to you. Sun’s face is bright and his voice loud as he calls to you. “Well, hello there! And how are you doing? Fine? Swell? Dandy?” He hops over to you on one foot, bouncy and energetic, all while keeping that toddler close to his side. “

Oh god. Were you supposed to meet that kind of enthusiasm? Neither of you have discussed this prior, and you don’t know if you can keep up with the energy Sun has to commit to every single day. You give a big smile, and try to mimic his own. “I’m doing peachy!”

“Peachy and pretty?” Sun beams. He winks at you, and it makes you feel a smidge better.

A little girl with glasses too big for her head interrupts. “I want peach gummies!”

“We have plenty of those! Cherry and blueberry flavored too!” Sun spins back to her with a wild spin, raising a finger. The girl sniffs and stares like fish waiting for feeding time. Poor thing is probably hungry. The animatronic continues. “Today, our new friend is going to be helping us with lunches! Then we have some very, super duper special news to share, isn’t that exciting?”

A child who’s trying to look like he wasn't just picking his nose sends you a stink eye like you’re personally responsible for withholding their lunch, but the rest of the children look to you with curiosity. You keep up the smile and try to appear as nonchalant as possible.

Sun takes the lead, gesturing to the cabinets. “Helper! If you would be so kind…”

“Oh!” It takes a moment to process, then you turn on your heel and march toward the cabinets. Behind you, Sun settles down the toddler to join the rest of the children on the mats, and you hear hushed whispering and words you tune out as either incoherent babbling or whining. One child say she wanted fruit punch. Another one gasps at the Freddy head logo on the back of your jacket, pointing at his favorite character. Sun quietness them both, and urges them to be patient while you retrieve their snacks.

Inside the cabinets is a stack of packages that can only be described as Fazbear-themed Lunchables. For allergy reasons, outside food was not allowed inside of the daycare, and the contents of the packages strictly adhere to certain nutrient guidelines, all charged along with the rest of the Daycare’s fee to parents, of course. Several pairs of eyes watch you closely as you count out the correct amount of packages, stacked on top of each other, and close the cabinet with your elbow as you tote the snacks over.

Now that all the children are in place, albeit fidgeting, Sun is standing upright and demeanor bright as you approach. “Thank you so much! What do we say now? Thank you, helper!”

A half-enthusiastic chorus comes from the children. “Thank you, Helper.”

You just kinda awkwardly stand there. You’ve never really worked with kids before. “No problem!”

“And I’ll just take these-” In one swift motion, all the packages are all but swept from your hands, Sun holding them flat and balanced on a single palm while he turns back to the children with the usual jester bounce. The snack pile stays perfectly tall and still even as he bounces in place. “Here you are! One by one, there…Anthony, scoot back. There you go. Chelle, you too. One, two, three-” He distributes them rather quickly. Children who received theirs first are already ripping off the plastic and tearing into cookies and what looks like cold little pepperoni pizzas all shaped like Freddy’s head.

One of the kids is pulling goo sauce out of a container and sticking it onto another girl’s shirt, who starts to tear up at the wetness. Another child is starts to whine about there not being any ketchup packets. Both problems are easily solved when Sun wipes away the goo, moves the criminal child to a different spot on the mat, and comically pulls a ketchup packet out from behind the third child’s ear all in a matter of thirty seconds. You stand politely with your hands clasped to the side as they all get accounted. There’s really no reason for you to be here, honestly. Sun has the entire Daycare’s routine and troubles down without you or any other assistance. Retrieving the Lunchables was almost a laughable throwaway task.

Now that all snacks have been distributed, Sun leans back, claps his hands together, and speaks. “O-kay, SuperStars! We have some very, very very big news for you! And it’s going to make the Daycare so much more faz-tastic!” He suddenly gestures to you, small eyes following the line of his hands, and you feel your shoulders tense. “Say hello to our new Daycare Assistant!”

There’s a choir of ‘hi’ and ‘hellos’ that come from the children that sound mostly talking with their mouths full.

“Remember to chew all the way and swallow before you speak!” Sun interjects, upbeat attitude never breaking. His whole show reminds you of what kid show hosts used to talk like when you were a kid, putting lessons and manners into every dialogue.

“Now!” Suddenly, an arm wraps around your shoulders, and you are all but pulled into a friendly half hug as Sun has you face the gaggle of children, almost lifting you as continues his spiel. “My friend here is a newbie, and helpers might need a little help themselves sometimes too! That means we’re all going to need to be a little extra nice, extra clean, and extra, extra patient! You can do that, can’t you?” Children are following his talk, some already nodding their heads furiously. Sun perks up, animated in his limbs. “Faz-tastic! I knew you all would help me!”

One boy raises his hand and doesn’t wait to be called on. “Does this mean you’re going away now?”

“Nope! Nada, not at all!” Sun doesn’t miss a beat, and the grip around your shoulder loosens slightly as he prepares to let you go. A near comfort, almost, because you’re just standing awkwardly there. The animated jester leans down (and takes you with him, unfortunately, so you’re half-bent at the hips. A few kids snort at your predicament.) and takes the child’s hand hanging in mid-air, and gives it a big handshake that rattles the boy until he’s giggling and pulling his grip out of the jester’s hold. “Afraid you can’t get rid of me that easily, no-sir-ree! Just because we have new friends doesn’t mean old ones go away, the more the better!”

The boy who asked the question is too smiley from the goofiness to question it again, but the girl next to him pops a fruit gummy in her mouth and speaks with slobbery speech. “But thas what happen to Mr. Moon.”

The sentence Sun had prepared gets caught in the air, and the robot pauses, if only momentarily, before rising to his straight height again. The fingers on your shoulder freeze as you do, and Sun laughs. “Oh, no no no, that’s not quite right. You see, Mr. Moon didn’t leave because of new friends-”

“We didn’t get new friends when he left.” Another boy, his front tooth missing but can’t be any older than six or seven, interrupts, leaning towards the questioning girl and talking matter-of-factly. “So it ain’t what happened. Mr. Moon left cause the other guy left-”

“No, no.” Sun laughs again, his voice calm and collected, like an exasperated parent. Your own nerves and knowing him better tells you there’s nervousness underneath the façade in his tone. “Mr. Moon didn’t-”

“I thought you hated the Daycare Assistants.” The girl with big glasses from before speaks.

Silicone fingers start to dig into the skin on your shoulder. A cold feeling starts creeping into your throat, and Sun’s smile stretches. “This is one is my friend, you see. My absolute most best friend.”

“I thought I was your best friend.”

“You are too!”

“Chica is my best friend.” A boy interjects. “Why can’t we have her instead?”

Sun is quick on the answer like it’s something he’s had to state thousands of times. “Chica is a very, very busy chicken with lots of things to do and many songs to sing. Our new assistant here-”

Several children start talking at once, though a girl with braids who’s been picking the pepperoni off her pizza the last few minutes is louder than most. “Why isn’t Moon back? He missed my birthday.”

A rigidness in the body next to you, almost as still as you have been the last few minutes just standing like an idiot in silence, pretty much useless. It’s only a second of a pause, and you know he’s very good at pretending, that jester-like energy will return and this change will be adapted with sundrop and games and puzzles. But for the moment-

“Moon is coming back, and there’s going to be a great big party for him!” You speak up for the first time in a few minutes, trying to mimic the energy the animatronic gives off. His hand is still on your shoulder, still frozen, though you think now in surprise at your voice, just as all the little eyes turn from the Sunny animatronic over to you; the new subject.

You grin big, and it’s not a façade either. You were genuinely excited about his reinstatement as the Naptime Attendant, even if you were simultaneously terrified. “Now, it’s been a long time since Moon has come out to play, and he’s not really had time to adjust, and you didn’t hear this from me, but-” You lean in close, slightly, cupping one hand around your mouth. Some children with wide eyes crane their necks to you. “I think Moon is a little bit shy.”

One boy huffs. A few of the kids coo low ‘oohs’ and some just stare in what you think to be silent understanding or sympathy. Out of the corner of your eye, the corner of Sun’s mouth twitches upwards.

Leaning back, you nod and hum. “Yep. Might be too shy to come back out, actually. Not unless we’re all very super careful and behave-”

“We’re good!” A girl shouts, rather loud, and then receives a few sour stares from her peers for the volume of her voice before it lowers and joins in a choir of a few repeats of ‘we’ll be good’ and hushed whispers of excitement.

“I know, I know.” You nod. “So I can count on you guys making sure Moon feels right back at home when he comes back, right?” Your answer is another choir of yeses from most and quiet stares from remaining. “Good! I knew you all were a goody bunch.”

The arm around your shoulders that never left returns to it’s tightened position, and Sun’s head spins completely in a circle, the motions catching the attention of wandering children’s eyes. “Now! I’m gonna go show our new friend the assistant seat! Can I count on you to behave?” A few nods. “And we know to pick up after our plastics and not steal other’s snacks??” A few more nods and a sneeze. “Annnndddd we know that everyone gets a sundrop if we throw away our trash when we’re done?” A little bit more enthusiastic nods. “Good! We’ll be-” The arm around you suddenly spins you, and you are forcibly walked in the other direction. “-right back!”

The walk to the security desk is a fair distance away from the playmats where the children are snacking, and the volume of their own talks and babbles is enough that your conversation wouldn’t be of any interest to the children. Still, as you spin back around to face the animatronic fully, you speak in a hushed voice. “Sun, buddy, my pal. I don’t know if I wanna do this whole introductory thing every day this week-”

“One moment, darling.” Without a word, he places two hands on your shoulders and you are rotated so it’s your back facing the children, and Sun is outwardly facing the inner Daycare. White eyes can scan both the kids and your own face with ease now. “There we go! Don’t mind me.”

“I’m not good with kids.” You confess, face falling as your animatronic’s reaction is a tentative hum and a knowing look. “I’ve got social anxiety with toddlers.”

“You did very well. You just have anxiety in general.” Sun corrects, his head tilting to the side. A pause. “Increasingly more so the last couple of months.”

“…What’s that supposed to mean?” You narrow your eyes. “And what did that kid mean by you hating the other Daycare Assistants?”

“Get a good sleep last night?” As usual, he avoids a direct answer, and instead, a silicone thumb comes up to your face, padding at the thin skin under your eye. Your nose wrinkles as Sun leans a few inches over and closer, like inspecting something important as he pulls at the flesh there. “Those dark circles are getting darker every day. Wanna talk about it?” Poke, poke. His finger taps along your cheek in a spidery fashion. “Maybe...over a nice fizzy faz and some snacks?”

You swat away his hand with a snort. “I don’t know if it was your idea or Moon’s, but asking me out on a fake date isn’t going to get you out of the question.”

“Is that what that was?” He hums, fingers curling back in a rhythmic motion. Sun’s head swivels upside down and comically shrugs. “Can’t a bot just give their good friend some reprieve? Some comfort? Snacks? Maybe a shoulder to cry on-?”

“Sunny.”

His head turns upright and his smile reaches his eyes. “I think we’ll have a lot more to talk about that soon. You’ll be spending a lot more time here in the daycare, more so than you already do, so it’s pleenntty-” His sunrays spin as he draws out the word with intention. “-of time to talk about things! Jokes! Stories!” His hands clap together, beaming. “What a fantastical way of developing our friendship!”

You snort, eyebrow raised. “I thought we were already developed, ‘bestie’.”

“Yep!” Sun grins. “So you won’t mind at all, won’t you?”

“Tell me why that sounds suspiciously like it’s something I will mind.”

Sun goes to respond to you, probably with something wittier than what you could come up with, then his head perks up and his voice comes out louder than the hushed loud he carried before, voice box carrying over the daycare. “Anthony, that is against the rules!”

You blink, looking over your shoulder and following his line of sight. A boy is staring back wide-eyed; caught, with his hand outstretched for another child’s snack tray. The boy quickly withdraws his hand (rubbing some sort of goop on his overalls in the process) and pretends to be very invested in picking the chunks out of the fruit sauce in one tray compartment of his own food.

You puff out your cheeks and blow out an exasperated sigh. “You really can’t take your eyes off of them for long, can you?”

Sun’s head tilts, eyes flitting from the children to you, and hums. “I can’t take them off of you either, for entirely different reasons.”

You turn your head back around to glare at him with a wrinkled nose, and a mouth that's fighting you to go upwards.

He gasps, hands raised in the air in victory and rays spinning. “Finally! A smile! First one of the day that’s really really real! See?” A hand comes up, gently bumping your chin upwards. “Smiles are a good way to cheer up.”

“Was that supposed to be a compliment or jab at me getting into trouble?”

Sun bops your nose. “Whichever makes you laugh more.”

You flash your teeth but do not stow away the smile, craning away from his hand in embarrassment. “Alright, alright, no more. I’m fine. I’ll leave you to your kids. I have other chores and stuff I have to do anyways today.” You sigh, (ignoring Sun’s narrowed look of disbelief, but he doesn’t say anything so you get away with the lie) and halfway glancing towards the gaggle of children. “Get back to your herd. I think they’re about finished.”

Sun side-steps you, torso and head still rotated to face you even as his lower part of the body takes steps towards the children. “Right away, Boss!” A pause, still walking. “Assistant. I’m your boss, actually.-” He holds up his fingers, one for word assistant, the other boss, for himself, and you. “Sort of. Maybe it’s both. It’s our Daycare but you were technically an employee before just now you’re directly under our charge-” His fingers and hands start moving in different directions before crossing over in a confuddled mess. “-but we’re still supervising you while you supervise us but we’ve been here longer-”

A girl’s shriek cuts off the animatronic’s backwards ramble. “MR. SUN! He bit me!”

Sun’s entire body swivels to the children in a blur, a gasp and a loud exclamation. “THERE WILL BE NO BITING IN THE DAYCARE!”

He returns to the children, and there’s a minute of arguing and high-pitched whining as one of the children (no doubt the kid that decided to bit someone) was reprimanded for his behavior and sent to the time-out corner. Which was, for all respects, a part of the play jungle where the child faced outwards to the rest of the room and had a piece of paper taped above with a crying Freddy on the image. You suspect that ‘time-out’ could be a multitude of things, and maybe they had to change that location often. Or the punishment. Whatever the case, the boy is sulking in that spot for the next five to ten minutes while Sun gathers the children’s leftovers and encourages them to clean up.

You linger by the security desk, just for a minute.

Sun said he had tried to make friends with the previous Daycare Assistants, though your memory may be faulty considering when he told you that info, you were sickly and had just recovered from fainting, running off of fumes and pizza in the moment. Still, even the security footage you saw long ago showed some assistants, though never really any recorded interaction between them and the Attendants. Most kept to themselves, sitting at this very desk, usually on their phone or doing whatever to keep themselves busy while the Daycare Attendant did all of the work watching and caring for the children. Just like you’ll have to do.

You really want to ask. You plan on asking, actually. Just, not today. Not tomorrow, either, but later when everyone has adjusted. Besides, you have chores you needed to finish. Despite your new promotion, your old job title and duties didn’t change. There’s still trash that needs to be taken out (or to Chica’s door) and a list of minor things management wants you to complete before the week is up.

You leave quietly. The memory of the tazor sits at the bottom of the security desk drawer.

Nine days left until reinstatement.

It’s a late night shift this time, so you clock in way after the daycare is closed and the building is empty of patrons.

Chica, Roxy, Freddy, and Monty are all in a single room; Freddy’s, and seem to be deep in a rich conversation when you pass by. That is, until your reflection on the glass makes catches Monty out of the corner of his eye, and thus his attention, and like dominoes the entire band’s gaze darts to you. You shoot finger guns at them through the glass. Roxy and Freddy give waves back, Chica shoots finger guns back and Monty gives you a half-smile, half-sneer and makes a gesture with his hand that you honestly thought the kid-friendly animatronics wouldn’t be allowed to make within their programming.

The other three all send him looks, (Chica smacks his arm, and you can practically hear the clang sound effect it makes) as you snicker and pretend to ‘shoot’ the finger gun in his direction. Your imaginary bullet hits its target, and you make your way toward the main hall to the fountain that resides there.

You don’t really have anything to do here, but the chores that you had later on in the night was on the side of the Daycare, which worked in your favor. So you’ll be spending the majority of the night there instead of traversing the rest of the pizzaplex. You and your warden. Which, at this point, should already be in your shadow lurking somewhere.

You lean over the edge of the fountain and look to your reflection. Yeesh, maybe Sun was right. Even in the stagnant water, the eyebags were starting to look more and more noticeable. You should start doing that cold spoon trick in the morning or before your shifts, maybe something online about tea bags would work. It’s not like you’re going to be able to clock a few more hours of sleep in this week anyway-

A dark shape appears behind your rippling reflection and you freeze. Red eyes against a shadowy figure, upside down, a wicked smile. Your mirror shows a set of claws reaching out for you.

Perfect! You whip around, finger gun locked and loaded, and point it at your stalker. “Freeze, bucko!”

He does. Comically. Glowey eyed and with his hand still outstretched for what you assumed to be the space where your shirt collar was seconds prior. Moon has a static grin and a menacing glint in his eye. He hangs upside down from his wire, not swinging the slightest, perfectly still. “Frozen.”

“Well!” You settle the finger ‘gun’ pointing upwards, and walk around the hanging animatronic to circle him, resisting a snort as the jester’s form literally rotates along with you to face you directly, perfectly unswaying and still frozen. “You wanna explain to me what you had planned there, buddy?”

“Nothing.” He defends. His fingers are still inches from you. “I’m innocent.”

“Really? Because it looked like you were going to snatch me up and dangle me over the water for kicks and giggles.”

The slightest movement. Moon’s eyes turn into narrow slits, amused. “You can’t prove that.”

With a sigh, you reposition your ‘gun’ and point it directly at his face place. If Moon had pupils, he’d probably be cross-eyed looking at the ‘barrel’ that was your fingernail. “That’s not good enough. I hereby execute you for silly behavior.” And you pull the trigger, flicking your thumb and making a small ‘pew’ sound.

There’s a half second where Moon just stares at you. Then, he drops. Literally, just drops straight to the carpet, limbs all pretzeled as he falls into a heap on the floor, face down onto the 80s-style carpet that probably hasn’t been vacuumed in a week. One of his legs twitch. Then, stillness.

Hands on your hips, you stare at the body. He doesn’t stir when you poke him with the tip of your shoe. “Hey, Starboy. Are you dead?”

The animatronic does not move or speak. You pull out your phone from your pocket, snapping a quick picture and favoriting it. It goes in the same album as the picture of Sun playing dead a few months back with the fake foam sword, and now you’ve got both of them! There’s actually a whole lot of pictures in your camera roll of the animatronics that it actually threatened your storage space. Let’s see here...Selfies with Chica, that one selfie with Sun, pictures of you on stage, Moon’s face up close, A selfie with Freddy, and then another one right after that caught you sneezing, a picture of Monty with confetti stuck to his tail, a video of Moon swimming in the air while trying to stealthily land on top of DJ Music Man’s head...

You jump, phone almost flying from your grip when something tight wraps around your leg. A quick glance down, you see Moon’s hand digging into the fabric of your pants. “Jeezus, dude, don’t scare me like that-!”

You don’t get to finish the sentence. Moon’s face peels off the floor, looking at you from below upside down, and maniacal. Suddenly, the hand is on your thigh while the other finds your shoe, then your leg, then your jacket. The animatronic is chuckling lowly, low, and guttural, as he climbs you up. Claws flex in a threatening manner, and you gape at the theatrics. “Bedtime. Time for bed.”

There is an attempt to shake him off in a yelp. Keyword: attempt. “Brains! Brains! Not bedtime! What kind of zombie are you?!” Shaking the leg, stepping back a few feet. It doesn’t lose him. His legs drag across the carpet, cackling as you start to slow and crush from underneath his rising weight. Pressing your elbow against his faceplate is the only way to keep it away from your own face as he laughs, mouth widening sharp teeth to mimic a killing bite. If that mouth could open, you’d have a nightmare on top of you. Actually, is it…?

“Unfair! Robots can’t-” You yelp, and Moon cuts you off with a high-pitched, amused cackle. “Robots can’t turn into zombies!”

It doesn’t matter. Moon’s fingers dig into your jacket, your neck, and the playfulness is starting to feel a bit too claustrophobic when he laughs manically. “Naughty rulebreakers get eaten alive.”

Wait! Your phone! You still have it out in your hand!

In a split second, you turn your phone's screen towards his face. The UI for the photo album was set in light mode, and the phone brightness turned all the way up. A habit you forget to change but in this instance will work out in your favor. Hilariously, in fact, since the moment the light comes between you and him, Moon’s face twists into a sour scrunched look, almost pained, and he leaps back from you. “Naughty-!”

With the heavy weight gone and your bubble returned, you thrust the phone screen back out at him. “Flashbang!”

He hisses at you, cowering back. “Unfair-”

“Flashbang!” You repeat. Now you’re the one grinning, laughing as Moon all but hisses and scrambles on all fours low to the ground, like a demon to a cross, all to get away from the evil weapon that is your phone’s light mode. “Flashbang flashbang flashbang!”

He stops a few safe feet away, still low to the ground but his torso and arms raisins up to sit in a simple crouch. Limbs are still contorted a bit, like ready to spring (at you or away, you’re not quite sure) but you’re too amused by the look on his faceplate to care. He reminds you of a cat with its eyes narrowed, and its ears pointed backward.

“You are mean to me.” He sneers. “Mean.”

“You literally tried to eat me! Just now!”

“So.”

“That’s mean.”

“It’s funny.”

Your nose wrinkles, but a playful smile on your face. Your thumb hits the power button and the screen turns off. What little light it gave off towards him disappears, and leaves you in the dark illuminated by neon signs once more. His eyes go back to normal from the narrowed look they were, watching with white pupils as the phone is pocketed in your pants. A deep breath, hands on your hips. “Should I count that as for or against our current quota of ‘Moon good behavior’? You didn’t try to kill me in the…usual way.” Waving a hand off at the phrase, he looks unamused. “Does that count?”

Moon looks less than impressed. “You count them?”

“No, I’m fucking with you.” You snort. Disapproval is evident in his glare when you curse, but he says nothing, so you continue. “We’re supposed to do plushie training today anyway. I’m thinking we can grab some from the toy boxes in the daycare-”

“Hey!”

A high, cheerful voice. You turn your head to see Chica approaching with a bright look and a wave and turn your head back to see an empty space where Moon once was. You didn’t even hear or see the wire tighten and pull him back up. Damn. Fast one, but you figured.

Chica’s run comes to a stop a few feet away, and her eyes flit to you, upwards and back down again. She seems to take in the situation. “Oh. Was I interrupting something?”

You inhale, and smile. A sheep shrug. “Nope! We’re actually on our way to the Daycare.”

“I figured. That’s usually our go-to to find you if no where else.” She says cheeky. You raise a brow and she waves you off. “Kidding. Figured you had a date with the Moon.” She coos,. “Oh, it sounds really poetic when I say it out loud now that I think about it!”

“Har har, very funny. Running joke is getting a little old.” Somewhere up above you, you hope he’s too far in the rafters to listen, but deep down inside you know he can hear every bit of the conversation, crystal clear. “Anyway, back to reality-” You start, and Chica’s beak turns into a pout almost. “-We’re prepping for some…changes, later. You know. Some stuff that management wants done.”

“Moon’s reinstatement!” Chica perks up. “We heard! I’m so excited! I haven’t gotten to congratulate Sun or him yet, too busy with birthday parties. Which! Doesn’t that mean they could do birthday parties too? Or slumber parties! I could chaperone one of those, I’d like to! Where is he?” She stops her rambling, looking around. You’re too stunned by her apparent giddiness that you’re quiet as she turns her head up towards the ceiling, attitude like a bag of pop rocks. “Hey, Moon-pie! Congrats on your reinstatement! We’re so proud of you!”

Silence echoes back down to the both of you. You don’t know whether or not you should tell Chica that her encouragement was probably rubbing salt into Moon’s worries and reluctance, but to lay out your friend’s anxieties out on the floor to someone who’s just trying to be supportive was a dick move.

So you sheepishly rub the back of your neck, and wing it. “Yeah, he’s stoked. Just, you know, not ready yet. So we’re prepping.”

“Oh!” She looks back to you. Chica doesn’t seem bothered by his lack of response. “What kind of prep? Costume prep? Or something like, writing jokes?”

“Something like that.” Coming up with a story as to why he was gone that was appropriate for children. Coming up with a gameplan to keep his personal bubble safe, the children safe, to keep everything comfortable. To minimize risks. “Yeah, like practice.”

“Oh, nice!” Chica is bright. She doesn’t ask to help or to be involved because she probably already knows what the answer is, despite the fact that she’s clearly the type to offer. Still, she looks genuinely happy for him. “well, if you’re not busy with it at the moment, maybe I could steal you away? It’s only for a few minutes.” She approaches you, closing the short distance. “I’m sure Moon won’t mind!”

He might, considering he took his job as security patrol very, very seriously, but Chica is already grabbing your hand and dragging you elsewhere. “Whoa, hold on-” Your attempt to halt is futile. The chicken’s grip isn’t crushing, but strong enough you can’t just weasel your way out. She’s taking you toward the employee-only doors that lead to the maintenance hallways. “Hold on, wait-”

“It’s only for a moment!” She reassures you.

“I can hang out later, but we’re really short on time for preparations.” You try to reason. Above you, you hear the wire going taut. “What do you need me for?”

Right before you reach the double doors, Chica stops. She spins on her heel with a grin, and points a nail upwards and behind you. “Bait.”

You blink, following her finger.

Moon hangs in the air, no longer in the rafters but lower, now visible. White pupils against black scan you and the chicken. His form isn’t as scary as it feels uncertain. like he was unsure of his next move. Low and almost to the ground, poised like he was ready to dive in through the doors right after the two of you.

Oh, right. There’s no track system in the maintenance hallways. He can’t use his wire to stay high and out of sight, not if he wanted to follow.

Chica is a very smart chicken. “Ha! It’s like you have your own security dog!” She laughs, then adds on when Moon’s eyes narrow and you go blank in the brain to do nothing else but stand there awkwardly. “In a good way! Not calling you a dog or anything, not that it’s a bad thing. Roxy’s a wolf, you know. Just-” She lets go of your hand and takes a single step towards the jester, who falls back a pace. “Hi! Hello! I haven’t talked to you personally in so long!”

Moon looks like he’s two seconds away from bolting in the other direction, ‘bait’ or not. Which is…sad. This feels sad. You want him to reconnect with his old friends again. They’re trying to. Chica is, at the very least. His feet touch the floor, standing. The wire does not disconnect from his back.

“I’m so happy for you!” All joy and eagerness, Chica’s voice brightens the room and the gloom. Moon looks uncomfortable. “Oh we can celebrate! Throw a little party of our own! With pizza and streamers and pictures-” She laughs, a high-pitched squawk at the end, and makes a grab for his hands.  “It’s been so long since we-!”

Moon pulls back harshly. The space where he was before is empty, craning backwards away from the chicken, and away from you. Small pupils dart from you, to the animatronic, quickly. The wire still attached to his back feels like a glaring reminder.

It’s only a brief moment of silence, but Chica reigns herself back in, clasping her hands together and keeping the joy evident in her face. “That’s okay! I’m just so happy to talk to you again, both of you! We have so much to catch up on, and I can talk for the both of us.”

It’s…overwhelming, you think. But Chica is a good chicken. She doesn’t take it personally.

Relief fills your ribcage. You match her smile.

Turning back to Moon do you feel the lingering gaze he keeps, and watch as the tension melts from his shoulders as you flash him a grin. The animatronic looks weary, uncertain. But he’s not running away, at least.

“Are you excited?” Chica asks.

Moon’s hands wring together. He’s quiet for a long moment. “Maybe.”

“It’s gotta be nerve-wracking, right?” She continues. The animatronic keeps her hands to herself and her voice to a lower volume now, but you can see the perk up in her face when she gets a response back. “So it’s a good thing you guys are practicing before the big day, isn’t it?”

Oh, she’s giving him an out. What a smart girl. “Yeah,, we planned on doing a lot of that tonight. And basically every night, up until time for the show.” You speak up. It’s your duty as a friend and ‘assistant’ to maybe help the process along. With as much welcome and reassurance you can muster, you send Moon a comforting look. His response is unreadable, pinprick eyes analyzing your soft smile like it was searching for something else. “Moon’s getting a little rusty with how to handle a bunch of toddlers. His jokes are a little stale, too.”

Said jester animatronic eyes switch from nervous pupils to a blink, and red eyes stare at you almost offended. “Stale?” Moon speaks lowly. “Rusty?”

Nice. Now he’s too annoyed by you to be nervous about interacting with Chica. Perfect execution. “Yeah, so we’re gonna be practicing all night.”

Chica whistles. “All night? Oh my goodness. How scandalous.”

You’re about to shoot the chicken a look for her gossip joke, but Moon makes a noise akin to a short chuckle, then cuts himself off. Your smile twitches. “Shame on both of you. I can’t handle the whole pizzaplex gossip.”

“Honey, if you can handle that-” Chica gestures vaguely in Moon’s direction, face scrunched up in an amused, sly grin. “-all night. Then I don’t think you need to worry about gossip, of all things.”

“Okay, okay! I get the joke!” Hands thrown up in mock surrender, you try to say that flushed heat in your face is worth it when Moon starts chuckling, although quietly, at your expense. “Is there a ‘bully the human’ competition going on that I don’t know about this week or do you guys just think it’s funny to tease me.”

Chica snorts. Moon is getting bolder with every satisfaction he gets from your embarrassment, head turning upside down. “It is funny.”

You jab a finger at him. “You don’t count. You do that all the time.”

“Don’t you two have a full night ahead of you?” Chica teases. “Doing…I don’t know, practice?”

You squint at her. Moon hisses something high-pitched and amused, and the wire makes a taut noise as it suddenly retracts and he disappears into the rafters. Yep, that’s enough of that joke and social interaction for him. “Chica, you’re going to kill me.” You take a deep breath, turn your heels away and start walking, waving over your shoulder. You don’t bother calling for Moon; that bot is already in your shadow. “We’re leaving! See you, and don’t try to gossip too hard.”

She waves you off in better spirits than you met her tonight, and make your way towards the Daycare.

The night of Day two turns into Day 3.

That night is…productive. Somewhat.

The concept is pretty basic: Using something about the same size of a child or a toddler, like a pillow, a plushie or even a cut out board of one of the animatronics, Moon is to pretend that said object is a child that is either emotionally distressed, whining, or refusing to sleep for a multitude of reasons, with you giving narration on the scenario. Appropriate responses are rocking the ‘child’, hushing them, comforting them with soft words and actions and overall patience.

Failed responses are blank stares and the ‘child’ stand-in plush squeezed a little too tightly in one arm to be considered a hug after you state that the pretend child was refusing to go to sleep, and that Moon needed to consider an alternative that did not include forcing the child to go to sleep. Other failed responses are threatening to put the child into Time-Out (“That’s a pillow, Moon. It doesn’t know what Time-Out is.”) repeatedly interrupting practice in order to ask you if you were sleepy and to offer such services of lulling one to dreamland by himself (“I know you’re stalling, dude.”) and consistently calling this whole process stupid in frustration when you’d pull a plushie ‘child’ out of the sleeping bag Moon had just tucked it into to mimic a realistic scenario where a kid might get up after naptime starts for any reason. (Understandably, it makes him feel like his hard work and restraint is in vain, and he calls you names for that one.)

“Okay, test again.” Hands clasped together, you are optimistic. Moon deadpans at you with the pillow in his grip. “A child is refusing to lay down for naptime. What do you do?”

“Put them to bed.”

“Wrong. Ask them w-”

“This is stupid.” Moon hisses.

“Ask them what’s keeping them from sleeping.” You continue. “Go on, try it.”

“...Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“Great! The child says they can’t sleep because their mother forgot to drop off their favorite blankie with them at the Daycare. What do you do?”

Moon looks irritated, annoyed, and any other word under the sky that would have him the equivalent of answering with metaphorical gritted teeth. “I’m not stupid.” He frowns. “I know what to do.”

“Just humor me.” You urge. The pillow hits your face. “Ow.”

(But he does, in the end, much better than he thought he would do.)

All of the plushies and pillows used for children are intact. There’s no red pupils, there’s no bouts of chasing signs of the glitch (at least, not visibly, not that he was willing to show to you in that moment) and no scene where a someone is put into actual harm. Nightmares? Probably. But in this fake scenario, all children are safe. All imperfections currently feel like he’s simply on edge from the fear of what could happen, though. It’s not that he wasn’t capable, or that he wasn’t doing good. Very good. He was scared.

Enough so, when you suggest doing a scenario where a parent could come to check out their child early in the middle of nap time, does Moon’s collapse face down to the mat, tension evident in his form, and refuse to move.

You crouch near him, rubbing his back, avoiding the hook that protrudes from the middle. “That’s enough for one day, I think. You did great.” Soft, comforting words, and you meant them. Moon’s response is silence. “I think all the mishaps are just because you’re nervous. You’ll do fine, I know it.” Pat pat. You play with the bell on the end of his hat in gentle comfort. The jester makes a noise that’s incoherent, but does not rise. “Alright, I should get home. We can do some more later.”

Just as you’re about to stand, a hand comes around your leg. Not tightly, and no zombie attack like a few hours ago, but his fingers drag the fabric up your skin. Fading bruises that don’t hurt anymore are barely visible there.

“Stay.” Moon’s voice is low and quiet. He drops the fabric, but his hand remains on you. “Sleep here.”

“That’s probably not a good idea.” You answer, and pat the back of his hand. “My shift ends in twenty minutes. I would be trespassing. You don’t want me to break the rules, do you?” It’s a rhetorical question, obviously. You don’t mention what sleeping here could possibly trigger, anyway. But there’s a lingering hesitation in the air before the hand drops off of you, and you rise to your full height. “I’ll be back in a few hours anyway. I have an afternoon shift.”

He’s disgruntled, but he escorts you to the doors a few minutes later.

Eight days left.

You don’t get any sleep in the few hours between your shifts. Well, at least not good sleep. Freshening up before your short-timed shift has you looking in the bathroom mirror at the darkening shade underneath your eyes, and say anything about your apparent lack of sleep today, though if the children weren’t around and his attention constantly divided by gaggles of them, you’d think he would. A few occasional glances were caught from him (not that you think he was trying to hide them. Funny how he doesn’t have any pupils, but you can still feel the burn of them from across the room every time you yawn.)

The animatronic does the introductory scene again this time, although it went a little better and a little faster than the last one. There’s a boy who interrupts his speech that you recognize, star sunglasses and red dyed mohawk who asks you loudly what your favorite band member was, and when you say that you love them all equally, he passively aggressively continues to say that Monty is his absolute favorite, he’s the best, and that he’s going to grow up to be just him. This boy also crying because one child got to the fake plastic guitar before he did during recess, so that was an entirely new situation that you let the Daycare Attendant handle first. The children respected him a lot more than they did you, currently.

Your shift is only a half one today, which has you leave around the time children are checking out. With about an hour until you clock out and a multitude of chores left over from last night’s list, you apologize to Sun for not having the time to help him clean up today.

“Don’t you worry you’re pretty little head about me! I can clean up this place spiffy and shiny.” He shoots you wide smile and waves you off. The fact that a child is currently drawing her ABCs on the wall behind him in marker makes for a comical scene, but you leave him to it.

Trash that was left over from the night before is taken out. Banners welcoming the Naptime Attendant back to the Daycare are put out, along with taking some of the ones that welcomed DJ Music Man down. There’s a sale going on in the gift shop, so you have to go sticker everything that was marked for such out on the sale floor. Sweep the mats. Clean the bathrooms and replace the soaps. Peel bubblegum off underneath the cafeteria counters. Ignore the weird looks parents and customers give you when you start cleaning off the kneecaps of the golden Freddy statue.

You’re scheduled to clock out the same time as the pizza plex’s closing, so you’re trying to get everything done in time before the announcement comes on the intercom. You’re in the maintenance hallways, double-checking one of the vents in the back rooms just as the intercom comes on and states that the pizzaplex will be closing in about thirty minutes. That’s fine, this was the last thing you needed to do on your checklist anyway. A vent cover had come undone and was hanging off of it’s hinge, with the middle bars bent in the center. Some staff bot reported it, but it wasn’t a high priority, so it was last for the day.

It’s the one directly behind Freddy’s room due to the vent being responsible for circulating air in all of the band member’s spots, so you’re not surprised when at the time call, you hear thundering footsteps approaching your position. The door opens up behind you, and you hear him spot you. “Oh! Well, hello there!”

“Hi, Freddy.” You answer without turning around, tapping your pen against your chin. The clipboard with all the list of repairs needed around the pizza plex was in your hand. “Don’t mind me. I just gotta fix this thing, or maybe mark it down for a later repair for the staff bots.”

Freddy walks up beside you, a hulking height of a robot that would be intimidating to most, so it’s a little funny when you spot glitter coating his shoulder pads and other places on his chassis. “This vent? Oh, this has been broken for a long while, I think. Months, even. I don’t think it’s that important. I don’t mind it.”

“That long?” You hum, and scribble ‘not-priority’ onto the clipboard. “Alright, then, if it’s not really causing any problems then I won’t worry about it. Why are you covered in glitter?”

Freddy smiles. Two pointy fangs flash in the light. “Birthday party! The birthday girl had a penchant for streamers, but instead of confetti, it was glitter.”

Yep, that sounds about right. You make a noise of acknowledgment and clip the pen back into place. “Welp. I’m pretty sure that’s it for the day then. Gives me about twenty minutes of time to kill, though.”

This must have delighted him. “Oh, good! I was hoping you had a moment to talk. I wanted to congratulate the Daycare Attendant, you see-” Freddy Fazbear wastes no time in claiming your free time for his own, and is already rambling before you can even take a step towards the door. “But the Sun is very busy now, we haven’t had the time to have one of our talks in a while, and the Moon...” He pauses. “The Moon avoids us. I hope we have not offended it, somehow.”

How sweet. You smile, and offer reassurance. “He’s…shy. Just, stage nerves, I guess? And Sun is stressed out about the change too, so don’t take it personally. I’m sure they’d be happy to know you’re behind them.”

Freddy hums, nodding. “Change can be very nerve-wracking. I understand. The changes to the security system in our coding was a surprise too, but I think we’ll adjust with time. Nothing we won’t be able to handle, I’m sure!”

You blink. “Changes to the security system? I didn’t know about that.”

“Oh, it’s nothing…ah,major.” The robot shifts on his feet. Hesitance is used at that word. “There are some adjustments being made over some security concerns. Just some updates to make sure we keep families safe, and the pizzaplex at night locked down. Unless someone is there with authorized permission, of course.” He adds on. “I believe everyone has received this update. It was a system-wide one, so it did not require a trip to Parts N Service. I appreciate the convenience.”

Huh. No one mentioned any of that to you before. Not that it would have really affected you in any way, though. Still, it feels kinda weird being left out of the loop. “Did it have something to do with the break in?”

There’s a touch of hesitance again. “It’s not officially stated, but I believe so.”

“Huh.” You wonder. Interesting, but nothing much more you can comment on the matter. “Being a robot must be weird; imagine having skills and missions and protocols directly beamed into your brain via Wi-Fi.“

“Humans aren’t so easy to understand either, you know.” He jests, light-hearted. The robot turns towards the door, opening it and gesturing to the insides of his room. “Not to worry, though. We’ll adjust, and I’m sure they’ll work out the bugs in the code eventually.”

You follow his movement and plop down on the sofa in his room. You have some time to spare, might as well rest your legs, even if a kid spies you with jealousy through the glass as his family is leaving. “Bugs? What kinda bugs?” You question. “Roxy said her facial recognition didn’t work the other day, but I think she had that fixed.”

Freddy was on his way to his vanity stops in place. “She did?”

“Yeah. Some family put in a complaint about it.” You lean back on the sofa. One of the Freddy plushies makes for a good pillow, so you put it behind your neck and rest. “But Parts n Service fixed it, I think.”

Freddy blinks. There’s a split second of pause, then he sits at the vanity. “Strange. But I’m glad to hear that it’s resolved. The issues I’ve come across are a bit like that, I suppose?”

“Yeah? Facial recognition stuff?”

“Not quite.” Pulling out a drawer, you spy him retrieving some wet wipes. The inside of his drawer is filled with misc things and items, markers for autographs and paper small paints for chassis touch ups. He shuts the drawer, pulls out a few and starts to work on removing the glitter from most of his face, focusing on his ears. “The system is a bit confuddled, I think. We have a connection to each other through it, you see-”

You sit up quickly. “You can read each other’s minds?!”

“No, no. Not at all.” Freddy laughs. “It’s a communication system, yes. But it’s like a walkie-talkies or how you use phones. We can use it to keep track of things. Like say, reminding each other what song is in order before a show, or if a child is missing, we can use that to communicate and help find them among the pizzaplex. Very useful in a place this big.”

“That does sound useful.” Sun did say they had the internet in their brains, as well as the ability to track things in the pizzaplex via the security system. It’s how “So it’s like, a server, right? You can’t talk to each other directly, but you can through the server.”

Freddy moves onto his shoulder pads. “That’s right! Although, it’s a bit limited between animatronics. Only band members can send each other messages, I’m afraid. The others cannot. Although, I think the staff-bots have their own method of communication between each other that we cannot acsess.” The glitter is coming off easily, but he’s on his third wipe now just for the same side of the body. “We do not use it often, as we are free every night. But it’s unfortunate that we cannot use it for the others. We just get so busy, I cannot visit the Sun or DJ Music Man during the day. I will have to find the time, somehow.”

You mull over his words, a question sits on your tongue. “So, if the security system alerts everyone, why didn’t it alert everyone immediately when the break-in was happening? Is that one of the bugs you were talking about?” Your brows furrow. They all seemed to argue back then, but if the security server alerted all of them…

“No, that is by design.” Freddy answers kindly, and throws the wipe away for yet another. “We all work as security at night, yes. But that is our secondary function. Our primary function is for entertainment during the day, so the system would prioritize whoever had the highest security clearance at the time…” He trails off. “…which would be the Moon.”

...Right. Moon is the security detail. He knew there was a possible intrusion that night, but decided to monitor it from afar because he decided not to leave you behind. Something that Freddy knows about, at the very least. There’s no telling if the others knew about that either, or what they would think if they did.

Awkwardness tingles in your fingers as you drum them against your leg. “Yeah. Do you need some help with that?”

Freddy stops in his current attempt of removing glitter from his back (a rather funny looking attempt. Those big arms weren’t so limber.) and looks to you. He eyes turn upwards. “I think some help would be appreciated, yes. Thank you.”

Pulling yourself up from the sofa, you miss the comfort immediately and your feet start to ache again, but you come from behind the animatronic, grabbing a few wet wipes. “Yeesh. You’ve got glittery hand prints all over you.”

“Is that so? I’m so sorry for the trouble.”

“It’s not a big deal.” You start at the first one; a tiny one in blue glitter up near the neck. “Not the first time I’ve cleaned handprints off a robot.”

“Oh?”

“Sun gets them on him all the time.”

“I see.” Freddy looks like he’s about to follow up with some witty comment about how much time you spend with the Daycare Attendants.

You divert his attention before he can get the chance. “So bugs, right? In the pizzaplex system? Anything super bad?”

The lighthearted look he has remains, but Freddy thinks for a minute. He grabs a wipe himself and starts working on the joints in-between his fingers while he talks. “Sometimes, the connection will randomly cut off without warning. I’m not sure why, but it’s like my line to the server just poofs, and it’s no longer there. Which turns off my connection to the others.” He’s faster than you, and one hand is already finished as he moves onto the next. “It usually comes back on later.”

“Weird.” You start working on another set of pink prints. “What’s the others think about it?”

“I do not know. When I asked, it seems that I was the only one having this connectivity issue.”

“Hmm. Sounds like signal thing. Or maybe just a technical problem.”

“Surely.” Freddy says. “Well, I am a robot. ‘Technical’ problems are bit more than just that. I’m sure the glitch will be fixed soon enough.”

Your hands freeze, and then continue working before Freddy could notice the tenseness in your shoulders. “Hey,” You ask. “Is the gang alright?”

Freddy looks up from his hand and into the mirror. Blue eyes meet yours with raised eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, like-” Should you tell him that Chica confided in you about her history with the glitch? That Monty, too, has an apparent glitch? Roxy might as well, but you weren’t certain, and now Freddy was experiencing problems, albeit not in the same way as the others. And what about Fazbear Entertainment’s history as a whole, was it even your place to ask? “I’m just kinda…around. Just an employee, so it’d feel weird to pry about it, but you would know. I’m just wondering if everyone is okay.”

Freddy blinks. “I think you’ve been our friend long enough for it to be fine to ask us whatever you need.”

You really want to ask about Fazbear’s history. You want to ask every question that you’ve scribbled into that notebook, every theory you might have, every worry and maybe solution that isn’t even your place to give. You want to know, you want to ask. You won’t. But you have the courage to ask about something else just as serious. “What happened to Bonnie?”

Freddy stills.

You hands pull back away from him. “The uh, purple bunny.” You start, and regret the last few seconds. “He used to be an animatronic here, too, I know that. But I figured I’d ask since, you know, everyone seems really bothered by something around him, and I see cut outs of him sometimes-” Stop talking. Stop talking. “I know he was a big character in the old establishments, and uh…sorry-”

“Bonnie was our friend.” Freddy’s voice is low, melancholy and kind. “He was a band member from the start. He followed us to every establishment. He used to work here with us. That’s what Bonnie Bowl is; the bowling alley. Everyone knows who he was.” There’s a reminiscing pause. “Well, they took down a lot of posters of him, but he was still a big mascot there and in the band. He’s still a staple, you know. His name is in everything. They have plushies of him in the gift shop. There’s food in his theme in the cafeteria.” Freddy smiles. “I’m surprised you haven’t asked about him sooner.”

You meet his eyes in the mirror and keep your hands busy on the glitter. “Sorry. I didn’t think it was my place.”

“It’s alright. There was never an official response given out by the company anyway.” Freddy’s shoulders lower, his voice weighed with grief. “He was found dismantled in Monty Golf. We never knew how it happened. Just found him.”

Your fingertips grow cold. “Oh.”

“Please, do not tell Monty I have told you this.” Freddy pleads suddenly, speaking lowly like he was afraid of ears just beyond these walls. “He received Bonnie’s position in the band after his discovery. It was Management’s decision. He has faced…scrutiny, because of where Bonnie was found, and the timing.” He has stopped cleaning his hands, and you have finished his chassis, stepping away as Freddy continues. “I hope this does not make you think differently of him. Or us.”

You busy yourself with throwing away the wipe, then stuffing your hands into your jacket pockets so he can’t see the tremor. “Nah. You guys are my friends.” A pause. “I’m sorry to hear about that, though.”

“Of course.” Freddy’s speech is calm and collected, rehearsed even. The fallen look he carries is suddenly masked, and you know deflection when you see it. “I hope you do not mind if I ask you a question, as well?”

You raise a brow. “Shoot?”

“How are you doing?” Freddy asks, and it sounds genuine. “You seem very tired. My sensors detect an…irregularity, with you.”

You were not expecting the question, but you’ve gotten used to having an automated response to this one in particular. “I’m fine. I’ve been catching up some shows outside of work, so I’ve been staying up late to watch them.” You smile. Maybe if you’re lucky, He does not have the ability to detect when you lie through your teeth. “I know, I know. It’s not healthy, but I’ll stop.”

Freddy doesn’t look like he believes you at all. His mouth opens to say something else, but for once, the intercom announcer comes over the speaker in his room and to your rescue. The Pizza Plex will be closing in five minutes. Please collect your belongings and children, and we’ll see you again tomorrow.

“I have to go clock out.” You step back towards the door, employee card already in hand. A quick swipe without looking, and the door slides open. There are no customers or families on the outside, and you have a straight shot from here to the check-out station. “Thanks for talking, Freddy. I’ll see you later.”

There’s something lingering on Freddy’s face but with no time to speak it, he smiles and waves you off as you exit.

Chapter Text

One week until the Daycare Attendant’s full reinstatement.

You actually weren’t supposed to come in today. It was supposed to be your off day, which you planned on spending at home binging a new show that your classmate happily info dumped about in your course’s group chat, (which you remained in despite taking a gap year, and no one cared enough to kick you out, and you liked talking to them, maybe going to an outing or two everyone once in a while. Plus, some of them send memes to the chat, so you can lurk for that too, but you woke up to a massive biblical paragraph about how Breanna from Mathematics has the hots for a biker chick in a new hit TV show, so you planned on checking it out.

Except that you don’t, because management pings your phone. Not email, but text, which is usually reserved for more urgent things.

The Daycare Attendant requires your assistance. If possible, please clock in asap until closing. Overtime pay will be discussed if you comply.

Management had a really cold way of talking to you sometimes, you think. They don’t clarify what they meant by ‘assistance’, either. You look at the clock. It’s still in the afternoon, around 1PM, and you haven’t eaten today yet. The plans for the day was to clean and tidy up your apartment (which has been gathering a mess in the last few weeks, blame the busy schedule and that your mental labor was being spent elsewhere) but this throws a kick in the plans. Your stomach rumbles, but your worry strains too much at your nerves in order to make something before you leave, so you leave hungry. You’ll figure it out later.

You pack up and head to the pizzaplex. It’s not until you’re in the parking lot making eye contact with yourself in the reflection of your car window do you realize how disheavlied you actually look. Shirt unbuttoned and sloppily untucked, nametag upside down, and there’s a bleariness to your face. Whatever. It was supposed to be a lazy day anyway, so you try to smooth out the wrinkles in your clothes and upright your nametag walking in through the doors.

The Daycare is chaotic. Not anymore chaotic than it ever has been, but overall just…chaos. Children are trying to crawl onto the netting. There’s a wet spot on the floor where you think vomit was prior before it was cleaned up, surrounded by two wet floor bots that are currently taking a beating from two kids with pool noodles and no inside-voice. There’s scattered paper and crayons and foam swords and plushies and scattered on the floor, marker graffiti on the play jungle and children throwing what looks like slime at each other through the air holes inside of the sliding tubes. All of the tower play pieces were currently being used as bowling pins, with a Monty plushie being used as a bowling ball. The kids were (mostly) having fun, but near-unsupervised, and the place was in disarray.

As you approach, you note the sound of a few kids whining, some crying, yelling, but lock eyes onto the figures at the doorway. Sun is there, along with an adult human. A mother it looks like, and she has her son in her arms, wet faced and with snot trailing down his nose and wiping it into her blouse as the woman’s voice raises at an animatronic a few heads her size. Sun looks, in the best sense, scared of cornered, hands politely clasped together as she bellows.

“Look at him!” The woman sounds furious. Sun’s rays shrink in the slightest. “He’s a blubbering mess. What is wrong with you?!”

You stop a few paces away from the pair. Sun made a child cry?

Before you can think to do anything (maybe interject and deescalate the situation. Take the blame? You were the assistant after all, and you weren’t here, so maybe-) The woman scoffs and turns on her heel, nearly clipping you in the shoulder as she stalks off, child in tow.

Your eyes follow her retreating back, then slowly move to the Daycare Attendant, who looks like his nerves are two seconds away from making him short-circuit. “Uh-”

“I think I may have been the tiniest, itty-bittiest, maybe a little bit too harsh. Aha.” Sun says quickly. He looks almost like the first day you saw him; anxiety underlying every word, sewn in the tone of his voice. His body movements are jerky, fidgeting, and his hands come up to explain himself in wild, uncalculated movements. “He was kicking down other children’s block towers! Making messes! Throwing things! He pulled another girl’s hair! I told him, several times, he needed to be kinder, needed to clean up his mess, clean up, clean up. But! He wouldn’t listen, no, just…breaking things. Breaking the rules, again and again, and-” His fingers freeze. He hunches, closing in. “Well, I uh. I told him if he misbehaved, I’d put him in Time-Out!”

You blink. “So, he started crying because he didn’t want to be put in the corner?”

“I may have, um.” Sun fidgets. “Raised my voice. Been a little too…animated.”

“Dude.” You furrow your brows. “Did you yell at him?”

The Sun’s rays shrink further back into his head.

Right. You’re not sure if thats the exact confirmation you need, but you can visualize the situation in your head: child is acting out and harming others, doesn’t listen or behave, caretaker gets frusterated and raises their voice, and now child is upset. Yep. Sounds about right. You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You don’t yell at the kids like that, do you?”

“Never. Never.” Sun laughs, and it’s nervous, as he backward paces further into the daycare, and you follow, shutting the doors behind you. “It is very upsetting. And I said I was sorry! I did, I sure did, but ah-” A child’s scream fills the air and Sun’s head spins to find it. White eyes find a girl yelling in delight at getting a ‘strike’ at the mock bowling game they’ve made, and his sights dart between you and the children. “You know, I don’t think toddlers really understand apologies from a, aha, tall metal fella such as myself. And I had just gotten him used to me. Not a good development. No, not good.”

“O-kaayy.” You drawl out. Sun was, for lack of a better phrase; wired. Visibly and clearly so. Maybe it was all the stress from all the changes and recent events. Even if the parents would have done the same thing to the misbehaving child, the Daycare Attendants, robot animatronics, are held to a Fazbear standard. There’s a difference between a parent or guardian raising their voice at a misbehaving child, or a tall scary robot. What an unfortunate scene. Nothing you can do now but to help him calm down. “Alright, okay. I think you need a break?”

“Do you mind?” Sun interrupts you.

You blink. “Huh?”

Sun gestures quickly to your chest. “Your shirt. It’s against the dress code. Do you mind?” His tone is polite, if not urgent, like this was something that needed to be fixed right here and right now.

You look down to your clothing. You tucked it in on your way over here, but you mis-matched a button in the wrong hole near the top. “Oh, sorry-”

“No worries!” Before you can move to fix it, silicone fingers are faster than you. Sun’s hands find the top of your shirt, unbuttons the wrong spot, and rebuttons it in the proper one all while he rambles. “Pardon, I’m a bit on a the edge today it seems. I didn’t even know I could get that angry. At a pile of blocks, of all things! Aha, there was the hair pulling, and the yelling, honestly. That boy takes after his mother I think, she always has so many complaints-” His fingers pause. A split second of quiet between you (broken by the sound of foam bonking by children to poor wet staff bots) before he perks up. “Oh!”

You’re too overwhelmed by the last five minutes of information overload and having your personal bubble broken yet again to figure out what was it now. “What?”

“You’re hungry!” He explains, broken from his stupor. You feel a heat rush to your ears at the realization he probably heard your stomach grumble. Sun pipes up, then pauses. The feeling that dragged him down prior has disappeared. “Oh dear. I think we ran out of cheese and crackers for snack time a little while ago.”

There’s the sound of a child crying out, the bonk of something hitting the end of the plastic tube slide and the high pitched sounds of the start of a sob. Sun’s attention rips from you and is gone in a matter of milliseconds. If this was a cartoon, there’s be a Sun-shaped cloud of smoke in the spot where he was prior.

Okie-dokie then. You’ll try to reel in the kids a little while he handles that situation. No time to be nervous about it, either. Despite your own reserves, your friend was in a much worse state. Call it that good ole ‘my friend needs me’ mindset that suddenly makes you a lot more courageous than you normally are. Hands on your hips, you inhale, (bite back the anxiety) and shout out to the crowded room. “Alright! We need to remember to clean up after ourselves and be nice to our friends, okay?”

Not a single soul looks towards you. You frown, and try again. “Rule breakers go into time out! So please don’t push, don’t run!” Your vision turns towards the two children assaulting the wet floor bots. “And hitting people with pool noodles isn’t very nice!”

This time, instead of ignoring you, you get a few spare glances, including the pool-noodle children. It’s fleeting though, all from kids who probably didn’t know who you were or didn’t care. They drop the pool noodles with a huff and stalk off in another direction, mostly towards the box of markers laying out on the mats, but you’ll take that over anything. A quick glance towards Sun shows he’s gathered up the hurt child with a small crowd of onlookers near the play jungle, sitting crisscrossed with the boy in his lap. The boy in his arms is teary-eyed while Sun coos at his skinned knee, other children looking onwards as spectacles. The animatronic is animated, raising his hands. You watch as he draws a sun onto the boy’s knee, ‘poofs’ away the pain, and smiles as the boy giggles at the magic trick.

Your fingers curl within the palm of your hand and traces the ghost there. Okay. Maybe the kid wrangling is best left to the robot specifically programmed to do it.

But you could still help by cleaning up behind them at the very least so it’s one less thing he has to worry about. Picking up paper plates, blocks, plushies, putting everything kept out into their respective toyboxes. They stay in there, thankfully, as the last few minutes more and more children are invested in making one big mural on the side of the play gym in washable marker. (You won’t bother trying to stop them. You’ll just scrub that all off later.) Eventually, your efforts work. This place is starting to look like the proper Daycare again, and less like a trap-filled tripping hazard.

There’s a rumbling in your stomach. You ignore it as you approach Sun when you’re finished tidying up. Well, to the best you can at the moment. Said animatronic is at the netting, arm stretched and reaching for a Moon plushie that was thrown, and subsequently caught within the net. “Do we have a TV? You know, one of those roll-in classroom ones?”

Sun doesn’t look away from the Moon plushie, which, oddly enough for a robot of his height, is just out of his reach. “What an odd question! In the storage closet on the west side of the room. I’ve been using the shelf for storing extra blankets.” A small girl waits near him with locked hands. He turns to you. “Got an idea?”

“I was thinking we throw on an old Fazbear cartoon.”

“I like that idea!” Without asking, he picks you up, hands around your waist and hoists you towards the net. You don’t even fight it this time. “The Moon, if you will!”

You’re lifted just a bit higher than his arms could reach, so you’re able to grab it. Sun sets you down and you hand out the Moon plushie to the girl with a smile. She takes it from you quickly, looks between you and the jester and then backs away without so much as a thank-you, blending in with the rest of the children.

“She’s a shy one.” Sun provides, hands on his hips. He seems to have calmed down, just a bit. “You should go down to the cafeteria and get something to eat. They’re having a special on pizza!”

“They’re always having a special on pizza. And I can wait until the cartoons are on, or until my shift is over.”

“Don’t like that!”

“One sec.” You pull out your phone, and text Gramps. ‘Can you bring me food? I’m at work and I forgot.’

Gramps types in short sentences because the poor man always feels like he just learned how to use a smart phone two days ago. ‘no.’

‘pls’

‘what does that mean’

‘please’

‘no’

‘i watched your cat for you last weekend and this is how you repay me’

‘its the daycare, isn’t it’

‘yep’

There is no other response or follow up message to the single word and honestly you don’t expect one. The mention of food was enough. You watch as the typing bubble disappears before pocketing the phone.

When you look up, Sun is staring at your phone screen with apparent interest. “Who was that?”

“Gramps.” You reply, and turn on your heel right as another child yells ‘MR.SUN’ over the room. “Be right back.

You leave him there to the whims of children calling for him. A glance over your shoulder and Sun is already attending to another child requiring attention. The storage closet isn’t far, and you know exactly which one it is thanks to many deliveries of diapers and wipes and other necessities the daycare would need you to deliver. Swinging it open, you make a dull note that you’re low on baby food, and start searching. The TV is there, although a bit dusty, but nothing that a wipe of your sleeve across the screen can’t fix. You pull a few blankets off of the shelf to reveal the DVD player. An old, ancient thing. Hopefully it works.

None of the children seem to care when you start wheeling the Tv out of the closet and to the nearest electrical outlet that isn’t near the security desk. All of the outlets have protective child covers on them, so you have to peel one off with your fingernail until it pops out, and you plug the cord in. A button press to the power, and it works! The TV, at least, but it’s just static for now. Fiddling with the DVD player, you happily find it powers on too, ejecting the stored dvd inside. It’s an old, weathered thing in your hand. The label is nearly scratched off on the side, but the tape didn’t need to be wound up at least. You pop it back in, and it slides back into the mouth and starts running.

There’s a loading time as the tape starts playing. You look over your shoulder, and freeze when not a few, but several pairs of tiny eyes were all watching you curiously. Children pause or slow in what they were doing to watch you start this thing up. Some looked like they were debating on coming closer. Good. This works out perfectly.

The theme song starts at full volume, and you flinch away from the screen as it blares out. The cartoon is old fashioned, rugged, but clear. Jumpy music starts playing as old style Freddy, Chica, and Bonnie are driving down the road in a cartoon van. The title says ‘Freddy and Friends go camping.’

“Ooooh someone put on the tunes!” Sun’s voice calls out over the now quiet daycare. “C’mon now! Gather around, all together. Let’s go see Freddy and his pals!”

Like flies to honey, the children start rushing over. You’re quick to scramble out of the way as they skid to a stop beneath the TV, taking on an almost orderly position around the television as the cartoon plays. There’s hushed whispers, coos, and excitement as they see their favorite character’s on screen. Every child in the daycare has collected themselves here. Meaning you didn’t need to constantly keep track of them, or worry about them breaking objects, or each other, or any other mayhem. You finally understand why your own teachers would put on videos in classes when you were younger.

Sun is behind the group, seated near where the marker graffiti was, a small child in his arms. You meet him there, collapsing to sit on the ground next to him, and staring wearily out to the gaggle of hypnotized children. Inhale, exhale. You sigh. “I don’t know how you do this every single day.”

“With love and patience.” Sun hums, quieter. The toddler in his arms is sleeping; a girl with short dark hair and looked hardly older than an infant. “Mostly patience. I have a lot of that. Most of the time.”

“Most of the time.” You repeat and bring a faint smile forwards. The cartoons are keeping everyone memorized, and you watch in a moment of reprieve as pixels start talking and making jokes. Bonnie’s cartoon face comes on screen, and you feel your smile falters.

Your gaze darts away from the tv and back to Sun, and blink when you find that he’s still staring at you. “Something a matter?”

It leaves your mouth before you can stop it. “Freddy told me what happened to Bonnie. Or at least, what they know about it.”

He hums. The child in his arms stir. She’s too young to understand what you might be talking about, probably barely old enough to know a few first words, but you keep your voice low, just in case. Sun’s head tilts to the side. “Interesting. I suppose that detail is going into your little notebook, right?”

“I haven’t written it down yet, but…I don’t know, maybe?” You breathe deeply. Said notebook was back at the apartment, leaving an empty space in your pocket, save for your phone, which vibrates once. Gramps was probably nearby. “I didn’t ask about the pizzaplex’s history, and I think I just made Freddy sad.” Shoulders slump, body exhausted. The energy you’ve spent in rapid time since you arrived paired with your recent horrible self-care habits were starting to toll on you. “It must suck losing a friend like that, and having a reminder of them plastered on posters everywhere.”

Sun’s face is default, a smile stretched to his eyes as he stares. “Yes. I imagine it’s terrible.”

Your eyes meet blank white, and your tongue rolls over in your mouth, debating. “Question.”

“Oh?” His head tilts the opposite way. “Go on.”

Your hands fidget. Your thumb traces the nametag underneath your jacket, flush against your shirt. “Were you friends with the other Daycare Assistants? The ones that were here before me.” White eyes burn into your cheek. You keep them focused forwards, towards the children. “You know, outside of the…one guy.”

The space besides you is quiet, and the air still. Children still watch the TV intently as Chica tries to start a fire with two rocks and a twig on screen. A moment passes, and no answer, you turn your head to Sun. His smile is thin, guarded. There’s a drop in your chest that you just touched sensitive territory. “…Sun? You don’t have to answer that.”

“We try to be friends with everyone, you know.” He starts. Voice soft. There’s a static barely in his tone. “Right from the start. No reason to be other than we just the more the merrier. It’s why we were so friendly to you at the start, even if it was a bit...” He searched for the correct word. “Off-putting. Some people did not like that. Some were worse than others.”

The memory of the tazor sits at the bottom of the security desk drawer. Your throat feels dry, so you cover up the tension with a joke. “You pulled me cursing out of a ball-pit the first time we met. I think I was a little more weird than you were.”

A short, cut-off laugh. “And what an introduction! I liked your spunk. Did I tell you that? You’re spunky.” The Sun’s smile stretches further, unreadable. Thoughtful. “Couldn’t quite figure you out, though. Not in the first few weeks, anyway.” A click, click, click of rotation as the head makes a full spin, then stops upright. “We still don’t have you fully figured out, which is very unfair, if you ask me.”

Your response is a half-hearted shrug. “M’just not that interesting as you guys are. Don’t worry, you’re not missing out on much.”

It’s a silly joke, something to lighten the air, but once again the space between you goes quiet. It’s a comfortable silence for a moment as you watch the cartoon, then feel the buzz in your pocket again. You don’t pull the phone out, instead dragging your vision to the windows by the doors, and seeing a familiar silhouette there. “Gramps is here, I think.” Rising to stand, you stretch, and turn back to the animatronic. “I’m gonna go greet him at the door, is that okay?”

You stop. Sun’s brows are furrowed together, the expression mechanic he has forming something he doesn’t usually wear. He’s frowning though, and white blank eyes stare up at you with…confusion? Discomfort?

You blink. “What?”

The question goes unanswered because as quick as you ask, his face switches straight back to the good ole Daycare Attendant smile that they showcase on the Pizzaplex advertisement pamphlets. In one swift motion, Sun stands up straight like a pin, and takes long strides towards the door.

Weird, but you don’t focus on it. The strides he takes are long and goofy, and he’s long reached the door before you could powerwalk to meet him there. Just as you match his pace, Sun grabs the door handle with his freehand, swings open the large, heavy wooden door like it was made out of twigs and greets the newcomer with a (whisper-shout!) voice and a big, wide friendly smile. “Heeeelllooooo, new friend! What do we have here?”

Gramps, an aging man in his early 60s and with little knowledge on how to work a laptop stares up at the highly advanced robot, bright as the highly saturated surroundings, and squints. “You’re taller than I’d thought you’d be.”

Sun’s head pulls back. “Oh!”

You’re desperately squeezing in-between the two. “Excuse me, pardon me, move your arm. Sun, move your arm, okay-” There, now in-between the two, you take a deep breath to recollect yourself and turn to Gramps, hand out stretched for the brown paper bag he’s got in his grip. “Hi, Gramps. Thanks for bringing me lunch. I was about to die of hunger.”

Out of the corner of your eye, Sun’s eye twitches, but it goes mostly unnoticed as Gramps brings up the bag and drops it in your hand. It smells like cheap, hot fast food, a heavenly smell to your nose. Gramps huffs. “Y’er lucky I was passing by. Don’t forget next time.”

“I know, Gramps.”

“There’s a soda can in there. And some extra sauce.”

“Thanks, Gramps.”

“Ahem!” A comically robotic mimic of someone clearing their throat sounds off besides you. Both human eyes turn to the Daycare Attendant, who by all accounts was waiting patiently for an introduction, and if you didn’t start soon, Sun sure would.

It’s actually kinda heart warming. You gesture towards him. “Gramps, this is my coworker, Sun! You know, the uh-” You wave your hand to be non-chalant, sheepish. “-The one I told you about-”

“We’re friends, too!” Sun adds on.

“Yeah-”

“More friends than coworkers!”

“Yeah, he knows.”

“It’s very nice to meet you!” Sun has all the energy of a golden retriever and then some.

Gramps’s eyes are fogged through his glasses. His eyebrows start to raise up high on his forehead so far you’d think they’d almost go past his balding hairline. Any further and you and Sun would be watching them drift off and upwards into the netting that surrounds the Daycare, but instead you freeze-frame as his gaze turns to look at you.

This will haunt you for the rest of you adult life for every Christmas dinner you make with Gramps from here on out.

As if right on cue, a child screams out behind the three of you. “MR.SUN! The TV is already done!” Three pairs of eyes travel back. The children were calm at the moment, waiting patiently, but the television seemed to have finished it’s cartoon.

Perfect! Sun’s going to have to attend to them, which means you get to avoid what could be an even worse scene for yourself. “Looks like they need you.” You say, smiling, and much too non-chalant for your own good.

“Oh, we have more DVDs in the closet, actually! I’m sure it won’t be hard to find one.” Sun’s eyes narrow. A familiar grin inched on his face. “Be a dear assistant and pop one in for them? I’ll hold this for you-!” He takes the bag of food with his free hand, “And afterwards I say you have yourself a break! Sound good?”

…Why that little-

“I’ll only be a second!” You wave off to Gramps, and all but speed walk towards the waiting children. The moment you’re a few paces way, you hear Sun introduce himself to Gramps again, and a conversation that you can’t hear starts without you. Great.

You’re fast, and the children watch you as you work. They’re patient this time, quiet as you dig through the closet (tossing blankets, diapers, baby bottles, an unused formula warmer, and some sleeping bags that haven’t gotten any use in a few years to the side) until you find a box full of DVDs underneath a blanket. You don’t even inspect it, snagging the item and marching over to the TV stand. “Did everyone like watching Freddy and friends?” You ask to the crowd, although it’s half-hearted and you’re already double pressing the button to eject the old DVD to replace it with the new, all but shoving it in place. A choir of ‘yes’ resounds behind you. “Good!” You wait until the static dissipates, and another cartoon title shows. This time, Freddy and pals are learning how to make pizza.

Immediately the children’s attention are captured, and you turn on your heel and head straight back over to the door. Sun’s back is facing you, Gramps is mid-sentence of something, and your stomach was starting to rumble. Maybe you were getting hangry.

If you had the skill, you’d come close to eavesdrop, but any attempt to do so would be thwarted by the fact that Sun has motion sensors in the back of his head. You only catch the tail-end of the conversation by the time you get closer.

“Of course!” Sun says, cheerful. “We should get back to the daycare. It’s so nice meeting a new friend today!”

“Yeah, sure.” There’s a smile under Gramps mustache, so at the very least you know Sun has made a good impression on him. He catches sight of you approaching just as you’re about to be side to side with the animatronic. “M’leaving. I’m making pot roast later.” He turns away, waving over the shoulder. No ‘bye’s or ‘see you laters’, just weird leave-offs like that. He was weird like that.

You wave him off with a quick farewell before you pull the doors shut. “Bye! Thanks for the food!” The doors come to a close. There’s a pause, then you turn to the side and all but swipe the brown bag out of Sun’s grip. He chuckles at the movement. “Gimmie that. What were you two talking about?”

“I like your Grandpa!” Sun beams. He has his free hand over the toddler in his arm’s head, shielding her ears. Little thing seemed to have slept through the entire conversation. “He seems like a very nice, chummy fellow. Like a story book character.”

You’re checking out the insides of your meal bag (a burger, some fries, a soda can of the same brand that you know Gramps keeps around the house, and maybe at touch too many sauce packets) before looking up. “He’s not my Grandpa.”

“I know.” Sun grins. You squint at him, and he continues. “That’s so nice of him though to bring you food like that. I told him it was nice you had someone looking out for you outside the pizzaplex.” His hand brushes over the sleeping girl’s hair. For a split second, you think you see the tips of his fingertips turn blue. “Why don’t you take a seat at the security desk and relax? You’ve been a very big help today.”

You’re in the mood to snap back that not long ago the robot said he didn’t need your help, but you’re hungry, and still exhausted for the coming week. “Alright.” You trudge over to the security desk, plopping your food bag onto the surface and taking your seat on the stool. “I’ve just about had enough of today anyways.”

“There will be more.” Sun’s thumb brushes over the girl’s forehead, careful as she breathes softly, and leans against the front end of the desk to watch the rest of the children. He is calmer than before, careful not to wake her.

You start digging into the food, unwrapping the burger. “We have a week until the reinstatement.”

Sun’s head clicks to the side. “We do, don’t we?”

You get the next three days off from work, which really puts a bolt in your plans.

Management emails you almost immediately after you clock out and thanks you for coming in on such short notice, then proceeds to lay out the details that since you came in on your technical off day, that you were taken off the schedule for a day later in the week so overtime pay wouldn’t need to be a problem, and you should enjoy you’re new found freedom. Great. That extends your weekend. Except it’s not great because it shortens the time you’re able to be at the pizzaplex, and it shortens the time you can prepare the reinstatement.

You did, briefly, consider the idea of just breaking in, like you did over a year ago.

You decide against it. You’re not that desperate. Not quite. Yet.

The first day, you actually do catch up on that show that Breanna was talking about. It’s subpar to how she described it, and the blood and gore effects were pretty bland. The CGI kinda sucked, but the practical effects were pretty cool. Besides, the biker chick (who is also a vampire!) was pretty interesting. She gets a girl friend later on, who’s actually a cryptid hunter but has no idea her lover is one of the monsters she is trying to find. Neat show. You have it play in the background all day while you actually clean up your apartment and do loads of laundry that was far overdue. (When was the last time you washed the Freddy jacket? Yeesh.)

The night is spent catching the notebook up on everything you’ve learned in memory. All of Management’s responses. Any clues you have found online or just by hanging out in the pizzaplex by itself. The changes taking place; the reinstatement, the charging stations, the humans all being fired. Bonnie’s story takes up several pages because half-way it goes from fact to feelings, and you treat the pages like a diary. Your thought on Freddy’s voice when he shared it. How he and Chica must feel. There’s nothing you can do as an outsider but provide support when you can, though. That…was something you really didn’t have a role in, did you?

The animatronics were doing fine before you came along. They’ll do fine if you had to leave, too, once the Daycare Attendants are adjusted. There might come a time when Sun or Moon won’t need you after all this.

You go to bed early that night. You needed the sleep.

Two days into your ‘break’ and one day until you’re allowed to return to the pizzaplex, your apartment is clean, your household chores done and there’s nothing personal you feel like doing, so when you former classmates pitch an idea for everyone to get together before the next semester (oh, right. You’re not going to be doing that either since you’re taking a gap year) you agree to go.

The place is a bar downtown that’s island themed with a big palm tree and neon bananas out front on the sign. You snap a picture of it to show it to Moon later (it looked like his lighter half from this angle) meet up with your friends, and sit down and order water under the impression that you don’t feel so good.  There’s five of you in total, all looking as rugged and tired from everyone’s own personal lives. Breanna is still info-dumping about her favorite TV show. You’re happy she does all the talking.

“Don’t you think it’s kinda crazy? They keep popping up everywhere.” One of the guys in the group, some bloke who’s already drank a little too much than he should handle, is on a separate spiel while Breanna talks about her current obsession. “My mom says she was a kid when they started making them, but it wasn’t as advanced as they are now. I mean, look.” He gestures out to the barkeep.

The bartender is a robot. A humanoid type, like a staff-bot, except instead of the default eyes, their face is a screen. They have a voice box, surely, but appears to prefer using the screen to ask for orders instead over the noise of the room. Said bot takes another person’s order, and one of the four arms it has reaches for the mixers behind it, and the ones on front accept the customer’s paying card. On the arm sleeve of it’s stereotypical bartender vest, the words ‘Fazbear Entertainment TM’ are etched into the body.

“I think they’re kinda cool.” A different guy in the group interjects. He sits in-between you and the other, so he looks to both of you when there’s a lull in the conversation. “I mean, they’re super nice. It’s not like they’re gonna do a super robot uprising or something.”

You sip your water, excuse yourself under the guise that you really don’t feel well, and make your way home.

Four days until the Daycare Attendant’s reinstatement.

DJ Music Man is a wonderful help tonight. By ‘help’, it means he’s letting all the baby Music Men act as children for Moon’s practice whether or not Moon actually likes that or not.

The DJ had offered his assistance a few days ago in passing when you were getting all the coins out of the arcade machine when they were jammed, and you accepted the offer. When presented to Moon, you are met with a sideways glare and the usual discomfort when it comes to this sort of thing, but there’s a softness for the baby music men in there somewhere that makes things easier when one comes tumbling down the slide into the ballpit, and there’s a feeling of nostalgia coming off of him as the animatronic watches the little robot bounce off of the edge and into the pool.

Plastic balls are shifting as the baby music man is scuttling underneath them somewhere. Then, the movement stops, and the pool goes still.

“Alright, for this scene; there’s a child hiding in the ballpit around naptime, or whatever.” You gesture half-heartedly towards said ballpit with an encouraging grin and ignore the deadpan look Moon has. “Actor! Take your place.”

“Having fun?” Moon’s smile feels bared and annoyed. “Bossy brat.”

“Um. I am your boss. Technically, I think.”

Without breaking eye-contact, the animatronic makes a noise of half-chuckle, then tilts. His entire body falls sideways and into the ballpit, sending up reds and blues and greens like a splash effects. The momentum sends him deeper before the surface, covered by the colors. A sly grin slips beneath the them. Then, movement. Just like the Baby Music Man, the ripple effect that shows his location suddenly stops. Moon has completely disappeared underneath them.

You stand there observing for the moment. “Everything okay down there?” There is no response. You’re not surprised, but maybe a little worried. “Moon?” It feels like a trap, you know it’s probably a trap, but you approach the edge of the ballpit anyway. Crouched low, peering out into the colors, your brows furrow and call out. “Moon? Are you good-?”

A blur and fast movement in front of you. The edge of your sentence is cut off when he suddenly emerges from the colors, sharp grin and reaching hands that find the strings of your hoodie, and pull.

Your yelp is undignified as you’re yanked down into the put. You don’t hit the hard floor, but rather land on plastic and metal instead that shifts out from underneath you as you come back to reality. The fall only lasts two seconds before your head breaks the surface of the ballpit and you gasp, yelling. “What the HELL-”

“Have a nice trip.” Moon’s head is halfway submerged like water, but you can hear his chuckling grin regardless.

You bat away a ball that was too close to your face. It skips across the colors. “Eugh. When was the last time these things got washed?”

“Yesterday night.” He answers. Right, there’s like a whole machine downstairs that takes care of that, isn’t there? You rise to stand out of the ballpit, but a hand comes around you wrist, bringing you down. Not hard, not roughly, but it still catches you by surprise. “Hey,wha- what the deal?” You swing back to glare at him. “What’s going on?”

One eye red, one black with a pupil that stares up at you. Moon’s thumb finds your wrist and presses on the vein there, pulling, not too nicely, you down further into the ballpit until your knees hit the bottom as he rises up from the crouch that kept him under. “Stay. Take a break.” Moon’s readjustment has him taller than you even sitting now, although still hunched. You can feel the fabric of his pants brush up against your knee. “We are taking a break.”

Your face twists with uncertainty. “I don’t know if we have the time to be able to afford a break.”

“You are taking a break.” He repeats. It does not sound negotiable.

You don’t like being told what to do, but maybe he was right. You two have been playing pretend all night. There’s a mess on the other side of the daycare and a plushie with it’s button’s removed that needed to be either repaired or thrown away before it opens the next day. But at least all it’s stitches were intact. Shifting so you’re not as squished, you stretch your legs out for more room, bumping up against one of Moon’s own, and settle in the ball pit. Might as well make yourself comfortable. “Are you gonna give me my hand back or is that just yours for the night?”

Fingers drum alongside the hold that’s around your skin as Moon chuckles. “It’s a leash.”

“Right.” You snort. “I don’t think your hand should qualify as a friendship bracelet. If you wanted to hold hands, you could have just asked.”

“Where did you do before now?”

It’s such an out of the blue question. Surprise flashes across your face. Moon waits patiently, though, thumb moving in rhythm over the vein in your wrist. You think maybe its a way he’s trying to comfort himself. Or something else. But you’re more focused on the seconds spent since he asked, and you finally break out of your stupor. “Like? I mean, I had to go throw laundry for kid’s racer suits downstairs before I came to the daycare. Roxy also wanted me to bring her body paint from storage, but you should know this. You were there.”

“Before the pizza plex.” Moon reiterates. His head has clicked to a sideways angle with curiosity. “What did you do before you worked here.”

The reply this time is easier. It’s obvious. “I had college full time. Duh.”

“And?”

“And?” You repeat back at him, brows furrowed and an awkward smile on your face.

Moon remains quiet. His head continues to rotate with a slow click, click, click sound. Staring.

“I didn’t do anything special if that’s what you’re asking.” You start. Nervousness is creeping up into your chest, an uncertainty that you’ve gotten used to keeping a lid on around the Naptime Attendant was reappearing again; the unknowing of what his next move was, or his intentions. “I don’t really have any interesting stories to tell you. I mean, I worked at the campus book store for a month for some extra cash. Sometimes I baby sit my neighbor’s cat.” You tug your wrist. “What are you asking for?”

“Curious.”

“I don’t have anything good.” You fake a laugh. “Sorry, but I’m not a good story teller. I don’t have it programmed in me.”

His hand twitches around you; there’s a pressure on your wrist. “Try anyway.”

The air is suddenly very, very thick. A lump in your throat swallows down with effort, and you hope he doesn’t notice the hesitation before you respond. The narrowing in his gaze tells you that he does. You tug again at your wrist, bringing both of your hands up above the surface of the ballpit before you officially separate them, bringing it in on yourself. Moon’s fingers linger, then close around the empty air. You squint at him. “What’s with the interrogation, huh?”

“Robots can be picked apart. Studied. Dismantled. Put back together.” His fingers make motions of pulling apart, though it’s not actions of mechanical means, but tense, like imaginary string. Metal fingers pulling apart tendons you can’t see. Thin pupils watch you as hands work . “Humans too.”

Your eyes narrow. “Are you trying to make a joke about dissecting me?”

“You’re so close.” The jester’s teeth are curled into a sharpened grin. “Good job. No. Try again.”

“Metaphorically speaking.” You say again, scooting back a few inches for good measure. Except that good measure may have brought up a new danger as Moon takes this as an invitation to lean closer. “You’re being nosy.”

“Nosy. Ha.” Moon repeats. His voice is half of an amused chuckle, before almost turning into a downright sneer. “Nosy?”

Uh, oh.

Tension fills your shoulders, paralyzing you in the split second it takes for Moon to cross the small threshold between you. Colorful plastic balls are no deterrent to the animatronic that’s keen on pushing you further back until your back is nearly touching the side of the pool, head twitching to the upright position, eyes narrowed and crossing the space with rampant intent. “You have no sense of fairness! You have no self preservation!” The side of the pool touches your back as you continue to scoot and you inwardly curse as your friend, all twisted limbs and a casing a robot of frustration, moves close enough to the space between your feet, casting a shadow over you entirely. “The brat that etched itself into our code wants to tell us that we are nosy?”

Your shoulders hike up to your ears. “All I’m saying is that it’s not that big of a deal!”

He comes in close, crouched. The proximity is short. Whatever respect he had for your personal bubble burned with the inches he was closing. “Why do you think like this.”

Your breath bounces off his face and comes back to yours. “…Why is it such a problem to you?”

Moon’s head rotates all the way to the side until it's clicked at a horizontal angle. Red eyes burn holes into you.

A hand comes up to your neck, and you freeze. His palm trails up your skin. Any second now, he’ll wrap his fingers around your throat, and this caress will turn into a death sentence. The eye contact he’s seering into you will be the last thing you see. The pulse in your neck races with a fear you’ve taught to keep calm, though now he’ll detect it through his fingertips, and he could so easily, so very easily, silence it-

His hand moves past your neck, back to the fabric of your hoodie. There’s a pulling tug there, and he leans back and takes his grip with him, holding a little robot in his hands. Moon had just plucked the Baby Music Man off the back part of your hoodie, and said Music man was still trying to keep itself attached to you by hanging onto the strings of your hoodie before they inevitably lose grip.

You blink at him, and breathe in your newfound space. “Oh, you found him.”

Moon stares deadpan at the creature. Baby Music man stares back up wide eyes, flitting between you and the animatronic. Then, suddenly he falls completely limp in Moon’s hand, spindly legs dangling off of his palm. A tiny ‘honk-shoo, honk-shoo’ can be heard from the little guy’s voice box.

“Silly.” Moon’s tone is calm, collected. The red pupils are faded back into complete red. He looks down at the pretending music man with confliction like he was debating on either rocking it back with a lullaby or tossing it over his shoulder.

“I think that’s enough of a break for now.” You rise to your feet, hope that the tremor in your legs aren’t noticeable, or if they were, he wasn’t going to say anything about them, and move to the side to crawl out of the ball pit. “We should clean up the mess we’ve made. I’ll find a sewing kit to fix the buttons on that one toy. After this, we could talk about some safe games to play that don’t include naptime.” You pat down your clothes for any wrinkles made in the scuffle, and turn back to the animatronic in the ball pit. “Sound like a plan?”

Moon does not look satisfied, but the default smile is back. He raises his hand, and the Baby Music Man suddenly ‘wakes-up’, jumping up to it’s feet on the animatronic’s palm. It spares you a glance, a little wave, before scuttling up the jester’s arm, his shoulder and faceplate and diving underneath the Daycare Attendant’s hat. There’s slight movement of what you assume the little guy getting comfortable before settling down to go into rest mode for real. Moon’s hand drops, and he looks between you and the rest of the Daycare. The wire comes down swiftly from the dark, and he uses it to lift him out of the pit, and hover over the playmats.

You focus on scrubbing off the mural that still hasn’t completely come off of the play gym during cleaning, and he keeps his distance at the top of the towers for the rest of the shift until it’s time for you to leave.

Three days until the Daycare Attendant’s reinstatement.

Your shift today is from the afternoon until an hour or so after closing. It won’t give you enough time to refocus any important points you wanted to with Moon, but Sun introduces you to the kids for that day all the same, and walks you through a few more things you needed to keep track of.

Some children today have allergies; memorize them. (Or don’t, because Sun has a better memory than you do and is much faster in the scenario where one would have an allergic reaction). Some kids don’t like certain textures in their snacks; don’t mix creamy snacks with crumbly ones. The diaper changing station near the corner needed to be restocked and sanitized every day at the same hour even if there wasn’t any infants in the roster for the day. There’s a new activity everyday for the children to play to keep them entertained for most of their time here, ranging anywhere between: playing pirates, fake camping, story time, arts and crafts, theatre improv, free play (which was just the word to describe letting the little ones run rampant in the jungle gyms until they tire themselves out) among many others.

Today was arts and crafts; namely: Slime and glitter glue day. And thanks to a trusty Fazbear employee making the delivery (You) from a far away place (the storage room from downstairs in the maintenance wing) and a trusty carriage to help carry the precious cargo (the cleaning cart, which was now covered in the glitter glue at the bottom of the cart that needed to be cleaned out) the children had everything they needed to get their hands dirty, make a mess, and probably get a few gunks of something sticky in their hair.

The children all get painter’s smocks so as to not transfer the slime onto their clothes. At least, not by accident. But as the fabric is being handed out, Sun looks to you with a pause. “I don’t think we have any adult smocks in your size, but we do have an apron! I’ll check the storage closet! It’s in there somewhere.” He’s gone towards it before you can interject.

You shrug, already working off the jacket and sleeved shirt to reveal the undershirt beneath. Management was kind enough to let you know that this activity was on today’s plan, and that it was probably best to wear pants and a shirt that you don’t mind getting stained or dirty. Both articles of clothing are set on the security desk as Sun returns. You hear a pleased laugh from behind you. “I like your shirt! Very punny!”

Said shirt was an old pajama shirt with a picture of a crudely drawn cat on it with the words ‘cats you later’ underneath. If you remember correctly, you got it at a yard sale for a quarter. “Thanks. I think it’s the peak of fashion.” He hands you the apron before his attention is diverted elsewhere among the children, and the apron ties over your clothing just fine.

So, for the next few hours, you get to supervise a bunch of kids shoving their hands into a mixture of glue and slime, coat their faces and papers and the walls with the stuff that you carefully clean up behind them while Sun actually watches the gaggle of children and make sure they’re not putting any of it directly into their mouths (It’s not toxic, of course. But it’s best not to take any chances anyway.) Most of the day goes by without incident.

Except when you’re busy trying to peel off a failed slime goop off of the play mats (too much glue, not enough glitter. It was stuck to the plastic like mold) do you feel a sudden wet, clammy feeling on the back of your neck. The temperature change is a shock, and you jump, spinning around to glare at what or whoever was the cause. A boy you recognize, the one with a dyed mohawk is sprinting away from you, cackling with a snotty nose as he finds his next victim.

Blindly reaching back, your hands find something gooey touching your fingertips. That boy just tried to drop a slime ball down your shirt and was currently doing it to another girl across the room. “Oh, c’mon-”

Sun, in an absolute blur, rounds the corner as quick as cartoon you’re surprised that there’s no screeching sound effects of his shoes scraping the floor as he runs through. There’s one kid on his left, one on his shoulders, and another boy attached to his upper leg seemingly having the time of his life as the animatronic darts between children to get to you. A metal hand ungently shoves into the upper part of your shirt just below your neck, grabs the goop ball right in-between his fingers, pulls it out and holds it up like a bug that needed to be quarantined before speeding in the same direction as the boy and his path of destruction, all without missing a beat. “What did I say about keeping our hands to ourselves in the daycare! That is against the rules! Keep Your hands to yourself!”

The way he scrambles is almost comical as Sun nearly divebombs the child before he can subject another girl to the woes of slime, picking him up and adding him to the number of toddlers that were already attached to the robot.  The boy does, in fact, get to sit in time-out for five minutes and has to say sorry to all the kids he slimed before he is allowed to continue playing with the others.

By the time the day is over and check-out time is here, the daycare is relatively clean, but you and Sun alike are both covered in glittery slime.

The last check-out of the day; a girl with no front teeth, gives you a big smile as Sun and her mother talk about the day’s activities and exchange daily reports. You smile back and she extends her hand to you. An offering, maybe? By instinct, you open your palm and she settles her little one into yours. It opens, and a goop of pink slime drops into your hand...right after you spent about ten minutes cleaning your hands of the stuff before the parents got here. Great.

“Thanks.” You say. “I’ll treasure it for the rest of my life.”

She waves a giddy goodbye as the doors close behind her and the mother, and you turn your heel to the clothing you’ve left on the security desk. Yeah, you’re not gonna want to put those back on until you’re a little less slimed. “I’m starting to think that maybe we should start doing creative stuff that doesn’t include us spending half an hour trying to wipe down with baby wipes.”

“We tried cooking once!” Sun starts. He’s already cleaning himself off with said baby wipes, and he’s much more efficient than you are. “Simple stuff! Chocolate chip, actually, with an easy bake oven.” He laughs. “Then the kids decided it was too long to wait until they were done and starting eating the dough raw. Some got sick. Now it’s banned from the Daycare.”

The slime isn’t coming off with baby wipes, so you give up and just hold it outwards while you try to reorganize. The sleeved shirt comes first, and it’s a little bit of a struggle. “I don’t think putting anything in the daycare that could potentially set things on fire was a good idea.”

“I agree! What a scary thing for that to happen.” Sun has finished his upper body. Thankfully, there’s not any prints on his back, but there’s gunk in the spaces between his rays. “We don’t even have a proper fire escape. A terrible safety code violation, I think.”

You try to pull up the other arm of your shirt- and fail. The button takes a solid minute to get in the hole, only to sigh when you realize its in the wrong one, struggle to undo it, and repeat. Two buttons down, you’re cursing while you work on the third. Your shoulder is starting to ache from holding your arm out.

“A-hem!” Sun reminds you that he’s still there, and you look up to see the animatronic smiling as always, patient, and with both hands held together in front of him. He still hasn’t gotten the remaining glitter smear off of his cheek. “Hi!”

“Hi.” You drop your hands. “Do you need something?”

“Permission!” Sun’s eyes turn upwards. His sunrays rotate. “I wasn’t going to just do it all willy-nilly, but I would like to remind you that friends are good for lending helping hands. Pun fully intended!”

“...But, what you did earlier was okay-?”

“That was a completely different scenario!”

“Sure, dude.” Comically, you extend your arms and let the fabric hang. “Help me out here.”

Sun’s hands are quick. He’s not too invasive, and is working the buttons into their proper holes. There was probably some rule about dress code that irked him if he saw you out of it, that’s all. But it doesn’t stop the comment from coming to your head and saying the next bit out loud. “You guys have been really touchy lately.”

His fingers freeze. “Oh. Is that a bad thing?”

You almost laugh. “Really? Out of all the hugs we share, now you’re asking if it’s a bad thing? I don’t mind.”

Sun looks like he’s going to say something else, but suddenly his hands drop from you like lightening and his face rotates elsewhere. You blink, following his gaze towards the Daycare Doors. “What? Did you forget to lock the doors?”

Right as you’re speaking, as if on cue, the door crack open. A tiny, smug, orange beak pokes through the gap. “...Whatcha two doin’ in here?”

Immediately, the great actor Sun pipes up. “Chica! The chicken wing queen herself has come to grace us this evening, what a joy!” He beams as said animatronic waltzes into the daycare like model, even going as far as to strike a pose much to your amusement. Another form is there too, and two bear ears and a top hat poke through. Sun spies the second guest, and claps his hands together. “Ooooh, a double visit! How exciting!”

Freddy’s muzzle makes it past the wooden door and pokes his head inside. “I do hope we are not intruding, are we?”

...Please tell you that they did not see something out-of-context through the Daycare glass.

“Not at all! Come in!” Sun leans on the security desk, hands on his ‘chin’ and propping him in the space between you and the other animatronics. You’re silently thankful for the barrier while you finish up one last button and work on getting on your jacket before having to socialize. It was still a bit difficult not to get slime from your hand on the rest of your clothes though. The Daycare Attendant’s voice takes over. “And what do I owe this visit to tonight?”

“We wanted to congratulate you officially!” Chica is the first to speak, but Freddy is the second to add on. “This is the only time we’ll have to stop by, I’m afraid. We wanted to go ahead and say hello, since we’ll be very busy with the new changes soon.”

“An congratulations?” Sun coos. You’re officially in the jacket behind him, peaking out from behind his arm. “We’re honored!”

“Yes. I do hope we haven’t inturrupted your…” Freddy pauses, blue eyes darting between you and the Daycare Attendant. “Face painting session?”

Oh! You look down to your pink slime hand and up to the smear on Sun’s face. “Mess from today’s daycare activities. This stuff is just really hard to get off.”

Freddy sends you a knowing look. Chica has stomped her way into the middle of the room, animated and excited with her voice echoing off the walls. “You’re going to be able to walk around the pizza plex now! Well, not right now. I mean, you could if you wanted to. But soon! Isn’t that exciting! Imagine all the photoshoots you’re gonna be asked for.”

“Yep! Well,” Sun laughs, rays shifting at the end of his sentence. “Not with the children, I’m afraid! It would be all on my lonesome, which isn’t often! Field trips thorough the mall just isn’t reasonable anymore.”

The chicken visibly deflates, but she perks herself back up again. “Aw. Maybe we can come in here more often?” She offers. “Like babysitters so we can watch the kids for you just like we do birthday parties. That way, you can walk the pizzaplex like a mascot again. Maybe you should pick up doing shows in the theatre, again. I’m sure our friend here-” Chica gives you a not so subtle wink and has no regrets throwing you in the crosshairs. “-would love to see you preform.”

You scoff. “I’ve already tried to get them to show me a performance-”

“Maybe.” Sun’s words comes to the edge of your sentence. “Maybe one night we will. It would be like a flash to the past.” A soft promise, something coy in his tone. Pale eyes turn towards you, upside down on his faceplate. “What do you think, hmm?”

You’re still stunned by the ‘maybe’ that all you can do is raise your brows in disbelief. “Maybe.” You repeat, skeptical.

“I do hope you’ll come out of the daycare at some point, even if just to visit.” Freddy chimes in. He’s polite again, seemingly soft as ever for a hulking shiny metal bear. “I know our conversations happen here mostly, but if you ever felt the need, my room is always open to you. Both of you.” A nod to you and the jester. “It would be nice to hang out as a group, or even just one on one. I do enjoy your company, and I’m sure this place can feel a bit cramped after a while.”

As corny as it sounds, one really does have to appreciate Freddy Fazbear’s clear communication on how he does enjoy and care about his friends. Even if he did kinda sound like he was straight out of a therapy pamphlet sometimes. “I’m cool with that. I’m down with the idea.” You speak up, half paying attention to the conversation, half focusing on getting this awful, sticky mess off of your hand before you even think about leaving. There’s no way in hell you’re putting this slime on the steering wheel when you drive. “It’d be pretty cool if we could all have a little party or something. Though…it might have to be in the arcade so the DJ could be included.”

“Here, friend.” A yellow hand comes over into your vision, taking over your own and the wet wipe out of your grip. Sun turns your hand over and tuts at the gunk that’s stretching between your fingers. “Goodness gracious, what did you grab?”

“I was tricked.”

Freddy pipes up, unbothered by your current need to be rescued from gunky pink goo. “That’s right. The DJ told me he wishes to extend his congratulations to you as well.”

Sun is focused on removing the slime, and doing so very well in quick, harsh swipes between your fingers. “No need! He already has.”

Chica leans against the security desk, humming. “I like the party idea!”

You snort. “Of course you like the party idea-”

“Shh.” She hushes you, beak coiled up into a grin. “We already get together most nights but now that I think of it, we actually haven’t had an official slumber party all together including you, right? You should stay the night one night. You know, not on shift so you don’t actually have to work.”

You roll the thought over in your head. Technically, you’ve broken into the Pizzaplex before, but that ended Not So Great. Time has passed though, and it looks like Management didn’t kick you to the curb with all of the other human employees, so maybe there’s a chance you won’t get fired or trigger any odd security system. “Maybe. As long as it doesn’t get me written up or fired…and the animatronics are okay with that.”

The grip around your hand tightens slightly. Sun clears off the last of the gunk, pausing to hold the wipe away, and does not let go of your hand. His face is defaulted. “What a silly idea.”

Chica continues. “As long as it’s  fine with the security patrol and whoever is on security detail, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Freddy looks to Sun like he knows something you didn’t, but you can take a fair guess. “I suppose…breaking the rules just once wouldn’t hurt.”

“I think.” Sun starts. The fingers holding your palm open flex against your skin ever so slightly. “That is was really nice of you to stop by. Makes it feel like the good ole days again, doesn’t it?”

There’s a shift between the three robots. An awkward feeling, like an empty piece in your gut somewhere or the air falling thuck around you. No one shows it though. Chica is still putting up a bright front, and Freddy nods his head in agreement. There’s something underlying the conversation here, something that’s purposely kept hidden from you.

Freddy’s hands wring together in a fidget. “It will be nice to have everyone together again. Now that the DJ is back, and you are returning fully, it’s like the family is making a full comeback.” A pause. “Well. Mostly.”

Ah, that must be it.

Grief.

Different kinds of grief, but grief all the same.

Freddy and Chica lost Bonnie, a band member that they started from the beginning with in a brutal way that never really got closure. The Daycare Attendant lost the life they had before the glitch, the reputation and the self he knew, and they were all at risk of losing so much more with each and every change the Management or the company decides to enforce. Chica had a glitch herself, hidden out of fear for consequences that were given to the Daycare Attendant. And Freddy was a witness to things that the company has done a fine job of covering up, and you don’t have the heart to ask him fully about.

No wonder they were more open to the reinstatement. They know how it feels to lose everything.

You know that feeling, in a way, too.

“You should let me paint your claws.” Chica is talking about something completely different in the ten seconds that you spaced out. But you’ve come back to reality, and you’re slipping your hand out of Sun’s grip as the chicken holds the conversation. “I know you guys have them. The switchy kind, yeah? We don’t have ones specific for your animatronic type, but I have white polish for the Sun, and we can use the same blue polish as Freddy’s for Moon’s? As long as it doesn’t copy Roxy’s  it should be fine.”

“I have to go clock out.” You say quietly, and your hopes of excusing yourself quickly are dashed when the conversation halts to your statement. Sun’s hand lingers in the air where yours was held before dropping to his side. Stepping back, you gather your stuff, finding your car keys in your pocket. “I don’t want to get in trouble for staying overtime, so I’m gonna go ahead and clock out while I’m ahead. Catch up on some sleep at home.”

“The lights are not out yet.” Freddy says, faster before Sun could come up with anything. “I can escort you since…?”

“I don’t need an escort, I told you guys.” You give a short laugh. “Don’t let me interrupt the party, alright? I’ll see you guys tomorrow night. I have a late shift.” You walk and talk at the same time, waving over your shoulder and pointedly avoiding the confused look Sun is sending you that follows past the Daycare doors and through the glass.

Two days left.

You spend the night crossing out lines in your notebook and drawing doodles in-between the margins. You get no sleep, and you are tired. So tired.

The nightmares still linger, so you spend a lot of your time doing research online instead.

There’s several online forums and discussions that you come across, one of which goes on a ramble about magic and the supernatural, and that the pizzaplex is haunted. That there used to be the souls of many dead children and workers that used haunt the animatronics, controlling them like puppets, and that the haunted house of horrors that featured a golden rabbit was a planned coverup. Workers who went missing were scrapped from the news, children on the back of milk cartons and accusation that were redacted in later accounts. There is a long history behind Fazbear Entertainment, consisting of several fires and murders. It sounds like something off of a movie, and there’s already several ‘true crime’ type of podcasts that try to cover the franchise’s history while putting in their advertisements mid-story.

(Though you recall the scene of Moon snapping the a man’s neck on the security camera, of Chica nearly biting a child, and there’s too many missing persons coincidentally for you not to believe at least part of it.)

Responses to this commenter range from interested agreement to others stating that the writer was off their rocker and should be studied for science. You write this information down in your notebook though, small and tiny letters because you were starting to run out of room, making sure to input the detail that they believed the newer generation of animatronics were the only ones not followed by mysterious deaths. At least, nothing that could be pinned to the franchise aside from a singular man who used to be the daycare assistant. Strange.

There are pictures online, plenty of them, of one character in particular. A golden bunny type, called ‘Springtrap’ by the forum. You’ve seen cut outs of him around the pizzaplex, though they’re not really all in popular places. It was a ruined form of the yellow Bonnie the establishment had in it’s retro days. Texts detailing what happened to those older animatronics were redacted outside of some more conspiracy, but the Golden Bonnie had some solid info on it: Designed to be a horror character; a singular attraction at a scare house built by Fazbear Entertainment to mock and ridicule the rumors started by competitive companies that spread lies about death, killing, and hauntings…yada yada…

Right. ‘Fazbear Frights’. Hey, didn’t you talk to Sun about this guy?

Oh yeah, the place went down in blazes before opening night. And it’s not the only one it looks like. There’s a whole list of Fazbear restaurants that went up in smoke. Man. These guys have the best engineers for their robots but the worst electricians for their buildings. Your lucky that first night fixing the lights didn’t kill you.

Out of curiosity, you check how many Mega Pizzaplex Malls there are in the world, and your answer is somewhat shocking: one. There is a single pizzaplex in the Fazbear Entertainment chain right now, and it’s the large mall you work at.

Apparently investors weren’t too keen on putting money in a company with a history as sordid as Fazbear’s, and the current tensions around robot rights increasing around the world put a stiff on some developments. That doesn’t mean there wasn’t continued developments. Fazbear was still the world’s biggest producer of animatronics and service bots in all the industries, including having sister locations for pizzerias. That one houses different bots though, just line the rest of the manufacturing line. There is only one set of Glamrocks, Dj Music Man, and Daycare Attendant. They wouldn’t be special and famous if there were several thousand of them, you suppose. Good to know.

If you didn’t think it would give the animatronics an existential crisis, you’d tell them. Instead, you clock into work with dead eyes and a yawn always in the back of your throat, holding a near-empty coffee with triple expresso because you think Joe took pity on you when you walked in looking like you haven’t slept in years.

Moon’s reaction is far less than pleased, but he makes his discomfort known in the usual way: being annoying.

“You can’t just scare kids to go to sleep!” You argue. Hands on your hips, stance like a king. “You have to be gentle! Storytimes, and Uh, blankets and snacks and-”

“I know. I tried those.” Moon makes a noise akin to a huff. His foot kicks one of the tin cups laying around the daycare. The children got to make those ‘tin telephone’ things with the strings attached the end. You don’t quite remember the name of them, but they worked, sorta, and they were still a few littered around the play mats. “Don’t patronize me.”

You sigh. “Yeah, well. Your idea of just scaring them into their sleeping bags is not gonna give them anything other than nightmares and give us complaints from parents. I thought you ate nightmares. I thought that was your thing. What happened to that?”

“I became one”. He chuckles. The jester contorts, turning upside down and scuttling along the floor on all fours. There’s no wire today, maybe he’s had enough of it. Or closer proximity to you tonight is something he has planned, whatever the case: Moon is currently crawling along the walls. He’s zooms past you, tagging your shoulder as he passes. You brush it off and send him a look, but he’s zooming off upwards the wall and crawling into the dark corners of the Daycare that you’re eyes can’t see through. There’s a constant jingling noise in the shadows.

You whistle, scanning the dark for wherever he disappeared off to. “Edgy. Maybe you should write a poetry book.”

“Used to read them.”

“Jeezus-!” You jump, leaping back from the space behind you and swivel. Moon has reappeared behind you, voice inches from your head. Red eyes watch as you recollect yourself to save some dignity, and chuckles. You frown at him. “I thought we were past the whole ‘let’s scare the human’ bit.”

“Never.” Click, click, click. His neck rotates so his head is fully upside down, bell hanging towards the ground. “I’m committed.”

Ugh. You collapse to the ground, sitting on your bottom to the playmat, and rest your face in your hands. Two days until the reinstatement and Moon was still more convinced he could get you to let him take you on a one-person flight trip through the mall than you could convince him that yes, he will be fine, and yes, all his experience of previous child caretaking is still valid, and no, he does not need to be trying anything new, like telling kids their parents will disappear into thin air if they don’t go to sleep.

Tap. Tap. Tap. There’s something poking your forehead.

You drag your head upwards, your fingers pulling down the skin of your face slightly as it goes. Moon is crouched near you, claw tipped towards your direction and repeatedly tapping above your eyes. “Did you die?”

“Not yet.”

“Too bad.” He grins. In one swift movement, his contorted form swiftly moves as he swings his legs underneath him, sitting them crisscross from you. He’s hunched to lean towards you. There’s still a good distance away, a respectful one. You wonder if he’s feeling something a little off in the code to call for such an occasion. He raises his hands, palms facing towards you and fingers wiggling. “Do you believe in magic?”

You deadpan at him. “If you do a magic trick and show me my keys in your hat somehow, I promise to find the biggest cup of coffee I can when I leave and chug the entire thing in one go.”

The wiggling fingers stop. Moon’s face turns into a scrunched scowl.

“Magic, huh?” You snort. There’s a bleariness in your eyes and darkness crawling in the corner of your vision, but you blink it away. The sight of white pinpricks looking for any and every sign of exhaustion is trained on you, and you’ve been biting back a yawn on your tongue for hours. “What do you think? Do you believe in magic? Supernatural stuff?”

“Yes.” His response doubtless.

You raise a brow. “A robot believing in magic?”

“And ghosts.” Moon asks, His claws have dropped from the air, and find solace drumming small holes into the plastic play mats. “And evil.”

“Poetic.” Don’t yawn. Please don’t yawn. “Maybe you should give hypnotism a try, then? Isn’t that supposed to be magic?”

Claws stop making puncture holes in the plastic, white pinpricks dart to you. For a minute, they linger on your face, shifting ever so slightly like they were taking in every pore, every eyelash, and the thin skin under your eyes that was telling of your sleeping habits more than you were willing to admit. “Friend.”

You blink, and the temptation to keep your eyes closed is strong. “Hmm?”

Sharp claws inches from your face, and you startle awake. They sway in small motions, creeping eerily closer until you’re leaning away out of surprise. Moon is behind them, jester mode activated with raised limbs and a playful, mischievous grin inching up to his eyes.

“You are going to get very, very sleepy.”  The Moon sways, playing up the role of the hypnotist on the stage. Though this stage is the daycare floor, and you are the (un)willing subject, he has pale eyes and the heart of a comedian. “You’re going to go to sleep now. You are going to have good dreams. You are going to nap here. Right now. When you hear the snap…”

Ah, what the hell. You’ll humor him.

The Moon raises his hand, and snaps his fingers. Immediately, you close your eyes, slump your head slightly, and force your smile to be limp. (A bit difficult, because you’re really trying hard not to have that weird scrunched up not-smiling mouth thing, but it works out.)

It’s quiet for a moment. There’s some shuffling in front of you. You’re probably not doing a very believable job, but you fake it. So you remain still, breathe deeply, calmly, and wait for a reaction. The air is so still and quiet, and you’re so tired. So tired, in fact, you barely feel the touch of something against your shirt, pressing to your chest. If you weren’t actively fighting to stay awake, you could potentially fall asleep for real-

The sudden jerk and feeling of fingers grabbing your face, hard.

Your eyes fly open, neck forcibly craned as digits dig into the skin of your cheeks. The grip is tight. Moon’s face is inches from yours. Wide black eyes, red pinpricks frantically scan across your features.

He looks…panicked?

You sharply inhale through your teeth. He pauses. Then, a glitch of purple in the depth of the blood red. A low growl with underlying static. “You have not been sleeping.”

Trembling hands come up to grasp at his own. “Yeah, yeah I get it! Can you let go-!”

His thumb digs into your jawline, claw pressing against your face it almost breaks the skin when he roughly pulls you closer. “WHY?”

Your skin grows cold. “…Moon?”

A second. Two seconds. Three. Bared sharp teeth suddenly falter and his face falls. He drops you.

You insticitly lean far back away as the animatronic himself kneels back a few feet from you. Inhale, exhale. Breathe. You’re fine. Not the worst scare you’ve been in, just a recent one. Inhale, exhale. Calm the chills on your arms and neck and spine. Inhale, exhale. You’re fine.

The same cannot be said for him. The pupils, warm, dart back and forth across the floor, spinning everywhere to the ground, but not in the direction of you. HIs hand closes in and out, fingers curling repeatedly before finally closing into his fist. A flicker in his optics. White takes over, then red, dark again. Red comes forwards and remains. A safer color of the code you’ve come to learn, even though you’re still shaking. Moon looks back up to you.

Rubbing your cheek. There’s no broken skin, but a jab is all you can defend yourself with. “You have a problem with my personal space.”

“You’ve inserted yourself into our lives.” Moon speaks cooly, just as quickly, and unregretfully. “We will be even.”

Silence falls between you. Moon looks conflicted. There’s just a racing in your chest that you bite your tongue to will it to slow. Maybe if you can quiet it, he won’t notice. You know he will anyway. He already has.

“It’s fine.” You have two days left, including tonight. The odds were not looking great. “We’re still cool. It’s fine.”

He avoids looking at you, gaze distant and untraceable. If the floor could swallow you whole, you might have let it.

“Ha.” A short laugh from him. Low and lacking energy, following by higher pitched and near manic chuckling. “Haha.”

Brows furrowing, you watch between the shake of his chassis with every laugh. “What’s funny?”

He moves. “Follow.” A hand reaches out. Lingering fear makes you freeze in place, so his fingers hook the fabric of your jacket and start to drag as he heads towards the jungle gym. “Come here.”

“I will if you just-!” Swatting at his arm and kicking at him, he dodges both, rolling away in a ball, but you manage to get a good swipe at his hat and ring his bell. “I’m coming! Dude, c’mon. Have a little patience.” You plead. The jester makes a face at you before disappearing into the play gym. “…You can’t be serious.”

Jingling emits from inside. Away from the doors and the glass, the light from outside the daycare doesn’t reach far enough where you can see a few feet past your face, if barely that. Red eyes peer out at you from within the shadows. The scene is mirroring the early days, namely the first night that you met. “Come here.” Yeah, that sentence too. The Moon beckons you. “Come here. Inside.”

Right…and you’re supposed to be comfortable with this with what just happened two minutes ago?

“Yeah, I know. I’m coming. Jeeze.” You just crawl your way along the floor since there’s no point in getting up, making your way over. He’s in the underside part of the play gum, still on the floor but deep within the plastic castle. As soon as you’re within it’s halls, his eyes disappear, and a mischievious laughter is heard throughout the daycare. Goosebumps go up your arms, but you travel through a little further until your nose bumps into something hard. “Ow.” Hand reached out, you press into plastic. It’s one of the dividers between tunnels with plastic holes.

You startle yelp when two red eyes suddenly emerge from the darkness on the other side. Something metal rolls across the floor and hits your foot. “Ring ring.”

Squinting at him, you inwardly thank the glow from his eyes are just enough to prevent you from patting down the ground around you, instead allowing you to make for the shape near your ankle. You pick it up. “Is this…one of those tin cans with the string attached at the bottom?”

“Ring ring.” He repeats. Near his grin, you see a tin can he holds up as well. “Ring ring.”

Oh, alright. You haven’t played this game since you were very young. Were you supposed to hold it up to your ear or your mouth? You settle for near your chin, and tap on the tin with your finger to ‘answer’ the call. “Hello?”

“Thank you for calling Dr. Moon’s Nightmare consumption service. Confess them, and we eat them.” Moon speaks in a monotone, automated voice akin to voicemails you get when you call doctor’s office’s past closing hours. “Please insert your nightmares into the phone. Verbally.”

Immediately, you hang up. “Click.”

“…Ring ring.”

“…Hello?”

“Thank you for calling Dr. Moon’s nightmare consumption service-”

“Okay, alright.” You cut him off. Despite the lingering adrenaline, there is lightheartedness in your chest that comes from the silliness. “I don’t see the point of this.”

“Speak.”

“They’re not that important.”

“Speak.” He repeats. The tin can is comically rattled against the plastic barrier between you. “Go on. Confess. Start small.”

Your nose wrinkles. It’s a good thing he can see way better in the dark than you, that way he can see the disapproval in plain face. “If I do this will, will you be happy?”

The jester’s smile reaches his eyes, flat and focused. “Very.” He raises the tin cup to the side of his head, mimicking an ‘ear’ and waits. “Dr. Moon is on the line. Tell me the nightmares.”

A sniff. “Do you have a valid medical license-”

“Can’t hear you.”

“We’re sitting right next to each other.”

“Anyway.” Tap tap. He’s waiting patiently.

Fingers curled around the tin cup, you sit there for a moment. What a silly game to play, you feel kinda stupid. Well, maybe not stupid. You’ve played plenty of childish games with the Daycare Attendant before, and it’s always been fun. These moments where you can just be silly are actually welcoming. Cherished memories you’ve made. There’s another word for the feeling you have, something that defines that chill that takes up space in your ribcage, like the dark is full of eyes, and you’re not safe. Not in the sense that you’ll be hurt, no. Not even having to do with the glitch. Something else. Oh, yeah. Right, it’s vulnerability.

“Go on.” Moon’s voice becomes softer. “The nightmares.”

“I’ve already told you about them.” You try to reason. It’s not a lie, just not a complete truth. “A long time ago. I told you that you’ve given me nightmares. Nothing new about them.”

“Wrong.” He knows better. You should have known better that lying doesn’t work. “Start small.”

Start small? Okay. Start small. Hmm...

“Sometimes I have nightmares that I come to work or class naked.” You snort. “Does that count?”

“Boring. Common.” Moon makes a waving gesture with his hand and then moves it to his lap, pretending to write something down. It was like he was pretending to be a doctor. Him and Sun had the practice down perfectly. “Keep going. Get personal.”

That last one makes you snort. You mull over some other ones, ones that aren’t as dark they’ve stained your brain. “Uh, sometimes I have nightmares that Gramps passes away. You know? Because he’s an old man. Not super old, but uh…” You give out a short laugh. “I mean, I know that one will happen eventually. Still scary if you’re unprepared for it though.”

The Moon hums a sound of acknowledgement. A tap to the tin tells you to continue.

“I um,” You swallow, searching. “I have nightmares about falling from super tall heights, but you knew I had a fear of them anyway. It’s kinda funny, that’s how we met. You know, me falling?” A short laugh, a half-hearted one. “I’m surprised I didn’t get a fear of the dark that night. Or a worse one, anyway. It would be a justified one. You scared the shit out of me when we met for real, you know?” You expect a scolding for your language, but the quiet remains for you to continue. “Do you ever think about how weird that whole thing was? I mean, logically? I do. Sometimes.”

You look up from your tin can, and see Moon’s calm and listening. A small nod, and you’re already talking again. “I mean, like. Yeah? What if ‘Time-Out’ didn’t work the first time? And all the other times, too. It makes sense but it doesn’t, so I dream that…it didn’t work those times. When we met, I mean. And the other ones too, Where I’ve almost been strangled, or snapped, or mangled.” You hear the sound of tin crinkling a bit besides you as you ramble. “And since Sun tells me that it’s not just Moon with the glitch, at least I think that’s what he was saying, what about those times? Were there moments where I could have almost died but didn’t? And I didn’t even know about it? Am I just lucky?”

The sentence ends, and rebegins with another deep breath. “If I’m just lucky, then I’ve really haven’t helped you like I thought I was. Or maybe making things worse. In that case I’d probably deserve what happens to me in the nightmares. And the others, I know they’re dangerous too, at least the ones with the glitch. I think. It’s not their fault or yours though. I know that. It’s all just a bunch of ‘what ifs’ and if they could end up wrong and…sometimes I don’t make it to the light in time and I end up mangled or ripped apart, or even in the light. If I die, it’d probably be my own fault for attempting something stupid.” You joked, turning back to the animatronic. “But that’s just dreams, they don’t mean anything-”

You stop. A wide black gaze sits on Daycare Attendant’s face. His mouth turned downwards. There’s no life in them, leaving barely illumination between the two of you. There’s nothing else you can see of him, except for two sun rays popped out near the bottom of his faceplate, out of place.

The lump in your throat swallows like glass. You regret everything. “…You okay-?”

Movement. In the dimlight, his hand raises, fingers twitching as it comes up near his face. Then, he forcibly shoves the rays back inside his head, neck jerking to the side at the impact. There’s an awful metal on metal sound of resistance, and then quiet. His hand lingers there, clawed and splayed, before lowering. Black eyes fizzle like tv static. Red blinks back into light, the glow casting over you again. You stare as white pupils flicker back, and zero in on you. The grin returns.

“You dream of me?” Moon chuckles lowly. “Cute.”

The whiplash is so rough you can only stare dumbly as he pretends to tilt the tin cup backwards above his head, the opening towards him. Then, in the low glow of soft red light, something shifts. Teeth shifts, moving, opening, revealing only the slightest of an endoskeleton in the dim light as Moon shakes the tin cup’s ‘content’s into his ‘mouth’ and it closes, faking a ‘phew’ as he lowers it.

You’re staring at him like he just grew a second head and ask with a voice comically dead stunned. “…What was that.”

“I ate your other nightmares.” Moon free hand comes up to the plastic, claws slipping into the openings and turning in towards you. “Now we are the only one you have left.”

“Oh, good.” You blink dumbly. “You’re my favorite, so I guess that’s fine.”

The sound of the tins falling and clanking away on the floor. The tip of Moon’s claw reaches your jacket and pokes you. “That will be 100 dollars. Cash only.”

A pause. Then your attitude drops from the silliness. “I thought I had employee benefits.”

He laughs. The air is chill, calm. You want to crawl out of the plastic jungle gym now before the world changes it’s mind and it starts to feel claustrophobic. Moon beats you to it, as if reading your mind, the red glow of his eyes disappearing and leaving you alone in the darkness for a few seconds. Before you can curse him or call out, another light reappears, this time at the entrance where you came from on the other end. It’s not red, though. Moon is there, but a small, brighter light shines on you hard enough it makes you squint and raise a hand to shield yourself. “Is…that my phone?”

It is, indeed, your phone flashlight. Moon still remains your biggest pickpocket. “Come out. We’ll continue.”

“Continue annoying me?.” You’re sarcastic, following the light. You make it to the end and stand up straight when you’re outside. Muscles in your back ache and your ankle pops. Just because you could fit underneath does not mean an that spot was built for adults. You don’t know how they do it. “I have to clock out sometime right after opening. You can’t walk me to the door, and I won’t be here when the lights turn on. Sorry.”

“Sorry.” Moon repeats. You wait for an explanation what for, but he just turns off your phone flashlight, and not so subtbly slips it into your pocket. “Clean up. Clean up.”

Oh, yeah. There’s string and tin cans everywhere.

You leave right just before the lights turn on, stepping out of the daycare to give them some privacy as the place illuminates, and you head towards the door. Tomorrow night will be the last night you have to prepare before the next day: the full reinstatement. Hopefully, this will go better than how it did not long ago. Hopefully. You really hope.

You are not on the schedule for tomorrow night, but you’ve already decided that’s not going to stop you from getting at least just one more night of practice in before their big day.

Which is why instead of heading directly to the check-out station, you find yourself at Monty Gator’s door. It’s still early in the morning, and the PIzzaplex isn’t officially open yet, not for another few minutes. So he’s in there, tuning his guitar. You could see it in the glass, and he didn’t even glance in your direction. At least, not until you’re track to the station diverted to the left, walking straight towards the entrance of the door. It’s hard not to notice eyes following you as you non-chalanlty walk up to his star-room, swipe your badge, and stand at attention in the door way.

“Monty. Buddy. Pal.” You start. Tiredness seeps in your pores but you’re putting on a show, smiling big. “Gator boy. How ya doing?”

Monty is sitting on the sofa, guitar in hand. Red eyes peer over crimson sunglasses. “You want something.”

“I never said that.”

“It ain’t hard to guess.” Damn. You’re kinda predictable, aren’t you?

With all the confidence and friendliness you can muster, you strut into the room like you own the place. Probably not the best idea given the history, but Monty only frowns as you cooly lean against his vanity. “Your room looks nice since you picked it up! It’s super organized now. I like the new posters.”

The gator deadpans at you.

“I need a favor.” You grin. Cut straight to the point. “You’re on security duty tomorrow, aren’t you? You and Roxy.”

He huffs a plume of steam through his nostrils. Funky cooling system, kinda cool. Without looking away from you, his hands move back to the guitar, and continue tuning by ear. “S’just me. Roxy would have been, but she’s gotta take another trip to Parts n Service. Something about her nervous system glitching out or something.”

“Oh. Uh.” Hmm, okay. Weird. She seemed fine when you greeted her coming in for your shift. Maybe you’ll ask her about it later if she’s feeling up for it. “So, hypothetically speaking, you could totally choose not to report someone if they broke in, right?”

His muzzle pulls back in a sneer. “Watch what you say next.”

“Too late! You’re already not gonna like what I’m gonna say.” Clasping your hands together, you stay upbeat as the animatronic visibly sours. “Help me get in the pizzaplex tomorrow early in the morning, around midnight. My shift doesn’t technically start until 6AM the next day, but I need to be here. I have to help a friend with something.”

As expected, a fang peaks out of his mouth. He growls. “Which friend?”

You just smile as wide as you can and try not to look sheepish. “…A good one?”

“No.”

“Please!”

“You ain’t on shift. You’re breaking in. That’s trespassing.” He huffs. The guitar stums a cord awful and he stills it, muttering under his breath. “I don’t care if Chica covered you before. You ain’t getting help from me.”

“And if I do it anyway?” You’ll try to reason with him. “You’d report me if I did? I’d get fired!”

“Which is why I’m telling you not to do it. I don’t want you get to get fired, runt.” He scoffs like it was something obvious a child could have understood. “It might have been different over a year ago, but since the changes and the security update, plus that other break in with the fire escape, you’d be in the spot light. Do yourself a favor and take a break.”

“Buuuut.” You drawl out.

“But?”

“But I can’t do that. I gotta be here.” You shrug and hope to whatever is out there that he doesn’t question further what exactly for. “So I’m just gonna do it anyway, and you can either help me or not help me. Up to you, gator boy.”

“Watch it.” He sneers. Then, a pause. Monty dips his head low, pinching his brow like a tension headache was forming. Was it even possible for robots to get tension headaches? Maybe they could but just not in the way that people do. Would now be an inappropriate time to ask? He looks up again before you can decide. “What is this even for?”

Oops, there’s the one thing you were trying to avoid explaining. “I told you. I have to help out a friend-”

“Runt.” In the few moments you’ve been in his room, he already sounds exasperated. “I’m not stupid. You’re gonna have plenty of time to spend in the daycare when that freak gets reinstated.”

Ouch. Right. Monty is aware of that, of course. Everyone has congratulated them in their own way, at least. Even Roxy said she wished them luck in passing, but didn’t think too much about it herself. Monty looks far less than pleased to hear any news about the jester in any way. You thin your lips. “We’re preparing for the big day.”

“Right.” Monty doesn’t look convinced.

A moment of stillness, and you sigh, turning your heels towards the door. “Alright. It was worth a shot. See you in the morning? Or…not? I’ll try not to get spotted.”

“I won’t report you if I catch you.” He cuts you off. You stop with one foot out of the door, and look over your shoulder. Monty looks to conflict about something inwardly before continuing, face twisted with frustration. “But the staffbots might. Their security priority has been upped. I don’t know if you being an employee in the system will help you out past just using your card to get in through the doors. It might not matter since you’re not on the shift. Not until it ‘officially’ starts at 6AM, probably.”

“Soooo...” You drawl out, rotating your body to face the inside of his room again. “Just…don’t get caught? I can do that!” You give a thumbs up. “Thanks, I knew I could count on you!”

“Shut it.”

“Bye, Gatorboy!” You leave for real this time, satisfied. Right before the door slides shut behind you, Monty mummers something too quiet for you to hear. Whatever. He was a good friend sometimes even if he didn’t want to seem like it.

The walk to the front of the building only shows a few staffbots on your way out. Most of sweeping and starting up the ticket counters to welcome in customers for the day. By instinct, you wave, and only one waves back. You clock out, head to your car, and head home. You’ll need to catch up on some sleep for real before you come into work exhausted on the final prep day. Maybe you’ll pack a lunch this time too, and a blanket if you make it past the 6AM mark, and hopefully Freddy or one of the others is kind enough to let you sleep in their closed-curtain rooms in the start of your shift. This job was starting to be a lot more exhausting and (emotionally) labor intensive than what you signed up for it to be.

But you have hope, and tomorrow night, you’ll test it.