Chapter Text
"I guess I should be honest…" Duane's eyes shifted around as he tried looking anywhere but at Hunter, fidgeting with the leather gloves on his hands. It sounded like he was going to have to prepare for another burning reality check from this cynical guy, but a smirk started to creep onto Duane's face as their eyes met.
"I'm excited."
Hunter swore his heart was about to explode, and clearly the other could tell as he began smiling and chuckling thanks to Hunters growing, infectious grin. He didn't realize until that moment just how long he'd been waiting for those words, especially from someone like Duane. They had spent months butting heads over the Fright, over how it would look or how things would operate. Long days would end with Hunter doubting his position, something Duane questioned a handful of times as well. It made sense though, Duane was just as passionate about this project like he was, and Duane had high standards which meant he wasn't easily impressed. He wasn't kind either but that's beside the point. Their visions couldn't be any more different about what Fazbear's Fright was supposed to be. Hunter wanted to remain authentic but gritty, while Duane wanted to go full Mckamey Manor, saying something that extreme would garner more attention and visitors. Hunter couldn't lie and say that didn't sound horrifyingly fantastic, or "Horror-tastic" as Duane said once or twice to mock him, but he simply didn't want to stray too far from what Freddy's was. That didn't mean Hunter didn't listen to him sometimes. When it came down to it, while Duane was just a scare actor, everyone knew a lot of what the Fright had become was thanks to his ability to fine tune whatever Hunter put out, which he really appreciated deep down. Sure, it was accompanied by scalding attitude, but that only lit a fiery drive under Hunters feet to find something that would really impress Duane and prove that he could find a balance between the two ideas.
Now they were face to face again, and instead of having their usual tense back and forth about who had to meet who halfway, they were finally on equal footing, excited about the find. How could they not be? A whole animatronic suit—one of the original springlock suits at that— was the find of a lifetime! It'd been stuck in a walled off room that would have never been noticed had Hunter not looked at the map more carefully, but there it was, a room they hadn't gone into, and a wall in the way. He had sleepless nights waiting for that call back from Dave, giving him the "all clear" so they could tear that wall down, and countless dreams in between telling him that their lives were about to change. Their followers were going to flip.
"Dude, now imagine I didn't check that map again? We would have never noticed that room!"
"You only did it because I told you too!" Duane laughed, shoving his shoulder.
Hunter stumbled a little, readjusting his green zip-up hoodie, still grinning ear to ear, now because of how his "serious" coworker was acting. Duane was often described as "serious, stern," and most of all, "intimidating." Though he agreed with those descriptors, this also wasn't anything new. Duane was completely different when he was around Barry and Hudson. The way they acted together gave Hunter the impression they had been friends for a long while, and it also gave him a new impression of Duane after several months. Not only would Hunter describe Duane as "serious, stern, and intimidating," he'd also describe him as "immature, crass, and funny."
Hunter always wanted to join those three when he saw them chatting. He wondered what it'd be like to have pals like that and also wondered how they met given Barry appeared to be twice their ages. It could be due to their scene, something Barry and Duane clearly shared. Barry had short, dark and greying hair, split down the middle and gelled outwards. The ends were dyed red and gave him something he'd call his "devil horns." Duane had long black hair pulled back and up into a spiky bun with a variety of different piercings all over his face. Hudson on the other hand stuck out like a sore thumb beside them, with scraggly blonde hair- though it looked practically white as of late. It looked like they picked up a lost dog on their way to work. According to a passing comment from Hudson, Barry knew Duane the longest, which despite looks, came as a surprise to Hunter since he, like many others, couldn't ignore just how close Hudson and Duane clearly were. They were always together, and Duane was incredibly attentive to his needs even if Hudson didn't say anything. He'd bring him lunch often, and when he didn't, he made sure whatever Hudson brought from outside was clear from what he didn't like. He'd observed Duane picking off tomatoes from sandwiches, cherries off desserts, even sometimes trading lunches if they'd got Hudson's order completely wrong. It was a little baffling to Hunter, to see a guy like Duane act like that, but sometimes he found himself becoming a bit envious.
"Man… What do we even do with something like that? Hang it on the wall?"
"Let's rig a track system on the ceiling and have it float around on some strings, make it chase people in the maze." Duane reached out his hands like he would grab him.
Hunter cackled at the visual of a rotting suit flying around. Honestly, he would love to make something like that, though he knew if he started to take it serious, Duane would call him an idiot.
"Seriously dude, we open pretty soon. I don't want to waste that things potential- I mean you saw it, right?"
Duane interrupted.
"I carried it, Hunter."
"We both did! It's fuckin' huge!" He spread his arms open, exaggerating its size. "That thing was the star of shows, I don't wanna shove it in a corner and call it a day! It deserves its own thing, something… y'know, special?"
Duane put his hands on his hips as he began to think, looking down at the grimy and chipped checkered tiles below. The stance he was in really put on display some of his muscles, it was no wonder to Hunter why he chose to wear a fitted shirt. His muscles weren't very chiseled, but that wasn't important when the bulk he had on spoke for his strength alone. Hunter often found himself studying different muscle groups on Duane, specifically when he folded his arms together or was reaching for something high up, thinking only about how strict of a fitness routine he must follow to maintain that build. It was fascinating and he wasn't sure if he was just appreciating the dedication or if this was something else he was envious about, maybe a mix of both. Hunter chalked it up to Duane's genetics, after all he was already an astounding six-foot-eight-beast of a man. Compared to him, Hunter was just a string bean, and the baggy clothes he wore didn't help.
Hunter only then realized he was lost studying his body again when he heard Duane clearing his throat. He looked back at Duane, who was already looking at him a tad suspiciously. He didn't mean to stare in a creepy way, at least he hoped Duane knew that, so Hunter continued without bringing any attention to it.
"Maybe we give it a bath first, it reeked." He shrugged.
Duane snrked, lifting his head. "Hell no, it's perfect like that."
"How many rats you think crawled in and died? I swear I saw chunks of something fall off. Seemed wet." Hunter wrinkled his nose a little, remembering the smell and how it violated their noses when they first got part of that wall down. Hunter really thought they about to find a rotting human corpse.
"A lot. I spent a while in the bathroom scrubbing my arms. I don't think I'm using that uniform again." He shook his head, displeased as he also though of the smell and aftermath of handling the suit. "Had to be a raccoon or possum— something big, that chest cavity has some weird shit rotting in there."
"Hunter pursed his lips at that "That's a safety issue, yeah? Dead animals?"
"Yeah."
They both stared at each other for a moment before moving on. There were a number of things they could agree on at least. Maybe it was a liability issue to have that thing around, but it's worth the risk sometimes if the end result was cooler.
"Oh! What if we emptied it, cleaned out the inside— y'know, so no one gets sick— keep the outside gross, and used it as a suit?" Hunter planted a fist in his open palm, grinning.
Duane stared at him. That was a no.
Hunter sighed and nodded dejectedly, "Yeah. Figured."
He looked to the side as he thought of something else, crossing his arms and bringing up hand to fidget and pick at his lips. Maybe he could use his repair skills to fix the endoskeleton and have it walk around, years of experience taking apart and assembling Halloween animatronics as a hobby training him for this very moment. The issue with that was Fazbear's endoskeletons were incredibly unique, they'd require a manual on how to repair, and he couldn't just call the people responsible for this, they were missing! The last place he could possibly look for was online, but there was no way in hell he was risking messing up something as rare as this, even if it seemed like the endoskeleton was beyond saving. The suit was incredibly heavy as well; It needed three people to lift it out and it didn't stand up on its own. Somehow, the joints were still good, and they bent quite easy when getting placed into the van. It would be a nightmare to prop up somewhere if they really had to take that route, and where would be the perfect place to put him? Hunter couldn't think of what to do, there were hurdles quickly lining up and the anxiety over pressure to meet the incoming deadline must've been plastered all over his face when a leathered hand clamped down onto his shoulder, startling him a little.
"We'll think of something with the crew tomorrow, just rest up." Duane said calmly, looking down at him and giving his shoulder a squeeze, actually sounding and appearing genuine with the suggestion, today was truly a blessing. Duane's hand came up and using the back of it, patted Hunter's cheek. He began to walk past him, but not without putting his hand on Hunters head and sliding his green beanie right off him to the floor, exposing more of Hunters messy brown hair underneath. The smile on Duane's face was undeniable even if he couldn't see it.
"I'll talk to you later," he said out loud without looking back. "You better have some better ideas by then!"
"You too, man!" Hunter called out as Duane exited, smiling to himself and crouching down to pick up his hat, putting it back on. It took long enough for things to start looking up.
Now in the silence of the empty Fright, Hunter stood around staring at nothing in particular. He needed a moment to adjust from a long day of directing people around a dry, moldy, dilapidated Diner. Having to hear his name called every few minutes to check out if what they found was worthy or not, assisting with tearing the wall down, and carrying that suit really took a lot out of him. This was his dream job, but he really underestimated how tired he'd feel at the end of the day.
Was the day really over, though? It was dark outside, the air was still and quiet, and the dim lighting of the place was starting to get to him, but something still felt incomplete. In the months prior, he always felt frustrated and unfulfilled by the end of the day thanks to his crew. Long days of them either not listening to him, doubting his capabilities, or treating him like he was an idiot. Truth be told Hunter did believe he deserved a good portion of that, he had plenty of screw ups because he figured a chill leader was better than a strict one. As it turns out, people deem that "unprofessional." Today wasn't one of those days though, there were a few sarcastic remarks towards him, sure, but they had all been getting along and working together the entire time. The air felt almost electric with the energy going around, especially after that find. There wasn't anything that stuck out to him involving the others, so maybe it was something else? It had to be, it felt obvious, that there was something he was forgetting.
His brows furrowed as he now tried recalling what it was, and he could already feel himself starting to get frustrated, chewing his lip. It was like forgetting the name of a movie you had seen the other day when trying to recommend it to a friend, and it's at the tip of your tongue but it refuses to come out, so now you feel stupid. He groaned, pacing around and pulling his beanie further down his face. There was nothing more he hated than forgetting and then realizing he's forgetting. This was exactly what made people doubt his position and he was proving them all right again.
Nothing was working, even after pacing around for a bit and talking to himself, relaying the events of the day in chronological order. He repeated words like "suit" and "find" over and over, feeling it was related to what he forgot, yet nothing came. It was no use, and all he could hope for was that he would remember by tomorrow's meeting. If it was important, then it would come back to him, right?
In the meantime, curfew wasn't for another hour, so he could kill some time by getting the paperwork down for the new addition to the Fright. He began walking down the same hall towards his office, readjusting his beanie. Hunter typically wasn't worried about curfew hours, in the past the most he would get was a warning from passing police officers, even if he was caught multiple times the same night. Lately has been different though, now he's been getting followed home after work, which is more concerning but also more annoying, so he's been heading straight home as to not start any issues. 9 p.m. was way too early in his opinion, but he did enjoy how quiet it got after that. The town would be completely dead, and on a good summer night, walking outside was the best after a long day of work. It was also exhilarating to sneak around abandoned places at night, so it's a good thing he's been busy with work or else being followed around by cop cars all the time would have made him lose his mind by now. Of course it made sense why they were doing that, this past week there was another reported disappearance, and everyone suspected whoever was responsible would come back to strike again during opening night with all the young people around. It was a bit exciting to think about, it made his body tingle to imagine that the serial killer of Hurricane would come to his Fright. Hunter knew that realistically, he wouldn't be able to spot the killer even if they were right in front of him, but to think that he could be brushing hands or shoulders with death itself made him fangirl. He should display his corkboard of theories to show how he's linked all the cases together, stemming from the missing children's incident back in '83, to show whoever's responsible that he's got fans.
As Hunter strolled past the door-less doorway he noticed it was much colder in the office than out in the hallway. Odd, he remembers this room always being stuffy because of the lack of air ventilation, as a matter of fact that's exactly why they removed the door. The vents hardly ever worked, something everyone agreed was best left alone because several findings revealed that Fredbear's Diner was notoriously stuffy as well. It was a perfect plan to get people a little more delirious. Not to a dangerous degree of course, but walking around feeling high and scared? That was the perfect trip! Hunter shrugged off the temperature shift. Surely it came from somewhere, maybe when Duane opened the exit, some air came in and went in through the vents, it was getting colder outside anyways. Hunter sat down in his swivel chair, rolling back a little as he sighed. He didn't realize just how long he'd been on his feet, and sitting down in a soft chair was just what he needed for a moment.
As he sat still in the chair, leaning back into it, the silence came creeping up on him again. This place was eerie when everyone had left. He spent countless nights here working, painting, moving things around, occasionally hearing something and thinking that maybe someone stayed behind after all. The bumps in the night didn't scare him though, this place was made to get to you, to settle and cause noises that would make you second guess if you were truly alone or not. Dave told him the place was built a little "fucked up." Hunter had no issues with that, just as long as the entire place wouldn't collapse randomly. They were easily ignorable at this point especially when others were around, so every time night came, and he began hearing noises, he knew he was the last one left. The bumps were welcomed, which is why the silence was deafening when he knew Duane was the last one to leave.
Oh well.
He spun in his chair once before scooting closer to his desk which was adorned in Freddy's memorabilia. No one else in the crew seemed that interested in taking it, which surprised Hunter, but he always had an eye for the smaller things anyways, so it worked out perfectly for him. There were bobble-heads of the classic gang, small plastic figurines that were discontinued for being choking hazards, and an old, rusty, probably dangerous, fan that didn't look Freddy's-like at all, but actually had the logo embossed on its base. They were planning to temporarily move these items to the security office they were sticking Hudson in, or Michael if he came around to the idea, just to give it some flare, and maybe help air flow if he could get it to work. Was tetanus airborne? Probably not.
Hunter opened one of the filing cabinets, grazing a finger along some manila folders and pulling out a few sheets stapled together from one. Anytime they found something and took it from Fredbear's Diner, he had to fill out what, when, where, and how it was found. There was a good few items to document, but he wanted to get the springlock suit down first and hand it in to Dave as soon as possible. Surely he'd be proud of their find tonight.
As he cracks his knuckles, Hunter glances over the words on the page, wondering for a moment how he should name it. He had a few different options after all— animatronic suit, springlock suit, full-body animatronic, rotting springlock suit. Poor thing, it looked so different back then, he almost didn't recognize what animatronic it was supposed to be when they first laid their eyes on it. He digs around his pocket and pulls out a Foxy pen, hovering it over the dotted line.
Springbonnie. Just like old times.
Just then, the silence and chill he had ignored came crawling back up his spine, leaving him frozen, gripping the pen tightly.
He remembered what he'd forgotten earlier now.
The suit had moved on its own.
