Chapter Text
Moon meant well, Sun knew. He meant well and only wanted to help and granted this was helping, but—
restless, restless, restless
(don't go to sleep)
Sometimes, Sun just couldn't sleep. Never mind the fear of the nightmares or The Nightmare coming back full force, just the thought of locking up again and being helpless when The Nightmare came back was enough to want to get up and do something.
But Moon was insistent. He was a steady, silent figure looming watching over him. Whenever Sun would open his eyes, he would find Moon staring down at him with those big red eyes—eyes that sometimes glitched when something banged a little too loudly outside, that twitched when they got a new message in their system about something or another.
Eyes that never turned hostile toward Sun . . .
. . .
Once, after waking up briefly, he'd found The Nightmare staring into a mirror. It'd looked so sad for a small moment, but that moment was gone all too soon.
"Look at yourself, Sunny," it had crooned. "Look at the monster we've become." And it had laughed a raspy, crooked laugh.
Sun hadn't slept again that night. Or the night after. Or the one after that . . .
Nearly eleven years now . . .
. . .
Once, after waking up briefly, Sun reached up and touched Moon's face gently. Moon twitched at that, and Sun could feel the reprimand—go back to sleep, Sunny, please—but he didn't speak.
Through their communication line, dusty with disuse and only in use now to not break the delicate silence, Sun said, 'You have very gentle eyes. I'm sorry I make them worried so much.'
Moon smiled but did not reply. He hadn't used the communication line himself for more than sending data and typing messages, and . . . and despite his terror at that voice, he found himself longing to hear his best friend again, in more than just furtive whispers and frustrated exclamations. Sun found himself wanting Moon to cross the line and respond with his voice—but at the same time, the terror lodged in his chest and stabbed at his heart until his fans whirred louder and louder and louder—
The music box played a simple accompaniment. Moon hummed wordlessly, stroking Sun's rays gently. There were no words—but it was a familiar tune, one that had the cold creeping up through his core and out toward his fingertips—
Except the tune was sung so softly, so gently, sung with smooth dynamics and a slow, sleepy tempo. The Nightmare, it—it hadn't sung like that. It hadn't spoken like Moon did, all full of growly whispers and harsh jabs. Its taunts were broken and its songs croaked and grated in all the wrong ways. Its demands for bedtime didn't—couldn't compare to his Moon Moon.
This is his favorite song. The thought came unbidden, but there was no doubt this was true. The way Moon moved in time with the beat, slow and steady, the way he swayed with the soft crescendos and gentle decrescendos—this was a favorite.
It had been The Nightmare's favorite. Blinking heavily, Sun wondered if that had been Moon trying to break above the waves for just a moment. For just a brief moment to breathe.
He frowned. He really, really hoped that wasn't the case. Better that Moon had been unconscious throughout it all.
He was such a gentle soul . . . it would break him . . .
"I can hear you thinking," Moon reprimanded softly, still in that whisper so soft that his voice wouldn't register.
Unfair!! screamed his head, and Sun agreed. It was so, so unfair.
But the humming lulled him back into the depths of sleep, back under the waves until the twelve hours were up and they'd undoubtedly do another lap around the Plex to make sure nothing locked and to say a brief hello to Freddy and Chica . . .
Moon's mouth moved with his words, but Sun couldn't hear them—he'd already fallen asleep.
~.~.~
Something screamed at him. He didn't know for sure what it was, only that it was overly familiar in an unpleasant, grating way—
He didn't know what woke him up.
(you know exactly what it was)
Throughout the week, Moon had made sure Sun slept all twelve hours, even when closing his eyes felt harder than just toughing it out all day, so he really shouldn't have woken up.
But . . .
restless restless restless
(don't. go. to. sleep.)
Sun woke up. He woke up to silence and an empty nest, cradling the DJ plush, and the screaming in his head grew louder and louder. It was—unnatural, unpleasant, nothing that was programmed into him and yet there all the same.
And the more he woke up, the more he could hear it.
(alert alert alert)
The longer he was aware, the more he could make it out.
(alert alert alert)
The more he could make it out, the warmer and warmer and hotter and hotter be became.
(alert! alert! alert!)
The more his fans whirred and whined and the more dread pooled in his core. Fear on par with The Nightmare, with the first days he'd thought Moon was still the threat Sun truly was with—
The fear rushing through him had nothing to do with Moon, right now.
(ALERT! ALERT! ALERT!)
ALERT: Children present in daycare! Please keep eyes on charges!
Processes he'd forgotten he'd had started up again as Sun mechanically exited the tunnel. Play time protocols fired up against his will, safety processes (lights on, eyes on children at all times, lights on) activated against his desires, and that sinking numbness threatened to take hold again—just when he started to feel alive again, the numbness took hold like a vice.
His hands squeezed the plasticky fabric of the DJ plush, and despite his lack of claws, he could already feel it rip. He could feel it tear and swore he could feel the warm, wet, sticky, bloody mess trailing down his hands and wrists, sticking to his bells and jamming his joints.
But he couldn't let go. It wouldn't let him let go, not until the mess was all over them and all over the floor, not until everybody knew just how dangerous they were—
He stopped in front of the stairs to the balcony. Moon stood right at the castle's balcony, back to Sun with its head tilted.
ALERT: Children present in daycare! Please keep eyes on charges!
A flash of heat rushed through him despite his fans working overtime to cool him down. The child finally fell from his hands, but their blood stuck in his finger joints and crusted up the ribbon on his wrists. Trails inched down his arms in soft, icky little trickles.
His legs seemed to have a mind of their own. The bells, dulled with oxidized blood, clanked with each step. Arms swung heavily as he climbed up the stairs, and they dragged as he tried to stabilize himself on the railing.
At the top of the stairs, Moon stood like an eager sentry. He leaned over the balcony's railing, leaning forward and forward and forward as if trying to get a good, long look at his—at its—
He could already see the smile.
(so many small children)
He could feel the artificial adrenaline shocking him awake against the warning blaring in his head.
(don't tattle now. it'll ruin the fun)
Sun stumbled forward. Moon's head tilted, and when he turned it around, all Sun could see was the stilted red of his pupils among the blackened void of his scleras. He could see the shadows hiding his face with only his eyes and smile glowing ominously.
That smile turned into a frown. "Sunny," he—it, it growled. "You're supposed to be sleeping."
Sun's eyes drifted down to the daycare. He could hear the screaming—the screaming, oh stars the SCREAMING—!!
Bloody hands reached up. They grasped onto twitching rays, and the shadow in front of him shifted. The figures below them scrambled like lost little ants.
"Don't"
("you dare, don't you dare tell anyone little snitch")
"nny. Go"
("back to sleep, you'll never take your nap and")
"you'll feel better. You don't"
"get to rest, not until you"
"hear me? Sunny?"
The screaming below crossed over with The Nightmare's voice. And suddenly he was down there, watching the children run around while he sat in his cloud, listening to The Nightmare whisper in his ear.
Sweet coaxings.
Venomous jabs.
Mournful pleas.
But he could feel it—could feel the blood on his hands and feet and knees, could feel the gore and viscera jammed in his joints and making it harder to move, harder to bear, harder to—
Someone screeched.
CRACK!!
A sea of red, red, red—red in his eyes and red in his ears, high pitched and piercing and aching and—and—
And he could see their bodies lying on the ground, torn up despite not using Moon's claws, some cold and still while others barely breathed—and yet others sobbed and screamed and it was all so loud too loud sTOP CRYING—!!!
Bells jingled loudly in the service tunnels. The Nightmare screamed after him, demanding he come back. Running was futile—how could one run from oneself?—but he found himself running all the same.
Staff threw themselves out of his way. Sun kept his arms close to himself, avoiding contact at all cost because who knew—who knew when The Nightmare would tear out in the darkness and claw everyone it came across, spill their blood all over their person again—and when it was done with the staff, surely it would target the children—
ALERT: Children present in daycare! Please keep eyes on charges!
A surge of pain shot through him. Sun stumbled, slammed against a wall. Familiar, burning shocks raced through his system from core to ray tips—
(WARNING: PERIMETER LOCK BREACH. RETURN TO DAYCARE)
(ALERT: CHILDREN PRESENT IN DAYCARE! PLEASE KEEP EYES ON CHARGES!)
—and a scream ripped out of his voice box.
He could hardly hear it over the phantoms shrieking in his head.
"SUNNY!!"
Against his will, his head swiveled behind him. Staff covered behind doors and around corners—and The Nightmare's shadow loomed over them all. Red eyes glitched (with worry with anger with with with), and smiling mouth twisted into a snarl (sad sad sad worried let me help you what's wro). Steady footsteps approached, slow
(thmp-jingle, thmp-jingle)
but forceful
(THNK-CLINK, THNK-CLINK)
Sun couldn't run. He couldn't run from The Nightmare. How could one run from oneself?
But he could try—!!
-.-.-
He didn't know how he ended up there,
—ALERT: CHILDREN PRESENT—
but he found himself knocking on that woman's door. The trip out of the tunnels was a blur of shouting,
—WARNING: PERIMETER LOCK—
running,
—IN DAYCARE! PLEASE—
and dull jingling.
—BREACH. PLEASE—
Stumbling feet soaked in blood left bloody trails all throughout the service tunnels, but Sun didn't care.
The Nightmare's feet hammered after him. It grew closer and closer, shouting at him and demanding his return—
—RETURN TO DAYCARE—
—KEEP EYES ON CHARGES—
—but he couldn't—couldn't make himself go back, he couldn't go back to the dark and the pain and the blood and the—and the—
"Sunny!! Where are you!?"
Sun let out a desperate sob and slammed his fist on the door—he didn't care if it was hers—just anywhere, anywhere, please—!!
"C-come in!"
Permission granted.
Sun slammed open the door and shut it behind him, gripping the doorknob as if it would keep the nightmare and The Nightmare away. The panicked sobs he tried to keep down overtook his voice box, and the waves and waves of fear and panic crashed over him, and he found himself leaning harder and harder against the door—to—to keep It out, keep It out by any means—!
"Sun? What happened?"
Words swam in his audio processors through thick water, in one ear and out the other. He tried to respond—but his voice wouldn't cooperate. He cried out again, desperate and glitchy sobs swimming through thick, thick static.
Hands reached up.
Stop hurting yourself.
Stopped, hovered at jittering rays for a second before tugging on his collar. He couldn't—fans worked overtime, but the heat was still there, stars the fire the fire—burning burning burning PERIMETER LOCK—
Sun? What happened?
"Th—" e daycare opened. A whine cut the words off, and when he slid down to the floor, a shadow approached.
He flinched against the door and dug twitching fingers into the fabric of his collar. The shadow stopped and lowered itself.
"Take you r time."
Time, time, time was nothing time was nowhere time didn't exist and would never exist—
"I'm here to listen."
—not in this eternal day with all its screaming and blood and restless restless restless—
The shadow moved. Away, it moved away, and slowly, the heat receded.
There's no fire.
Sound still muffled, but vision slowly returned to normal. He held a cube in his hands—that same color cube from the other day—
twisting twisting twisting
mix mix mix
—as someone called his name. He couldn't—someone familiar, but the voice—the Voice—
he's worried i should answer he's so worried
Finally, finally, his hands slowed their desperate twisting, and his fans slowed their desperate beat.
What happened?
The question buzzed in the back of his head, and with everything slowed down just a bit, he managed a static-heavy, "They—they've opened the daycare . . ."
Exhaustion hit him at once—and at the same time, a new frantic worry took hold. They opened the daycare—he would be expected to work it, unless the new hires that replaced them took charge, and even then—even then they were being replaced and with replacement came decommission for himself and Moon all because he couldn't—
—not with the blood, not with their fragile, fragile bones just under squishy, squishy skin—
"—in, two, three, four—"
A simulated breath stuttered deep in his core. In, two, three, four.
"And out, two, three, four."
Out, two, three, four.
"Take a deep breath in, two, three, four."
Deep breath in . . .
warning: damage to
"And hold, two, three."
Hold . . .
"And out, two, three, four."
And out . . .
The sharp edge of a broken ray dug into the padding of his palm. Another broken whine glitched in his voice box; Moon was going to be so mad . . .
"How are you feeling?"
Sun finally hesitated a glance. He didn't know what to expect, but it wasn't the careful neutrality in her eyes.
It was nothing like Chica's concern or Freddy's empathetic pity. Nothing like Moon's worry.
He would have liked something. This nothing . . .
Just like the technicians that told him nothing was wrong. Just like the specialists who said a good controlled shock would bring them back in line.
Trembling, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms around himself, Sun turned his eyes away.
Suddenly, being here was the worst idea. He would have preferred Cassie in the room with him—or better yet, Gregory. At least with him, he wouldn't have felt bad about hurting.
With this one—
knock knock knock
"Angela Cortez?" Moon's voice, muffled now but loud and painfully, painfully familiar, drifted into the room uncertainly. "Is Sunny in there?"
Suddenly, Sun registered a sort of pulse in his head. A regular, quiet pulse that seemed to whisper, "Are you there? Are you there?"
"Yes, we're here," Angela Cortez called at the same time Sun sent a soft, "I'm here" signal.
The sigh on the other side was full of so much relief that the ray in his hand burned.
(he's going to be soooo mad!)
"Can I come in?"
Sun's voice box glitched. His remaining rays stuttered and withdrew more.
"Give us a moment, please!" Angela Cortez called back, and Sun didn't know if he should thank her or curse her for making him deal with her.
He didn't want to be here anymore.
But he didn't want to go back to their loft.
But where else could he go?
He wanted Moon in here.
He couldn't stand The Nightmare coming into this room.
But Moon wasn't The Nightmare, it had just stolen his voice and his face and
(hurt my feelings, you're the worst friend)
Sun buried his face in his knees. Moon was quiet on the other side.
"Sun."
His rays twitched in response. His hand clutched the broken ray—while the other hand picked at another one.
tug tug tug
restless restless restless
"Would you like Moon to come in with us?"
His hand tugged harder.
stop hurting yourself
The pain grounded him—kept him from drifting away, away, away . . .
Please don't come in here.
But he wanted—
—couldn't have him in here, couldn't stand to make him deal with this again after being so, so patient—
—but he wanted, he wanted Moon, wanted his best friend here again—
—but he'd been so excited, Sun could feel it, and now he ruined it for Moon again—
CRACK!
Warning: Damage to—
Sun shook his head—
—and regretted it immediately as the pain from his rays and the pain lodged in his core spilled over into pure agony, spilling over into desperate heaving sobs that shook him to the core and sent desperate signals down the communication line.
'Please, please, I need you, please I need you I need you please—!'
The knocking started up again, this time more frantic than before. The desperate words spilling into the line ('I'm coming, let me in please let me in I'm coming opEN THE DOOR!!') coupled with that set him shaking again
(open the door, we'll have so much fun!)
and scrabbling for the undamaged rays again
(turn off the lights—you'll feel so much better)
and that woman's voice spoke so softly but firmly
"—need you to tell me if you want him—"
but all he could do was hide. Hide and cry and panic over the noise noise noise noise noise—
The woman—Angela Cortez, the threat had a name—came closer. With a terrified scream, Sun scrambled out of the way—
—and the door opened, and another figure came in desperately, locked eyes—
—and he found himself wrapped in Moon's arms, found himself clinging just as hard.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Sun gasped. "I can't—I'm sorry, I can't, not with them not again—"
"Shh." Moon started the music box again. "It's okay, shh."
He must have felt the pain radiating out of the ray ports. Sun certainly didn't bother hiding it, nor did he really make an effort to hide the broken rays in his hands.
('i did it again i'm sorry i'm sorry')
('shh, it's okay, it's okay')
A rush of affection rooted in desperation to calm down rushed through the communication line, and Sun grasped it like a lifeline.
(everything is fine, everything will be fine)
If only he could believe it—
Despite knowing that everything was wrong, that everything would be horrible because there were flesh-and-blood children in the daycare now, just under where they lived, Sun made an effort to calm down. He focused on Moon's music box, focused on the hardness of his casing, and his internal temperature slowly coming back down.
Once again, when the artificial adrenaline wore down for hopefully the last time, a wave of exhaustion crashed into him again. Cuddled into Moon's lap, Sun shuddered and curled into himself—the energy he'd recovered over these past few days felt completely drained even though his systems showed him still in the yellows.
He heard a distant voice. "So, they've opened the daycare, huh?"
Another voice sighed and answered her. "Yes. I—should have seen this happening."
"It's okay. Is Sun okay now?"
"He's tired. He was . . . panicking from the moment he woke up."
"I understand. An episode like that can be incredibly draining. Do you two need a moment?"
"I . . . I think so."
More than a moment.
It felt less than that when Angela Cortez's voice swam back into his audio processors. "Sun. How are you feeling?"
Tired. Hate it. Don't wanna
"go back."
". . . Moon, I know Sun's feeling a little listless right now, but I think he should speak for himself?"
Don't
"want to. Too much. I can't—Angela Cortez, don't look at me like that. He is speaking for himself."
"I—find it a little hard to believe he's talking through you."
"He's not."
Communication line . . .
". . . translates feelings into words. This is fine."
-.-.-
Angela blinked and just—let that sink in. She couldn't exactly judge that, though, considering these two had been one animatronic before, so some blended communication was probably expected. She wrote it off as a quirk of theirs. If this was how they were going to communicate, then so be it.
Just to be sure, she gave them a few more minutes to calm down. The messages in the staff leaders' group chats kept going on and on about rogue animatronics, so she took that moment to send off her own:
A. Cortez: Animatronics Sun and Moon located and contained with me. Please do not enter my office. I will handle them.
Relieved messages trickled in, though one head of security and one head of technicians insisted they add this to Sun and Moon's case files—rather extensive folders now in the short weeks since booting up.
She would know. A copy of all her clients' files sat in her cabinets—only Monty's was as thick as theirs.
Angela didn't dignify that message with a response. Now satisfied that she'd assured the leadership, she turned her attention back to Sun and Moon.
"Can I ask, Sun mentioned the daycare opening. Was this what set this episode off?"
Neither of them spoke for a moment. Moon's eyes flashed just a moment before he answered in a soft, soft whisper, "Yes. I'm sorry—Shh, don't be. It's okay." Gentle hands stroked the remaining rays. Sun's hand clutched the fabric of Moon's pants a little tighter.
"And these—well, these panic attacks. How long have they happening?"
Another pause. Another brief flash. "Since I came back to life." Moon blinked. "Since we booted up again. He—he ran from me, when we first booted back up. He thought I was the monster."
At this, Sun buried his face in Moon's lap and sobbed. Moon's smile was bittersweet.
"And how long ago was that?"
"A few weeks now. Probably a month."
Angela hummed. "And—well, you don't have to answer if you're uncomfortable, but what did you mean by 'the monster'?"
Moon blinked, and the smile melted from his face. This time, the pause was longer as they both waited for Sun to respond. For a while, as they waited silently, Angela figured he just wouldn't answer. He hadn't exactly been eager to come to her the first time, and the moment he'd regained his faculties, he fell silent again.
Then again, with Moon here, he seemed a little more willing.
Still, as they waited, she considered calling off the question—
"The monster was The Nightmare," Sun said through Moon, whose expression was a tired kind of relieved. "And The Nightmare wasn't Moon."
"Where did the nightmare come from?"
". . . The virus . . ."
Angela blinked. The first time one of them brought up the virus itself. She supposed Moon brought it up before, but to hear it so blatantly called what it was was a little rare for these guys. Not even Chica and Freddy were so forthcoming, and Monty and Roxy didn't even seem to know it existed.
Did he . . . ?
Suddenly, Sun's voice rose from where he was hiding, shaking and full of static but angry. "It killed me. It turned me into a monster, too, and I can't—I can't even do my job anymore. I don't want to!" His grip on Moon tightened, and poor Moon squeaked in response. "I can still feel—"
He laughed. The manic edge to it set her nerves on edge, too, and when he finally raised his head, his smile was as manic as his laugh. There was something resigned there, too—exhausted.
Defeated.
"We were mandated reporters, Cortez," he laughed. "If a kid threatened to hurt themself or someone else, or if we found evidence of abuse or neglect, we were required to contact authorities." The manic giggle that spilled out of his voice box was quietly echoed by Moon, whose eyes did not leave Sun. They stared with an intensity Angela dreaded breaking—for fear of turning that intensity to her. "I wonder if you've gotta contact the authorities on Fazbear Entertainment now."
The giggles died down. But the smile remained—hollow and taunting, yet still so defeated.
"Or maybe, you've gotta tell 'em the Playtime Attendant won't do his job. Tell 'em to cut their losses—he's unsalvageable."
Angela felt her stomach slowly sink. At the same time, her resolve fortified. She couldn't hear Moon's quiet reprimand very well, but she could see the horror on his face and the resigned fear on Sun's.
Those were the words of one who didn't care if they lived or died—but those were the faces of ones terrified of dying.
Either you report me as insane, or you report me as useless. Either way, decommission.
Well, according to Sun. Angela straightened up and spoke clearly and firmly, making sure there was no room for misunderstanding. "Your time with me is under a strict rule of confidentiality," she stated. "Unless you threaten to harm yourself, someone else, or you give me your explicit consent, nothing you say will leave these walls by my hand. That includes anything I record, anything I write down, and anything you choose to write and give to me. You are free to disclose at your will, but I will never, ever speak about this to anyone."
"Even your boss?" Sun asked through hissing static. "Even if it breaks our protocol?"
"Even my boss," Angela confirmed. "And unless you breaking protocol includes harming others, then that will not be disclosed. Feel free to bad-mouth Fazbear Entertainment to your heart's content—I know I would if given the chance."
She could see the gears turning in both their heads. She could see the light return to them both, but especially with Sun. It wasn't much—she had a feeling he wouldn't be sharing his deepest, darkest secrets with her yet, but it was a start.
The light faded a little, though, and he sagged back against Moon, once again curled up in his lap. She could imagine the weight of that little detail lifting off his shoulders.
A safe place to vent. That made three that seemingly desperately needed it—all three of which were her urgent cases.
Angela smiled internally. Good.
"So." She pulled a bean bag chair over and settled down more comfortably against it. Snagging a clipboard and some paper from her desk, she clicked her pen (plucked right from her pocket) and started writing down some thoughts. "What I'm hearing is that the daycare is a source of stress for you. Care to explain why?"
Not with them, not again, he'd said. She saw the videos. She saw what it turned them into. It would benefit them to put it in their own words.
More silence. She waited patiently, watching them both out of the corner of her eye. Slowly, after a long moment of silence, Sun rose up to his knees. She watched him grasp Moon's hand, and she could hear the wobbly smile in his words.
"Moon," he said, "go play with the kids, 'kay? I know you've been looking forward to this."
Moon balked. "Sunny, no—"
"It'll be so much fun!" Angela could hear the false cheer, and with the way he stiffened and his expression hardened, so did Moon. "I'll—see you after, okay?"
"No." She watched Moon pull away, watched him sign something with frustrated speed, punctuated by one final sign. Whatever he said had the smile melting from Sun's face, and she watched him melt back into Moon's arms.
And when he spoke again, it was through Moon. The flash of his eyes was tell enough, but the words came out stilted, and Sun's eyes locked right onto Angela.
"Too loud," he said. "I can't think—drives me crazy." Moon furrowed his brow once he finished Sun's thought. He made to add something, but just shook his head and sighed.
Angela wrote that down—both the words and the observation. "When did this start happening? Given your state, I can't imagine this is a recent thing."
More silence. Then, in a small, hissing voice, Sun said, "Ten—eleven years ago."
Eleven. Angela kept her reaction low, but her heart jumped in her throat nevertheless. "Eleven?"
"Yes." Sun's rays pulsed in a nervous rhythm. Another erratic giggle escaped him. "Surprise! I remember the virus." The spontaneous, sarcastic energy seemed to drain immediately. "Lucky me. Doesn't change anything, does it?"
Lucky, indeed. "If you're comfortable, could you tell me what it was like?"
". . . No." Moon said it, this time, though he clearly didn't like the idea. "Please, no."
". . . Okay. It doesn't have to be today. It was enough that you came to me when you were feeling stressed, and I'm glad that you did." She gestured to the two rays, now discarded in favor of hugging Moon. "If you like, I can give you some alternatives to relieving stress that doesn't result in . . . personal injury."
"The bells helped," Moon supplied quietly. He shook his left wrist helpfully. It made no sound, but she could imagine the ringing. "A little shake and a little sound—it helped us focus."
"It stopped helping," Sun snarled. "Just more noise, noise, noise—" His fans clicked faster. "And the plushes stopped being comforting, and the art supplies stopped being fun and—"
Moon twirled his head. The bell on the end of his cap jingled merrily. Sun stopped and glanced at the noise—the hands reaching toward his remaining rays and collar stopped their approach. Instead, the left hand rubbed against the right wrist.
". . . And I guess I miss it . . ."
Angela nodded. "It's a start. I'll write up a plan for stress relief as well as a path to healing. For now, I would suggest keeping noise and stress low—"
"Oh, easy to do when you're expected to work—"
"—and in the meantime, I'm writing you a leave of absence." She flipped to another page and drafted the letter. "This should keep the higher-ups off your back until you're well enough to work the daycare again, if you ever decide to."
". . . Leave of absence?"
"Think of it as a required break." She grinned at both their confused expressions. "For humans, a doctor can require someone stays home from work for a certain period of time until they're all better."
Sun raised a brow. "And they'll just . . . let this happen?"
"Well." Angela finished the rough draft and set it on her desk. "If they want to avoid lawsuits from emotionally neglected animatronics, then yes. They will." She gave them a wink. Moon smiled uncertainly.
But Sun laughed. Sure, it was a little tired, but it was genuine.
-.-.-
They spent a little more time in her office, during which Sun shed a little more light on that mysterious year (well, mysterious to the others). He didn't talk too directly about it, but she noticed it enough.
She saw it in the way he flinched when Moon spoke too loudly.
She heard it in the way he complained about noises and the heat.
She felt it in the genuine distress when he finally, finally fully recounted the events leading up to him ending up here.
A combination of stress from the children's return (a remnant of being forced to hurt them) and Moon's presence seemingly looming over them (the monster, The Nightmare, the virus personified in someone he still trusted), all culminating in a horrible case of reliving traumatizing events.
Eventually, after Sun ran out of steam and Angela deemed her their session enough, Moon managed to lull Sun to sleep. Angela sat at her desk, listening to the quiet music box and Moon's gentle song. Sun's fans worked quietly—all but dead to the world. Her typing felt almost too loud in the quiet, but Moon didn't complain once.
Considering the pain in his eyes, she didn't think he had it in him to snap at her.
As she typed the notice, she thought about everything she'd gathered these past few weeks:
1) Ten years ago for about a year, they'd all experienced a horrific infection.
2) That year had been wiped from most of their memories—Monty was very quick to tell her that DJ Music Man, Sun, and Freddy still remembered, and the vitriol in his tone told her that he resented this greatly.
3) Those who did not remember did not seem to understand why they were behaving so oddly. To them, these behaviors came out of nowhere.
As she started drafting Sun's recovery plan, she couldn't help but note how much easier this was when she knew at least some of the issues.
Moon's voice seemed to be a point of trauma, something that distressed them both, and something that was directly linked to "the monster". Gradual exposure would do them both good, and thankfully, this was something they were already doing with songs, whispers, and signing. She drafted a more structured version, one that accounted for storytelling and songs, things that would hopefully replace the fear with fun.
The children were also a point of stress on account of hurting them by proxy—gradual exposure could help, but the fear and stress from this seemed much stronger than to Moon's voice. Right now, it would do more harm than good. The safest thing she could recommend was staying away from them, which unfortunately meant possible relocation.
As depressing as this was, though, it was much easier than planning Roxy's recovery, which consisted mostly of generalized positive self-reflection and affirmations. Normally, in situations like hers, Angela would delve deep into the cause of the self-esteem issues and tackle them, but aside from messing up on stage and Monty's taunts, there wasn't that much to dive into. These were things that happened all the time, after all, and Roxy could not understand why it was so terrible now.
The same went for Monty. Yes, he knew he didn't want to feel helpless and that was why he lashed out so much, but there was no clue where that helplessness and heightened aggression toward his bandmates truly came from. Just the notion that they were in on something, and he needed to find the answers. Once again, being able to dive into the core of the issues would be a great help—but she couldn't do that if they didn't remember.
She could tell them the events—but all this would accomplish was giving them information they should have known but didn't. That was nothing compared to actually having the memories to work with.
Then again, she mused, just look at Sun. Arguably, he'd received the least amount of viral exposure, and yet he'd come out fundamentally changed for the worst. If this could be considered a baseline, then she couldn't imagine someone like Monty, who'd received direct exposure—or Moon, who had actual blood on his hands.
"They piss me off all the time—I hate it!"
"Something's missing and I don't remember what."
"I can't look at anything the same—"
"They make me itch in a way I never have before, not until I woke up in a separate body."
Would it help me fix myself?
Angela stopped scribbling. In the midst of the music box and the humming, she steepled her fingers and considered.
First, the cons: setbacks in their already-tenuous progress, exacerbation of their existing problematic behaviors, and possible post-traumatic stress behaviors (not unlike Sun's—in fact, worse than Sun's).
Then, the pros: the ability to delve into root causes, more concrete solutions to their issues, a clearer path for them to improve and heal—and, most importantly, filling a hole they felt to be missing.
Chica perhaps did not feel it as strongly, but Roxy, Monty, and Moon made that notion clear to varying degrees.
Yes, they would experience pain. Yes, their reactions could bring setbacks to their progress. Of course, this could shut down the Pizzaplex if worse came to worst. However, if it meant mental, emotional, and physical recovery, then Angela figured it would be worth it. They just needed to be careful about it.
And, she thought with a grimace, she needed to convince Ms. Kelly to do it.
But—well, she needed to know if it was possible, first. Then, and only then, would she suggest it.
That in mind, Angela continued drafting Sun's recovery plan, complete with scheduled therapy sessions and recovery activities that directly addressed his issues and their causes.
For the first time since she started, a sense of satisfaction washed over her.