Chapter Text
“And the family you choose? That’s the strongest love of all.”
― Blood So Black
The first time Gregory gets hurt at the Pizzaplex after the whole Vanny incident, it’s actually not completely his own fault.
At least, he doesn't think so.
He’s running down the stairs in the back of the plex, a high laugh of joy cascading off the walls. Since destroying the crazy rabbit lady, Gregory’s been blessed to be able to call this gigantic pizza mall his home, staying with Freddy and the other animatronics. It’s only been about 3-months but the 10-year-old had settled in nicely, only being wary of the other members of the Fazbear Band for the first week or so before warming up.
“Gregory—” Freddy’s voice had been low, warm, a soothing rumble in his mechanical chest that the young boy had uncharacteristically clung to, tightening his grip along his guardian’s arm as the bear ushered him forward. “Come on, superstar, they’re not going to hurt you, I promise.”
“We—” Chica, her new beak a gleam in Rockstar Row’s glistening lights, had knelt down, holding one of her metal hands out toward him. Her eyes flickering from Gregory’s pale face, up toward Freddy, had shimmered in sadness and Gregory felt a hot flash of guilt settle along his stomach. “We’re really sorry, Gregory—”
“Yeah, kiddo.” Monty’s next, his star sunglasses perched on his long snout. His grin, once a nasty, snarling mess was now soft, still rough-around-the-edges but in a comforting way. “We didn’t wanna hurt ya’, not in our programming to ever hurt a youngin’.”
“Still did though, almost—” Roxy swallows, her ears twitching. Her new tail swishes behind her, fluffed in agitation. “ — almost killed the poor pup. Even I can see that.”
“It’s—” It wasn’t okay, none of it was, but still Gregory reached out, resting a hesitant hand along Roxy’s metal paw, watching as the wolf robot’s upgraded eyes widened. Behind him, the boy had felt Freddy sigh, most likely in what the 10-year-old suspected was relief. “It wasn’t your fault, I’m not mad at-at any of you.”
And that’s true.
Despite the terror, the mind-numbing horror and many sleepless nights ahead, Gregory never blamed any of the animatronics for what happened that crazy evening. With shared, hesitant smiles and hair ruffles, Gregory had allowed the others in, the same way he accepted Freddy.
Now, they’re his family, the people — er, animatronics, that he’s lucky enough to consider his pseudo-parents. It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him and a million times better than living on the street, where he slept in more cardboard boxes then he could possibly imagine.
Shaking himself from his thoughts, the boy grips his Roxy backpack tighter, adjusting it on his shoulders as he makes another leap down the stairs, toward the Daycare. The band has a concert in a few minutes, the 10-year-old can feel the concrete floor tremble under him from the force of the bass upstairs. During these, Gregory likes to go see Sunny instead, the quiet and relaxing atmosphere of the Daycare’s colorful walls doing wonders for his anxiety, despite how enthusiastic the attendant could be at times.
Laughing again, Gregory had just spun around one of the last flights, his sneakers sliding against the stairs, when he flies forward.
Oh. He thinks as he tumbles, the ground crashing toward him as if in slow-motion. Wet floor.
He hits the foot of the stairs hands-first, feeling the harsh concrete scrape against his small palms. His knees are next, slamming into the ground with enough force that the little boy’s teeth chatter, a choked cry leaving him as he finally stops, scrawled on the floor with his Raceway bag smacking against his shoulder.
Dazed for a few stunned seconds, Gregory only has time to blink before the pain hits.
It spreads like fire along his hands, dots of blood welling up along his palms, his knees burning. Shifting, Gregory sniffles, trying to get his rapid-breathing under control. Before, when he was just a street rat, eating out of garbage cans, Gregory could’ve brushed this off, gotten up and took off running again, not a care in the world for the missing skin along his legs and hands.
Now, however? Now, Gregory’s allowed to act like a kid, like a fun-loving little boy. He’s allowed to cry when he’s upset, take warm naps in Chica’s room, sit on Monty’s shoulders when the gator collects stray golf balls around his attraction in the evenings, let Roxy paint his nails with her signature “Raceway Purple Polish” and giggle at her horrible Freddy impressions.
Sit in the bear’s chest cavity, letting Freddy's deep rumbles soothe him to sleep each night, curled up in the safety of his Papa’s arms and heart.
And so, Gregory sobs.
He cries, burying his face against his bookbag, feeling the fabric press into his heated cheeks. He’s babbling, each of his guardian’s names leaving him before his final shrill “Papa!” echoes through the silent hallway, getting lost in the fluorescent lights that sway high above. On his wrist, his Fazwatch beeps, undoubtedly alerting his family to his injuries and the 10-year-old cries harder, pain as well as guilt sending a hot spike of nassau down his spine. God, he’s such a baby, a little stupid baby that can’t even take a fall without needing everyone to run to save him.
That doesn’t stop his tears, however, or his cries for Freddy. They spill out of him, jumping from his chest and Gregory sobs harder. “Papa, P-Papa, please, hurts—”
The first to reach him is Roxy. Skidding to a halt besider her still-crying pup, the wolf reaches out, carefully wrapping Gregory up in her arms. Her voice is a soothing growl, so different from her normal egocentric tone.
“Hey, hey, pup, shh.” Cradling the boy closer when he sobs again, Roxy carefully brushes back Gregory’s unruly curls, glancing up just as Monty and Chica enter from the floor above, a panicked Freddy just behind. “Found him lying on the floor down here, looks like our little rockstar took a crazy fall.”
“Oh, my poor baby chick.” Chica coos, crowding around both the human and fellow animatronic, a few high chirps escaping her. “Should we get bandages, some water? There should be a first-aid kit nearby. Oh, this is terrible, what if he hit his head, what if he has a concussion, or-or brain damage or—?”
“Let’s take a look at the kid first, Chica.” Monty interrupts, reaching out and gently brushing a claw across Gregory’s baby cheeks, wiping away the boy’s tears as they fall. “We don’t want to freak’em out for no reason—”
“I’ve already scanned him for injuries, no brain damage detected, thankfully.” Freddy steps forward, chest rumbling in a soft huff, paws reaching out toward his still-sobbing cub and Roxanne transfers him over without hesitation, carefully settling the boy in the taller robot's arms. Rocking him back and forth slowly, Freddy nuzzles his snout against Gregory’s soft hair, rubbing at his cub’s shaking back. “There, there, superstar, it’s alright, shh, shh, calm down, shh.”
“S-Sorry, sorry.” Gregory’s voice is wobbly from his tears, barely more than a whisper but all of his parents hear him just the same. “There was a-a spill and the floor got wet and I didn’t see it until I fell and I didn’t mean too and I-I’m really sorry—”
Beak pulled in a frown, Chica squawks softly, brushing her wing through her kid’s tousled chestnut curls. “Why are you apologizing, baby chick?”
“We don’t think you meant to fall, bud.” Monty says, glancing at each of his friends above his signature shades. His red eyes are bright in worry. “At least, uh, we hope you didn’t—”
“Of course he didn’t, you moron.” Roxy snarls, but her voice holds more bark than bite. She leans forward, nosing along Gregory’s temple, breathing in her puppy’s sweet, baby scent. Satisfied that there’s no more injuries, the wolf falls back on her heels, motioning with a claw toward the hallway leading to Rockstar Row. “Let’s get him settled before the interrogation, yeah? Poor kid’s shaking like a flat tire out here.”
Adjusting the now hiccuping 10-year-old, Freddy carefully starts after Roxanne, with Chica and Monty trailing behind, the gator throwing his kid’s backpack across his own shoulder. Gregory’s silent now, small whimpers leaving him as his scrapes brush against his Papa’s fur-covered metal frame and Freddy frowns, pressing a soothing kiss against his son’s temple.
“This is why we tell you not to run in the halls, scooter.” Monty says, resting the hand not holding the boy’s backpack against his hip, glancing over at Gregory over his sunglasses. “If it were up to me, you’d be able to run everywhere but it’s not and it’s dangerous.”
“I know, Monty, I-I’m sorry.”
Freddy sighs, shifting his hold on his cub as the boy sniffles again. “It’s alright, superstar, just make sure to remember next time, yeah? We just want you to be safe.”
Within a few minutes, all family members are crowded in Freddy’s room, Gregory getting gently placed on his little twin bed in the corner. Wrapping the kid up in his favorite Monty blanket, the gator himself settles along-side Gregory, drawing him close as Chica grabs the first-aid kit from the restroom, handing it to Freddy as she enters.
“Alright,” The bear says, carefully falling to his mechanical knees in-front of his cub, reaching out to smooth the messy fringe from his son’s forehead. “Where should we start first, hm? Which part hurts the most, buddy?”
Gregory chews on his bottom lip, his cheeks red from crying. Finally, he points down to his knees, where the skin is peeled and bleeding. “M-My knees, I think.”
Humming, Freddy carefully pulls a few bandages and some antibacterial wipes from the first-aid kit, giving Roxy the bandaids to open with her claws when his larger paws have trouble. Ignoring the self-absorbed rumble the wolf lets out, Freddy turns back toward Gregory, shifting to the side to allow Chica room to lean against her chick’s other leg.
“Now, this might sting a bit, superstar, but it’ll be over soon, I promise.” Freddy warns, his wires twisting at the way his cub’s face pinches. Glancing toward Monty, the bear watches as his friend’s red eyes light up.
“Hold my hand, huh, little guy.” The gator drawls, grabbing onto the 10-year-old’s fingers when Gregory nods, careful not to touch his kid’s still-bleeding palms. “Try not to dent the metal, I still gotta play my bass for the other youngins, you got me?”
Nodding with a watery giggle, Gregory grips the gator’s hand, his laughter turning to a yelp as Freddy carefully wipes away the dirt and dried blood stuck to his cub’s knee, cooing gently the entire time. More tears fall from Gregory’s doe eyes, and the boy sobs, trying his very hardest to keep still so his Papa can work.
“Okay, okay, other leg now, little one.” Freddy rumbles after a few seconds, quickly securing a bright green bandage around his son’s knee. Taking Gregory’s right leg in his paw now, the bear does the same, trying his best to ignore the soft, pained cries that cause his ears to twitch. “Almost done, kiddo, you’re doing such a good job.”
“You’re a tough one, pup.” Roxy says, leaning forward to nuzzle her nose along Gregory’s cheek, carefully brushing away his tears. “A little fighter, you are, learned from the best after all.”
“So strong, too.” Monty interjects, grunting with feigned pain at each squeeze of the 10-year-old’s fingers against his own. Gregory, despite his tears, laughs at this, feeling the gator’s strong tail wrap around him in comfort. “You might have to play my part for me, until they can repair my poor, dented hands from your strong grip, kid.”
“You also make, like, really yummy pizzas, little chick.” Chica says, blinking when everyone turns to stare at her, her feathers ruffling. “What? He does, they’re the best in the whole freaking mall.”
Gregory’s giggle is a little less watery this time, more of his usual self and all four of his guardians sink a bit in relief. With one last soft pat against the boy’s knee, Freddy scoots a little closer, reaching out toward his cub’s free hand. His paw has just brushed against Gregory’s dirty palm when Gregory flinches in pain, bringing the hand up against his chest. His doe eyes, when Freddy glances up toward his son’s face, are wide with tears and the bear feels his mechanical heart break.
“Oh, buddy, come on, we’re almost done.” Freddy coos, brushing away Gregory’s tears instead, listening as Chica lets out a series of low, comforting chirps from her place on the floor.
“It—” Gregory sniffs. “It hurts, Papa. It stings.”
“I know, little cub, I know, I’m sorry.” Freddy brushes the pad of his thumb across his kid’s red-tinged cheek before pulling away, gently tugging Gregory’s hand away from his chest. “I’m just going to look at it first, alright? I won’t touch it, I swear.”
Hesitantly, Gregory uncurls his fingers, hissing at the brush of the cool air against his cuts. A soothing growl rumbles through Freddy, with each of Monty and Roxy’s echoing close behind, all four animatronics reaching toward their child as one. Leaning into the affection, Gregory allows his Papa to gently ghost his paw over his palm, flinching back against Monty when the pair flares again.
“Remember, hatchling, you can grab my hand.” The gator reminds the 10-year-old, letting out a pleased whirl when Gregory immediately latches onto his fingers again. "There you go--"
Quickly clearing his cub’s palm, Freddy wraps Gregory’s hand in little star bandages, gently securing the end. The other hand is done just as efficiently, with Gregory only jerking a little this time, resting his head against Roxy’s chest when the wolf sits beside him. Once finished, all five members of the little family are silent, only Gregory’s sniffles breaking the gentle lull of the room.
“Okay, speedster.” Roxy whispers, carefully untangling her pup’s arms from around her waist, nuzzling against his curls for a few moments before pulling away. “I think it’s time for bed.”
“No—” Gregory, a whine on the tip of his tongue, cuts himself off with a huge yawn, one that has all of his parents smiling in amusement. Blinking slowly, he looks between each of them, curling up tighter in his Monty blanket. “Not-Not tired.”
“Uh-huh.” Freddy waddles a finger, trying in vain to keep a chuckle from rising up his voice box. Both Chica and Monty stand, brushing their own affectionate nuzzles and kisses against Gregory’s forehead before stepping back, watching as the boy’s eyes droop lower and lower. “We should all get some rest, it’s been a long day for everyone.”
“Robots don’t—” Gregory yawns again. “ — don’t need sleep, Papa.”
“Yes but little daredevil runts do and last I checked, you are one, so hush and relax.” Roxy snarks but her face is soft, brushing her fingers against Gregory’s soft cheek, a huff escaping her when the 10-year-old leans into the touch. “Sleep well, squirt, dream big racing dreams.”
“We’ll be in our rooms if you need anything.” Chica’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet, fluffing up Gregory’s pillow and blanket before finally making her exit behind Roxy, speaking the last part over her shoulder. “Goodnight, baby chick.”
Monty’s slower to leave than the two female animatronics. Carefully pulling himself out from under Gregory’s hold, the gator gives the boy what could only be described as an affectionate head-bump, his long snout gently cuddling against his hatchling’s cheek before he pulls away. Reaching out as he passes Freddy, the gator rests a hand against the bear’s shoulder, pulling the band leader’s blue gaze away from their kid.
“You got any issues, you come get me, got it, Faz?” Monty’s red eyes are soft, however, simmering with protectiveness behind his star glasses and Freddy feels a burst of gratitude warm his circuits.
“Of course, Montgomery.”
“Don’t call me that, old man, I told ya’ before, it’s just Monty.” Pushing his shades further up his snout, the gator glances back at the now dozing Gregory before turning to leave, his long tail swishing behind him. “One peep from the runt and I’ll come runnin’.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Freddy chuckles, patting the other robot on the back. “Charge well, my friend, we’ll meet again in the morning.”
“Hopefully not too early—”
Grumbling to himself, Monty steps out into the hall, going back toward his room with one last, protective glance toward Gregory and Freddy gently closes the door once the gator fully leaves, letting out a sigh he can feel all the way to his bolts. The lights in his room dim, turning the normal sunny-golden interior into something softer, a soothing blue-black that causes the animatronic to finally, fully relax.
As quietly as he possibly can, the bear makes his way back over to Gregory, watching as his son’s eyes blink back open, the boy’s tired gaze meeting his.
“Hi, Papa.” Gregory whispers, wiggling over to give the bear room to sit. The bed creaks under their combined weight but doesn’t give in and Freddy gently pulls his cub back against his chest, leaning himself against the wall behind them.
“Hello, superstar.” Freddy’s own deep voice is soft, a rumble in his chest that Gregory can feel against his cheek and the boy hums, nuzzling closer. “You gave us quite a scare earlier.”
“Hmm, m’sorry—”
“Hush, it’s all over now, I just hoped that you learned from this, at least a little.” Letting out a small huff of laughter when Gregory nods, Freddy gently pats at the boy’s back, noting vaguely that his son’s still wearing his play-clothes. Nothing a shower can’t fix, in the morning.
Gregory lifts his head up slightly from his guardian’s chest, rubbing at his eyes with one tiny fist. “What happened to that-that party? The concert today?”
“Oh.” Freddy’s ears wiggle, his blue eyes glistening in the dim darkness. “It was canceled at the last minute, the little girl’s mother mentioning something about a lawsuit? I’m not sure, to be honest, it was right before your watch went off.”
“So I didn’t ruin her birthday party, right?”
His son’s words, his little fears, are so innocent and heartfelt that Freddy swallows, clutching the boy tighter in his arms. He leans down, speaking the words against Gregory’s soft hair, feeling his cub sigh. “No, little starlight, you never ruin anything. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”
Gregory’s silent for a few seconds and Freddy thinks he might have finally fallen asleep. Pressing a final kiss against his child’s forehead, the bear makes a move as if to get up, to go over to his own bed-charging station but a small hand against his bowtie stops him in his tracks and the animatronic immediately eases himself back down, settling Gregory back into his lap.
“My apologies, Gregory, I thought you had already fallen asleep—”
“I love you, Papa.” Gregory’s voice is slurred in youthful exhaustion, soft and sweet and everything Freddy wants to keep safe. His circuits practically burn with the need to keep his child right here, in his arms, against his mechanically beating heart and the bear knows he can’t physically cry but that doesn’t stop his eyes from sparking anyways.
“I love you too, cub.” Freddy whispers, listening as Gregory’s breath finally evens out, the 10-year-old’s grip around his bowtie loosening in slumber. Leaning down, Freddy rests his muzzle against his son’s temple, curling his body even tighter around his child. “I love you too.”