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Each clunk-clunk-clunk of Freddy’s metal feet against the linoleum floor echoed within the Pizzeria’s central atrium. The silence between the animatronic and the young boy was palpable. Freddy had insisted on carrying Gregory to the nearest First Aid Station after the boy had emerged limping from Roxy’s Raceway looking worse for wear, covered in soot, and bleeding from just about any place that he hadn’t managed to bruise. Not that Gregory had put up much of a fight. He didn't know where Eggs had disappeared to, they’d gotten separated at some point, and a small part of his brain was screaming, ‘find him find him find him,’ but the rest of his brain was just too numb to listen.
Roxy’s eyes sat heavy in the pocket of his shorts. Every jostle had Gregory hearing the quiet sound of plastic against plastic in time with Freddy’s steps, and it caused the guilt in his gut to grow and grow and grow.
Why should he feel guilty? It wasn’t like he was the one hunting a kid for sport or something. If anything, those big, dumb hunks of metal should be apologizing to him. Right?
Gregory thought maybe his Papa would know the answer. Papa knew everything—well, maybe not everything, but the man knew a lot about the world, especially the cruel parts. The ugly parts. The parts that led to Gregory.
“Treasures gained by wickedness do not profit, Gregory.” Papa had said to him as he sat huddled on the floor of the small closet beneath the staircase.
Something large and cold brushed against his face, Freddy’s hand he realized belatedly, and it made Gregory flinch; made him draw away despite the throbbing in his head and the sharp pain in his neck at the action.
Papa’s knuckles dripped with blood, and Gregory could see the large hole in the drywall he’d made in his anger.
“Gregory, what is the matter?” The animatronic’s voice sounded so sincere in its worry that Gregory had to forcefully remind himself that it wasn't real. Nothing the bear said or did was real. It was all code, programming made to simulate the things that were supposed to make stealing, lying crybabies like him feel better.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and despite how he tried, his voice still warbled with fear, “I’m really sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?” Freddy had the nerve to look at him in bewilderment as though he didn't know what hid in Gregory’s pockets. What sat inside the boy and made him rotten and broken and unwanted.
Gregory shook his head, hands balled into fists at his side as he tried not to cry. Instead, he pressed Roxy’s eyes—they burned and burned like fire in his palm—into Freddy’s hand and then tucked himself as far as he could into what he realized was the First Aid Station. When did they get here?
Gregory’s damnation was made clear with the mere crinkle of a granola wrapper held tightly in Papa’s hand.
Freddy was quiet, frighteningly so, and all Gregory could hear was the steady thrum of internal fans and the occasional twitch of one of Freddy’s ears. He thought Freddy would have yelled, would have shaken him by the shoulders, and demanded answers. He thought that there would be anger, white-hot and filled with pain. He wasn't sure if he'd have prefered that Freddy got mad enough to hit him. At least then, he would know where he stood with the animatronic bear.
Instead, all he got was silence, and it scared him.
Papa was silent as he stared down at him, still as a statue in the dim light of the hall.
“These are Roxy’s eyes,” Freddy said, quieter than Gregory thought him capable of.
“You must remember Gregory,” Papa said from outside of the closet, his voice so terrifyingly calm.
Something in him immediately wanted to lie, like he did when Freddy asked him about Chica’s voice box. ‘There was an accident in the raceway.’ he’d say, ‘She’s okay; nothing seems to stop her.’ It would be easier than the unknown that currently loomed over him in that growing silence.
“It’s my fault,” He said instead, breathing heavily through his broken nose just to feel something other than fear. “I hit her with a-a race kart,” he breathed raggedly through his mouth, eyes beginning to burn with tears, “I was—I was scared, and I hurt her.”
“All discipline seems painful rather than pleasant,” Papa said as he closed the closet door on Gregory.
“I hurt her,” he repeated, and the anger from earlier in the night, the need to hurt because he hurt, left him. “I hurt them both.”
He could hear the clack of plastic against plastic, and somehow Gregory knew that Freddy had heard his quiet confession. Knew that Freddy was realizing he'd been filled with parts that were not his own, given to him by a useless lying boy who he'd stupidly decided to help.
There was a loud creaking and groaning that had Gregory looking up to see Freddy had pulled away from the first aid booth, pulled away from him. The animatronic bear had turned around and just stood there, hands hanging at his side, staring off into the middle distance.
“But it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it.” The sound of the lock was loud in the sudden darkness that surrounded him.
“F-Freddy?” Gregory unfurled from his spot enough to reach out toward the bear, hand trembling as he held it aloft. “I-” he cut himself off when he saw those giant hands, somehow capable of being so gentle, curl into fists, blue painted claws catching the light.
Gregory begged Papa to let him out, promised that he’d be a good boy, quietly whispered, “Please, Papa,” when it hurt too much to shout.
Gregory lowered his hand, and with clumsy fingers, he took off the Faz-watch Freddy had lent him. He set it down on top of a box next to the plastic chair he’d sat on before slipping off said chair as quietly as he could. Freddy didn't seem to notice, and Gregory was glad. He’d taken advantage of the animatronic’s kindness enough tonight.
Papa left Gregory inside that closet for three days.
He took a moment to stare at Freddy’s back, to watch his shoulders rise and fall from simulated breathing, to focus on the almost rhythmic clenching and unclenching of Freddy’s paws. A selfish part of him almost wished it were the start of the night all over again. Because then he wouldn't have to deal with the fact that Freddy wouldn't want anything to do with him anymore. Like Sun in the daycare, like Papa. He deserved it; Gregory knew this. Papa made sure Gregory knew this, but it still….it still hurt, the leaving. It always hurt. Gregory had thought that this time would be different. That this time, maybe whatever was inside of him that made it so hard to-to….well maybe it wouldn’t ruin things for him. He’d been stupid to even think it’d be any different this time.
Gregory learned to be quiet after that in the face of his punishments, his ‘lessons.’
His nose chose that moment to throb painfully as if to remind him he needed to follow through on his decision. Gregory nodded to himself and limped quickly and quietly away from Freddy, trying to convince himself that it was for the best.
“It was for the best, Gregory,” Papa said, as he pet the top of Gregory’s head, “You understand that, don’t you?”
His feet felt more and more like lead with every step.
“Yes, Papa,” Gregory replied, not understanding at all.
Freddy’s internal fans were working overtime as his CPU tried to process the information that Gregory had just given him.
Within his hands were Roxy’s eyes. Within his ‘throat’ was Chica’s voice box.
He felt blindsided by it, knowing where these parts had come from, who these parts had come from.
How could he have not known?
And perhaps worse than the horrid knowledge that he was allowing himself to become an amalgamation of stolen parts was the realization that Gregory had lied. Had lied to him, no less.
Freddy was not stupid; his programming prevented that (though Montgomery would disagree). He understood that lies were sometimes a necessary evil. He had told his fair share of them.
“Officer Vanessa, I do not know how I got here.”
He never said he was a good liar.
But the point remained. Gregory had felt the need to be dishonest with him, had thought it better to lie, and Freddy had no idea why.
A tiny metallic clang pulled Freddy out of his mental spiral. It had him realizing he had been rooted in one spot devoting time he did not have to a brewing meltdown instead of what was actually important: Gregory.
He turned back around to the first aid station he had abandoned, hurriedly pulling aside the bright red curtain, the only objective now being to take care of his charge. He froze up once more when he was met with an empty chair.
Gregory was gone.
“Gregory?” He could feel his ears involuntarily droop at the sight of Gregory’s Faz-watch sitting innocently on a white box filled with excess first aid supplies.
The steadily increasing trail of blood leading away from the first aid station to a nearby air vent had Freddy’s metaphorical heart dropping into his metaphorical stomach as bright red alerts and subroutines began to pop up all over his H.U.D.
Warning: Blood detected.
Warning: Blood Quantity Threshold reached.
Warning: Injured Party in need of Immediate Medical Attention.
Contacting Local Paramedics…
Connection Error.
Process Terminated.
Warning: Biohazard detected.
Contacting Janitorial Services…
Connection Error.
Process Terminated.
Attention: Please report errors to Freddy Fazbear Entertainment™ I.T. Support.
New Objective: Locate Injured Party.
New Objective: Supply First Aid to Injured Party.
Freddy stared at the air vent as the alerts on his H.U.D. slowly faded away. Stared at the red handprints, so heartbreakingly small, smeared all around the opening.
“Please be safe, Superstar,” He pleaded to the glaring maw of his failure.
The rapid sound of footsteps, sneakers squeaking on the polished linoleum, had Freddy’s hopes soaring that Gregory had decided to find his way back to him. Those same hopes fell just a bit at the sight of Gregory’s friend….Eggs.
The man looked worse for wear, though ‘worse’ might be somewhat subjective given he was covered almost head to toe in bandages, with skin the color purple usually. Eggs came to a stop in front of him, hand clenched tightly at his shirtfront as he doubled over panting.
“Are you alright, Eggs?” Freddy asked, keeping a respectable distance between them in respect of the other’s jumpiness towards animatronics.
The look of sheer panic Eggs sent him when he realized Gregory was nowhere to be found, swiftly followed by an alarming amount of rage, had Freddy appreciative of the space between them.
“Where is Gregory?” Eggs all but demanded, teeth grit in something bordering on murderous.
Perhaps Freddy had not failed his charge quite yet.