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Ashes, ashes-
The voice of every child that has ever passed through the gates, whether they ever left the building or not, becomes a ghost as the walls shudder and drip and writhe in the flame.
Ashes, ashes-
(“And that is why you don’t let pyrotechnics work on three hours of sleep.”
“Did you see how fast the curtains went up? Hooooly sh-“
“Monty! That is not approved language!”
“Easy, Superstar, it’s not like there’s any kids around to hear it. ‘Sides, I bet management is sayin’ worse.”)
Ashes, ashes-
Gregory is fast, faster and better at navigating the increasingly difficult path ahead than any child should have to be. Freddy thought he had known before tonight the emotional limits of what a child can handle; he’s seen kids sniffle over skinned knees while the Daycare Attendant applied bandages, has watched them weep over dropped bowls of ice cream like a lost friend before Chica could return with a great big cake all for their own. It’s the nature of a children’s entertainer to know that most kids, young and new to the world and so, so unprepared for how disappointing life can be, think the smallest misfortune is akin to the end of the world.
The death of the mega pizzaplex feels like the end of the world (Freddy’s world, the only world he’s ever known, the world where he played and sang and made friends and fell in love and lost all of it-), and Gregory still doesn’t falter, only glancing back to make sure Freddy is still right behind him.
Freddy will always be right behind him, he’s decided, and it was stupid of him to think not an hour earlier that he could ever let this kid go.
Ashes, ashes-
(“You know the last location burnt down, right?”
“Where’d ya hear that?”
“It’s true, the techs were talking about it the other week!”
“ I heard that this place was built on top of the remnants. They just paved over it without even cleanin’ up, and dropped a shiny new pizzaplex on top.”
“No way!”)
Ashes, ashes-
Freddy glances behind himself as well, ready to throw himself between his charge and whatever that… thing they found underground is-
It looks like a rabbit it’s got a rabbit shell or at least what’s left of a rabbit shell on and Vanny is in a rabbit suit and oh god there is no rabbit at the mega pizzaplex there is no rabbit at the mega pizzaplex there is not supposed to be a be a rabbit at the mega pizzaplex anymore-
-if need be. It’s only a slight relief that the shambling, twisting thing hasn’t made an appearance since the flames started spreading. One less boulder in the pile pressing down on them.
Something crashes down to their left, and Gregory stumbles for only a moment, swerving into Freddy’s path. Without missing a beat, the animatronic bends midstep to scoop the boy up, relieved when his instinctive panicked flailing barely lasts a measurable second. He wishes he could tuck the boy back in his chest compartment, protect him like the suit of armor he needs now more than ever, but their time under the pizzaplex has drained his battery too much to risk it. It’s yet another problem, and he’s not sure what they’re going to do about it, but they won’t be able to do anything about it if they don’t get out of this building before it falls down on top of them.
Ashes, ashes-
(“You know, I also heard they left the animatronics in the old location. Or at least…what was left of them.”
“They wouldn’t do that!…would they?”
“Yeah, you really think Fazbear Entertainment would waste money like that?”
“Maybe. Creepy thought though, huh? Can you imagine? What if there’s a buncha broken, abandoned robots craaaaawlin’ around right underneath our feet?”
“Enough teasing, Rockstar! You are scaring the Daycare Attendant.”
“Hey, I’m n-not scared!”
“Haha, seriously though, I’m sure it’s just a rumor. Even the clowns runnin’ this circus couldn’t be that cruel-“)
ASHES, ASHES-
It’s difficult enough for Freddy to claw his way back up from the hell they’d unknowingly wandered into, even with all of his parts (and then some) mostly intact, only slowed down fractionally by his cautious awareness of the child clinging to his back as he scales the shaking wreckage. The ascent can’t possibly take as long as it feels, and the directive driving him forward (not something that could be programmed in, no, this is beyond coding and numbers and A.I.) is so all-encompassing that it should be drowning out every other thought he could possibly have.
It should.
It does not.
The claws that are scrambling for purchase in the shifting walls are not his. The eyes blinking and refocusing and beaming brightly through the smoke that threatens to choke Gregory (get him out get him out he has lungs he needs air this smoke will kill him get him OUT-!) are not his. When he frantically mutters comforting words as the last few yards to solid ground pass in a desperate blur, there’s an edge of static to his speech that reminds him (as if he could forget) that the voice box in his chest is not his. He doesn’t regret having these parts; he’s not sure if he’d be capable of saving Gregory without them. But the thought of where they came from, how their rightful owners are faring in the inferno below without them, will almost certainly haunt him until the day his systems shut down for good.
Freddy has spent this entire night telling Gregory that something was wrong, that something was influencing his friends to act like this, and after his encounter with that rotting thing in the underground, he knows for a fact he was right. He knows they all felt the same creeping sense of wrongness in their systems, watched the violet haze bleeding into their vision, heard those…those awful, sickening demands being forced through their coding, demanding cruelty, demanding blood. He had only managed to fight it off for so long, fueled by the drive to protect one child that has grown into the core of his being over the past seven hours. How long had they managed to resist? When had it started? While he was blissfully unaware in an early recharge cycle, were his friends, only walls apart, desperately trying to hold off the internal intruder reshaping their minds, to hijack frames built for entertainment and turn them into weapons? When the walls began crashing down, did it lose its hold on them? Are they still down there, confused and ashamed and stumbling for an exit they might never reach?
Is he really going to leave them behind?
A S H E S, A S H E S-
“God, kids are so morbid, what’s with the singing about fires and bridge collapses and…and stupid pirate songs? This isn’t Pirate Cove anymore, I’m not-ugh!”
“Do you think about them too, Freddy? About how we’re the last two…sorry, nevermind. Forget it.”
“Did you see what they did to that level in the golf cabinet? What the hell are they trying to say about me? I can barely lead a field trip without getting a bucket dropped on my legs, why would I hurt a friend over something as stupid as leading the band?”
“Y’know I was just teasin’, right, Superstar? There’s no way they’d do somethin’ like that. We’re too important, they wouldn’t just-“
A s h e s, a a a a a s h e s-
Gregory’s thin arms tighten around Freddy’s shoulders, and he reaches up to comfortingly pat the boy’s hand as they rush through the crumbling pizzaplex. Of course he’s leaving them behind. It’s going to destroy him, every step away from where he’s sure they’re struggling all alone is destroying him, but as long as Gregory isn’t destroyed, he’s done his job. Children have always been the priority, it’s hard coded into their programming, it’s what’s right, and they know it.
He hopes they know it. He hopes that if the animatronics he called his friends are still in there, they know why he’s leaving.
He hopes that even if they don’t, even if they hate him for not waiting a single moment to make sure they’re okay, they’ll at least be able to tell him themselves someday.
All around them, the mega pizzaplex is going down in flames.
Behind them, the sounds of metal screeching and heated air roaring drown out any raging shrieks of a villain defeated, or friends crying out for help.
Ahead of them, the sky outside the uncovered entrance glows a softer, sweeter orange than the painfully sharp glow peeking through smoke and ash. The doors are open. The sun is rising. The night is over, and they’ve almost made it out.
They aren’t making it out alone, and the tiny gasp next to his ears lead Freddy’s steps to falter.
A a a s a she s,aaaaashes-
Vanessa is standing at the doors. An entire night spent avoiding her uncharacteristic wrath, and now, for one last punchline of the great big joke the world has played on them, she’s the last obstacle between them and freedom.
But something has changed. For how malicious her presence has felt since their first encounter in the utility tunnels, it doesn’t make sense that she’d just stand in the doorway, back to the fresh air and safety of the outside, scanning a murky nightmare with panic in her eyes. Those eyes catch a gap in the smoke, landing on Freddy and the boy clinging to him like a backpack, and while they both flinch in anticipation (as if a slight young woman armed with nothing more than a duffel bag in one hand is any more of a threat than the literal burning building overhead), the relief in her expression is startlingly genuine.
“Freddy! Gregory! Come on, we have to go!”
“If you’re part of this, you’re scrap.”
He wants to believe her behavior tonight was a fluke just as much as he’d wanted the same from his friends. In the time he’s known Vanessa, she’s never been so antagonistic, never any harsher than spitting a few sharp reproaches in the midst of one of her seemingly chronic migraines. If anything, she’s been more a melancholy ghost than a menacing phantom, wandering the floors aimlessly after dark, watching their post-closing antics like a child watching a birthday party from outside the window.
Freddy wants to trust Vanessa.
Freddy can’t risk Gregory’s safety.
ashes.
Vanessa sputters on a toxic breath, eyes watering as she defies the heat and stinging smoke to step forward into the blazing building , reaching out.
“Hurry, we need to go, please-!”
ashes.
She doesn’t see the overhang above the door coming loose. Freddy does. Judging by the tightened grip on his shoulders, so does Gregory.
they.
“Freddy!”
all.
Vanessa follows their eyes, glancing up at the awning as it starts to detach over her head, and Freddy’s feet start moving before he can even tell them to.
fall.
d
o
w
n
.
Freddy crashes into Vanessa, the thick metal sheet crashes into the ground so close behind that the sound shudders painfully through Gregory’s skull, and the trio crash into the parking lot as the front doors crack from the heat contained just yards away.
.
..
…
..
.
The smoke filling the forgotten tomb of Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza Place is dark enough that the fire might as well be stuck in a black hole. The air rattles with the roaring of flames and the groans of structural failure, and every surface slips or crumbles or burns at the slightest touch. The small space is so plagued with sensation that it almost becomes a sensory deprivation chamber for the trio left inside.
(Not four, at least, and it’s both a blessing and a curse, because now instead of being trapped in their own heads, they’re trapped in here, and maybe it would’ve been kinder to let the unwanted passenger in their code figure out how they were going to try and get out of this.)
Chica is the only one still standing, stumbling along through the ash as she desperately searches for the others. Freddy’s out, and he took the child, which is one small miracle at least. She can’t say it didn’t hurt, watching him leave without a second thought, the mental image that has sent her into a quiet panic nearly every night since that night brought to life, but…
She never wanted the kid to get hurt. No matter what. That thing that took over her systems and used her limbs like an advanced marionette had to fight for every inch it pushed her into action. It had barely even gotten access to her voice box while it was still inside her, chanting sweet platitudes pre-programmed into her basic functions while inside her own head she shrieked for the boy to run. Now he had, and so had Freddy, and as long as she doesn’t have to worry about them, she has time to worry about the others.
Oh god, the others. She’d only caught glimpses of them when the purple curtain slipped away, before the smoke rushed in to scatter them all to the edges of the strange subterranean building they’d found themselves lost in. But that quick glimpse, and the knowledge of just how extensive her own damage is, scares her so bad she almost can’t think straight.
She manages to track down Monty quick enough, pulling his limp torso up in her shaking, sparking arms while she scans the area, empty throat chirping fruitlessly.
Roxy can’t hear. Roxy can’t see. Roxy can’t-
None of them can. They’re trapped. They’re-
And suddenly, the roof is gone, and so is the floor, and Chica doesn’t have time to process what’s happening until the claustrophobia of the pizza place is replaced by the much more open (but unfortunately still very much on fire) pizzaplex. The surface she and Monty are balanced on moves into the erratic lighting of shattering neons and flickering flames, and the realization that the deus ex machina that just fished them out of the darkness is a giant hand is the first spark of hope Chica’s felt all night. DJ Music Man’s wide grin is a comforting sight, which only makes it more unsettling when it slips, jolting as Chica whips around to watch his other hand hit the ground, thumb twitching and sparking from the torn dent bitten into the metal casing.
A dark shape slips from his palm to the shattered tile floor, darting off into the pizzaplex in a panic, and if Chica had a heart, it would be stopping right about now.
Roxy.
Chica’s much nicer about asking to be let down, gently slapping the palm underneath her and squawking out static that she hopes sends a clear enough message as she gestures to the retreating figure. DJ Music Man seems doubtful, drawing his hand closer to his thorax to shelter them from a light rain of debris, but the despairing tilt to her eyes as she glances from Monty (he hasn’t moved since their rescue, lying prone and trembling under her other hand, skeletal hands clenched so tight around a pair of shattered shades that his joints look ready to pop) back up to him finally seems to get the message across.
Get him to safety. I need to find her.
He finally nods, carefully leaning down to rest his hand against the ground, and once her feet hit the floor she turns to press the open wound where her beak used to be against the side of his thumb, hoping it’s enough to convey her gratitude (and at the very least, it’s a kinder gesture than Roxy had shown). Then, as something crashes down with a massive bang in the distance, he takes his leave, cradling his hand close as he backs away into the relative safety of the arcade, slipping through the hole in the wall (he’d gone through the wall, he’d torn through the second floor and dug through the foundation to get to them, bless his giant mechanical heart) and making a beeline for one of his tunnels.
The tunnels.
Sturdy enough to hold his weight. Resistant to the flames of the occasional pyrotechnic display incorporated into his sets. He’ll be safe, and so will Monty.
Now she just has to find Roxy, get her back to the tunnels, or maybe the Daycare, the Daycare has to be fireproof, and everything is going to be fine.
Everything has to be fine.
Chica steels herself, and lurches off after Roxy.
.
..
.
The Daycare is not fireproof.
Only the best from Fazbear Entertainment, as always!
The toys are all falling over, everything is falling over, and the lights and flames keep flickering and casting the room in perpetually rotating light and dark, bringing and taking Moon with it, and Sun is freaking out so much right now!
“No nononono no NO!”
Get us out. Get us “OUT!”
Oh no, oh no oh no, such a mess, such a-
“Too much mess, too much, we need to go, g-“ o, go!
“I’m trying!”
Every inch of their shared programming screams for them to drop everything, pick up after the children, even though there’s no children here (and thank heaven for it, though Moon hisses that the rule-breaker must be responsible for this, which makes no sense; the kid broke a very important rule, many important rules actually, but setting the building on fire? ). Every step towards the giant doors gets harder and harder, the rotating components of their shared frame constantly switching between warm gold stained with ash and bright silver reflecting the flames.
It hurts. It’s too much.
Sun is scared. Moon is scared. But they’re so, so close to the door-
(ashesashesweallfalldown)
Inside the play structure, an overheated generator finally explodes, raining chunks of half melted plastic down across the room, and the Daycare Attendant doesn’t even have time to cry out in both voices before they’re pinned to the floor, painted in a clash of blue and gold and molten neons.
The last generator finally dies in the flames, and the Daycare goes dark.
.
..
.
“-n’t go to a hospital, they’ll-“
“Well we can’t stay here , kid-“
“-wait for him to get up, please-“
It takes a few minutes for Freddy’s already taxed systems to come back online after practically diving face first into the concrete, and the first thought in his mind as he comes to is-
“Gregory…?”
The boy is already sitting in front of him when his eyes slide open, backlit in the sickly red glow from the front of the building. His face is stained with ash and the tears cutting trails through it, but his watery smile of relief is genuine, reaching out his free hand as Vanessa bandages a wound on the other with a torn strip of her uniform shirt.
(It’s an unexpected sight to wake up to, but a welcome relief after one of the worst hours of Freddy’s existence. Saving Vanessa had been more out of instinct than trust, and now they’re being rewarded. For the first time since the clock struck midnight, someone’s on their side.)
“H-hey Freddy. We did it. We made it out.”
Freddy reaches up to catch Gregory’s hand, squeezing it gently. “Hello Superstar. So we did.”
Vanessa finishes tending the injury with a hum that more conveys “I’ve done the best I can do” than actual satisfaction, and she helps pull Freddy up into a seated position as Gregory scoots in closer and turns around to tuck himself under his other arm. It’s an odd sight, their little mismatched trio: a bear, a boy, and a night guard, sitting in a dirty parking lot in the early hours of the morning, watching the flames still licking at the walls off the pizzaplex as the sun rises behind them. It would be a hell of a sight for the first responders to stumble upon.
It goes unsaid for now, but Freddy gets the feeling that waiting around for the sirens to approach isn’t in the cards as far as either of his companions are concerned. This is just taking advantage of the usual Fazbear Entertainment incompetence in responding to a crisis in order to process everything they just went through, clearly. A moment for them to breathe. A moment for him to mourn. Freddy can appreciate that. The crumbling building in front of him was his world, his home. It’s where he served his purpose, made children smile.
Where he spent time with his friends.
(They might be gone now, and he did nothing to save them.)
Where he knew Bonnie.
(He had already been gone, but now everywhere they’d been together is gone. Every late night round of bowling, every back to back pose on stage, every quiet morning spent shoulder to shoulder on a green room sofa. Nothing left but ash, and lines of numbers and symbols and electronic impulses and feelings that a robot shouldn’t have storing memories that feel so numerous and still way too few.
It’s almost like losing him again. Saying goodbye to his Starlight as the sunrise creeps in and banishes the night for the last time.)
Gregory pulls Freddy’s arm tighter around his shoulders, and if the ache he’s feeling doesn’t subside at all, it’s at least easier to store away for the moment. He can grieve again tomorrow, so long as they can find a way to keep him charged without a station. He can grieve every day, until the day he stops functioning, if need be. For now…
Gregory leans past him to shoot an awkward glance at Vanessa, who’s watching her place of employment burn with an unreadable emotion on her face. “So, uh…you’re… not gonna try and kill us anymore, right?”
Vanessa’s head whips around to stare at him, and it’s almost comedic how aghast she looks.
“…the FUCK are you talking about-?!”
“Officer Vanessa, that is not approved langua-“
The building suddenly erupts , rattling the ground and sending the glass storefront spraying out into the parking lot in a glittering burst of heat, and all three of them flail and curse (and later on Freddy will insist that he couldn’t possibly have said that extremely filthy word, it’s not even in his dictionary, and Gregory should not even know such rude words in the first place-!) and scramble to escape to the employee lot and finally get the hell off the premises.
.
..
…
..
.
He’s managed to sleep undisturbed most of the night, which is a miracle on nights like this, when he’s had to constantly hear his whispering drifting through the air like tv static, while she skips around from place to place with all the glee of a schoolgirl. It’s never a good night when they are so active, it’s always a sign that something very, very bad is about to happen, something they always make him sleep through and wake up to the aftermath of, new patches of plating missing and new parts attached that he knows not to get attached to and, worst of all, a new fading cry echoing in the back of his mind.
It’s different this time.
This time, he wakes first to warmer air than usual, then to the sudden frigid blast of an overhead sprinkler system, and the faded memory of the water feature they found him in all those months ago jolts him awake more than anything.
Nothing about him has changed. No new parts. No more pieces of his original suit pried off, or chipped, or half heartedly scrubbed clean. They never clean well enough to remove the traces of what he hopes to god is just rust. What he’s fairly certain is not rust.
Tonight is different. Something’s happened. She isn’t running to check on him, when she would normally come skipping on by every time he so much as thrashes from an electrical short. He isn’t whispering all around him, the only sounds he can hear being the quiet dripping of the spent sprinkler overhead and the distant crash of…something falling?
Many things falling?
“…S-su-perstar-?”
There’s a muffled but still thundering BOOM , and he’s tossed back against the wall, his already fragile head smacking into the rough stone with an awful thud, and he slides back down, his one remaining ear twitching as sleep mode reclaims him.
“Bonnie, you know it is unwise to enter sleep mode on the couch instead of the recharging stations. What if you ran out of charge?”
“Well then, I’d say you’d have to carry me back to one yourself, Superstar.”
“Oh! Well. I do not think I would mind that.”
“Heh. I wouldn’t mind wakin’ up, so long as you were outside waitin’ for me.”
“Then I will be. I promise. ”
Elsewhere, far from the protected little tomb where the lagomorph Lazarus sleeps, a pile of rubble formed by one fire has been destabilized by another, and under the rocks, tucked away inside a mobile cell, a thin, striped arm begins to twitch.