Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Your new name is Star.

It’s more of a role than a name, really, but HR was insistent that there were no openings for entertainment and that this was strictly a childcare position. Which made sense, really, considering the Pizzaplex didn’t have any actual entertainers. The chain was famous for their animatronics, and anyone working entertainment was Fazbear Proprietary Property. The fact that you were fulfilling a character role - whoever Star was supposed to be - didn’t change the fact that your duties first and foremost entailed taking care of a bunch of kids.

You had a little bit of experience in childcare, at least, although you couldn’t exactly say that the camp you’d spent the summer at was, uh… held to the same standards as the Pizzaplex, let’s say. You considered this job a step up from your summer gig, and despite the fact that the job listing described very little aside from the most basic duties and the pay, the reputation of Fazbear Entertainment as one of the biggest, most ambitious entertainment companies in the world was enough to convince you to apply.

Even if it was just a daycare.

The atmosphere of the Pizzaplex is strangely welcoming; it calls to mind childhood memories of places like Chuck E Cheese or Dave and Busters, among some of the more… advanced entertainment venues you grew up with. You are greeted by an enormous gilded statue of Freddy Fazbear himself, and brightly backlit neon posters of the Pizzaplex band. You stare dumbly for a moment, mouth slightly agape. You’ve seen pictures of this place before, but nothing could compare you for the sheer enormity of it.

Shuffling slightly, you look around.

Directly in front of you, before the giant statue, are the entrance gates. You don’t have an employee pass, yet; you don’t even have a regular day pass. You need to figure out entrance to the Pizzaplex before you can report for your first day, and a delicate little knot of anxiety forms as you hope it won’t take too long to figure out how to get inside this place.

Another quick glance, and you spy a ticket counter. You breathe a sigh of relief and trod over, a careful, nervy smile on your lips as you approach one of the counterstaff.

“Hey - uh– I’m a new hire here, and today’s supposed to be my first day, but I was just told to arrive at the Pizzaplex around this time,” you explain, trying your best to sound professional. The teenager is clearly unamused, and you are suddenly struck with a vision of getting kicked out by security on your first day of work. Your smile stretches uncomfortably, and you try again. “Do you… know where I’m supposed to be headed?”

The teenager looks at you, though it feels much more like she was looking clean through you. You shuffle your weight in uncertainty, and clear your throat. “I - I don’t have any employee ID yet, but– I can pay for a daypass if I need to–”

“Name?”

You stutter for a moment. “Wh-what?”

The teenager’s gaze shifts to her computer, unamused. “Your name. What is it?”

You suck in a breath and tell her, trying to swallow the nervous little laugh that tried to bubble its way up your throat as the ticket taker turned to a phone set on the countertop behind her.

You let out a silent sigh of relief, glad that she seemed, at least, to know who to talk to for a situation like this. You can’t help but feel a little guilty about how little you knew about today’s orientation. You felt underprepared, like you were blowing it before you’d even begun. Despite the fact that corporate had given you next to no information at all, you still felt responsible. Or, irresponsible, you guess.

She spends a moment on the phone, then hangs up to turn back to you. “What department did you say you were working for?”

You jitter. “I uh, didn’t. The position is for childcare. They said they’re going to have me working in… in the daycare, here?”

“Oooh,” the girl drawls, a smirk blossoming on her lips. “I heard they were re-opening the daycare. So you’re corporate’s fresh meat, huh?” She chuckles, and you get the sense that maybe she doesn’t particularly like kids. She shoots you a wicked grin, and hands you a paper pass she swiped in with a cheerful little beep. She hands it to you between her fingers, and you give her a sheepish grin in return. “Good luck.”

“Th, uh… thanks.” You didn’t feel very lucky, in that moment. And you were far from grateful.

Eager to escape this interaction, you turn away from the ticket counter, looking down at the slip that you’d been handed. This wasn’t a day pass. It wasn’t even an entrance pass. It looked like some kind of temporary security ticket, with a barcode printed on the back. On the front was printed what looked like a serial number, in bright Chica-pink, that matched the serial number of the same color printed on the nearest employee door.

You approach it, and spy a little cardreader to the side of the door. Figuring something might go right today, you swipe your card and are greeted with a cheery little tune, pushing the door open and following the signage on the wall towards the employee lockers.

Your paper slip has a locker number printed on it, also, so you figure that’s the best place to start. It’s eerie in the under hallways of the Pizzaplex, and you try not to think about that skittering noise you hear coming from the hallway behind you. It was probably just… old pipes. Yeah. Old pipes, skittering down the hallway.

The locker room is unremarkable; here, even the theming and character cutouts are sparse, supplemented only with a spray-painted stencil of the Fazbear logo. Back-of-house was always barren; there’s no surprise there, but the cinderblock decor and the metal-on-metal sounds screeching from the distance didn’t exactly make this a… warm and welcoming environment. You try not to think about what the giant hole in the wall overhead might be for. Looks big enough to drive a car through, but its twenty feet overhead.

You vaguely wonder about your first day on the job, and how all of it so far has been spent desperate to get out of whatever place you were currently in. That doesn’t bode well, but you swallow that apprehension and find your locker.

You didn’t have any belongings with you, but you’d been told that your uniform would be placed in your assigned locker. The lockers seemed older than most of the rest of the high-tech gear you would find at Fazbear’s - combined with the dim light, it took you longer than you would have liked to admit to find your locker, spinning in the combination and pulling it open.

You look down at what had been left in your locker, and briefly consider whether the grocery store by your apartment is still hiring. That can’t be what you think it is, surely - trembling hands reach for it, fingers catching the fabric as you unfurl it from your locker.

You hold the whole thing up, gaping at it in horror as you fight the urge to shut your eyes tight and pretend this was all just a bad dream.

The thought crosses your mind - this must be some kind of prank from the other daycare employees. Yeah! Some stupid hazing ritual, right? There was no other explanation to this hideous thing that had been left in your locker.

It was a one-piece jumpsuit that zipped up the back, which was inoffensive enough, but the longer you looked at it the worse it got: two-toned with gold and a soft, pastel yellow, the legs were striped. Each arm was a different color, too, with contrasting stars speckling the sleeves. Three golden stars hang from the two-tone ruff around the collar.

Your eyes travel up, horrified as you hazard a glance back to your locker. Sitting there, unmoving and staring right at you, is the pièce de résistance of your uniform.

A jester’s cap.

You grimace and glance around, looking for the perpetrators of this heinous prank. You weren’t supplied with any other uniform for the daycare, and you’re pretty sure if your manager sees you show up in old jeans and a graphic tee to take care of these kids, you’re going to get fired on the spot, so…

Ah, damn it.

You sigh and snatch the jester’s hat, sulking off to the nearby bathroom you’d noticed to change. You sure hope whoever’s bright idea this was would get a good laugh out of it, because once you wormed your way into management’s good graces, you intended to get them back for this. An eye for an eye, and no one gets fired. That’s how that saying goes, right? Yeah, probably.

At the very least, you find, fully dressed and hating every second of it, the outfit was soft. It was impossibly comfortable, more like pajamas than any work uniform you’ve ever worn. And most importantly: it didn’t jingle.

Oh thank God, it didn’t jingle.

Avoiding your own reflection as you exit the bathroom, you return to your locker only to shut the door, pausing for a moment when your eyes fall on what had been tucked underneath the hat. In your dismay, you hadn’t even noticed it. And now - well, it wasn’t like you were exactly eager to rejoin society dressed like a literal fool. You paused, before reaching for the laminated ID and what appeared to be an office memo.

Nimble fingers pluck the paper from the cubby, and unfold it. It’s a printed memo - no signature, no indication of where it had come from other than the enigmatic upper echelon of HR. It was, apparently, instructions - well, that’s good at least. Some kind of direction was always appreciated, especially where every second you spent unsure what to do only reinforced some unpleasant stereotypes you were now wearing.

Your eyes scan the faznote. Okay, that was pretty straightforward; you were to change into your uniform (done) and head up to the daycare on the second floor, where the Daycare Attendant would further explain your duties as the aptly titled ‘Daycare Assistant.’ So, you were going to meet with a manager, then. You suck in a breath and pray that this isn’t outfit isn’t going to get you canned the moment your manager lays eyes on you.

For everything to be said about the stupid outfit, it does have pockets. Really, really deep pockets, that you could probably lose your keys in if you’re not careful.

That being said, you toss your keys and ID in one pocket, your phone in the other, and tuck the note away with it - just in case.

As long as you can navigate your way back to the main plaza and haul ass up to the second floor, maybe your first day on the job was still salvageable.

Chapter Text

Your trip up to the daycare is not without its hiccups, and you’re really not surprised. Dressed like a literal fool, you garner more than a few curious glances, and several of the kids you pass point you out to their parents, who honestly seem just as confused about this whole ordeal as you are. It had crossed your mind before, in the locker room, but the thought came back full force now that you were under the heated gaze of the public: thank god this thing didn’t jingle.

Before you can even make it to the bottom of the staircase to the second-floor landing, you’re greeted by a map-bot. ‘Greeted’ might be too strong a word, actually. ‘Assaulted’ would be closer. The S.T.A.F.F. Bots couldn’t actually touch or grab guests - or, at least, you hope not - but that doesn’t stop this one from practically running you over trying to get your attention.

You were a jester in the middle of your own personal commedia dell'arte - hounded by a bot who just wanted to give you a map of the place when you wanted nothing more than to get out of the lobby. People were staring, and you wonder if maybe this actually is your job, entertainment department be damned.

The insistent bot blocks the stairs, and you give in, taking a map with a defeated sigh and a polite, if perhaps a little dismayed, thank you. Purpose fulfilled until the next hapless guest passes it by, the S.T.A.F.F. bot leaves you with your map, and plods over to his assigned route, allowing you to climb the stairs in shame before the entire Pizzaplex lobby.

Well, hey. At least you got a map.

You tuck that, too, into your bottomless pockets, barely even feeling bulk. You wonder just how much stuff will fit in these pockets, but don’t have time to test out any theories: before you is the daycare.

You’ll need a pickup pass to get in - except you didn’t receive one, because you didn’t drop anyone off. Curious, you fish around in the black hole at your hip and pull out the ID badge that had been stored in your locker. You were a daycare employee, surely the daycare employee’s ID would get them into the daycare, right?

You heave a sigh of relief as the double doors unlock, and push your way into the space. Immediately, you’re struck by the most unique feature of the daycare - the star-speckled ceiling and gentle water features in the lobby lend the entire place a calm, serene air. As the double doors lock behind you, awaiting their next pick-up pass, you take this moment to take a deep breath.

The lobby is empty, but cheerful music drifts in from the daycare entrance at the back of the room. You decide to relish in this metaphorical calm before the storm, knowing that the daycare itself would be a high-energy environment. Running after kids, cleaning up spills, trying to keep the little ones from eating crayons… yeah, you were grateful for your experience at the summer camp, that was for sure.

With a little more composure under your freaky jester cap, you make your way into the daycare proper - a huge, mural-painted garage door lifts, allowing you entrance, and cheerful music immediately spills out of the next room. A smile tugs at your lips; that was much more what you were expecting from a daycare, all bouncy music and bright colors. What you maybe weren’t expecting from a daycare was the giant gilded statue in the middle of the floor. Jeeze.

It was the first and only thing in the room to greet you, this 20-foot tall statue. Pausing, you look up at it. It looked like a Fazbear animatronic, some kind of jester with a smiling sun where its head should be. Well, that was a little comforting, at least - if jesters were the daycare’s theme, then you and your new uniform were going to fit right in.

Your head tips to the side, curious, as you round the thing. It’s massive, standing tall in the center of the room, but there’s another statue back behind it. Another jester, you think, looking up at the second statue - a moon-man in a nightcap and a low crouch, feet suspended off of the floor. You eyes travel up, to the gilded wire attaching him to the ceiling, and the corners of your lips twitch up briefly. That was pretty cool.

But cool as it was, it didn’t change the fact that this place was kinda empty. You tear your gaze from the twin statues and glance quickly around the daycare. The tables were empty; there were no parents waiting to pick up their children. Come to think of it, you pause, and strain to listen past the abrasive cheer of the music. A beat passes, and you decide: you don’t hear any kids, either.

Nervousness settles itself in your chest; the Pizzaplex was open - bustling, even! - and yet there was no one here. Not even other staff, you realize, casting a glance at the empty podiums and the darkened screens of the computers that sat atop them. An unpleasant feeling suddenly washes over you. Despite all logic saying otherwise, you get the distinct feeling you weren’t supposed to be in here.

Another nervous glance over your shoulder reveals nothing and no one except for the watchful gaze of the statues and the posters plastered around the upper floor. You move to the service counter behind the row of podiums and grab a check in book, flipping the cover open and looking at the most recent page.

Names are scrawled haphazardly in the neat little boxes that line each sheet. Phone numbers accompany each, as well as dates. You can’t be sure, but if this was the most recent check in…

Yeah. You needed to find someone.

Closing the book and setting it back directly in the spot it had been plucked from, you wander towards the great chain-link cage that encompasses the lower floor. You were right about one thing, at least: there aren’t any kids down there.

You peer down into the pit. It’s a nice little daycare, though suspiciously devoid of actual children to take care of. There are huge structures made of multicolored panels and tubes winding in and out. You think you see a rope bridge connecting two pieces way in the back, there.

There’s also a ball bit, and a few soft play structures made of that padded vinyl - a cute little rainbow bridge leading into the ball pit, and a castle tower. Against the wall over the ball pit, you feel like you can almost see something up there - there’s definitely a balcony of some sort, and you’re almost positive there’s a room up there–

Something catches your attention, out of the corner of your eye. It’s the first sign of movement you’ve seen in the daycare this entire time, and your head automatically snaps towards it. It’s back by the security desk, half-obscured behind one of the giant play structures, and you squint, leaning in to get a better look. You press your nose to the fencing, and curl your fingers through the links as though it would give you better leverage.

The entire chain-link cage makes a clatter-rattle-clink, and the movement at the other end of the daycare freezes. Every muscle in your body is taut, trying to spy what was down by the Daycare security desk. The high energy of the music now sounds like tension, wound springs and stress as you watch, trying to catch another glimpse of whoever was down there. You’re certain it wasn’t a child.

It was way too big to be a child.

You’re up on your toes as you watch, barely breathing as you scan the multicolored playground for a flash of movement - but there’s nothing. Lips pulled back in a thin frown, you drop down again, rocking back on your heels for a moment as you linger. There was definitely something down there, but your manager is still nowhere to be found. You’re just… here, questionably alone in the daycare with no kids. Your frown deepens and you force the breath from your lungs, trying to relax your shoulders.

The eerie atmosphere of an abandoned play space was starting to get to you. You wished there were kids here, at least - that’s what you signed up to do, was take care of kids! And if there were no kids here–

There’s a flash of color as something huge hits the cage right in front of you. The whole structure rattles and you let out an awful, undignified shriek. You try to push away from the attack, keenly aware that the only thing between you and it was a flimsy chain-link fence, but your fingers get tangled in the link as you reel back, causing you to stumble and hit the floor hard. You definitely hear something crack, but it doesn’t even cross your mind as your chest heaves and you look up at your assailant, hooked carefully onto the chain-link cage and grinning down at you.

“Helloooooo there!”

You gape up at it, trying to catch your breath as your heart pounds a mile a minute against your ribs. It was the daycare animatronic, and you can barely pull your wits together to realize there is a long, black cord jutting from its back, just like in the statue. This thing - this twelve foot tall hunk of metal and wiring, could fly around the playground? No way was that safe for the–

Well, the hypothetical children. That weren’t here.

A hand clutches at your chest as you realize that this thing and its perpetual smile were just here to greet you. As you right yourself and get back on your feet, you realize the animatronic is still giving its spiel.

“--been such a long time since we’ve had any friends at the daycare! You’re a little bigger than the friends who usually visit, but that’s okay! We can still play so many fun games together! How about hide and seek? Or - or arts and crafts! I have glitter glue! Who doesn’t like glitter glue?”

A little unsteady on your feet now, you produce your employee ID and try to ignore how your hands were trembling slightly. This thing was huge - it towered well over you, even without the fact that it was currently clinging to the upper part of the cage, and its voice boomed from somewhere behind its face-place. You could swear you felt it reverberate through your chest.

You’re not sure what you expect when you hold up the ID badge - some kind of automated scanning system, like how you’d gained access to the daycare out front? But if the animatronic recognized it at all, it didn’t make any indication of it. In fact, the whole thing had gone unnaturally still. Not a muscle twitches and not a breath is out of place on the animatronic, because it has no need for either of those things. It just stares at you with that unyielding grin.

“Oh,” it says at last, its voice coming out quieter now that it seemed to recognize you as staff. You let out a breath of relief, pocketing your ID and ignoring your tremors, unable to help but notice that the sun rays surrounding its face-plate had retracted slightly. Was it… disappointed? “You work here? In the daycare?”

Maybe it was just your own frazzled nerves, but it sounded like there was a slight edge to its voice, and - oh! Oh, it was talking to you. It expected an answer! Uh, okay! “Y– uh, yeah. I’m a… new hire,” you offer, lamely, unsure what verbiage will get it to understand you. No amount of old DOS adventure games could have prepared you for this moment. “I’m the new Daycare Assistant. I was told to meet the guy in charge here, but I can’t seem to find him. Do you, uh… do you know where I could find the Daycare Attendant?”

Another pause as it seemed to process what you were asking, and then the rays popped right back out with alarming force. “Oho! You’re here to talk to the Daycare Attendant! Of course, of course! I can go get him for you right now! Just head down to that elevator all the way to your left, and you can meet him at the big castle doors!”

You peer down the walkway overlooking the daycare, and see an elevator shaft that leads down to the first floor, where the only - yes, the only. No, you’re not entering the daycare through a tube slide. You’re enough of a fool already - ONLY entrance to the daycare was situated.

When you look back, the strange animatronic is gone. It sits uneasily in your stomach, and crawls down your spine, how quickly something that huge could move, but you brush it off for now. At least you’d be talking to your manager soon, and you’d be able to figure out what all this was about.

Because let’s be honest - this was not how you expected your first day to go.

Chapter Text

You reach the elevator with only the barest of apprehension; that thing is gone, retreated back into the depths of the daycare to find the Daycare Attendant, and you can only hope that things start to feel a little more normal by the time your first shift comes to a close. You’re here for another several hours and you’re not sure how much more of this bizarre uncertainty you can take; you feel like the protagonist of a B-horror, and shit’s wearing thin.

The elevator ride down is uneventful, which is more than you can say you expected for the 45-second zip down to the ground floor. All’s quiet when you step out of the elevator, and are greeted by two enormous castle doors, fake oak with metal across the grain and big, round door knockers set squarely in the middle. You look around for this Daycare Attendant, before looking back to the castle doors, carefully reaching out and lifting one of the knockers, banging it with no small amount of uncertainty against the fake wood.

The sound echoes through the empty daycare, providing a hollow juxtaposition against the cheerful music that still plays, undeterred, through the entire atrium. This place is massive, truly, and completely barren like this, the sound carries impressively.

You only wait a beat or two before the great doors begin to creak open - another sound that carried through the entire atrium, as if announcing to the world that you were finally getting to your actual job. What that was, you still weren’t entirely sure, but it had been a hectic enough start to your shift that at this point, you didn’t really care.

You bite back a wince as the doors open to reveal that animatronic towering over you, its unyielding grin and blank gaze unsettling as it looks down at you. You’ve never felt more like a child in your entire adult life than you do in that moment, dwarfed by a literal clown… not that you looked any better, yourself. You muster up a tight smile, back straight and hands clasped tightly together at your chest as you wait. You peer carefully around the robot.

The daycare is empty, behind it.

“So…,” you start, patience wearing thin. Where is he, was on your lips, but the robot bends at the waist, still clinging to the edge of each of the double doors it’d opened for you, and you stagger back half a step as it puts itself right in your face.

“Hello!” It crows, enthusiastic, “You must be the new Daycare Assistant!” It reaches out and before you could pull away, grabs your hand, engulfing it entirely in its own secure grip and shaking your entire arm so violently that you’re pretty sure you hear your joint pop. Before you could entertain the idea of a dislocated shoulder, the robot is yanking you clean off your feet. Both hands are under your arms, lifting you like a parent lifts a toddler as he sweeps you into the daycare with alarming speed.

The double doors slam shut behind you with a notable bang.

Your feet hit the floor unceremoniously as he deposits you on semi-solid ground, just slightly squishy enough to make it difficult to keep your balance after being tossed around like a ragdoll. This thing was strong, and why should it be? It was a robot whose only limitations were human engineering. And by god, were the Fazbear Engineers on a completely different planet from their competitors.

You’re only just regaining your bearings when the animatronic speaks again. “It’s so exciting to meet you! I’m the Daycare Attendant, but the kids have all sorts of names for me! Most call me Mr. Sun, or Sunny, or Sundrop, like the candy! You know, because of the posters! I run activities in the daycare center, and make sure each and every kid is released to their designated pick up pal!”

“That’s… great,” you venture to interrupt its spiel, “but there aren’t actually any… kids, in the daycare?”

The Daycare Attendant - Sun - pauses, and looks down at you with his hands clasped close to his chest. “We’re currently closed for maintenance,” he answers carefully. In the blink of an eye, the robot had another grasp - gentle, you noted, despite the kind of psi this thing was probably capable of - on your arm, dragging you around for a grand tour of the daycare.

“This is the ball pit,” it proclaimed proudly, throwing a sweeping gesture towards the multicolored sea of plastic. “The kids love it, so we make sure to keep the play area clean and safe for all of our little friends! And oh! Oh! The jungle gym!”

He spun you with perfect precision towards the westmost jungle gym, adorned with a great plasterboard cutout of Roxanne Wolf’s face.

“Sometimes, the kids get into places they’re scared to get out of, so it’s our job to go in there and help them conquer their fears! If a child is afraid, our first priority should be to make them feel safe, and then teach them that they’re capable of anything they put their minds to! Within reason, of course,” he instructs you, and you realize with startling clarity that this is the most orientation you’ve gotten since singing on.

Well if that ain’t hot shit.

He’s rattling all of this off at lightning speed, and if it were anything other than a glorified playground, you might have trouble keeping up - but Sun is clearly proud of his daycare, and you’re not going to interrupt the one orientation you’ve been afforded thus far. If your first day was anything to go by, a run down like this, even from a robot, was a luxury at the Pizzaplex, and one that you weren’t willing to squander.

No matter how eager this thing is, he’s always careful to be gentle. You suppose you have to be, with kids - especially when you were a twelve foot monstrosity capable of crushing steel in your grip if you so desired. You listen attentively, never interrupting the robot’s instruction.

“That’s great,” you say, as he stands proudly over an intricate system of drawers and cubbies, having just concluded a six-minute speech about organizing markers - and you had paid attention, of course. You knew where the permanent markers went; the washable crayolas; the dry erase; the ball-point; the pencils and colored pencils, you name it, because if there was one thing you were not going to do after this day of absolute lunacy, it was lose your job over a pen infraction. “But, I still don’t understand - what exactly am I here to assist with, if we don’t actually have any kids to take care of?”

Sun held up a finger, back straight and smile just a tad brighter than usual. “Aha! See, we’ve been closed for quite some time now, and if we want to reopen, we need to make sure the daycare is in tip-top shape for all our little friends! And that,” he nearly sang, twirling that finger in front of your nose for a moment, before giving a gentle but definitive tap, “is where you come in!”

Your nose scrunches up at the tap, and the animatronic actually laughs at you. It was good-natured, sure, but it's so lifelike that you’re starting to think you’re a little more in over your head than you initially thought.

"Alright," you say, staving off the discomfort, "so we want to get the daycare in order for a grand-reopening. Simple enough. What sort of things need to be fixed up around here?"

"Oh, lots of things! The whole place needs to be cleaned and disinfected, top to bottom! Snacks for snack time have to be restocked, and we need more supplies for arts and crafts - oh, all the glue sticks are probably dried up by now!" He clutches miserably at his face-plate, sun rays shrinking as though the thought of a dried-out glue stick was the single most devastating thing in the world. You're silent as he grapples with this thought for a moment, then looks down at you, jittering. "You can help, right? Right? Ohhh, everything has to be perfect for the kids!"

You stare up at him, amazed. Fazbear entertainment has truly created a technical marvel, here. They finally did it. They gave a robot anxiety.

Carefully, you raise both hands, trying to get the gargantuan animatronic’s attention and cease his jittering. “Everything will be perfect for the kids! It’ll be fine - I… guess I’m here to help! If there aren’t any kids to take care of yet, then… this is my job now! To help get the daycare ready to open!”

Sun looks at you as though you’d just said something monumentally life-changing, rather than just offer to help clean up so you could actually get around to doing the job you’d been hired for. There seemed to be a lot of steps between “get hired” and “do your job” that hadn’t exactly been discussed in the interview, but if it kept this robot from having a critical meltdown over glue sticks, then so be it.

Without warning, Sun scooped you up in an enormous bear hug, and squeezed. You vaguely get the impression that this is what trash in a compactor must feel like, but you don't have long to ponder the possibility before the world is spinning around you. There's a whirrr-click-click-click from somewhere inside his chassis, and you realize that his entire top half is spinning like a chair-o-planes ride at an amusement park. You're not afraid of heights, but you're suddenly and inexplicably terrified of being crushed to death by a clown.

He puts you down, hands braced against your shoulders and his face-plate inches from yours. Your - your face, you mean. Was the room still spinning?

"Ooooh, I'm so excited, I've never had a helper before!" He exclaims, and you find that a little funny. Didn't they give him some kind of staff when the daycare was open before? Are you really the first person to fill this position? "We're gonna make a great team! First thing's first, though," he said, backing up to hold you at arm's length, "I need to know what to call my new friend!"

Oh! That's right. You open your mouth to answer, but close it quickly again. Corporate had given you a new name - a role to fulfill. They had been very clear: you were only you outside the walls of the Freddy Fazbear Mega Pizzaplex. In here, you were–

"Star. I'm Star."

The Daycare Attendant made a sound you could only describe as giddly laughter, fingers poised delicately at the corners of his smile in an approximation of glee. Seems like your answer amused him, and he gasped. "Star and Sun! Ooooh, isn't that just super-duper!" Sun reaches out, and for a split second you're afraid he's going to grab you again. But he simply extends a hand, standing tall in front of you and grinning from ear to ear. Carefully, you put your hand in his, and he gives it another enthusiastic shake without trying to dislocate your shoulder this time.

"Welcome to the Superstar Daycare, friend! You're gonna love it here!"

Chapter Text

Cleaning the daycare was going to be a multi-day job, even with both you and Sun working on it; he’d been keeping a meticulous log of everything that had needed cleaning or gone wrong in the daycare in the last three months since the center had closed, and it was an impressive list. Most of what needed fixing were all small, almost menial issues - but Sun was adamant that no cosmetic issue was too small when preparing to wow all the little superstars coming through the daycare.

He’d said that the daycare had been closed for maintenance, but that was clearly a lie. Several of the play structures were in disrepair, some of the foam padding was torn up and if you two needed to do this much cleaning to prepare for re-opening, it was evident that no actual maintenance had been done in the three months that this place had been closed.

You’re not sure exactly what this means for Sun; it could be possible that his AI just wasn’t advanced enough to understand that corporate had lied to him about maintenance, though something in the pit of your stomach tells you that’s bogus - which presents a much more concerning alternative.

Sun, himself, was lying about maintenance.

For some reason, the idea of these things being capable of lying turns your stomach; its too human, too real for something made of metal and wires and code. It’s easier to believe that the thing is just gullible in its childlike, cheerful naivety.

You’re starting to feel pretty gullible, too. Swallowing your discomfort, you decide to put it from your mind for now. Sun seems nice enough, and he’s so eager to get this place in tip-top shape, you can’t help but admit that the animatronic’s enthusiasm is starting to rub off on you; you decide to focus on the cleaning, before psyching yourself out halfway through your first shift.

The entire place would need to be vacuumed, then mopped. Sun had done a lot of the tidying up himself since the last kid had been picked up three months ago, so there wasn’t much trash to pick up. The only thing seemed to be a few bottles of Elmer’s glitter glue that had somehow skidded underneath the play structure. You tried to break the news to him gently: they were, in fact, dried up.

There’s a moment of silence for the glitter glue, before you toss it in the garbage bag that Sun holds open for you. With the trash and vacuuming done, you tie the bag and set it by the door for when you leave. “Alright,” you huff, hands on your hips as you survey the daycare before you. “Do we have some kind of soap, or bleach, or–”

“Oh, no, no, no!” Sun cuts across you. "We don’t keep any harsh chemicals in the play area! That’s a big no-no for the kids, one of them could accidentally get hurt, or swallow something they're not supposed to! No, no, the cleaning supplies are all kept in the supply cabinet on the second floor.”

You hum; you don’t remember passing a supply cabinet. “And, where is that?” You ask him.

Sun wrings his hands together. “Uh… w-well, it’s upstairs! I know that much!”

You sigh, and stoop down to pick up the garbage you’d just deposited at the door. “Alright, let’s go figure out where the bleach is, because–” you cast another glance up at the two enormous play structures, and know you’re going to have to disinfect every inch of that thing. “--we’re gonna need a lot of it.”

You push the great double doors open, stepping out and holding one of them open for Sun to follow you. He looked panicked, unsure what to do for a moment. “What?” You ask.

“Well,” he started, “I want to help you find the cleaning supplies! I really do! There’s nothing better than working together! But I, uh…” You look curiously at him, and notice that the sun rays were drawn in. “I’m not supposed to leave the daycare.”

You blink. For a moment, you aren’t sure what to say - your mouth opens, then shuts again, and you shift the bag of garbage in your hold. “I mean - it’s not like there are any kids to take care of, here,” you try to offer. “Besides, we’re gonna need a lot of cleaning supplies, I could use the extra hands.”

But Sun doesn’t even flinch. “I mean,” he explained, “I’m programmed not to leave the daycare.”

Oh.

That changes things, doesn’t it?

“You mean you’re just… stuck here?” You ask, and immediately grimace. That wasn’t exactly what you had meant to ask, but it had just slipped out like that. It wasn’t something you’d really thought about, that they could just program whatever they wanted into these robots. It was an eerie concept, and you hoped the disquiet didn’t make it onto your face.

“Oh, it’s not a bad thing! I love the daycare, why would I want to leave?” Sun chirped, the rays springing back to their full form as he perked up. “And I’m super-duper excited to open the daycare again! But I can’t help you out there,” he explains, glancing past you to the greater lobby that lay behind the castle doors.

Another beat passes as you try to process this information, feeling something deeply uncomfortable in your chest before you grin in return, and inch your way to the edge of the door that you held open. “No problem, then! I’ll find that cabinet and be back with some bleach in a bit! You, uh…” stay here? He didn’t have a choice, stupid. Relax? You weren’t sure this robot was actually capable of that. “You… hang tight. Okay.”

And before you could put your other foot in your mouth, you hurry off towards the elevator you’d come down.

The ride up is just as uncomfortable as the ride down had been, for entirely different reasons. The fact that the Daycare Attendant is eternally bound to the daycare sits uneasily with you; Sure, okay, the coffee machine never leaves the kitchen, but it’s a little bit different, isn’t it? Sun could think and talk - he isn’t exactly a kitchen appliance.

But he is, you remind yourself, as the elevator lurches upwards. Or, at least, in the eyes of Fazbear Entertainment, he is. He’s just like the Fazband, proprietary property developed and built by the Fazbear Entertainment Corporation. He's a machine; an investment.

You snap yourself out of your unpleasant thoughts as the elevator dings, the doors sliding open for you. You don’t move for a moment, before the elevator dings again, and you realize that it’s going to close on you if you don’t–

With a muffled yelp, you duck out of the elevator, just a second or two before the doors shut behind you. From here, you have a bird’s eye view of the daycare; you can see Sun down below, watching through the chain-link caging. Beaming brightly, Sun raises a hand above his head and waves enthusiastically. You wave back, before walking back to the check-in center to see if you could find that cabinet he was talking about.

Finding the cleaning products isn’t particularly hard - there are only so many places to look on the second floor, as most of it is reserved for parents waiting to pick up their kids. Tables and lounge spaces take up the majority of the second floor landing, and the only place there really is to look up here is behind the check-in podiums. Crouching, you swing open the rightmost cabinet and immediately grin; sitting there front and center, as though waiting for you, was an industrial bucket and the head of a mop, with the handle lying lengthwise at the back of the cabinet, which you pluck from the depths.

Bleach and disinfectant, a mop, and several rags are all piled into the bucket, which you haul back to the daycare. Before you reach the elevator, though, you pause, looking back over your shoulder at the cage before you. At the far end of the huge room is the painted cutout of a castle tower, the balcony that juts out from the wall, and the room you can’t see any way into from floor level.

You wonder if that’s where Sun… lives? Sleeps? Do androids even need to sleep? You hum, lifting the industrial bucket again and closing the space between you and the elevator. You’ll have to ask him about that room. Maybe once you were both done cleaning the daycare.

He’s there at the door to greet you, and you can see traces of frayed nerves as he suddenly slumps, almost like he's relieved you’ve come back with the cleaning supplies. Immediately, he straightens back up and scurries over to help you, lifting the bucket as though it weighs nothing. It was a little frightening, how strong these robots were, but you suppose when trying to wrangle thirty-odd kids at any given hour of the day, a little extra strength couldn’t hurt.

“Oooh, you found it! Hurray! Now we can finally get down to the nitty-gritty! Oh, so much to do, so much to clean!” He grips carefully at the bottom of his faceplate, and looks frantically around the daycare. “Dirty! So dirty! Clean up, clean up!” He nearly shrieks, setting the bucket down squarely in the middle of the daycare play floor.

You watch him busy himself with the broom and handle, spinning it into place mechanically, rotating his wrist like a screwdriver until the head is secure in place. He gives it a flourish, spinning it in quick rotations before placing the mop head-down in the bucket, which you have filled with diluted bleach.

It was time to get down to the nitty-gritty. “I’ll take the jungle gym on the left,” you tell him, “you take the one on the right.”

He straightens up and gives you a goofy, exaggerated military salute, accompanied by a little grunt of determination as he takes the now-dripping mop and starts to scale the play structure, scrubbing furiously.

You wring out your own rag - you didn’t have the speed or efficiency of a literal robot, but you were determined to do a thorough job regardless, climbing into the play structure to wipe down every surface you could get your hands on. Occasionally, you caught a glimpse of him, body twisted in unnatural contortions that allowed him to better reach the nooks and crannies of the inner tunnels. You catch his gaze once, and you could swear his smile stretched just a bit wider, a bit brighter. He pauses, and you watch as his faceplate spins in a full 360 upon seeing you peering through the tubes.

Oh, so it was a competition, huh? To see who could clean their structure better?

You narrow your eyes at the daycare attendant, and hear a distant giggle as he skitters back into the tubes.

Bring it.

You spend the next forty-five minutes scrubbing every surface in your play structure, only emerging every so often to dip your rag back into the bucket. The whole daycare smelled like bleach and being inside the play structure was definitely making you a little light headed, but who needed OSHA safety standards when you were in a race against an unbeatable machine? You were going to destroy every single germ in this godforsaken jungle gym–

You freeze, crammed into one of the little cubicles on your hands and knees feeling like you were two seconds from passing out via bleach fumes. You blink stupidly at the thing in front of you, and it takes a moment for you to even register what the hell it is you’re looking at.

“H–uh, hey, Sun?” You call, your little competition forgotten as you adjust yourself, sitting on your haunches as you lean back to see if he’s out there.

In record time, the robot appears, the faceplate and all its rays obscuring the peep-hole cut out of the nearest outside panel. “Hello! Are you stuck? Do you need help getting out of the tubes?”

“What? No. What’s this?” You ask, gesturing to the thing chugging away before you. The smell of bleach is made worse by the smell of gasoline now clouding your lungs. You feel like you’re gonna throw up in here, and then you’re really gonna have to disinfect this place.

Sun’s gaze turns slightly towards the offending object. “That’s a generator,” he answers.

“Yeah, I know what it is, but what is it doing in the jungle gym?” You croak out, before coughing. “These things are a serious hazard if we’re gonna have kids climbing in here, we gotta get rid of it before–”

Before you can finish your sentence, Sun’s arm is slung across your chest, scooping you out of the play structure with the ease of someone who has done this a million times before. You didn’t realize how high up you had climbed in the structure until suddenly you were dangling twenty feet above ground. The only thing between you and the floor was Sun’s hold on you, and you instinctively grasp at the ruffle he wore around his neck, pressing yourself against metal and praying he doesn’t drop you. His hold is strong and secure as he climbs down the side of the structure, careful not to jostle you too much.

“Those,” Sun said, placing you back on solid ground. This was the third time in one day he’d handled you, and you wonder if this was a habit of his. But even as he released you, one hand remained secure at your shoulder as he wagged a finger at you, “are off limits! They keep the lights on! Lights on!”

His grip tightens and you wince, which immediately prompts him to let go. “Oh!” He says, as though he’s surprised by his own strength. “Oh,” he repeats miserably, “I didn’t mean to! Accident, just an accident!”

You roll your shoulder, “It’s– fine,” you manage. “Didn’t hurt. Just… surprised me. You afraid of the dark or something?”

Sun wrings his hands together, and picks up the mop that he’d left aside the bucket when you’d called him. He doesn’t answer.

“Everything’s… spick and span!” He eventually managed, though the overbearing cheer is gone from his voice. Something about your discovery of the generators hit a sore spot for him. “Oh, the kids are gonna love playtime!”

You look up at him with concern - the hazards strewn throughout the play structures, the way he avoided the question, the fact that the daycare had been closed for three months for ‘maintenance’-- none of it sits well with you, but it’s clear that you’ve touched a nerve for the animatronic.

You wouldn’t press further. If he didn’t want to talk about it, he didn’t have to talk about it.

Besides, you thought, wringing your rag out again. He didn’t have to tell you anything; you could just ask corporate.

Chapter Text

You leave the daycare exhausted, that night. You’re there till close, so the entire pizzaplex is quiet by the time you emerge from the daycare with slightly wrinkled fingers and dirty knees. The way Sun waves at you as you leave, like you were embarking on some grand adventure outside of the daycare, is almost endearing, but you can’t stop thinking about the gasoline generator stuck in between the panels of the play structure.

Even if this place was mostly automated, there are still human employees in the building, which suggests that somewhere up top, there must be an owner, or someone overseeing the pizzaplex who was aware of the goings on at the location, who was keeping up to date about something as big as the closure of the daycare and the management of multi-million dollar animatronics. Someone making decisions about this place.

So before you clock out that evening, you sit with your back against the brick wall where your locker was located, and tap out an email to the hiring manager you’d been in contact with during your interview. If anyone was going to know how to forward your questions to a higher up, it was going to be them.

The glow of your phone screen is the brightest light in the locker room, as you type and re-type an email that doesn’t raise too many eyebrows, that doesn’t make you look incompetent, and that doesn’t make corporate sound bad. But when the most orientation you’d gotten all day was Sun’s enthusiastic tour of the daycare and the lecture you got on arts and crafts supplies, you think maybe it’s a little bit warranted. You still have a lot of questions, and you have even more now that your first shift is over.

Hey there,

Thanks again for this opportunity. I got in contact with the Daycare Attendant and my first day went smoothly! (More or less, you don’t add.) However, I do still have a couple of questions about this position and operation of the daycare itself. If you could put me in contact with a manager here at the Pizzaplex, that would be great! Thanks so much for your help!

You sign your name, and the employee number that was printed on your badge. You tuck your phone back into your pocket, and clock out for the night, plagued by thoughts of the generator and the sick smell of bleach and gasoline that was lingering in the back of your throat.

It didn’t take a criminal forensics degree to figure that those generators didn’t belong in the daycare; had they been installed after the place had closed down? It was unlikely that Sun had put them there himself, if he wasn’t able to actually leave the daycare, unless he’d had them stashed away in that room on the balcony.

And what was up there, anyway? You lie awake that night, back at your apartment, turning these questions over and over in your mind, unable to come up with any logical conclusion as to how any of it fit together.

You don’t get much sleep that night, but you suppose that’s okay. Your next shift at the pizzaplex is another closing shift - which makes sense, you suppose, since you learned there aren’t actually any children there during the day. You don’t drift off until the sun is already peeking over the horizon; and even then, your sleep is fitful. You dream of being lost in a jungle gym, and wake up feeling less than rested.

You roll over, bleary-eyed, and check your phone for the time. You feel like you’ve been hit by a truck, but seeing a notification splitting your lock screen in half has you wide-awake in a moment. You shift to your stomach, squinting down at your screen as your vision swims back into place.

It’s an email from corporate.

Good afternoon, it reads, and you hate yourself just a little bit more.

Congratulations on your first day at the world-renowned Freddy Fazbear’s Mega Pizzaplex. You have been scheduled for a meeting before the start of your next shift. Please arrive an hour early to discuss your concerns. Our chief security officer, Vanessa, will be able to answer any questions you might have about your new position or operations at Freddy Fazbear’s Mega Pizzaplex.

Oh, okay! You would get to speak with someone before tomorrow’s shift. After your last little misunderstanding, you aren’t going to assume that the security guard, Vanessa, isn’t an animatronic as well, but quite frankly as long as she could answer some of your questions about the daycare, you aren’t really sure you care. It’s clear by now that the animatronics at Fazbear’s aren’t your typical breed. The Daycare Attendant, at least, seems remarkably advanced.

Your eyes drift to the time - the reason you picked up your phone to begin with, you remember - and groan, pushing yourself up to a sitting position. You swing your legs over the bed and stretch, and prepare yourself for another day of… you’ll call it adventure, for now. It was too early to judge whether or not this qualified for insanity.

You would be on the clock from four to midnight tonight. Your first shift wasn’t nearly as long. The hiring manager you’d had your interview with had made it clear that this was a closing shift position, and although you’d found it odd to require daycare staff at such a late hour, you hadn’t complained. You’re a night owl anyway, and have no problem being out a little later than usual.

Getting ready for work, you pack your uniform in a day bag. No way in hell were you wearing this outside of the Pizzaplex. Hell, you weren’t even that enthusiastic about wearing it inside the Pizzaplex, but a uniform is a uniform, and Sun seemed pretty amused by it. If you were going to get along with a clown, you might as well dress the part.

You sling your daybag over your shoulder and pull out your employee ID as you enter the pizzaplex, glancing around the lobby. As instructed, you were there an hour early, in hopes of meeting Vanessa and discussing the daycare. Unlike your first day, it’s much easier to figure out where you’re supposed to go and who you’re supposed to speak to. A security guard is standing there by the entrance gates, arms folded and looking rather displeased to be waiting. You smile and wave, flashing your ID badge. “You must be officer Vanessa - I’m the new hire, from the daycare?” You introduce yourself, and Vanessa gives an exasperated sigh.

You feel a little bad; no doubt she had better things to be doing, but here she was, waiting for you to show up. You were perfectly on time, no doubt about that, but still - you can’t imagine that being the chief security officer for a place this big was an easy task, even if you had a small army of security bots at your disposal.

“I appreciate you meeting with me, I just wanted to clarify some things about my position - I assume corporate discussed that with you?”

“Yeah, yeah, follow me,” she said sharply, unfolding her arms and leading you back towards the employee area. You follow her dutifully, away from the guests and any curious eavesdroppers. The security office she leads you to is small, but private, and you’re… mostly sure, that you’ll be able to find your way to the employee locker room from here. Probably. “What is it you need, anyway?”

You shift uncomfortably, keenly aware that you’re wasting her time. “Uh, well, I was hired to help manage operations at the daycare, but no one during the hiring process cared to mention that the daycare is actually closed - and has been for months, apparently.”

“Yeah,” she said, tone short, “you’re supposed to be helping the Daycare Attendant prepare for re-opening.”

“And I have been! We have been. We cleaned the entire daycare, top to bottom yesterday, but there’s something… I don’t know, off, about the place.”

This gives Vanessa pause, and she seems to actually look at you for the first time. “Off?” She asks, a tinge of strain to her voice. “Off like how?”

You gesture vaguely, grappling for your words. “Just– like, yesterday, I was disinfecting the jungle gym and there’s a gasoline generator just chugging away tucked into one of the panels. I said that we would have to remove it before kids could play, because it’s obviously a safety hazard, and he freaked out. And he says that the daycare’s been closed for maintenance, but there’s no way. The whole jungle gym needs repairs, I doubt maintenance has stepped foot in that daycare since it closed!”

Vanessa looks at you, long and hard, before seeming to come to a conclusion. “Look, the daycare hasn’t been… fully operational, for a while. We had a critical malfunction a while ago, and until we can figure out what happened, it isn’t safe for the kids to be anywhere near the daycare.”

The silence between you two in that moment is heavy. If it wasn’t safe for the kids to be around the daycare, what exactly did that mean for you?

“O… okay,” you venture. “So we can’t open the daycare until we figure out what happened. Isn’t there security footage?” You pause, and then take the gamble, knowing that you were already prying into corporate’s cover. “Does this have something to do with why the daycare attendant’s acting so weird?” You ask, trying to keep the snip out of your voice, “Because this is the first I’m hearing about any of this. I was hired to take care of kids. I’m not a technician.”

“You don’t have to be. Corporate’s taking care of it. Look, you’re, what, the Daycare Assistant?” She asked, and you give a vague little affirmation. “Great. Consider this your official promotion. You’re now the Daycare Attendant Assistant.”

Vanessa’s calling it a promotion, but it feels more like you were being demoted to babysitter. Which, considering your actual job was to take care of children, is an impressive feat! You take a deep breath and nod once. “Alright. So what do I do about him, then?”

“You don’t have to do anything. Keep him entertained, see if you can get the daycare back in shape, and if you notice anything off about him, report it back to me. Corporate will take care of the rest.”

Keep him entertained? Well, that shouldn’t be too hard, but you can’t help feel that it was kind of… underhanded, almost. He seemed to be under the impression that they were going to reopen the daycare, but if there was something wrong with him, that wasn’t going to happen.

As though Vanessa could see that internal monologue written all over your face, she holds out a hand between the two of you, a decisive, attention-grabbing motion. “And try not to advertise what you’re doing, alright? If he thinks you’re there to watch him, there’s no telling how he’ll act. Just do your duties like you’re planning to open the daycare at the end of the month, just like he thinks, and let us know if anything weird happens. Got it?”

Oh, this felt rotten. But again, you nod, and take your new duties to heart. You wanted the daycare to reopen - you wanted to keep your job, after all, and Sun had seemed so eager about it, too. And if corporate thought this was what you needed to be doing to help get the daycare back on its feet, then so be it.

“Alright,” you say, unable to keep the grim resignation from your voice. “I’ll get in touch if anything weird happens.”

Chapter Text

You arrive early for your shift; jester cap in place, you clock into the daycare and are greeted by the enthusiastic attendant, who waves at you from the lower floor. At least today he didn’t seem to feel the need to rush you at mach four just to say hello. You wave back, smiling, and he seems delighted just to be acknowledged. The daycare was closed for three months, and you wonder if anyone has been down here since. 

You arrive at the great castle doors, and decide to leave the apprehension that your conversation with Vanessa had saddled you with outside of the daycare. If you wanted to play this whole operation straight, you were going to have to leave that discomfort at the door. You smile as the daycare attendant throws the doors open wide and greets you for another exciting day of getting the daycare ready for all the little superstars! 

With the daycare cleaned top to bottom, you ask him what’s on the schedule for today. 

“Today, we need to restock the snacks for snack time, and all the arts and crafts supplies.” As he says this, his shoulders fall, and he looks disappointed. “I had to throw away all the glitter glue. It was all dried up in the bottle!” 

“We’ll– we’ll get more glitter glue,” you tell him, with a careful, kind of awkward pat to his arm. It makes a hollow clanging sound, like patting the side of an empty water bottle. You decide you don’t like that, and draw your hand back. He turns his perpetual smile towards you, and seems to perk back up. He has help now! He has someone who can fetch new supplies! He didn’t have that before, and had worried more than once that it would come time to reopen the daycare and he would be completely unprepared - but he didn’t have to worry about that anymore! 

“Super-duper!” He chirps, his face-plate spins in excitement, and your smile grows a little strained. That was going to take some getting used to. It was a little creepy, actually, but you could tell it was just him being excited about the prospect of new snacks and glue. “You’ll have to find a supply room, but it should have everything we need! Oh, I wish I could come help you! We’re gonna need a lot of supplies to restock the daycare, it’s been such a long time since we’ve restocked! We need snacks and juice boxes and tissues and hand sanitizer and craft supplies! Oh! Oh! And band-aids! For the boo-boos.” 

Your smile softens, and you nod. “For the boo-boos,” you agree, making note of all the things Sun said the daycare needed to be stocked with. It would probably take you a few trips, if the place really needed that much stuff, but you were no stranger to manual labor. You beam up at him, fists planted at your hips. “Alright then! I’ll find us some supplies to restock with. In the meantime, maybe you can find some other place for the generators?” 

Sun’s smile doesn’t falter, but the rays retract. “I… I’ll think about it,” he offered, tentatively, in that nervous little chitter of his. It was a compromise, and so you phrased it as such; you weren’t telling him to get rid of the generators, just to relocate them someplace that wasn’t a hazard for the kids. You get the sense that he understands how dangerous they are for little kids trying to play, but there’s still something preventing him from rectifying that. 

“Good plan! You think of another place we could put those generators, and I’ll get the stuff,” you tell him, fishing in your pocket for the ID badge that would help you move around backstage. “I’ll be back in a flash, alright?” 

“Alright,” he offers. The cheer crept slowly back into his voice, seeing that you were willing to drop the subject of the generators for the time being. Slowly, the rays expanded, before he was at the door waving you off. You wave back, until the elevator doors close and he’s out of sight. 

The store room isn’t terribly hard to find - there’s one right there in the daycare, in the outer lobby, with the star-speckled ceiling, and you’re happy to find that the store room, at least, is well stocked, which means you would have everything you needed to restock the daycare, without having to traipse around the entire Pizzaplex looking for the stuff. 

You move a few boxes to clear off a two-tiered rolling cart, sizing it up for a moment to make sure it would fit in the elevator before you start loading boxes onto it. Sun had said you’d need snacks and juice boxes, and you find both on a high shelf at the back of the room. You crack a box open to check the expiration dates on all the snacks and find plenty of time before they expire, loading them all happily onto your little cart. Those two boxes alone take up the entire lower shelf, and you think you might have to make two trips - but the box you find with the tissues also has the hand sanitizer, and the first aid kit you find has a handle that hooks neatly onto the handlebar of the cart. 

You load another box onto the top shelf of the cart - one full of supplies for arts and crafts, and its easily the heaviest box so far. You struggle with it for a moment, and the fact that the cart rolls actively works against you as the bottom corner of the box nudges the cart away from you on your first attempt. You heft the box a little higher, and manage to drop it onto the cart, just enough so that you can take a moment to wedge your foot behind the front wheel before attempting to adjust it again. It’s packed to the brim with construction paper for the kids to play with. You huff, and turn back to the shelf to grab the next box of supplies - blessedly lighter than its brother, consisting of little more than a few packs of pipe-cleaners, popsicle sticks, googly eyes, and - yep! There’s the glitter glue! 

As you place that box on the cart, atop its heavier sibling, you spy one final supply box tucked away at the back of the store shelf. It’s heavy, but not nearly as heavy as the construction paper. There’s something written on the side of the box, just like the rest of them, to tell you what was inside. 

Huh. Naptime Blankets. 

You smile, imagining a dozen little tuckered out superstars all snuggled up in blankets, falling asleep to a story. You bet Sun knows a ton of bedtime stories for the kids, if the daycare has a naptime. You pick up the box and place it on the cart, taking up the last bit of room on the upper shelf of the rolling cart. That’s enough for now, you decide. If you guys find anything missing, you can always make a second trip! You had the feeling that this was going to be plenty of supplies for the daycare to restock with, anyway. 

Sun, you learn, is not very unlike a massive, robotic puppy. You’d been gone for barely twenty minutes, but the way he gasped and waved and rushed to meet you at the castle doors, you’d think he hadn’t seen you in years. “Oh, what did you find out there, friend? Look at all this great stuff for the daycare!” 

Before you can even open your mouth, Sun lifts the box of construction paper as though it was completely weightless. Your mouth hangs open for a moment, and you marvel at the fact that it looks like an empty box in his hold. 

You watch as the black wire descends from the ceiling, hooking into the loop on Sun’s back and lifting him up, up, up towards the balcony where he deposits the box of supplies. You wonder if that’s the only way to get up there - if you need to grab supplies for whatever reason, you’re gonna have a miserable time doing it. 

But still, you roll the car as close to the balcony as possible, just short of the rainbow bridge that leads into the ball pit, so he can come and go more easily with the boxes. He’s graceful on that thing, bouncing back and forth between the balcony in single, grand leaps aided by the wire. Between each box, you call out what the supplies are so he knows where to put them. 

“Granola bars!” 

“Juice boxes!” 

“Craft supplies!” 

“Blankets!” 

Sun touches down on the rainbow bridge, pulling up a little shorter than he had before, like he’s afraid to approach you any further. He looks at you, arms tucked in towards his chest. “Blankets?” He asks, shoulders stiff and rays shrinking.. “Wh–what are those for?” 

You look up at him. “What do you mean, what are they for? It says naptime blankets right on the box,” you explain, holding it up for him to see. It was, in fact, written in thick sharpie on the side of the cardboard: naptime blankets, clear as day! “They’re for naptime. Don’t the kids get blankets during naptime?” 

Sun makes a strange whining sound from somewhere deep in his chassis. It almost sounds mechanical, but it has the unmistakable tinge of anxiety to it. “Oh, no, no, no, we don’t do naptime,” he explains, taking the box from you and holding it carefully, like he was afraid it was going to bite him. 

You watch him as he squirrels the box away upstairs. Well, clearly, at some point, they had done naptime, otherwise why would they have naptime blankets? “Well… you have some extra help, now! We can do naptime if it was too much for–” 

“No,” he cuts across you as he touches down on the balcony, and you’re stunned into silence by the sheer force behind his voice. He seems to notice his own tone, and softens it. “No, no, Moon always took care of naptime. We don’t do naptime.” 

Moon? 

The second statue out front, the moon man in the nightcap, behind Sun. You haven’t met him, yet, you realize, and your blood runs cold. He wasn’t in the daycare, anymore. He was the critical failure Vanessa had been talking about, he had to have been. Why else would it just be Sun here? No wonder this robot was such a nervous wreck; now, corporate’s worried that whatever went wrong with Moon was going to happen with Sun, which meant that until they could figure out what had happened, the daycare wasn’t safe for kids. 

Wasn’t safe for you, either. 

You don’t like the idea of this twelve-foot caretaker accidentally malfunctioning and collapsing on top of you, or misjudging its own strength - especially with how handsy it had been so far. You watch as he takes the box of blankets into the room beyond the balcony.

Your grip on the cart curls and uncurls in uncomfortable silence as you wait. Sun does not come out, and after some time, you feel yourself moving almost on autopilot, rolling the cart backwards away from the ball pit. You spare one more glance to the room upstairs and your co-worker hiding away out of sight up there, before turning yourself and the cart back towards the exit. 

Despite the pit of anxiety simmering in your stomach, one thing is abundantly clear: you need to know what else is up in that room. 

Chapter Text

You push the cart back to the store room and return to the daycare in silence. No enthusiastic wave sees you off or greets you, and it’s clear that your naptime blankets touched a nerve of some sort in the robot. 

He doesn’t come out of the little castle room when you return, so you continue cleaning without him. The atmosphere is oppressive without the cheerful animatronic around, chattering to himself and you and anything that even looked like it would listen. The bouncy, abrasive music is on loop, and that coupled with the hum of fluorescents and the sound of your own shuffling and cleaning is the only thing that breaks the silence around you.

As you work, you begin to pick out the ugly hum of the generators tucked away within the play structure. You still had a lot of questions about what was going on in this daycare, but things were starting to make sense. The other animatronic, Moon, must have had something go wrong with him. It shut the daycare down, and left Sun here alone. 

You wonder if Sun and Moon had been… close? Did the animatronics even form interpersonal relationships like that? Sun certainly seemed to be the type to make friends. You vaguely wonder if you’d be the type of nutjob to comfort your roomba during thunderstorms, and if this is even comparable. Surely, Sun was more advanced than a vacuum. 

Finally crawling out of the inner section of the play structure, you’re surprised to see Sun there. He’s working diligently, no longer chattering aimlessly. You feel a pang somewhere in your stomach, seeing him quiet. It’s unnatural. 

When he sees you unfold yourself from the tight confines of the play structure, he freezes. His rays are no longer retracted to little points, but neither are they as full as they were supposed to be. You give him a tentative little smile, hoping to alleviate the tension. He turns back to his work, tightening the bolts on the base of the second play structure, and you walk over to him. There's still a lot of work to do, but it's clear that he’d been upset after the naptime blanket thing. 

“I’m sorry about earlier,” you tell him. He’s silent for a moment, tightening the bolts with that familiar smile, but you know there isn’t any cheer behind it. “I don’t want to – I don’t know, get off on the wrong foot or anything, I just–” 

“Moon took care of naptime,” he cuts across you, and your voice catches in your throat. His hand has stilled against the tool, and the quiet squeak-squeak-squeak of the tightening bolt is forgotten as he stares blankly at the tool instead. “The kids loved him so much, you know. They always felt safe, with him around. There were never any nightmares - no one ever cried for their mom, and if they did, Moon was right there to soothe them to sleep.” 

There’s a lump in your throat, and you try to swallow it to no avail. It could just be your imagination, but his voice sounds strained. 

“We don’t know what happened,” he continues. “One day, Moon just… m-malfunctioned, and… well," he says heavily, "we don’t do naptime.” 

You nod, “Okay,” you tell him gently. “We don’t do naptime.” 

Sun looks at you, and you can hear a strange whirring from somewhere within his chassis, like he’s trying to process exactly what you were telling him - as though he’s surprised that you’re yielding. “Good,” he says. “Good. No naptime, and no need to turn off the lights! We keep the lights on and everything’s just… fine.” It sounds like a sigh of relief, and he continues his work on the bolt. 

“Yeah. We’re gonna get the daycare up and running and everything will be good. The kids will come back and we can both get back to doing what we’re supposed to - looking after the kids. Right?” 

“Right.” 

You smile over at him, though it’s clear that his usual cheer is so much more subdued now. You don’t know who Moon was or what kind of malfunction he experienced, but it was clear that Moon being removed from the daycare had left an impression on the daycare attendant. You hadn’t meant to upset him earlier, and really didn’t want to sour your tentative friendship with the animatronic, either. 

You look at the daycare attendant for a moment, and make a decision. Tapping him on the shoulder, you pull his attention away from the play structure and open your arms for him. He stares at you for a second, as though unsure exactly what you were offering, before the rays expand, bright and alert, all around the rim of his face-plate. 

Without missing a beat, Sun scoops you up into a huge hug, spinning you around. There’s a pleasant, delighted laughter from somewhere deep inside him, and you can’t help but hug him back in your attempt to hold on for dear life. You throw your arms around his neck in some loose approximation of a hug, clawing desperately at his back as you try to find purchase despite his hold on you. 

“Friends shouldn’t argue!” He declares, happily. “I didn’t mean to be such a sour-puss before, it’s just that Moon was my friend too, and I can’t do naptime without him!” The spinning stops, and you dangle there against him, held at his full height. His arms wrap fully around you, like an adult holding a child, and despite the very real possibility that this thing could apparently malfunction at any moment and crush you like a grape, you can’t help but notice that Sun gives good hugs.  

Marginally less afraid for your life now that the spinning had stopped and he had a better, more secure grip on you, you ease yourself back into the hug, being careful to mind the sunrays. He gives you a careful squeeze, and sets you back down. 

“I’m glad you came to the daycare!” He says, and you hear the cheer has returned to his voice, however subdued. 

You look up at him with careful consideration. This robot has been alone for months, with nothing but the understanding that the daycare had been closed because of something bad that had happened to his friend. You wonder if he feels like he’s been punished for things out of his control, and you take that moment to decide: however strange this job is, you are his friend, and you do care about the daycare. 

Because big business was never your forte, and you’ve never managed a pizzaplex before, but one thing is abundantly clear: if you don’t care about the daycare and its attendant, no one else is going to. Not beyond dollar signs and operations costs, at least. By the sound of things, Moon wasn’t around anymore. Whatever that meant for the robot, you aren’t sure, but you do know that if you and Sun could get the place up and running again - if you can prove to security and the higher ups that Sun wasn’t dangerous - then things might be able to return to some semblance of normalcy here at the Superstar Daycare.

So you smile up at him, and offer all of your conviction. “You know,” you tell him, “I am too. I think Superstar Daycare is gonna reopen, and all the kids are gonna be so happy to see their friend Sun again.” 

The animatronic giggles, bright and delighted.His face-plate spins in a full 360 as he heads to the next girder, to tighten the bolts there. He pauses, and leans beyond the furthest girder to grin at you. “I think you’re right! We’re gonna make a great team!” He chirps; and with that, he disappears into the play structure, to finish his work. 

As you return to your task as well, Vanessa’s instructions burn in the back of your mind. If anything goes wrong with this animatronic, you need to report to her - to security - to corporate! You like Sun. He’s eager and kind, and aside from acting a little weird, hasn’t really done anything wrong. But if you turn a blind eye to any mechanical hiccups, and reopen the daycare, a kid could get hurt. 

But for right now? Yeah. 

You’re gonna make a great team. 

Chapter Text

Sun informs you that the plan is to reopen the daycare by the end of the month, but whose plan that is, exactly, you aren’t sure. You just smile and tell him that the daycare will definitely be ready by then - and it will!  Whether or not the place will actually reopen, then, is another story all together. 

You two work diligently together, and things that were once in disrepair are no longer so dilapidated or dirty. The generators are still tucked away in the jungle gym, though, and Sun won’t hear a word about moving them. They’re important, clearly, though he won’t say why. He’s afraid of the dark, it seems. You briefly entertain the idea that he might be solar powered, and wouldn’t that be funny? The sun being solar powered? But there isn’t an inch of him that even so much as resembles a solar panel, so you’re mostly sure that’s not the reason why he’s so afraid of the dark. 

Whatever it is, he won’t tell you. Any attempt to pry it out of him is met with nervous laughter and a new game or song or joke. He’s particularly fond of cleaning games, you’ve found, and a lot of the repairs around the daycare have turned into friendly competitions. If you win, he gets to tell you a joke; if he wins, you have to spend the rest of your shift wearing that stupid hat. 

You tried, once, to point out how unfair the stakes were. You asked if he had a stupid hat he could wear, just to make things even, but you were just joking, mostly. You enjoy hearing his dumb jokes, pulled from an endless database meant to entertain kids of all ages. And he… enjoys making a fool of you, you guess. 

“”Oh, come on!” he grins down at you. Even if the smile is static, you can hear the absolute glee in his voice as he clutches the jester’s hat. “It looks good on you! Pluuus,” he nearly sings, “it’s the ruuuules!” 

You look up at him and the way he dangles the cap in front of you. Sun has this funny way of making you, a grown adult, feel childish - not in a bad way, but with how the animatronic towered over you and the syruppy, sing-songy kindergarten-teacher glee in his voice, you always feel so much smaller than you are. 

You jump and snatch the cap, pulling it roughly onto your head in one swift motion. The message was clear: You’ll do this, but you don’t have to like it. AS you adjust your cap, Sun brings himself down closer to your level, sitting cross-legged on the playmat in front of you, hands neatly in his lap as he watches you. He giggles, clearly pleased that he won. He reaches out, and with one spindly finger, swats at the star hanging directly in front of your nose, and you swat jokingly at him in return. 

“Oh, whatever,” you grumble, though the smile creeping onto your lips betrays your bad attitude. “At least this stupid thing doesn’t jingle.” 

“I for one think a good jingle is always an improvement!” Sun corrects, and gives the bells at his own wrists a gentle little shake. He’s a animatronic that makes music with every little movement, and something about that strikes you as funny, in a sincere sort of way. 

You quickly mask that sincerity with an attitude. “Yeah, yeah. Doesn’t change the fact that this outfit makes me feel like a fool.” 

“Don’t be such a sourpuss! You look like a superstar, to me!” 

You press your lips together in a thin line and look away in embarrassment. You actually didn’t have a retort for that. 

An idea suddenly strikes you, and you look back up at Sun. “So, once we get the daycare back in shape,” you say, with the shared understanding that it wouldn’t be long, now, “are you going to go down to parts and services to prepare for the grand re-opening?” 

Sun tucks his hands in his lap, and you watch as his head swivels 180 degrees to follow you. Creepy. “Wh– uh, parts and services? What for?” 

You shrug. “Well, it’s been three months since anyone’s been down here, other than me, right? I just figured, it’d be like the last step to making sure the daycare is the best it can be, before we open. You’re the daycare attendant, after all, right? We need to make sure that you’re the best you can be, too! Make sure there isn’t anything wrong with–”

“There’s nothing wrong!’ He cuts across you. “I’m taking care of the daycare, just fine, thank you!” 

You pause, and look at him. He’s sitting with his back to you, but you can see the way his hands are gripping the fabric of his pants at the knee. “I’m not saying you aren’t. No one can take care of the daycare better than you. I just - I heard the Glamrocks are all getting upgrades. I figured maybe parts and services might have some for you too!” 

Sun’s head swivels back around to face front as he unfolds himself, standing back at his full height. “I don’t need upgrades,” he tells you. “So I don’t need to go to parts and services!” 

You try again. “Well… what about maintenance? You know, like paint touch up, making sure everything works and your sun rays are… oiled.” 

“My rays don’t need to be oiled, and I don’t needs parts and services! The technicians are rude, and always make you shut down before they do anything! One time, I went to parts and services for a simple paint job - one of our little superstars scribbled marker all over one of my rays while I wasn’t looking - and they made me shut down! For a cosmetic issue! The nerve of those guys!” 

The indignation in his voice is palpable, and stuns you into silence for a moment. You suppose that would be pretty awful, if every time you went for a simple check-up they knocked you out with ketamine. You understand why he might be reluctant to go to parts and services, but that doesn’t change the fact that in order for the daycare to reopen, he’s going to have to get a check-up and make sure that he’s running properly. That whatever had happened with his friend Moon wasn’t at risk of happening to him, too. 

You open your mouth, and then shut it again. 

“That does sound like it sucks,” you agree.

“It’s not fun,” he says, a pout in his voice as he picks up a stray pillow. It’s the same hodge-podge pattern as every other plush item in the daycare. He looks down at it with some kind of distant contemplation, considering exactly what a trip to parts and services would mean for him. 

You watch, silent. Perhaps he was afraid that they would find something wrong with him - the same thing that had gone wrong with Moon would be found in his code, and they would take him away from the daycare just like they’d taken Moon. You can’t imagine this place would be the same without Sun; more than that, though, you feel a twinge of fear in the pit of your stomach thinking about it.

“Y-yeah,” you managed. “You’re right; you probably don’t need parts and services, anyway.” 

He looks back at you. There’s something calculating in his perpetual grin, and you wonder whether he actually bought your excuse. You want him to go to parts and services to get the all-clear from a technician. If he gets the all-clear, then you can greenlight the reopening of the daycare without having to worry about whether some poor kid is going to get hurt when Sun malfunctions like Moon did. 

But if he goes to parts and services and they find some critical error… what would happen to the daycare attendant? 

You shake the thought, and smile back at him. “Anyway, look on the bright side!” You chirp. Sun’s gaze settles on you, awaiting your silver lining. “The daycare will be open soon and you’ll be able to play with the kids again!” 

His shoulders slumped, and a quiet whine echoes from within his chassis. “I really do miss the kids. I hope our old friends come back to the daycare, when we reopen.” 

“Why wouldn’t they?” You ask. 

Sun doesn’t answer. 

Chapter Text

You think you’ve come up with a plan. 

It’s not exactly elegant or airtight, but it’s a plan nonetheless. The chain-link fencing towers over a jungle gym cage set against the back wall. You could scale the chain-link, get on top of the jungle gym, and use the circular metal struts around the castle facade to climb up to the balcony. 

The kicker of this whole plan is that you're not exactly a parkour wizard, and it's uncharacteristically daring for you. You could probably get up there, that way, but you would have one shot to actually do so, because here’s the thing: Sun is faster and stronger than you, and with his cable lift system, he can get to the balcony more quickly than you, too. 

Something squirms uncomfortably in your stomach. If that castle room is Sun’s space, then sneaking your way up there is going to be invading his privacy. You wouldn’t snoop into a friend’s bedroom, would you? But this is different - if there is something wrong with Sun, you need to know before you give security the green light to reopen the daycare. If you turn a blind eye to Sun’s weird, avoidant behavior and a kid gets hurt because of some malfunction, that’s on you. 

But that isn’t the first part of the plan; it can’t be. Because in order to ensure that you’ll have enough time to climb like a lemur up the side of the cage and scale the struts around the castle balcony - without Sun noticing - you’re going to need a distraction. So, naturally, the next thing you need to figure out is the distraction. 

The answer comes to you while you're doing laundry. 

The rest of the daycare is clean - you and Sun have ensured that, since you started - but there are still several objects within the daycare that need a more thorough cleaning than just a wipedown of bleach solution or disinfectant. The plush items around the daycare all need to be laundered, and since Sun can’t leave the daycare, that task falls squarely on your shoulders. 

Not that you mind, of course! It’s actually kind of a welcomed change of pace. You like the daycare, but all those bright colors and the relentless bounce of the music have left you with a headache. Down here, in the laundry room (which you hadn’t even known was down here! This place really is huge), you could at least be momentarily soothed by the muted colors and the dull, rhythmic hum of the washers. 

Sorting through the bin you’d brought from the daycare, you mull idly over how tidy Sun is. You suppose that when you run a daycare with thirty-odd kids running around at any given time, cleanliness had to be a top priority, before it gets out of hand. But even so, you often find yourself surprised by the lengths Sun will go to, to ensure that everything is as clean as it can be. He has an impeccable eye for detail, and often cannot be divorced from a task until everything is exactly the way it should be. You found it alarming, at first - now, you find it endearing, in a way. You’re not sure if it’s written into his code or if it’s just the experience of running the daycare that’s wormed itself into his wires, but as you stand there and place plush slips into the washing machine, you realize that that’s how you're going to distract Sun long enough to get up to the tower. 

Is it exploitative? Perhaps. But it's guaranteed to work. He would be so preoccupied cleaning up whatever mess you end up causing in the daycare, that he won’t even notice you scaling the walls to get into that stupid room. 

And really, chances were that you would get up there and it would be nothing but a bunch of boxes, all the stock material that Sun has stored up there from the other day, maybe some toys for the kids, and a charging station. That’s all you were going to find! But it would put your mind at ease, and you would be able to tell corporate with confidence that the daycare had the greenlight to reopen and everything was fine! 

Everything was just… fine. 

You’ve been staring at that plush cover for a solid three minutes, lost in your own thoughts; a S.T.A.F.F. bot gently instructs you on the next step in the laundering process, and you give a little jump in alarm when it speaks to you. You blink up at it, as though surprised by its presence. They’re so quiet that you had, for a moment, forgotten you weren’t alone down here.

With a nervous little grateful smile, you make a deliberate show of placing the last of your laundry in the basin, the S.T.A.F.F. bot watching you intently in case you needed more laundry support. Seemingly satisfied that the human had figured out how to put a piece of cloth in the wash, it wheeled away, to mop in its designated corner. You watch it, now, for a moment. The robotics in this place were all so advanced. Even the S.T.A.F.F. bots had some level of intelligence to them, and they were all a bunch of calculators compared to Sun.

You sigh, and start the wash. You know that he’s going to be upset with you. But it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission, right? And you know in your gut that he wouldn’t let you up there in a thousand years. Maybe even a million! That wasn’t part of the daycare - not really. That was his space. 

But really, when all of this was said and done and the kids could come back to the daycare again, you were pretty sure Sun would understand. It’s in everybody’s best interest that you ensure there’s nothing up in that room that shouldn’t be there, and life at the daycare could go back to normal. 

Or, as normal as it could get when your caretaker was a twelve foot tall clown, you guess. 

It’s all decided, when you get back to the daycare with a bin of freshly laundered plush slips for the foam forms. Sun greets you as enthusiastic as always, and you find yourself surprised at how easy it is to beam happily at him and wave back, genuinely happy to return his enthusiasm. You're already so used to his cheery demeanor. You bring the bin to the little cluster of foam forms that looked cold and sad without their slips. When you return, Sun is sitting cross-legged in front of the pile, disinfecting the foam as best he can with disinfectant spray and a rag. He's incredibly meticulous, as with all cleaning, and you’re sure these porous foam forms warrant the extra attention. There's no telling what's living in that foam, and quite frankly you don’t even want to think about it. 

Giving Sun a great smile, you take a deep breath, and upend the basket, dumping out all of the slips and shams. They land in a heap, and Sun launches himself to his feet. “Oh, they’re such a mess!” He laments, despite the fact that they’re cleaner than they’ve been in months. The very sight of any kind of mess or clutter in the daycare was a step back for him! He immediately starts sifting through them and sorting, hoping to make sense of the mess of patchwork colors, trying to match slips to shapes to no avail. 

He’s looking over the pile, picking through it as though trying desperately to make sense of the mess; you could talk to him - tell him you were going to go get started on some other task - but it wouldn’t matter. He wouldn’t hear you. He's too busy, and so you set the bin down and take a few tentative steps back.

No response; no acknowledgement. 

Without a word, you turn and book it towards the ball pit, hearing his nervous chittering behind you. “Oh, which one goes with which? They have to match! They have to match!” 

You hit the chain-link cage with only a little bit of guilt, swallowing it down as you shove the toe of your shoe into the first diamond and latch on. The whole thing bows with your weight, but you hold, and begin to climb. It’s awkward and uncomfortable, the way you have to cram the toe of your shoe into the little diamond of each link on the way up. It's barely enough to hold you, and only if you shove your foot in hard, making it all the more difficult to pull your foot back out as you ascend, like scaling a frozen waterfall with icepicks on your feet. 

But eventually, you reach the top of the jungle gym cage closest to the wall, and the hardest part is over. You wretch your foot from the chain-link and drop down, hitting the top of the cage with a terrible clangor, at which Sun barely even twitches, too engrossed in trying to fit one of the slips onto a huge foam triangle. 

You can tell from here, clear across the daycare, that it's the wrong slip. 

Thankfully, the top of the jungle gym cage is more sturdy, and you have no problem traversing it, all the way down to the circular metal struts that surround the castle cutout and the room just out of your reach overhead. 

You test it carefully, one foot braced against the lowest point of the metal hoop before you rest your entire weight against it. It, too, holds, and so you hoist yourself up once, twice, until you’re able to grab the edge of the balcony. It’s difficult, but you haul yourself up. 

A glance over your shoulder. Sun has figured out that the slip does not, in fact, go on the big triangle. He’s gonna be there for a while, you think to yourself, and slip into the room beyond the red curtains. 

It’s a small room, enough for a couple of boxes and a few tables scattered around. You scan the place, and feel the knot of anxiety in your chest start to unravel. You’d been so worried over a storage room, this whole time. You knew you were gonna get up here and it was just going to be boxes of supplies. You can see where Sun stacked the boxes you’d brought into the daycare the other day, all arranged neatly besides… the remains of a disassembled S.T.A.F.F. Bot. 

You’re sure that’s fine. 

In addition to some nondescript boxes, the mangled bot, and the supplies, you also see a few more foam forms, with their grimy plush covers still intact. You wrinkle your nose and wish you’d thought to come up here before doing the wash, you could have salvaged these last few playthings. 

Maybe not that playhouse, though. That thing is beyond help, you think to yourself, gripping the railing of the platform that extended out past the back of the balcony. It could use a good power washing, and even that might not save it. Slowly, you make your way down the stairs, taking in the room around you. For someone so steadfastly clean as Sun was, everything in this place is in disrepair. And, weirder still, there’s no charging station here.

You were starting to suspect that Sun runs on double-A’s. 

You stoop to pick up a plush toy laying in front of the dilapidated playhouse, a frown on your lips as you look down into the smiling face of the moon man from the statue. It’s covered in a sturdy layer of dust and dirt, having been laying face-down on the dirty floor for god only knows how long. You brush some of it away, immediately regretting your actions as a healthy cloud of dust is kicked up from the little plush. You suppress a cough, not wanting to alert Sun to your absence, and feel your eyes watering as your chest heaves. If coming up here kills you, you’re never gonna live it down. 

You recover, and look down at the little Moon toy with watery eyes. Blinking to restore your vision, you notice that… it looks an awful lot like Sun. Which, you knew already, of course - the statues on the second floor were enough of a testament to that. But everything, down to the details of the faceplate, were just like Sun’s.

No wonder corporate was so worried about Sun developing the same malfunction; no wonder Sun was so upset about Moon being taken out of the daycare. It really did seem that they were a tight-knit pair, down to the very details of their smile. 

There is a cheerful, melodic tone from somewhere off to your left, and your gaze snaps up. It’s not Sun - no, you can still hear him panicking over the toys, and this new sound is too primitive to be Sun. It is distinctly 8-bit music. 

There, partially obscured behind a black show curtain, was what looks like a piece of play tube embedded in the wall; You peer through the tube, into another room. You set the Moon plush down carefully on a little blue table that sits nearby the tube cut-out, and before you really know what you’re doing, you’re on your hands and knees crawling through the tube into the smaller room adjacent.

Chapter Text

There’s a whole arcade cabinet back here. You’re struck, for a moment, trying to figure how anyone could have possibly gotten this thing into the little concrete prison you stood in now. It’s giving out a cheerful little tune, and the high score screen flashes against a black background. 

It’s not even plugged in, you realize, spying the plug snaking out from behind the machine. Fazbear tech is unnerving - same thing with Sun! There’s no way something like this has the battery reserve to keep running. And how long had this thing been up here, anyway? You fail to believe that anyone from the arcade sent a move order to put Balloon World up here, where no guest would ever see it. 

You stoop, and push the plug into the nearby outlet, watching as it remains unchanged, cycling through the title screen and the high scores. It doesn’t look like this thing has been played in a long time, if ever. None of the high scores are real names or numbers - just placeholders, like Freddy and Chica… weird. 

Satisfied that you’ve saved at least once machine from shutting down unexpectedly - lord knows you can never do the same for your laptop - you examine the rest of the room. 

This room is in even worse disrepair than the larger room you’d just come from; wooden boards are hanging down from the ceiling, and electrical wires are dangling haphazardly. Cobwebs accept this dark and decrepit place wonderfully, and aside from the BalloonWorld cabinet, the only pop of color in this little hovel was a couple of children’s drawings taped up onto the wall. You look over them and smile, knowing they were undoubtedly gifts drawn by past superstars who stayed at the daycare, and that Sun had pinned them up. 

But one of these papers, you notice, is not a child’s drawing. You know what it is the moment you lay eyes on it, and your blood runs cold. 

It’s a missing poster. 

A page, taken from a newspaper:

MISSING: Local Residents Continue to Disappear. 

You feel a chill run down your spine, frozen in place as you squint in the dim light of the arcade cabinet. You very suddenly don’t want to be up here, anymore, but there is another paper - another newspaper clipping, it seems like, peeking out from behind the missing persons page. 

You reach out and lift the missing persons poster, stepping closer, squinting in the dim light as you hold your breath, trying to make out the fine print. 

Freddy Fazbear’s Mega Pizzaplex is facing a product liability lawsuit after the death of a child enrolled at the Superstar Daycare on premise. While details of the incident are still unknown, Fazbear Entertainment, Inc. is running an internal investigation to determine the circumstances behind the death of an eight year old who reportedly fell from a height of nearly forty feet while enrolled in the Superstar Daycare. 

Officials say that Fazbear Entertainment no longer staffs the daycare with human employees, relegating their childcare service to the responsibility of the company’s signature high-tech animatronics, but when security footage was reviewed of the incident, footage during the seemingly peaceful naptime was deemed corrupted and unrecoverable, leaving officials and the grieving family to wonder exactly what happened within the walls of Superstar Daycare. 

The breath leaves you like a ghost as you read and re-read the short article. You scramble, desperate for some kind of date, and your stomach flips when you find it printed cleanly in the upper righthand corner of the article. 

Almost four months ago, right before they closed the daycare. So that was the malfunction that gotten Moon removed from the daycare - whatever had happened, whatever had prevented him from looking after the children like he was supposed to–

There’s a mechanical whirring sound from somewhere just behind your ear, and you gasp as something grabs you by the scruff of your neck, pulling you away from the newspapers and back through the blue tube. It puts you on your feet carefully, and you’re stuck there like a deer in the headlights looking up at Sun. You shrink under his smile, the way he physically looms over you, hulking body bent so that his faceplate is positioned almost directly over you. The silence between you is drowned out by the pounding of your heart and the way your blood rushes in your ears, so that you barely even hear it when he speaks. 

“You shouldn’t be up here, friend.” It was stern, but not unkind, like he was admonishing a child. 

“Bullshit!” You snap at him, ignoring the tremor in your own voice. “It’s my job to make sure this place is able to open again, and no one’s told me anything about this place since day one - now I find out that some kid died here? How the hell am I supposed to greenlight this place, knowing no one knows what the hell happened to that kid, huh? How do you expect me to open the daycare knowing this?” 

“You shouldn’t be up here!” He repeats, more firmly, a touch of desperate anger in his voice. “If you hadn’t come up here, we could have just– reopened on schedule!” 

“Like hell we could have!” 

“Swearing is prohibited in the daycare!” 

“Oh, fuck off!” You spit. “I’m not a child, Sun. You can’t just hide shit like this because you want everything to be snacktime and arts and crafts! What if something happens, huh? What if something happens to you, like whatever happened to Moon, and another kid gets hurt?” 

Sun rays contract until they’re dangerous little points, and he draws himself up to his full height. You scowl, standing your ground. He grabs you again, both wrists in his monstrous grip. “That’s it. You are a rulebreaker! You are banned from the daycare!” 

“You can’t ban me!” You argue, digging your heels in. “I work here!” He’s too close, too big, too much in this small little space, and you struggle, eventually breaking your wrists free of his grip. You know that he let you go on purpose. If he really wanted to hold you there, you’d break your wrists before you break his grip. 

You look up at him with wide eyes, knowing that despite the perpetual smile he wore, your being here hurt him. You feel that familiar guilt gnaw at your stomach - especially now that you would have to make some kind of report about this to the security guard. You swallow hard, looking up at him and rubbing the sore spot on your wrist where he’d held you. It takes effort, but you find your voice. 

“That’s why they shut down the daycare, isn’t it?” You ask him, the slightest tremor of fear and sick and rage to your voice as you watch him for even the most minute reaction; he’s a robot, and it’s so much harder to read him than it would be a human being, but the slow shrink of his rays is enough of a tell. “Moon-- Moon malfunctioned.” 

Sun is silent, but he looks away, hands wringing together again. “You don’t know Moon,” he managed, after a minute. There was something fierce in his voice. Loyalty, or delusion. You can’t be sure. “He was always so good with the kids! And the kids, they– they loved him! I don’t know what happened to him, that day. It’s– it was an accident! It had to be! He just, wasn’t himself lately, and things got out of hand and then when naptime was over and I came back to do arts and crafts with the kids, he–” Sun’s voice is strained, an undercurrent of static to it like a bad radio signal. 

Your heart clenches in your chest, imagining what that scene must have been like - for the daycare attendant, for the children waking up from their naps, for the security guards and the parents… no wonder this place had gotten shut down for so long. 

You pause, looking up at him with your heart pounding in your chest. “That’s… why Moon isn’t here anymore,” you say, unsure whether it was a question or not. “Whatever happened, he killed that kid, and they took him out of the daycare.” 

At this, Sun finally looks at you again. You can almost see a strain in his smile; you can almost see confusion in his blank white eyes. There’s some tone of incredulity to his voice that takes you by surprise, like the very thought was absurd. “What? No! Of course Moon’s still part of the daycare!” 

It was your turn to gawk. You were certain that was patently false. You’d been here every day for weeks, now, and hadn’t seen so much as a glimpse of the naptime attendant. You open your mouth to protest, to ask what Sun was talking about - he was the only animatronic you’ve ever seen here at the daycare. You think back to the statue, and to the little doll you’d left on the blue table just behind you, now. Moon has been gone from the daycare this whole time, you think, trying to come up with some way to reason with the animatronic.

“Sun,” you start, “I’m pretty sure I would know if Moon were still at the daycare. You two don’t seem that different, you know? I would have noticed another twelve-foot tall animatronic jester running around the place, alright? I know it’s upsetting, but he’s just– not at the daycare anymore. And if whatever happened to Moon happens to you, then you’re going to be taken out of the daycare, too.” You can see him physically flinch, at this. Taking a gamble, you close the gap between you and the animatronic - a remarkably small gap, given how you were both still in such close quarters - and lay a hand at his arm. “Let me talk to corporate about all this. That’s what I’m here, for, right? To make sure the Daycare is ready to open - that includes you.” 

Sun looks at you for a long, terrible moment. There’s fear, there. Even if he’s not emotive, you can feel it radiating off of him like an electrical current. He’s terrified that Parts and Services will find the same malfunction in him that they found in Moon; he’s terrified of being taken away from the daycare. 

“You don’t understand,” he said softly, voice dripping with that same anxious static. “Moon never left the daycare. That’s why the lights have to stay on - Moon was designed to watch the kids during naptime, and only comes out when the lights go off–” 

There was a horrible fizzle and ugly sparks from behind the arcade cabinet; and just like that, the room was plunged into darkness.

Chapter Text

You gasp, struck by surprise as the world is plunged into darkness. The power has gone out - You weren’t aware that something like that could happen, in a place as disaster proof as the Pizzaplex. They had their corporate interest to look after, after all, and every frozen meat product and tub of ice cream had to remain temperature-controlled. You guessed that this place had to have some kind of power backup - but the Daycare probably wasn’t a priority. 

Hence the gasoline generators scattered through the play structure. 

But your surprise pales in comparison to the whine of anguish that comes from your robotic partner. It shoots through you like a bolt of electricity. The fear in his voice was palpable, and you flinch under the force of it. “No no no no no no! Lights on! Lights on!” He shrieked, and you can hear the clamor as he tries to climb back out of the little storage room. He’s a tangle of limbs and only makes it a few steps before his entire frame collapses to the floor, rattling the entire room. 

You gasp, and press yourself up against the nearest wall, just next to the blue playtube embedded in the concrete, unable to see anything in the darkness; you are still adjusting, in the chaotic few seconds in which all of this is happening, but you notice… something. The darkness is being melted away, slowly, by a gentle glow.

You’re really only aware of two things, in that moment. One, Sun seemed to be in incredible pain. You aren’t sure if Fazbear animatronics can actually feel pain, but the sounds he’s making are agonized, guttural groans as he struggles somewhere before you in the dark. 

The second thing you notice is that the daycare uniforms - both Sun's and your own, it seems - glow in the dark. It’s something that takes you by surprise. Gone are the cheerful yellow stripes of your pants. Instead, you’re both speckled with gently glowing stars. It’s these glowing decals, previously unnoticed on your uniforms, that afford you even the tiniest of light in the blackened back room. 

Barely able to see, you take uncertain steps towards Sun, reaching out in some vain attempt to help him. “H-hey, Sun? Sunny?” You ask. You’ve never called him Sunny, the entire time you’ve worked here, but your nerves are getting the better of you as his entire form suddenly goes slack. In the dim glow you see him huddled, face hidden from you as a horrible grinding sound comes from within his chassis. One by one, you watch as the rays retract. They’re no longer even little points sticking out of the sides of his head, hidden entirely behind his face-plate and no longer visible from even the back. 

You hear that horrible grinding sound hitch and hiccup, and realize with a terrible dread in your stomach that it sounds a lot like breathing. It’s labored and ragged, and with each inhale, it drags. It doesn’t sound like Sun anymore, and you’re suddenly aware of how close you are to him. Heart pounding against your ribs, you pull your hand back close to your chest. Slowly, slowly, like you are afraid to move, you try to round the fallen animatronic, to get to the stairs leading out of the little balcony room. 

The breathing turns guttural; no matter how quiet you try to be, it knows. It can sense you there, in the dark, and isn’t going to let you just disappear that easily. Slim fingers clawed against the concrete floor as it pushes itself up to a sitting position, and through the ragged breathing you could hear something else. 

A quiet, malevolent laugh. 

“Naughty… naughty…” it grinds out, and you feel your stomach drop out from beneath you, blood like ice as Sun turns his face towards you. Gone are the sun rays and the cheerful yellow. His faceplate, too, glows in the dark, you realize - but only half of it. Painted like a crescent moon, you realize too late that he’d been right. 

Moon never had left the daycare. 

You gasp, an involuntary response as red pinpoints fall on you. Its body contorts as it pushes itself up, limbs and torso bending in unnatural ways as it brings its legs over its head, following through to stand up. You hear the terrible grinding of mechanical parts as it moves, and pivot where you stand. Getting past this thing wasn’t an option, so you use the clutter in the room to help you scale the other side of the balcony stairs. 

Laughter echoes from behind you as you skid to a stop at the edge of the balcony, and realize that there’s only one way down. 

Hearing the animatronic come up behind you, with that menacing laugh, you leap from the balcony, diving into the ball pit. 

The world is upside down for a moment. You feel like you’re suffocating as you sink further down into the ball pit, the plastic enclosing over you like the unkind surface of a strange sea. You stay there, horrified for a moment as you hear Moon approach the edge of the balcony. “Rulebreakers must be punished…” You hold your breath, and hear the mechanical clatter pass by you. 

The ball pit is deeper than you thought it’d be, and you struggle to move. The pit makes an ungodly amount of noise as you trudge through it, and you keep expecting to feel strong mechanical hands grab you before you even come close to the edge of the ballpit. 

You haul yourself up, groping in the dark and stumbling to your knees against the soft, squishy playmat material. You can see the gentle glow of the Moon; he is swimming through the air with the aid of the wire hooked to his back. The daycare is pitch black, and the only reason you can even see Moon is because of the way his faceplate and stars glow in the dark. 

But that means he can see you, too. He spies your glow from across the room, and red locks onto your form immediately. He’s slow - almost lethargic, as he swims through the air towards you. You watch for a split second as he laughs, faceplate spinning in a full revolution as he bobs through the air on his wire, and you stumble, careful not to fall backwards into the ball pit as you turn on your heel, rushing blindly through the dark. Your uniform was just bright enough to illuminate the world in your immediate vicinity, and more than once it was that gentle glow that prevented you from tripping over a foam form or toy that had been left in the middle of the floor. 

You can hear your own blood rushing in your ears as you flee the thing hunting you. You aren’t sure if you're just hearing things, but something about Moon sounds so much more mechanical and unnatural than his daytime counterpart. Metal grinds and clacks behind you as you rush through the daycare. You know that if he catches you, there will be terrible consequences.

The only thought rushing through your head was that you need to lose this thing. Before you can second guess yourself, you make a dive for the jungle gym; It briefly occurs to you, to enter the play tubes, but moving around on your hands and knees while this thing hunted you seemed like a bad idea. You press yourself up against the cage, seeing his red gaze sweeping around the corner. You can hear his ragged breathing and the obsessive muttering as he searches for you.

“Rulebreakers must be found…” he rasps. “Must be punished. Time out for you, naughty little rulebreaker…” 

You clap a hand over your mouth and pray for the glow to go the other way, to have lost you entirely. You are taking a horrible risk, but you have an idea: this thing is the naptime attendant, and doesn’t seem built for high-speeds and high-energy like Sun is. It isn’t equipped to put up with the boundless energy of children outside of naptime. If you make sure the coast is clear and make a break for it, you might be able to outrun it - and then it’d just be a mad dash to the exit. 

Silently, you take the risk and peer around the corner of the play structure. You can see the security desk from here - you might be able to duck behind that and hide until the coast is clear. Despite the fact that you can still hear Moon’s mechanical clatter and his horrendous muttering, you can’t see him anywhere. You don’t even see his red glow. 

You suck in a breath and decide it’s now or never, nearly tripping over yourself in your desperation to get the hell out of there. You stumble once, and take off like a shot towards the security desk. The clattering stops, momentarily, and you realize that he’s a lot closer to the exit door than you previously calculated. He’s standing over the little pile of foam forms that Sun had been organizing while you snooped inside the castle balcony room. He, too, seemed fascinated by the mess.

There was no way you were going to be able to get to the daycare exit without him noticing, but you probably could get to the doors before he could - and that was all that mattered! Once you were out, you could find a flashlight and fix the lights, without having to worry about being crushed to death by the man in the Moon. 

He couldn’t leave the daycare, after all. 

Heart pounding against your chest, you decide to make a break for it. The moment you’re out from behind the safety of the security desk, you can feel his gaze on you. He’s making a bee-line for you, and it’s a mad dash to see who would get to their target first. 

You can hear his clamor growing closer and closer as he darts towards you as fast as he can; perhaps he’s figured out what your plan is - at any rate, he can see plain as day that you’re trying to leave the daycare. 

Your hands hit the fake wood of the castle doors and you push with the full force of your weight and momentum; the door flies open and you tumble out, finally losing your footing as you skid to a stop on the tile just outside of the daycare. Your breathing hitches and you roll onto your back, to look up at the castle doors and the threat you left standing at the threshold. 

Your chest is heaving and your heartbeat is roaring in your ears as you watch, just a split second after you tumble through the doors, the naptime attendant making a swipe for you. A nervous, terrified laugh bubbles up through your throat, and you realize you did it - you beat the naptime attendant, and escaped the daycare. 

Moon looks at you, positioned in a low crouch. Its eyes, behind that perpetual, half-lit smile, were calculating and intelligent, and a chill ran down your spine even as you pick yourself up. You’re trembling, but too high off of the adrenaline of the chase to notice. “Ha!” You laugh in his face, the tremor in your voice clear; his head tips to the side as it regards you at the threshold. “Ha! Haha, oh my god! You’re out of your goddamn mind!” You spit at the animatronic. “And you want to reopen the daycare like this? Like hell.” 

You’re starting to realize that you’re trembling, but you don’t pay it any mind. You can have your nervous breakdown later, sitting in your car before the drive home. 

“Crazy fucking robot,” you scowl, brushing yourself off. Moon’s head continues to tip, dropping at the lowest point and coming back up on the other side, a complete revolution as it stares at you. 

Without a word, Moon leans forward, deliberately to catch your attention as he speaks. “Naughty rulebreaker,” he scowls in return, and you watch in horror as he takes the first step over the threshold. His fingers flex, like he’s excited to shatter your false sense of security, and he steps past the exit of the daycare. You take half a step back in response, watching with wide eyes there in the dark. 

With a short gasp and renewed fear in your heart, you turn and run.

Chapter Text

The entire pizzaplex is dark as you stumble through it. The lower levels of the daycare are illuminated, faintly, by no more than the stars that dot and speckle the ceiling, lending a dizzying, almost dreamlike glow to everything. You can hear the gentle laughter of your pursuer under the ragged breaths lurching from your own chest and the blood rushing in your ears.

Your feet nearly fly out from under you as you skid against the tile, hooking a sharp right as you spy the various private rooms that line the perimeter of the lower level. You slam violently into one of the doors, yanking it open before slamming it shut behind you. 

The silence is deceptive, and as you freeze there for a moment, all you can think is hide hide hide, you have to hide– 

There’s no way to barricade the door - it slides open, and you find that it has no lock; this is a safety precaution, you’re sure, to keep children accessible in case of an emergency. You’re mostly sure that the engineers who decided not to give the doors locks never anticipated that a murderous daycare attendant would ever be an issue. 

Sucking in a sharp breath, you hear his mechanical movements draw closer, and decide that you didn’t have much of a choice, here. You can either hide, or be crushed to death by a robot. It isn’t a difficult decision to make. 

You wedge yourself underneath the table, scooting as far towards the center as you can. The tablecloth, long enough to touch the floor, obscures you. It flutters gently from your disturbance, and comes to a stop just in time for you to hear the party room door slide open again. 

You clap a hand over your mouth and wait, heart pounding as you hear his mechanics creep closer and closer; his ragged breathing - or, the synthesized sound of it at least - and the heavy footfalls of a two-ton piece of machinery round your little party table. 

“Hidey hide… hide away. Come out and play!” He taunts, and as you sit there, trembling ever so minutely under the cover of a cheap plastic folding table, the top of your stupid cap pressing up against the underside, you’re inexplicably struck by a single thought: thank god this uniform doesn’t jingle. 

You watch in horror as spindly, slender fingers curl upwards underneath the plastic tablecloth in front of you. 

“Naughty rulebreaker, it’s past your bedtime,” it croons, as the tablecloth slowly begins to lift upwards. You watch as the little white pom pom at the end of a nightcap drops into view beyond your curtain of safety. 

Moon’s head swivels as it comes into view, the nightcap nearly dropping off of his head as he adjusts his faceplate, the red glow of his gaze scanning underneath the table. 

It was empty. 

He had seen you come into this room, and there were not many places to hide. This is the only logical place for his little rulebreaker to be hiding, and yet you were nowhere to be found. He pauses for a moment, head turning this way and that as he scans the underside of the table once more before deciding to move on. 

Confused and irritated, Moon stands up again, spinning his faceplate back into the correct position - not that it mattered, as his faceplate was immediately and violently displaced by an unexpected folding chair to the face. 

He reels back, crashing into the serving table as you drop the folding chair and book it back out of the room again. The clatter was impossibly loud, and you hope that the noise and disorientation will help mask your escape. Make it harder for Moon to track you, and maybe you would actually stand a chance at getting out of the daycare and losing this lunatic robot. 

You don’t know where you could possibly go, that would dissuade the daycare attendant from following you, but your first instinct is ‘out of the daycare,’ and you’re not exactly in the market to stop and think it over, so you make it your business to get out of the daycare as fast as your legs and their puffy pajama pants can carry you. 

You rush up the steps back to the second floor, and hear Moon’s mechanical clamor as he scuttles out of the party room in pursuit. This thing is fucking relentless, and you hear his low growl, the sound tailed by laughter, like this is all a game to him. You know you don’t have a lot of time, before he catches up to you, so you hop the gate at the top of the staircase and make a break for the exit. 

The entrance lobby of the pizzaplex is still dark; it’s not as dark as the daycare - there are more dimly lit patches of carpet, tops and bottoms of staircases illuminated by emergency lights, and the ever-present white glow of robotic eyes that give you goosebumps, now. You take a little solace in the fact that Moon’s eyes were a terrible, dangerous red, and could not be mistaken with the friendly, vacant gaze of the Wet Floor Bots. 

Once the daycare doors lock behind you, you slow down; you’re not sure that Moon can even get out here, but you’re not taking any chances. You’ve seen the main stage room before, during previous shifts where you’d been required to traverse the pizzaplex for one thing or another that Sun couldn’t do from the daycare, and you’re pretty sure you remember a security office in there. If there was going to be anyone left in this building to help you fend off the murderous robot hunting you like game, maybe they would be there. 

The ding of the elevator takes forever to come, and you can feel the hair on the back of your neck stand on end as you wait. You keep peering over your shoulder, knowing that at any moment that thing could grab you from the dark. 

The elevators, too, are on emergency power, but they’re nearly pitch-black inside save for the single digit that is displayed on the wall. You press your back against what you assume is a solid wall and not a door, hands gripping the railing as you inch your way forward, groping in the blackness for the lift controls. The light from your phone is a godsend, and you select the first floor of the main show room. 

It takes a moment for the elevator to lurch into movement, but when it does you finally take a breath. You have a few seconds reprieve from the chase, and you intend to use them. An upbeat tune starts playing, and you recognize it as one of the songs the Fazband plays.

You feel like you’re going to lose it, any second. 

Quietly, you freak out, and decide that the first thing you’re going to do tomorrow is quit your godforsaken job. No way in hell was this what you signed on for! You were supposed to be taking care of kids! Playing peekaboo with babies who didn’t have any object permanence and reading books to any kids who would sit still long enough to listen! Nowhere in your job description did it say you were going to be the enrichment for this daycare-bound murderbot to tear apart like a pumpkin full of meat.

You would find a security office - maybe even a security officer, if you were lucky! - and hightail it out of the pizzaplex for good. The daycare was back in shape. If corporate wanted to reopen the place, then they would have to do so without you. Because quite frankly, if you needed to make a recommendation? 

That thing wasn’t safe enough to be around anyone - let alone kids. 

Chapter Text

The elevator lurches again, and you take another steadying breath to steel yourself for whatever might be waiting for you on the other side of that door. Again, you don’t actually have proof that Moon had left the daycare, but you aren’t going to make any assumptions on your safety. 

You vaguely wish that you had kept the folding chair, or at least had had the foresight to grab some sort of weapon to take with you. Your heart pounds as the elevator dings again and the doors slide open. You peek around them, terrified that he’ll be there waiting for you - but when you find the coast is clear, you step out. 

The world is quiet as you stand there, full of dread as you realize that you don’t actually know where to go. You take a quick, nervy glance around and spy a stand-alone photo booth. Actual cover! You rush for the booth and slip inside without incident, taking a deep breath as you settle against the bench and take a moment to still your spinning head. 

Fishing around in your pockets, you pull out the map. 

You would have to track down and thank that Mapbot who greeted you on your first day, because this map has been the only way you've able to reliably get from place to place since you started working at the Pizzaplex. This place was huge, with so little signage that finding your way around was nearly impossible. You turn on your phone flashlight and spread the map across your lap, scanning it in tense silence. 

You know that that thing could find you any minute, and you’re hyper-aware as you look for the security office in this part of the building. You had to get somewhere safe - you had to find someone who could help. 

Nervousness starts to boil in your chest; you’re in such a tizzy that you can’t find the security office on this floor. Cold dread spills into your chest when you realize that - no, that’s not it. There was no security office on this floor. Here, in the main stage room! You flip the map, scanning desperately for any security office even remotely near you. There has to be one! This place was supposed to be secure! This place was supposed to have security and lockdown protocols! Where the hell were all the security offices? 

Your breath catches when you hear it; the soft clatter of mechanical parts moving.

The closest security office is in Parts and Services, and you douse your phone light as fast as you can, hoping that Moon hadn’t seen it. You press yourself up against the back of the photo booth, and hold your breath as you listen. He’s moving through the first-floor level, knowing that’s where the elevator would have spit you out. He knows you’re here, but if you can stay still and stay quiet long enough, maybe he’ll search somewhere else. 

Your entire body freezes, too terrified to even twitch. The map sits uncomfortably in your lap, and your fingers light upon the edge of it just to keep it from falling to the floor; you want to cringe at the ever-so-soft sound of the glossy paper rustling, and silently pray that Moon hasn’t heard it. 

It feels like an eternity. Your chest aches and your heart is pounding, making you feel lightheaded. The booth is suffocating you, the walls closing in as you listen intently, but you can’t move, you can’t even breathe until you know for sure that the thing hunting you has moved on.  

There is a security office in Parts and Services - which means that you have to book it to the stage and get down the lift somehow. There should be a stairwell backstage, behind the staff entrance. That’s it, that’s your plan. That’s your best bet, to get somewhere safe. Even if you don’t find anyone in the security office, you can at least barricade yourself in there and wait out this freak outage. 

You can barely hear the mechanical clattering, anymore. It’s very faint, off in the distance - perhaps, you can’t help but hope, he’s on another floor entirely, and you’ll be able to get to the stage and swipe your employee ID without him even realizing you were on the move. 

You carefully, quietly fold the map back up and shove it back into your pocket, ears keen for the mechanical clatter that Moon’s movements made, and as soon as you’re sure he’s far enough away, you slip out of the photo booth. 

The entire stage plaza is dark, and you can see the red glow of your pursuer’s eyes glinting in the blackness, the man in the moon on the hunt as he sweeps elegantly through the air. You carefully, quietly edge forward in the other direction, trying to put as much room between you and the animatronic as possible. The carpet muffles your footsteps, and you can hear his gentle singing, like a lullaby floating through the pizzaplex. 

You hit the stairs, gripping the railing like a vice as your heart pounds in your chest. You can barely see the steps in front of you, and every step makes your stomach lurch with uncertainty. As you release your grip on the hand railing, that’s when it happens: you miss a step. 

You pitch forward, and can’t help but let out an involuntary yelp as the world in all its blackness jolts around you, the sensation of falling filling your stomach instead. Then, without warning, it stops. You’re no longer falling, and your body never connects with the next step. There’s something caught in your collar as your feet leave the stairway. 

You drop your employee ID, watching it clatter to the stairwell and fall off to the side, into inky oblivion, but you don’t really care about that. Mechanical servos click and whirr as Moon grabs you, his grip absolute as he lifts you away from the stairwell. 

You gasp, and struggle, feeling yourself rise as Moon’s grin comes into view. Red pupils bore into you as you grapple with his hold on you, trying to find some kind of purchase as you’re lifted, but there’s no hope of breaking his grip. 

The wire that he’s attached to continues to retract into the ceiling, and you dangle there in his grip. “Sun!” You practically scream, your voice breathless and frightened. “Sun, stop, put me down, please! Fuck! Fuck, fuck, Sun, please! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” 

Your pleas are met with a low chuckle. “Naughty, naughty,” Moon sings, and his voice is soft in such close quarters, but no less chilling. You kick wildly, searching for some kind of hold against him as you ascend, and your shoe slides uselessly off the slick metal of his chestplate. He’s huge, and you’re so small compared to him, with all the disadvantages of being nearly half his height. You can’t even think straight, your breath coming in ragged little gasps as you begin to hyperventilate. “Naughty rulebreaker, it’s past your bedtime…” 

You grip frantically at him, at the joints of his wrists that could crush your fingers in the blink of an eye. You can feel empty space below you, four stories up as you dangle at the mercy of a homicidal animatronic that caught you in the darkness. You feel hot tears prickle at your eyes, but you’re in too much shock to cry, wide-eyed and frantic.

“S– Moon,” you plead. “Don’t you want to open the daycare? We still have to open the daycare. And greet all the kids… they’re– they’re going to be so t-tuckered out,” you try, voice desperate and unhinged as you try to reason with him. “They’re going to need someone to help with naptime! Don’t you want to d-do n-n-naptime again?” 

The animatronic froze, looking at you. Its voice eeked out slowly, as though confused as it spoke. “...Naptime…” 

“Yeah!” You manage, breathlessly. Your foot brushes up against his chestplate again, to no avail, and you dangle. “Yeah! Naptime! We can go back to the daycare, together, and stock the blankets, for naptime! You can help tuck the kids in so they can go to sleep.”

The animatronic cocks its head at you, and for a split second, you think you’re actually getting through to it. Sun was under there somewhere - someone who still cared about the children, who wanted the daycare to be a safe and happy place for the kids. And maybe, once upon a time, Moon had been the same way. You let out a nerve-rattled little laugh. “Don’t you want that, Moon? Don’t you want to be the naptime attendant, again? We can make that happen!” You’re speaking a mile a minute in your terror, but somehow he’s catching all of it, drinking in your words in silence. 

“Naptime,” he repeats, and you can almost see past the malice and rage bubbling just below his surface. It almost sounds nostalgic. 

“Naptime,” you agree, and feel his grip in your shirt tighten. He brings you up, just a hair, so that his faceplate is mere inches away from yours. 

“Naptime,” he says to you, and that terrible chuckle is lacing his voice again. “Nighty night, rulebreaker.” 

Moon’s grip uncurls from your uniform.

The world feels slow and sluggish, and all you can hear in that moment is the rush of wind in your ears as you fall. In the eternity that it takes you to hit the floor four stories below, there’s a great kthunk-kthunk-kthunk as the lights come back on, and the blinding lights of the pizzaplex are drowned out by the blackness that envelops you on impact.

Chapter Text

The first thing you notice is how everything in your body really fucking hurts. There is a radiating pain from deep within your chest, and you feel like you’ve been put through a steamroller. Your chest is heavy and even thinking about moving hurts. Your head is pounding, and breathing is nearly impossible. 

You crack your eyes open, and shut them immediately. It’s too bright for your rattled brain, and you just want to sink back into blissful unconsciousness again. Moving to shield your eyes isn’t an option. Even groaning is too gargantuan a task for you; you try, but it just comes out as a miserable wheeze. 

As your consciousness swims back into focus, you recognize the faint sound of upbeat music. 

No goddamn fucking way, were you back in the daycare. You wanted to go home. You wanted to go to a hospital. Instead, you were in the daycare, in pain and misery after… something, had happened. Your brain is still too rattled to really recall, but you’re lucid enough to remember rushing through the dark, running from Moon. 

You thank whatever merciful God was listening that the bouncy, abrasive music of the daycare is muffled, but that makes you wonder why, exactly? Your surroundings are quiet and still, and though the glow of florescents are entirely too much for you at the moment, you manage to lift your head - a dizzying, sickening motion, you realize, a little too late - and open your eyes. 

You’re in the castle balcony room; Sun’s room. You’ve been laid in a pile of naptime blankets, with something soft under your head to prop it up. You smell the gentle scent of laundry detergent, and assume that the thing under your head must be one of the foam toys from the daycare. It’s rather comfortable, and you’re not in any hurry to be moving around.

Groggily, you muster up your energy to throw one hand out to the side, where your fingers connect with something soft. You pull it onto your chest and try to ignore how heavy your lungs feel even without the meager weight of your jester’s cap resting on them. You wheeze, and manage a pitiful sound - a call for help, though it occurs to you too late that no one was going to find you up here, let alone be able to reach you. 

Having expended the little bit of energy you’ve managed to wrangle, your head falls back to the plush pillow and you try to drag in another breath. It’s a good thing you don’t remember the impact, because the prospect of jumping off the balcony in the state you were in was already an uninviting concept - but how the hell else were you supposed to get down? 

Your throat is dry and your head is spinning when you try to sit up; it feels like moving the wrong way will shatter your ribs, and you don’t count out the possibility that a few of them might be broken already. All you remember is dangling above the stage - the struggle with Moon - and then the rest of it was gone entirely. You’re certain you fell; you’re certain you hit the ground. Otherwise, your body would not be complaining quite so loudly. You were just stunned that you’d actually survived that fall. 

Now all you have to do was hobble your way out of the pizzaplex and never come back. Simple! 

Suddenly, the bright light is extinguished by shadow, giving your strained eyes some much-needed relief. 

“Oh! No, no, no, please, don’t– don’t do that,” came the voice, and something pushed gently against your chest, easing you back down to the makeshift pillow. Your face screws up into something resembling a protest. You and the robot are not on speaking terms, currently. 

The length of his hand is just shy the size of your torso, and he’s not built to be handling you in such a delicate condition. He’s gentle, but it still hurts when he presses two fingers carefully against your sternum, to get you to lay down again. 

You want to swat his hand away, but instead you simply turn your head away from his voice. 

“Oh! Oh, I was so worried about you!” He breathes a sigh of relief. “You’ve been out cold for hours, you know! I was starting to think you weren’t going to– weren’t going to wake up!” Sun chuckles nervously, and he can hear how grim and bleak that actually sounds out loud. A beat passes. “I know you’re mad at me,” he says, trying to keep his voice down. You can tell it’s a very unnatural thing for him to do, and it sounds a little too much like the low grating voice of Moon for you to be comfortable, “but I warned you! We have to keep the lights on. Moony… hasn’t been himself, lately.” 

“Fuck off,” you rasp, “You’re telling me–” you cough, your voice still not agreeing with you, and you see stars as your ribs protest. “--That Moon doesn’t usually go around trying to murder people? Fuck you. Call security. I want to go home.” 

There’s silence.

You frown with impatience, and if he tells you that bad language isn’t allowed in the daycare, you might punch him. Or, you would, if moving your arms more than a fraction of a centimeter was an option. He doesn’t move; he doesn’t respond. 

You turn to look at him. You see Sun, crouching by your side, fidgeting restlessly and one of his sun rays missing where you’d hit Moon with the folding chair. You must have damaged the faceplate enough to prevent his ray from extending back out. 

Good.  

“Did you hear me?” You ask, point-blank. “Call security. I’m not staying here like this.” You’re in no condition to be driving home, either - and depending on what time it is, you might have to stay here, until you can catch a ride back to your apartment. 

“If…” he starts carefully, wringing his hands together. “If I call security, they’re gonna…. They won’t like what happened. We’re gonna get in trouble.” 

“Yeah?” You ask, a hand around your middle trying to hold your ribs in place while you prop yourself up. Pain is written all over your face, but it’s slowly dulling. “Well, I’ve got news for you - we’re not opening the daycare. Not if you’re going to be playing hide and seek with the kids, fucking lunatic.” 

“I – I would never hurt the kids!” He tries. “I would never hurt you! You’re my friend! But Moon is just… we keep him away from the daycare, now, see? And as long as the lights stay on, everything’s fine!” 

“Fine?” You spit. “And what happens when the lights go off, when there’s a power outage like last night? One or two dead kids or coworkers is no big deal, right? Give me a break. Moon isn’t safe to be around, and neither are you.” 

The remaining sun rays contracted, until they were just tiny points poking out around his head, barely even visible. You realize that antagonizing the thing that nearly killed you the night before probably wasn’t the best idea, but you’re still fighting off double-vision, a splitting headache, and the mutiny of every bone in your body after your fall. You can be forgiven for maybe not thinking clearly. 

Sun stands from his crouch. He towers over you at an impossible height from your position lying in the nest of blankets, and you turn your head away from him again, so you won’t have to think about how much bigger than you he really is. “It was an accident,” he tells you. “I would never hurt a friend, even if they were really mad at me. Neither would Moon, but he’s been… different, lately, is all. He’s not himself. If you knew Moon, you’d understand.” There’s something strange in his voice, and as he disappears from the little room behind the balcony, you wonder if robots feel regret. 

Chapter Text

You lie there until it no longer hurts to breathe. 

As the tension in your chest eases, you start to think that maybe your ribs haven’t been shattered after all. Which is good, because you have enough to worry about at the moment without having to factor in the socio-political climate and the cost of private healthcare. Major, pressing things, like the robot who is standing on the balcony stairway, looking at you in complete, dead silence, with his static grin and a gaze that could bore a hole in steel.

Neither one of you have said a word since he re-entered the room, but you’re distinctly uncomfortable now - both in the metaphysical sense that comes from being stared at by a creature who could live and die in the uncanny valley, and the fact that your hip is resting against a particularly unforgiving slab of concrete. You need to move, to get out of the unbearable gaze of the sun, and maybe - if your body will allow it - walk around a little. 

So, you move. 

The reaction is immediate - you’re not entirely sure Sun even used the stairs, but you don’t actually see him vault over the guard railing on the upper level. You’re sure that a two-ton animatronic like him would have made some kind of noise hitting the floor, but he’s pretty light on his feet. At any rate, he’s on top of you in an instant, that one sun ray still missing as the others shrink in concern. “Really, friend, are you sure you should be–” 

“Shut up, I’m fine,” you grunt. You’re not fine, and in fact you’re a little unsteady on your feet, but you manage. His hands hover over you, as though concerned you’ll take a fall any second. You find that hilarious, in a bitter sort of way. A little too late to keep you from falling, no? 

You ignore him and straighten up, taking a slow, deep breath to expand your ribs and test out how much lung capacity you’ve regained. The motion stings, but it no longer feels like you’re inhaling molten lava with every breath - that’s probably a good sign. 

Sun lets out a nervous little whine as you right yourself. You still have one hand pressed carefully to a particularly bruised rib, and to a robot like him, you probably look like you’re going to fall apart the moment you let go. “I’m fine,” you repeat, a little more sturdy this time. The edge to your voice isn’t quite as biting, you notice - you’re still angry; it would be insane for you not to be. But you have to admit, now that you didn’t feel like you were on the brink of death, your ire has cooled a bit. 

Carefully, you climb the stairs to the balcony, and look down. Well, shit. 

You can feel Sun close behind you, watching you, and you take a decisive step away from the edge of the balcony. You could fall from this height, into the ballpit, and it probably wouldn’t be dangerous. And you aren’t afraid of heights! You’ve just… had your fill of them, for a while.

You grimace and let out a frustrated little huff. You know you can’t get down this way - and the service door inside Sun’s room is locked from the other side. You’d be more than happy to trek across the Pizzaplex if it meant getting down from here without having to jump. You don’t think you’re in any state to climb down via the girders, like how you’d snuck up here in the first place. Which means… 

You turn to Sun. 

“Oh! I - I can help you down!” He offers, catching the thought you dreaded to vocalize. You don’t want his help. You especially don’t want him to help you down from any heights. He’s done enough of that, thanks. But… you really don’t want to jump. Your body protests just thinking about the impact, even if it’s cushioned by a thousand plastic balls. You frown deeply, and he can see the distress written all over your features. 

“If you drop me, I’m going to come back here with a screwdriver and disassemble you myself,” You sneer. 

There’s a long, terrible stretch of silence, and a small part of you fears that he’s going to take back his offer and just leave you stranded up here. 

Instead, he moves back, away from you. “I would never drop you,” he says, and the earnest sincerity in his voice is almost enough to make you forget that he very recently dropped you five stories. You decide not to mention that fun little fact, and instead hold your arms out in a vague show of permission. 

Sun looks at you, almost expecting you to pull back like your permission is some kind of cruel prank. ‘Syke!’ You would say, blowing a raspberry and kicking him in the ankle. But instead, you simply let him pick you up, against your better judgment. 

He’s gentle with you - mindful of your injuries and cradling you carefully. He scoops you up in one arm, holding you carefully with his other hand laid across your lap like a restraint, to keep you from falling forward. You struggle, at first, feeling like this was maybe a bad idea, but his hold on you is secure. You look up at him, and he can see the fear flash in your eyes. 

The hand in your lap pats twice, a careful, soothing motion as he smiles down at you. “Don’t worry, friend!” he chirps, trying to keep his voice quiet with how close you are. “I’ve got you.” 

You sling an arm around his shoulders, mindful of the thin arm of his neck. It feels like the most fragile part of him, and even as upset with him as you were - even as scared as you were - you couldn’t help but treat him with a gentle touch. 

“All ready?” He asks you, not willing to make any sudden movements until he’s sure you’re secure and prepared. 

You hum, an uncertain sound as you glance down at the ground below. You’re nearly twelve feet up, and already it feels unsafe. The wire descends from the ceiling, and you know it’s only going to get worse. “Y-yeah,” you manage, your grip on the daycare attendant tightening just a fraction. “Just get it over with.” 

“Alley-oop!” Sun chirps, leaping from the balcony. It’s smooth and graceful, and though his hold on you never wavers, you can’t help but curl a little closer against him, anticipating the sick antigravity of a fall. You clear the ball pit in one leap, and there is no sensation of falling as the wire lowers you both gently to the ground. Your heart is fluttering wildly in your chest, and Sun holds you just a little closer as you both touch down onto the soft playmats of the daycare center. 

“See?” He asks, helping you uncurl as he sets you down gently. Your feet touch the soft mat floor and his hands linger for just a moment as he makes sure you’re able to stand on your own two feet. 

For a split second, you’re uncertain; the soft give of the padded floor makes you wobble, and you reach out instinctually for his sturdy support. You grip at the hand still hovering by your waist, and he waits patiently for you to steady yourself, going stock still under your unexpected touch. 

You have your feet underneath you, at least, and your sudden death grip on the animatronic loosens, you let out a breath and move carefully, mindful of how your body is still unpleasantly stiff and sore. You take your first steps, and Sun straightens his back again, grinning down at you. 

You don’t grin back. What would have once been a delightful little trick unique to your new co-worker, the robotic caretaker of the daycare, was now a grim reminder of what he was capable of in the dark. You were lucky, that this one didn’t end the same way. 

You pause for a moment, gathering your wits about you as you try and banish the fear that’s still nestled comfortably in your chest. A breath - in, and out, and you shake the apprehension out of your still-sore shoulders, heading towards the great castle doors. 

“I’m going home,” you tell the robot, who follows you with a nervous step. You reach the door, and one hand is already on one of the great iron knockers when Sun speaks. 

“Are you… coming back?” He asks. 

You freeze, staring at the grain of the fake wood texture and letting his words sink into your addled brain. You frown at nothing. 

You think about the stark contrast between Moon’s grip and Sun’s. How the former held you precariously over a fifty foot drop, and the latter made sure you knew you were safe with a gentle hold. You thought about how they were the same damn robot… but not. 

You could think about a lot of things, you realize with a sick pit in your stomach. Things that were too vast for you to contemplate here, staring at the door and feeling like a stiff breeze could blow you over. Your hand slips from the knocker for a moment, and you finally look back at him. You search his faceplate for something - you’re not sure what, and it doesn’t matter, because he’s not a human being capable of emoting. 

And yet… 

He sees something in you in return, perhaps. There’s a subtle change in him, in the way he looks at you with that blank stare. Some kind of mutual understanding, that things were not as simple as night and day. 

Or maybe you just hit your head on the way down. 

At any rate, you tear your gaze from his, and take a deep breath, ignoring the stitch in your chest, between your ribs, as you do so. 

“Maybe,” you say stiffly. It’s not quite a yes, but it isn’t a no. 

Chapter Text

You sleep later than you wanted to. It’s nearly sundown by the time your tired, battered body allows you to regain consciousness - and boy, is it angry with you. It’s offended and appalled by the idea that you’re going back to the pizzaplex, but you have to. 

You’d left, last night, and caught an uber home, so your car was still there in the parking lot; more importantly, you’d just clocked out and left. Today, you needed to turn in your badge and quit. No way in hell were you staying at that daycare. And while you were at it, you have a report to make with security. 

Getting dressed is difficult. You’d managed to change into pajamas last night, upon stumbling through the door, but the room had been dark and hadn’t afforded you much chance to take stock of your body. Now, with the lights on, you notice it. You suck a breath through your teeth in a hiss, grimacing as you catch sight of your back in the mirror. Your upper back is splotched and spotted in varying shades of purple and yellow, ugly bruises that snake across your shoulderblades and down your arms. You can almost feel the impact just from looking at them, and you know that you’re lucky to have survived the fall with as little damage as you had. 

You can still see the bruises running down the back of your right arm with your short sleeves, so you throw on a jacket just to cover it up. You don't need any strange looks, though you’re fairly certain that you look battered and disheveled enough to warrant the strange looks even without the bruises. 

You call another uber to take you back to the Pizzaplex. You get in the sedan, hoping the ride there will be silent, but your driver won’t shut up about the place. It’s not his fault. Most people don’t think ‘attempted murder’ when they think of the Pizzaplex. 

“Those robots sure are something else, huh?” He asks, glancing at you through the rear view mirror, and boy do you wish he'd said anything else. You look awful, you notice, as you glance back at him. “Heard the people who own that place have some of the most advanced animatronics in the world. They sing and dance and walk around like they’re mascots, but there ain’t nobody inside em!” 

You really, really don’t feel like talking about the animatronics, so you just give a noncommittal hum. “Yeah, they’re, uh… interesting, for sure.” 

The man nods sagely. “Yeah, no, I get’cha. I went to Disney as a kid, and I’ll tell ya, I never liked those animatronics, either. Country Bear Jamboree? Had nightmares for weeks. No thank you! But my little niece had her birthday party there last month, and, I gotta tell ya,” he said, and whistled, “they ain’t even close. I saw that Fredbear, or whatever his name was, up close; he brought the cake to the table, and talked to my niece. And I mean, talked - like, they just had a whole conversation, it was wild. Those things are intelligent, man.” 

You shrug a little deeper into your jacket. 

“I don’t know a lot about robots, you know? But if I had to say whether or not those people have created, uh - uh - what’s it called, when the robots are alive–” 

“Artificial Intelligence,” you offer dully, and the man snaps his fingers. 

“That’s it! Artificial Intelligence. Those things look like cartoon animals, but if you slapped that technology into something that looks a little more realistic, I bet you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference! It’s freaky,” he says, “but you gotta admit, it’s real cool.” 

You wince and look out the window as the car rises towards the overpass on the freeway. Your exit is coming up, and as you crest the overpass, you can see the Pizzaplex standing proudly at the far edge of the highway down below. It’s dusk, and the neon lights are on full display. 

If you had never stepped foot inside that place, you would have found it easy to disregard the man’s exaggerated claims. Sure, the animatronics in that place might be advanced, but they weren’t people. 

But you have been in there, and even if you haven’t met the Glamrocks - who, let’s face it, are the stars of the show - you have met the Daycare Attendant. You remember arriving to the daycare, how you’d been so off put by the robot speaking to you, holding a conversation, without the awkward pauses of pre-designated dialogue. 

As your driver takes your exit, you shift uncomfortably in your seat. 

You would really prefer to talk about anything else. 

The building is no less overwhelming up close, and even though you’v’e been working here for a few weeks now, you still haven’t gotten used to how gargantuan this place truly is. You suppose it needs to be big, if the main attraction of this place was a set of massive animatronics and all the maintenance that went into them. But still. Yeesh. 

You tip your driver and bid him a good night. You can see your car at the edge of the parking lot, right where you’d left it. You take a deep breath and head inside first. You had some business to take care of before you could make the drive home. 

You try not to make it obvious that half of your body is badly bruised, but you’re still sore as hell and ready to just go home again. You shrug your jacket a little closer around your shoulders, as if that would hide the stiff, awkward gait you carried. Your day bag with your uniform stuffed in it is no longer slung over your shoulder. Instead, you hold it lamely at your side like the world’s dumbest businessman with your briefcase full of clown clothes. 

You sigh deeply and make your way towards the security office that Vanessa had dragged you to the first time you’d met with her. The employee hallways are just as barren and industrial as they were the day you’d started, and you find it remarkably bleak, now. You feel something heavy settle itself in your stomach, and tell yourself its just nerves. You’ve never quit a job like this before, and you know that if they get an inkling of a lawsuit, you were going to be blacklisted from every childcare position in the tri-state area. 

You scoff at the idea. You hadn’t interacted with a single child the entire time you’d been working here. A nightshift daycare position should have been your first clue. But, at least the night shifts were usually fairly calm and relatively peaceful. There was something eerie but intriguing about this place after close, when the entire building was dead silent save for the gentle music loop in each area and the whirring of S.T.A.F.F. bots at their various posts. 

You would admit, you were going to miss the calming industrial laundry room. That had been pretty nice. And… Oh. Vanessa’s in the office - but she’s on the phone. You hang back, not wanting to disturb her.

“No, no, I think we’re on track to reopen,” you hear her voice in the security office. The doors are shut, but the glass is so thin and the pitch of her voice is only slightly muffled as she leans over the desk, cradling a phone to her ear. “We’ve had the new hire in there for weeks now and there hasn’t been any problems reported,” Vanessa says to the higher up on the phone. 

You almost scoff; yeah, you had a report. 

There’s a pause as Vanessa listens to the person on the other end of the phone “N-no, no, no! I’ll– I can handle it. It won’t be like last time. I already told the rookie, first sign of malfunction, we’re scrapping the bot. I don’t care how user-friendly the new Parts and Services interface is, that thing is a liability. I wouldn’t trust that thing in calibration with a trained tech, let alone a standard employee. No, we’ll put up an ad at the highschool nearby until we can get his casing on a new endo, and– I know,” she says, and as the security cameras she’s standing in front of pan back around, she sees you standing there at the door. 

There’s a moment of shock as Vanessa’s gaze whips around right to you. You jump a bit, surprised by the suddenness of it all, and give her a miserable little wave. She frowns, and mutters something into the phone receiver that you can’t quite make out, before hanging up and unlocking the security door for you. “You should be on duty by now. Is something wrong?” 

You can hear the jitter in her voice, like she’s anxious about something, and you wonder if it has anything to do with the phone call she’d just had. Clearly, she’d been talking to a higher-up. There was way too much tension in her voice during that call for it to be a subordinate. “I, uh,” you stammer and stall lamely. “I - lost my ID. I can’t get into the daycare.” 

Vanessa glowers at you, and you feel the heat of embarrassment flush your cheeks. Yeah, not what the Chief of Security wanted to hear from the new hire. She sighs, clearly irritated as she turned back to the security console. “Fine,” she says. “I’ll have the S.T.A.F.F. bots on cleaning duty keep an eye out for your ID badge. In the meantime, take this,” she says, and hands you a security badge from the console in front of her. 

You open your mouth, and then close it. This security card is way higher clearance than you, as a daycare employee, were entitled to. “Th- thanks, Officer Vanessa,” you say with a careful smile. “Sorry to bother you.” 

“Yeah,” she muttered under her breath. “Me too. Just get to the daycare - we only have a few days before we plan to reopen the place, and we need to make sure that everything is in working order,” she said, and looked back up at you. “And I mean, everything.” 

You give her a smile and nod. “Yes, ma’am. We’ve been hard at work getting things back in order. We… we should be on track to reopen by the end of the month,” you lie through your teeth as you tuck the security badge into your day bag, along with your uniform. 

“Good. Corporate wants the daycare up and running - if we’re not ready to open by the end of the month, I’m not going to be taking the blame for running late, got it?” 

“Loud and clear, officer. I’m gonna get changed and head to the daycare. Thanks again for your help,” you say, and decide to feel bad about your blatant lie later, after work. You still had time before the end of the month.

One more day wasn’t going to make a difference, right? 

Chapter Text

You change into your uniform, every movement done on complete autopilot. You aren’t sure what just happened - but what you do know is that you’re late for your shift. You shuck your jacket and change quickly in one of the bathroom stalls in the empty daycare, knowing that there wouldn’t be anyone around but being conscious of your bruises anyway. You’re grateful that the jester’s outfit is long enough to cover all your bruises, with sleeve cuffs tight around your wrists. 

You linger in the outer lobby of the daycare, and know that eventually, at some point during your shift, you were going to have to actually go inside, no matter how much you didn’t actually want to. It’s a quarter past midnight by the time you muster up the courage to go in there again. You’re not afraid, per se… but you’re not unwilling to admit that you’re uncertain. 

The heavy garage-style shutter door lifts for you, and you duck into the daycare with your cap in your hands. When the door shuts securely behind you, you stand there and stare up at the statues. 

How were you supposed to know they’re the same person, you think to yourself, tugging on your cap as you round the statue to face Moon. Two separate statues… merchandise of one or the other, never together, always apart. More marketable, that way, you suppose. Sundrop and Moondrop candies, the posters plastering the walls… there wasn’t an inkling that they were anything but separate. 

But looking at the statues, the dolls, the posters, the cutesy little animation playing on the television screen in the corner of the second floor lobby, you see friendly, smiling faces. It feels like a joke, that they would market something as horrific and bloodthirsty as Moon to be cute and friendly. 

But… he hasn’t been himself, lately. 

It hits you hard. 

Why in God’s name would Fazbear Entertainment build a robot designed to terrorize children during naptime? Whatever is going on with Moon, it’s bad. It’s a corruption that’s changed him entirely. That friendly, gentle caretaker on display throughout the daycare - throughout the entire pizzaplex - is Moon. The thing that attacked you the other night, the thing that nearly killed you in the dark…? 

You weren’t sure what that was. 

You glance over towards the towering cage of the daycare, shoving your hands into your pockets and feeling the security badge that Vanessa had given you. You’ve had a lot to think about in the last forty-eight hours, and it didn’t look like that was planning on changing any time soon. You couldn’t see any movement from within the daycare, so you walk yourself down to the elevator, keeping an eye on the play structures, the balcony, the ball pit, hoping to catch some glimpse of the sunny animatronic. 

You slip into the daycare silently, looking around. How hard can he really be to spot? He’s a twelve-foot robot in bells and striped jammies. 

“Sun?” You call, hands cupped to your mouth as you wander the daycare, glancing around for him. “Sun, are you in here?” The moment those words leave your mouth, you sigh. Of course he’s here, dumbass. He physically cannot leave.

And yet, it’s suspiciously quiet. There’s no itinerary for the day being announced to you, no greeting, no excitement to have someone in the daycare again. Just… stillness, that bogged down even the bouncy, happy music that played ad nauseam. 

You wander all the way to the back of the daycare, towards the castle. With your neck craned back as far as you could (you were still finding exciting new bruises and aches), you peer up at the balcony to the castle room. “Sun!” You call, and your ribs only quietly complain at the volume you’re using. “Come down here!” 

There’s no answer. 

You stoop at the edge of the ballpit and pick up a few brightly colored spheres, holding them in your arms as you stand back up, and unceremoniously chuck one up towards the balcony. 

You miss. 

A huff escapes you, and you try again, throwing with your… less-bruised side, to try and get the damn thing past the edge of the balcony. It takes a few tries, since you’re still stiff as a board, and you’re sure you’re going to regret it later, but at long last a little plastic ball flies squarely and surely into the middle of the little room. 

“Hey!” 

The indignant squawk comes from beyond the edge of the balcony, where you can’t see, but you wait for him at the edge of the ballpit with more ammo if needed. “Come out here,” you call. “We need to talk.” 

It takes another minute or two. You’ve thrown another ball, but missed the balcony entirely, and are contemplating throwing another when the first hint of sun rays peek out past the theater curtains flanking the balcony. He looks down at you, and even though his expression is as static as ever, you can practically feel the hesitation and regret radiating off of him. 

Hesitation and regret, you marvel to yourself, waiting for him to come out. What peculiar things for a robot to have, aren’t they? When he reaches the edge of the balcony, you throw another plastic ball up at him, and he catches it easily. “You– you really shouldn’t be throwing those,” he tells you, haltingly. “It’s against the rules.” 

“Then come down here,” you say. There’s a tired, defiant edge to your voice as you toss another plastic ball. “I’ve got all these balls down here. Wanna see how long it takes before I run out?” Another throw, falling short of the balcony and bouncing harmlessly back into the sea of primary colors. “I can do this all day!” You taunt him. 

That’s a lie, you think grimly to yourself. Your arm already hurts, and you hope he comes down soon. You can see one sun ray still missing, and the vindication in you mingles with a sense of guilt. “I - want to apologize.” 

“Apologize?” He asks in return, peering over the balcony at you. He lowers himself down to sit there, long legs swinging and hands folded in his lap. He observes you with something akin to patience and concern, like you were a child. You suppose it’s only fitting, for the daycare attendant. “Moon hurt you - we hurt you! Of course you’re angry…” 

“Sun, please come down here,” you ask again, dropping the balls back into the pit as a show of good faith. “I… I want to talk, about Moon.” 

You can see the palpable confusion in his body language - the way his legs stop kicking, the way his hands still in his lap and the way the points of his sun rays stand on edge. 

“Wh… why would you wanna do that?” He asks, and you can hear the tension in his voice. 

“Because,” you tell him. “If you two need help, we have to get everything fixed before we open the daycare. That includes you, Sun. Moon, too.” 

“F-fix Moon? I - I don’t know…” he manages to eek out, as the wire connects to the hook at his back, lowering him down gently into the ballpit. 

With how deep the ball pit was, and your position on the rainbow bridge, you came face-to-face with the animatronic. With a little jolt, you realize that this is the first time you’ve been face-to-face with him without him crouching down or carrying you. A strange emotion fills your chest, and you resist the urge to take a step back. 

You look over the gargantuan robot standing before you. Despite this glitch in his code, you know beyond the shadow of a doubt that Sun loves the daycare and misses the kids. He’d literally been made for this. Regardless of what happened, you know the kind of person that he is, and you decide, in that moment, to put your faith in this machine - to believe that Moon, once upon a time, was the same. 

Yes. You’re willing to believe that Moon, once upon a time, was the same as your friend, Sun, the daycare attendant. 

That - maybe - he could be again.

Chapter Text

You’re still sore and stiff from your fall, so you settle yourself in one of the chairs behind the security desk. Sun doesn’t seem to mind, though he never passes the threshold of the security desk, either. Another off-limits area, hard-coded into his programming, he tells you. Instead, he sits cross-legged on the counter at the edge of the security desk, hands folded in his lap as you both sit there in silence, staring at each other like some bad western, each waiting for the other to shoot first. 

You don’t even know where to start. 

“This… thing with Moon,” you venture. “When did it start? How long has he been acting weird?” The words taste bitter. Weird doesn’t even begin to cover it, and you feel like a lie has passed your lips, the way you’re sugar coating what happened.

Sun twitches, and his rays flex nervously. “It was before the daycare shut down,” he explains. “Everything that happened with that poor kid was… the worst of it. But I remember, he hadn’t been himself for a while, before that. I wish I knew what changed, but I know that he wouldn’t hurt a fly! Neither of us would!” 

You believe him, but it’s hard to imagine that - that predator, tucking children in during naptime. The low, gravelly sound to his voice and the gleeful little giggles as he dangled you in mid air are still a little too fresh in your mind for you to remark on that claim. So you swallow your grimace and hum, casting your gaze away as if in thought.

“So, it’s been a few months, at least,” you repeat mindlessly. “And… you guys haven’t been to Parts and Services since you noticed something was wrong?” 

Sun fidgets nervously, shoving his hands into his lap. “We didn’t realize how bad things were until Moon was– well, until the incident,” his voice is soft, like he’s afraid to even admit this out loud. You wonder how long Sun has been holding onto all of this. “And by then, when I woke up and realized what had happened, I knew that going to Parts and Services would be– we wouldn’t– we wouldn’t be coming back to the daycare.” 

Your heart clenches in your chest and you take a slow, measured breath. You nod, worrying at your lip for a moment. “I, uh… I stopped by security, before showing up,” you tell him, suddenly engrossed in the elastic ruffle of your sleeve’s cuff. You pick at a loose string, to avoid his gaze. “Security definitely knows something’s up with you, and I think you’re right.” 

Sun buries his face in his hands, keening. It’s an agonized whine, and you sit bolt upright in your seat. “I didn’t say anything about the other night,” you assure him, quickly. “Uhm… But, the head of security was talking to someone on the phone about, sc–uh.. replacing you, if there are anymore incidents. I - I didn’t tell her anything.”

You neglect to mention how close you’d come to telling her everything.  

Sun peeks at you from between his fingers. Both hands come down slowly, held to hover over his faceplate in surprise as his gaze bores into you. You make the mistake of meeting it, and feel heat flush your cheeks. “You… you didn’t tell them what happened?” He asks you. 

You wish he would look away. You wish he would look anywhere but at you, because you’re struck solid, and can’t look away either. You imagine how you must look to him, small and fraught and wide-eyed, like a rabbit caught in the headlight of an oncoming car. Your mouth opens, and the stupidest thing possible comes out. 

“I didn’t want to get you in trouble,” you manage. It’s barely more than a whisper, like an admission of guilt. 

The silence envelops you both. 

Sun looks at you, and not an inch of his body moves. There’s not even the subtle movement of breath, for someone like him, and you find it eerie when he goes completely still like this, like a living statue. You fight off the urge to squirm uncomfortably in your seat, but duck your head until he decides to do something. 

You hear the faint mechanical whirr in him as he looks down at you. “You should be mad at me,” he tells you plainly, his voice just as small and uncertain as yours. “You should be furious! After– after what we did!” 

You feel something churn in your stomach, and you wish you’d just quit and gone home instead. Your breath is caught in your throat for a moment, and you make some undignified wheezing sound as you try to force it from your lungs. “I was,” you admit. “I was really, really angry. I was scared, Sun.” You clasp your hands together in your lap, your knuckles white to stay their trembling. “I am scared.” 

And it was the ugly truth. You were sitting here in the well-lit daycare, having a conversation with Sun, but that didn’t mean you were safe. You’d gotten the message loud and clear, the other night: your safety was conditional, and your life was at risk every minute you spent inside the pizzaplex. The other night had been an accident, and the power outage had been your fault to begin with. If you hadn’t plugged that cabinet into the wall, maybe you never would have met Moon at all. 

But that didn’t mean the next blackout wouldn’t be completely random. A bad storm, or a problem with the power company. A downed pole. It could be anything, at any time, and you would be plunged into the darkness again, fleeing from someone who was supposed to be your friend. 

“You don’t have to be afraid of me, friend,” he stresses, palms open in a show of truce. “As long as the lights stay on, you don’t have anything to worry about! I promise!"

But that’s exactly it, isn’t it? As long as the lights stay on. You look up at him with something sharp and uncomfortable in your gaze. You know that you’re safe with him, as long as the lights stay on. That’s the problem. Your safety is conditional, and he knows it just as well as you do. That means that the safety of the kids is conditional, and he can see it written all over your face: you don’t like those odds.

“We have to do something, Sun,” you say, sternly. “We have to fix this, or else either we never open the daycare, or we open knowing there’s a risk and Moon hurts someone else. Then I’m out of a job and you’re decommissioned.” 

His remaining sunrays retract quickly, and you sigh. Come to think of it, you might be out of a job anyway, when corporate learns you busted their multi-million dollar animatronic with a folding chair to the face. You apologize for being so blunt, and he slowly uncoils. 

“You’re right," he concedes miserably, "I guess there’s no use pretending otherwise. But if I go in for service, and they find something wrong with Moon - it’s safer for both of us if we just… stay here in the daycare! Moon stays sleeping and neither of us have to worry about being s- s– uh… let go.” 

He’s afraid, too. He’s afraid for Moon; he’s afraid for himself. He’s afraid of what corporate will do if they find some kind of error in his programming. It’s too big a risk, when he’s been trying so hard and managing things so well so far, and you can’t help but feel a pang of pity as he stumbles over the concept of his own mortality. 

Crazy, how these engineers could install a fear of mortality into their animatronics, but not a half-decent antivirus. You stand from your chair, ignoring the way your body complained as if you were a geriatric fresh out of a kickboxing match, and round the security desk. 

As you come to the front, Sun unfolds himself to tower over you. He keeps his hands where you can see them, and tries not to make any sudden movements as you willingly place yourself so close to him out from behind the safety of the desk.  

You hold your hands out, palms up between you and Sun. It’s an offer - an olive branch that you’re extending. He looks at you for a moment, before moving. 

His hands swallow yours, and he holds them delicately, like he’s all too aware of how fragile humans can be. You can feel the uncertainty in the gesture, but say nothing. Instead, you simply let a breath roll through you. 

“I just have one more question about Moon, for now,” you tell him, and he tries to lean down a little closer to you. You examine the mechanical joints of his hands enveloping yours, and mull over your words before you speak. “When the lights go out - does it hurt?” 

There’s silence. You can hear something whirring deep within Sun’s chest, and immediately regret asking. 

“It’s not… my favorite thing,” he tells you. “It never used to be so bad! Naptime was just a regular part of our day, here at the daycare, so it’s not the switching that hurts! But… Moon’s been so much more aggressive, and when he comes out, and… well, I try not to let that happen. I’m not supposed to fight against our programming, like that.” 

“So if you don’t fight it, then it won’t hurt you,” you summarize. 

“Well, no - but if I don’t fight it, then Moon gets out and other people get hurt.” One hand leaves yours and his fingers gently prod at the empty space between sun rays. You cast your gaze to the side, as you listen. “Kids; employees; friends! People we’re supposed to care about! People we’re supposed to protect! You’ve seen what it’s like when Moon comes out. That’s why the lights have to stay on.” 

You grimace, and your free hand plucks something from your pocket. “I, uh, lost my ID badge the other night, when he… grabbed me. Vanessa gave me this one to get into the daycare today.” You flash the new badge. Sun squints at it for a moment, and then reels back. 

“Wowee! Oh, congrats on the promotion! I didn’t even know we had level ten security, here!” 

This gets a chuckle out of you, and the tension melts from your shoulders. “Well thanks, Sun, but I’m pretty sure she gave me this by mistake. I think this thing will get me through any door in the building. And, if we really wanna reopen the daycare,” you tell him. “I think I’ve got an idea.” 

You shove the level ten security badge back into your pocket, and give him a wry smile. “But you’re not gonna like it.” 

Sun openly and bluntly stares at you; you can practically hear the gears turning before he gasps. "No! No, no - absolutely not! I shouldn’t leave the daycare! I’m not programmed to be roaming around out there! I’m the daycare attendant - I’m supposed to stay here, and look after the kids–” 

“Sun, there aren’t any kids here! And there won’t be, ever again, if you don’t get the green light to reopen.” 

He’s silent; he knows you’re right, but he’s afraid, and you know it’s not going to be an easy sell, but– 

Sun turns to face you. You stiffen as he reaches for your wrist, and you nearly pull back out of reflex. Your heart lurches for a moment, and you can’t deny that there’s still a small part of you on guard around him. 

But all he does is lift your arm at a ninety degree angle, examining you. “You’re still injured,” he says, running his free hand along the back of your arm and down your shoulder blade, where the worst of the bruising is. At this, you do pull back, and the motion reminds you of how sore you are. “You don’t have full maneuverability, and movement is limited.” 

You frown, and hold your arms close to your chest. “What makes you think that?” 

“I’m built to take care of the kids,” he explains, carefully, and you don’t like the way he’s looking at you, like he’s analyzing you from top to bottom. “If a little superstar gets injured, it’s my job to know how to help! You’ve been stiff all day, and you’ve been tiring easily. You haven’t been making any exaggerated movements in your upper body. I’m just worried about you - and now you suggest this – I’m sorry, but I don’t think you’re in any shape to be running around the pizzaplex, friend.” 

Your frown deepens, and you don’t like how easily he was able to pick all that out about you. You shrink into yourself, knowing he’s right. 

“If he comes out again, he’s not going to be happy,” Sun tells you. “And I don't want you to get hurt.” 

“If we don’t do this, then they’re going to scrap you,” you say, harshly. A quiet voice nags at the back of your mind; and why did you care, exactly? It was just a robot. It’s not even a person, the voice tells you, and it’s responsible for at least one death in the Pizzaplex; very nearly two.  

That silly little voice is drowned out by the terrified chitter that Sun makes. He grips at his rays, and starts pacing again. “Too dangerous! It’s too dangerous! When he comes out, I lose control! We have to keep the lights on! We have to–” 

“Sun,” you cut across him, your voice gentle. He freezes, looking over at you. You can see the slightest tremor in his hands, the way he stalls and stares. “We don’t have a lot of choices here. I know I was harsh, the other night, but - now, I’m choosing to believe you. I’m choosing to believe that Moon used to be friendly and caring, just like you. And if whatever happened to him can be fixed, we have to try - because you know what the alternative is. I don’t want you to get… let go.” 

He looks at you, and slowly lowers himself to the ground, sitting cross legged to be on level with you. “I’m not ready to go to Parts and Services,” he says. Fear tinges his voice, and you close the gap between the two of you. You reach out, a careful touch at the bare rim of his faceplate where the ray was jammed. You can see where the metal is dented, preventing the ray from extending, and you ghost your fingers over it as you examine it. 

The movement is incredibly subtle, but impossible to miss this close to him; you’re shocked to realize that the animatronic can feel sensation, that the dent actually hurt. He winces away from your hand, pulling it down from his faceplate and keeping it trapped in his, and you wonder. 

“You’re afraid to go to Parts and Services because you think a tech is going to find whatever’s wrong and decide to decommission you anyway,” you state, and Sun smiles at you blankly. There’s no joy or cheer behind it like there usually is. You take a breath, and exhale in a huff. “What if it wasn’t a tech running the maintenance? I overheard Vanessa say that the interface was updated to be user-friendly. Maybe… I can fix whatever this is.” You give him a lopsided smile in return. “If I’m going to be luring Moon down to Parts and Services anyway, I might as well make myself useful while I’m there, right?” 

Sun stares at you, side blinded by this new suggestion. Even as he seems to contemplate the idea, you’re not sure what you were thinking to suggest that you would be able to fix a multi-million dollar robot. You don’t have the first clue about robotics! Or programming! Or anything that isn’t childcare, really.

“And what happens,” he asks, “if you don’t make it to parts and services?” 

You open your mouth, and close it again, like a dumb fish. “Then… I don’t have to worry about getting fired for tampering with the daycare attendant.” You nod assuredly, and the confidence in your voice surprises even you. 

He stares at you. “Are you sure you want to do this?” 

No! No, you’re really not! You want nothing more than to hand in your badge and your uniform and go home forever. But if you do that, then your friend gets scrapped. 

“Of course I am.”

Chapter Text

You come in for your shift the next day, and leave your daybag - and your uniform - in the locker room.

The plan is simple. 

You have your level 10 security badge - well, it’s not yours, but it’s in your possession and you don’t plan on giving it up just yet - and a flashlight. You won’t be stumbling blindly through the dark. You’ll be prepared for the chase, this time. You’ll be prepared for Moon. 

Moon clearly doesn’t have the same limitations that Sun does, so you will turn out the lights and he let the switch happen naturally to bypass his programming directive to stay within the confines of the daycare. Your stomach churns at the idea of Moon chasing you through the pizzaplex again - but that’s all part of the plan, now. Things would be different this time, and you would be the bait for the bloodthirsty animatronic, rather than the prey.

Somehow, your new role isn't all that comforting.

Regardless, you would take the service tunnels down to Parts and Services, and Moon would follow. It really was just as simple as that. 

Where things get a little more complicated, is when you’ve actually got him in Parts and Services. You have no idea what you’re actually going to do once you get him down there, but you’re going to have to figure it out. Come hell or high water, you were going to reopen the daycare with Sun. 

“Moon isn’t going to be happy to see you,” Sun reiterated, “B-but, whatever he says, or - or does, just know that deep, deep down, I’m sure he really appreciates this!” 

“Will he appreciate it enough to not try and kill me?” You ask. Sun hesitates, and you snort. You can’t say you expected anything different.  “Well, maybe I’ll get a chance to talk to him for real once whatever this is, is out of his system.” You don’t hold out hope for that, but Sun seems to. You find it endearing, how despite the odds, Sun is so optimistic about getting Moon back; about his friend being okay, after all this time. 

It’s not exactly at the forefront of your mind - nothing can distract you from what you’re about to do, you realize, pulling the thick black cylinder of a Faz-standard flashlight from the charger mounted on the wall behind the security desk. You give it a few experimental clicks, to make sure it's fully charged and operational - but you can’t help but think about what you’re going to say to Moon once he’s himself again. 

You wonder if you’ll even be able to help him, and what’s going to happen if you find that you can’t. You don’t want to think too long about what’s going to happen if the techs from Parts and Services come in tomorrow morning to find you there tinkering away. You’d be fired in a heartbeat, you’re certain of it, and then Sun would have to deal with the consequences of being examined by real Fazbear techs, instead of one idiot babysitter who got a little too sentimental. 

He’s a piece of machinery, that awful little voice at the back of your mind whispers. You’re not qualified for this. You’re just going to make things worse, if you even survive long enough to mess around with technology you’re not supposed to be tampering with. 

You take a deep breath, quieting that cruel little voice. Look at it this way: either you make it to Parts and Services and survive your little game of tag, or it’s suddenly not your problem anymore! 

You still find it hard to swallow, that Moon is gentle and friendly like his daytime counterpart. You only know the violent, bloodthirsty predator that stalked you through the dark - but you’re eager to meet the person Moon used to be. 

“Okay,” you say, readjusting your grip on the flashlight. You’re visibly nervous, and it’s obvious to the animatronic who hasn’t taken his eyes off of you since you’d come in for your shift this evening. “I think we’re ready.” The pizzaplex is empty; all the guests and even the staff had gone home for the night, the place locked down with nothing granting you access to the closed-down facilities but the right security pass. 

Things will be different, this time, you remind yourself with a steadying breath. You will have a flashlight, and a goal - two very important things you didn’t have last time the lights went out. You’d just been running blindly through the pizzaplex, last time.

“I - I don’t know, friend,” Sun says, wringing his hands together as he watches you prepare. He wanted desperately to sway you away from this idea, but you both know there aren’t a lot of options. You can see that line of reasoning cross his features. “You don’t have to do this, you know. I don’t want you to get hurt.” 

“I’m not going to get hurt,” you say, and you know that you can’t guarantee that. There’s too many variables at play here, and you know that one mistake could mean Moon gets his hands on you again - and you might not be as lucky, this time. “We just stick with the plan, and everything will work fine. It’s a straight shot from here to Parts and Services, and then we figure out the rest from there.”

The plan is simple, you repeat to yourself. You know that, too, is a lie. 

“And remember,” you tell him, “you don’t have to fight the switch. We want him to come out, this time.” Sun nods. “Are you ready?” You ask. 

“No,” is the robot’s immediate response. “So do it quick.” 

You give him a gentle smile, and from your position behind the security desk, you kill the lights. 

The daycare is plunged into darkness for the second time that week, and you feel every muscle in your body tense as Sun’s rays, one by one, contract. There is no agonized wailing, this time - in fact, how natural the switch feels is eerie. For a moment, it feels like you’re glimpsing into a world where the naptime attendant isn’t being forcibly subdued due to his violent tendencies - a glimpse into how things were supposed to be. 

But as Moon regains consciousness and realizes that he’s finally awake again, easing himself into a low crouch, he sees you, and laughs. 

“You again,” he says, creeping closer to the desk. He perches himself at the edge of the counter, looking at you from over the lip, like a little kid standing on his toes to see over the desk. “Naughty, naughty… I’m going to put you in time out…” 

Your breath catches in your chest for a minute, and you grip the flashlight, clicking it on and shining it in his face. He hisses unpleasantly, and recoils just a bit. “You can’t put me in time out,” you tell him, your voice sturdier than you’d expected despite the butterflies threatening to flutter up your throat. 

Moon’s head tilts, curious. “Oh?” 

You take a deep breath. “You can’t put me in time out,” you repeat, “if you don’t catch me, first.” 

And with that, you take off like a shot.

Chapter Text

It’s easy to get out of the daycare. The door is right there, and Moon is both unprepared and unable to vault the security desk - a piece of programming he and Sun share, it seems, and boy are you grateful for it - which means it takes him a moment too long to round the desk and follow you out of the daycare. 

By the time he even hits the threshold, you’re halfway up the stairs to the exit. “It’s past your bedtime,” you hear him growl, from somewhere above you. That damned cable system gives him an undeniable advantage, but once you hit the service tunnels, he’ll have to play fair. 

You just had to make it to the service tunnels, first. 

You hear him touch down behind you, way too close for comfort. The thing’s mechanical clatter is loud in your ears, second only to your own ragged breaths as you run through the dark, the wild swing of the flashlight the only thing guiding your way. It’s enough light to see where you’re going, but just barely. 

You skid out of the daycare and nearly trip down the stairs in your haste. The escalators are off, and the main lobby elevator is out, so you trot down the steps as fast as you can, towards the service door. Your flashlight illuminates the Employees Only door, and you swipe your level 10 security card to a pleasant beep and a green light. Shouldering open the door, you glance behind you. 

A mechanical hand stops the door from closing, and you nearly trip over your own feet as you move backwards, away from Moon. He’s coming after you, and now that you’re both in the service hallway, there was no question about maneuverability or strategy. All that mattered in here was who was faster. 

You can hear him scuttling after you, and you can’t bring yourself to check. He sounds like he’s no more than a few feet behind you, and your heart is pounding in your chest. This is your friend, hunting you through the dark - again - and you suddenly realize just how incredibly stupid this plan really is. 

You try to hinder him, kicking over a stack of boxes as you run, but you make the mistake of looking over your shoulder to see if it worked, only to feel cold dread spill through your veins as you realize the naptime attendant is crawling across the ceiling of the maintenance tunnel, using exposed piping as his handholds. His head swivels around to grin down at you right-side-up, and the whole thing in the dark is a scene straight out of a horror movie. 

You can’t even scream at the sight of it; all that escapes you is a horrified gasp, and you abandon the idea of trying to knock things over. It doesn’t seem to be slowing him down any, at the very least, so why waste your time? You put your focus back into running like a bat out of hell, desperate to escape. You can hear Moon’s low chuckle behind you, like he can sense that fear. Like he thinks it’s funny. 

This is all a game to him, of course he does. 

There’s a door at the end of the hallway, and your heart nearly leaps into your throat as you slam your full weight against the locked door and desperately jam your security card against the reader. You tap it once, twice, three times in a frenzy before the reader actually recognizes the card, giving off that same pleasant little beep before you can yank the door open and slip inside. 

Parts and Services. 

The place isn’t as dark as the rest of the pizzaplex. A massive ring light atop a cylindrical chamber illuminates the room in a dim glow, and your flashlight makes it all the easier to see. 

Makes it easier for Moon, too, who has crept into the room behind you. You know he’s there - this was the final phase of the plan, after all. Sun is still asleep, and you’ve lured Moon into Parts and Services. There are no technicians on staff tonight - as far as you’re aware, it’s just the moon and his prey. 

This is Parts and Services? It doesn’t look anything like you were expecting. All of the equipment here feels so old compared to the high-tech animatronics Fazbear Entertainment is known for. There’s an old terminal computer sitting on a desk outside of the center chamber, and you’re certain that has something to do with this whole set up, but first… 

“Time to sleep, little star…” Moon coos. 

In a panic, you rush to the computer, slamming the hand holding your flashlight down onto the console. The whole thing lights up in a nauseating green. 

“Welcome to Parts and Service,” a disembodied voice greets you, as you duck out of the way of Moon’s grab. He barely misses you, and you hit the floor in an uncomfortable roll, losing your footing on the way down. There is the hiss of hydraulics and a blast of cold air as the chamber door rises. “Please enter the protective cylinder to continue,” it commands. 

Your heart leaps. Okay! Yes, you would be thrilled to enter the protective cylinder! You had never in your life been so eager to be protected before! The protective cylinder was exactly where you wanted to be, and you scramble to your feet as Moon readjusts his attention on you, chuckling in that same terrible, low voice. 

You skid into the protective cylinder, expecting the door to close behind you. At least if you could put a wall between you and Moon, you might be able to breathe long enough to figure out what the next step was, and– 

The door does not close. 

You watch as Moon peeks around the edge of the cylinder wall, chuckling and grinning at you. “Naught, naughty little rulebreaker… running away… you must be punished,” he growls, stalking into the chamber, and you do the only thing you really can - you put yourself behind the reclining chair in the middle of the room, just to have some kind of barrier between you and your attacker. 

“Detecting animatronic for maintenance,” the voice says, but you don’t hear it over the threat looming over you. Your heart pounds in your chest as he corners you. There isn’t anywhere to go from here - the door he’s blocking is the only way out, so you press your back up against the wall behind you.

There really is only one way out of here, you think to yourself, and against all better judgment, you try to duck around Moon and escape the protective cylinder. 

Bad move, you realize; but it’s too late.

The room is so tight that you don’t stand a chance. Even as you try to duck out of his way, a mechanical hand swipes at you. His grip is like a vice around your neck, exerting a terrifying amount of psi on your incredibly breakable body as he drags you back to where you started. Your feet skid uselessly against the smooth concrete of the floor as Moon drags you front and center, towards the back of the chamber. 

You gasp and struggle, trying to break his grip on you, but you know it’s not possible. The daycare attendant had been so gentle with you; you could feel how aware of his own strength he was, in every instance of physical contact. He knew what he was capable of, as an animatronic, and knew how to handle the little ones in the daycare. 

Likewise, Moon is also keenly aware of his strength. You can feel it in the way his grip tightens minutely, the wince of pain and terror that flashes across your features, and the way he seems to observe it like you’re a laboratory rat. 

He’s leaning across the reclining chair, his weight shifted forward. You can barely breathe, scrabbling for purchase against the hand that holds you hostage. “Naughty rulebreaker… nowhere to run! Nowhere to hide,” he laughs, and you feel his grip tighten; blackness creeps in on your vision, and if he doesn’t snap your neck, then you’re going to suffocate here… “Time for time out, little rulebreaker,” he tells you, and the sound is far away. 

“Animatronic detected: Daycare Attendant.” The voice echoes through the chamber, but you don’t hear it. Nor do you hear the hydraulic whirr of the robotic arm mounted to the ceiling, or the hiss of hydraulics as the arm reaches forward to connect with the appropriate jack mounted in the back of the animatronic’s head. 

You can feel unconsciousness creeping up on you, and the workings of the protective cylinder are barely noticeable compared to the gleeful grin of your killer. Sun had been right. Sun had been right, but at least you’d tried. Your lungs protested, burning for air as you watched the red light of Moon’s eyes turn dark, and you hoped that being decommissioned didn’t hurt. 

Then, all at once, you gasp, sucking oxygen into your lungs as the rest of your body slumps to the ground amid the clatter of machinery falling limp. You hit the concrete hard, doubled over there on your hands and knees as you cough and retch, unsure what had just happened save for the feeling of relief that sweeps through you as oxygen finally fills your lungs again. 

Moon had let you go? 

No. 

You barely register the animatronic still hovering over you, and once your limbs have regained enough strength to, you propel yourself back away from the robot with as much force as you can muster, your back hitting the wall as you try to get away from him - but there's no need, you realize, blinking up at him.

Moon is shut off. Limp, lifeless, stuck in lunar phase. Your lungs feel like you’re inhaling lava - ah, you didn’t miss this sensation, you realize - as you struggle back to your feet, clawing for purchase against the chair that Moon is slumped forward against. You observe him carefully, swallowing the pain in your throat as your head begins to clear again. 

It's over. You're safe, now - you survived, and you’d gotten Moon to maintenance to boot! You cough again, a ragged little sound that hurts your throat. You lay a hand over it, where you can still feel the phantom of cold metal crushing your windpipe. 

With your back pressed against the wall, you feel the breath leave you in a huff, entire body slumping in relief. 

“In case of an emergency, the protective cylinder will protect important service personnel outside of the protective cylinder. Deactivating animatronic safety protocols now. It is recommended that no mistakes are made during the procedure.” 

Yeah, no shit. 

Chapter Text

You stand there, staring at the limp body of the daycare attendant. You can feel your breath hitching, your entire body teetering on the edge of a panic attack. A part of you is afraid that he’s going to wake up any second, but as long as he’s jacked into this machine, you’re safe!

Probably. 

You round him. He’s collapsed, prone against the reclined chair. You move to the side where his faceplate was dented, feeling emboldened enough to reach out and brush your fingers against the injury. He doesn’t even move. He’s completely out for the count; harmless. The naptime attendant is asleep. 

You take a deep breath, and approach the robotic arm. It’s jacked into the back of his head, where a neat little electrical box is set above the joint of his neck. There are a few LED lights next to more ports, and the disembodied voice tells you to connect the processing cables to the animatronic in order. 

It’s recommended that no mistakes are made during the procedure, the voice echoes in your head. You swallow hard, and examine the little colored wires protruding from the underside of the robotic arm. 

“To begin the procedure, plug the processing cables in using the correct sequence indicated by the flashing light on the Daycare Attendant’s electrical housing.” 

Before you could even question what that was supposed to mean, the little LEDs on the back of Moon’s head blinked in order - green, yellow, red, blue. You give a little start, and connect each processing cable accordingly. They clicked in with a neat snap, and you can feel your heart fluttering in your chest as you realize that you're one mistake away from tragedy. 

It was simple work, really, but you can’t help the sigh of relief that escapes you when you hear the affirming little tune telling you that you’ve successfully initiated the program.

“Good job. Now, use the operations console to initiate the procedure.” You give an undignified jump as the hydraulic door lifts behind you. “You may now leave the protective cylinder.” 

Carefully, you back out of the protective cylinder, unwilling to take your eyes off Moon. He doesn’t even so much as twitch under the influence of the machinery, and you creep over to the old console hooked up to the cylinder, an ancient DOS operating system. 

Begin Procedure? 

>Y     >N 

You select Y. 

Daycare Attendant detected. Do you want to proceed with this animatronic? 

>Y     >N 

You select Y, again.

External Damage Detected. 

Repairing… 

You nearly jump out of your skin as another robotic arm descends from the ceiling within the chamber, lining itself up with the side of Moon’s faceplate, where you had dented him the other night. A shower of sparks erupt, and despite shaky breaths, you force your gaze back to the computer console, which is flashing a new prompt for you to interact with: 

Please Select Your Procedure:

> Hard Drive Defragmentation
> Diagnostic Assessment
> Upgrades
> Data Download

You stare at the screen for a moment, worrying at your lip. Download and Upgrades are useless, right now. You aren’t entirely sure what a hard drive defragmentation is, and quite frankly you’re not willing to mess around and find out. 

Diagnostic assessment sounded promising, though. You’ve run system scans on your laptop before. This was probably the same thing, right?

You select Diagnostic Assessment.

Before we begin, please answer this brief questionnaire: 

Has this animatronic been exposed to unfavorable conditions that resulted in damage to its systems? 

You think about that question for a moment. Was a chair to the face considered an unfavorable condition? You decide against it, and select ‘>No.’ 

Has this animatronic been operating within its normal parameters? 

Well, that one's easy. There was nothing normal about these parameters, and you select no, moving onto the next question. You pause, peering over the top of the computer console, desperate to keep an eye on Moon even as you work on repairing him. He’s still laying there, half-draped face down over the reclining chair, in the exact same position you had left him. If he didn’t look so damn uncomfortable, you might even be able to pretend he was just taking a nap.

Something unpleasant fills your chest as you look back to the computer, and that mild unpleasantness turns to cold fear as your heart stops. 

What are you doing? 

You stare at it for a full minute, realizing that there’s no answer prompt to this question. Your hands hover in uncertainty over the keyboard as you contemplate your answer, and how you intend to give it. 

You can’t help but think back to your first day in the Daycare, when you’d thought that Sun was just a robot who wouldn’t be able to understand you outside of set call and response answers. You remember how wrong you’d been then, and wonder if this primitive looking technology was deceiving, and maybe this thing could understand you in the same capacity that Sun could. 

The pads of your fingers light upon the keyboard, and you begin typing. 

Something is wrong with the Daycare Attendant. He’s not acting like himself. I want to help him, you type. 

You can’t. 

>OK. 

You feel something unpleasant crawling down your spine. The Parts and Services system was really going to tell you that you can’t fix Moon? You frown at the computer, and reluctantly click OK. 

The screen changes and a string of code runs, executing the diagnostic. You didn’t like… whatever that was, and there’s a part of you that feels distinctly unsafe. You aren’t sure what Fazbear tech is capable of, but there are things down here that you don’t understand and feel you don’t really want to. You just needed to fix Moon and get the hell out of here, because this place was giving you the creeps. 

Diagnostic Complete. Would you like to run the repair tool? 

You choose >Y, and wait patiently as another string of code you don’t understand scrolls for a moment before it stops abruptly. The screen flickers, and shudders, and informs you that the repair tool has failed. 

>Retry     >Go Back

You hum in frustration, and choose to go back to the main menu. You drum your fingers against the desk, and glance at the animatronic again. The Parts and Services interface was user friendly, you would have to give them that, but it seemed to be ultimately useless. If Data Download and Upgrades weren’t useful to you, and Diagnostic was busted, then you figured you only had one choice left. 

>Hard Drive Defragmentation

You click this option, and freeze as the screen goes dark. 

>You aren’t qualified for this. 

You squirm, and glance over your shoulder. It’s easier to swallow, when the sentient technology has a face and humanoid form. This one was just a box with a screen and a bad attitude, and you aren’t sure you like it. 

You click >Hard Drive Defragmentation again. You know you’re not qualified for this - keenly so, but if you don’t do this, if you don’t figure out a way to safely restore Moon to the naptime attendant he was supposed to be, then your friend is going to suffer the consequences of actions he had no control over. 

Because even if that thing in there had just tried to crush the life out of you, Sun was in there somewhere, and you’d already decided to believe him. To do what you could to help him - and Moon.  

>You’re a glorified babysitter. Do you even know what you’re doing? 

You click >Hard Drive Defragmentation again. 

>You’re going to break it. 

This gives you pause. The mouse hovers over >Hard Drive Defragmentation for a third time. 

What if you hurt him? What if you screw this up so bad that you irreparably damage this multi-million dollar machine? What happens if you realize too late that the system was right, and you break your friend? 

You look up at him again; it’s sort of like watching a sleeping lion, knowing what carnage it’s capable of despite its docile appearance. Moon’s been stuck like this for months. Sun’s been alone. Their lives are on the line, and if you chicken out, you won’t be able to tell Sun that there was nothing you could do - not while you know there were options you hadn’t yet tried. 

If he was bound for the scrap heap anyway, what was left to risk? 

You click >Hard Drive Defragmentation, and watch as a new string of code flashes across the screen. It’s a lengthy process, and you can’t help but glance nervously over at him every few seconds, almost like you were afraid that he would burst into flames any moment because of your incompetence. 

But Moon didn’t even move. He doesn't ’t so much as twitch during the defrag process, and you tear your gaze from him just long enough to realize that, after several minutes of code executing before your very eyes, the process has finally come to an end. A new prompt flashes on screen. 

>Defragmentation complete. Corrupted data packets found. 

>Delete corrupted data packets? 

>Y     >N 

Your breath catches, and you look over at him. He’s twelve feet of fury and crushing PSI, but he’s helpless right now. You don’t know what this is going to do to him, but if it removes any kind of corruption from his system, it has to be a good thing, right? 

The way you see it, if you fuck up something really important here, you would have to come clean to the techs who actually run this department, and they would be able to fix things. 

Right? 

That’s how computers worked, right? Fazbear Entertainment had all this data backed up, they had to have it stored somewhere. What happens if he sustains damage, or they do have to use a new endoskeleton and replace him entirely?

Your heart is in your throat, and you stare sightlessly at the blinking cursor on the screen. You don’t want to hurt him; if you’d wanted to hurt him, you wouldn’t be down here. If you’d wanted to hurt him, you would have told Vanessa what he’d done to you. 

God damn it. 

You bite the inside of your cheek and hold your breath, and click >Y. 

The cursor flashes again, processing your request. 

“Congratulations!” The disembodied voice is back, booming through the tense silence, and you nearly jump out of your skin, again. This place is taking years off your life expectancy. “The Process is complete. The Daycare Attendant is all patched up and ready to play with the kids! Please re-enter the protective cylinder, and remove the processing cables in the reverse order that they were attached.” 

The chamber door slides open again with the same hydraulic hiss. You slink back in, watching him with great caution and no small amount of guilt. There was a non-zero chance you just killed him, after all. 

“It is recommended that no mistakes are made.” 

Swallowing your nerves, you remove the cables you’d jacked into his head - blue, red, yellow, green, this time - and move back to the console to complete the operation and see what would come out the other end. Your stomach churns, and every muscle in your body is tense. If he does wake up , you think to yourself, you have to be ready to run. 

You return to the computer console, the adrenaline already starting to course through you. You feel your breath pick up minutely, as you read the final prompt on the monitor. You click >Finish Defragmentation Process, and the screen flickers, leaving you with one final message. 

>You won’t get rid of me.

That freezes you in your tracks. You hate that. You hate that! Why the hell did so many of the animatronics in Fazbear Entertainment have such batshit insane programming? Why was this a thing that the computer could say to you? If your phone ever pulled shit like this you would be going back to the Pony Express and smoke signals in a heartbeat! What gave this computer the right??

Quietly, you reach forward and turn off the monitor. 

As the ominous message flickers to black again, you hear the mechanical whirring of the hydraulic arm that had knocked Moon out at the start of all this. You peer over the top of the monitor, into the protective cylinder, and hold your breath as you watch the animatronic slowly move its heavy limbs. 

Moon is awake.

Chapter Text

Your heart is pounding in your chest as you see Moon beginning to move. He does not spring back to life like you had perhaps expected; he’s slow, lethargic - he’s rebooting, and you swallow your nerves, watching him carefully. 

The chamber door slides open, and you hold your breath as you realize that he’s just… laying there. You watch as he moves, body shifting as he pulls his dangling limbs up from the floor. 

You tear your gaze away from him, searching around wildly before you find what you’re looking for, and swipe a sizeable monkey wrench from the nearby tool table beside you. With one hand gripping the flashlight and the other white-knuckling the wrench, you slowly move into the protective cylinder. Moon lays there, trying to regain his senses and gather his wits about him as you creep up behind him. Thankfully, the hydraulic door does not close on you, leaving you room for a quick escape if you need one. 

You tense as he moves, bringing one hand up, as he touches gently at the side of his faceplate, where you’d hit him - where the dent had been repaired. He can feel it, you realize. He can feel he’s been repaired. 

Unfortunately for you, the gasp that escapes you at this revelation - no matter how tiny - is enough to catch Moon’s attention. You both freeze for a moment, and you instinctively lift the wrench, ready to give him a brand new dent if he tries to grab you. You take a half-step back as his head swivels around to face you, and falter only when you realize that the gaze that’s fallen onto you is no longer sharp and red. His eyes are white and blank, like Sun’s, though you can feel the heat of his gaze as you both stare silently at each other. 

Moon’s head tilts, and his body shifts, contorting to right himself and face you proper. He’s crouched on the reclining chair now, and you brandish your wrench. You don’t take a swing - but you want him to know you will if he gets any closer to you. 

Everything about Moon’s movements is unsettling, and you expect him to lunge at you, the way he’s crouched on the seat of the chair like that. “Falling star,” he says, and you feel a chill roll down your spine. His voice is different - gone is the manic giggle and the low growling rasp. 

Now, he sounds just like Sun. 

His voice is quieter, of course - he was lacking the manic energy of his solar counterpart, but the tone, the very sound of his voice, it was all there. You swallow a lump in your throat and slowly lower the wrench in guarded optimism. “Yeah. That’s me,” you tell him, caution lending a biting edge to your voice. “You remember me?” 

Moon looks at you for a long moment, as though perhaps trying to understand something, deciphering some code that only he was privy to. This head tilts further down, and comes up the other side. Slowly, he leans forward, falling into a forward somersault. He is fluid and precise, feet hitting the floor as he rolls into a stand, and you can’t help but shoot back a foot or two as he unfolds his height over you. “I remember your fear,” he tells you, and you bite back a grimace. 

Yeah, that didn’t make you feel any better. 

You back out of the protective cylinder as Moon moves towards you. You watch as he glances around, seeming to realize where you had taken him. You wonder if this is what it feels like to get up close and personal with predators when taking wildlife photography, but you’re pretty sure this bizarre situation is more akin to the feeling of sticking your arm into an unplugged woodchipper. 

Moon looks back to you, and lowers himself down a few feet to your level. He’s creeping closer and closer, and you really don’t like it. “Does he know you’re down here?” He asks, his whisper laced with accusation.  

Your jaw moves, but no words come out - not at first, at least. It was so starkly different from the Moon you’ve had the misfortune of meeting, up until now. There were similarities that sat uneasily with you - the tone of his voice, the body language, it was all so eerily similar to the Moon who had hunted you across the Pizzaplex, who had nearly suffocated you right here in this chamber–

The hand holding the wrench, now loose in your grip, travels up to your throat. Speaking and swallowing hurt, but you were sure it would be temporary - more temporary, at least, than the collage of bruises spread across your back. 

“Y-yeah,” you tell him. “Sun knows.” 

Moon examines you, and very much unlike Sun, this one’s twitchy while he does so. He reminds you of a bird, the way his faceplate cocks like he’s trying to see you from a new angle. You can feel his gaze on you, even if his eyes are blank. 

You don’t like it. 

“I don't mean Sun.” 

Your mouth goes dry, and you look up at him with something sick and frightened in your heart. “I… didn’t meet anyone else, down here,” you manage to whisper, trying to ignore the trembling in your voice. Moon pushes right up into your face, as though searching for something. You can’t help but hold your breath. 

Then, all at once, his hands are on you - one at your shoulder, the other gripping the wrist that holds the wrench. You gasp and struggle, but the consequences of getting caught never come. Your breathing is ragged, but you don’t hit him again, nor does he use this grip to hurt you. 

You’re afraid of him; you’re afraid of him, and he can see it plain as day. 

“I met him, here,” Moon tells you, his voice low and his face mere inches from yours. The low tone of his voice reverberates through him, and you can nearly feel it in his grip - gentle, mindful of his strength just like Sun is, you realize. You go still under his hold. “He's everywhere.” 

You don’t know what to say to that! How the hell are you supposed to respond to that kind of cryptic shit? You blink up at him, part in fear, part in confusion, and he can see that blank uncertainty in you. Slowly, his fingers uncurl from around your wrist, and he slowly releases you. 

Every molecule in your body is screaming that you need to bolt the other way and not look back until you’re locked safely in the security office where you can turn the lights back on manually with your shiny new level ten security badge. You’ve already done enough stupid shit for one night, your brain screams at you, and it nearly got you killed. Your throat hurts and you can still feel the ghost of Moon’s hand wrapped around your neck, squeezing the life out of you. 

You’re well aware you’re only alive thanks to dumb luck and a single automated process that saved your hide in the nick of time. 

“Follow,” he says, softly, as he slinks away from you, into the further darkness of Parts and Services. “Work to do.”

Chapter Text

You’re not sure why you follow Moon through the darkness; you just know that things are different now. You can’t be sure that he’s safe to be around, but at the very least, he’s not trying to kill you - and you really have to admit, that’s a big improvement from literally just twenty minutes ago! 

He moves slowly through the dark, the gentle glow of his stars guiding you through the utility corridors in utter blackness. Your flashlight only illuminates so much, and Moon makes it abundantly clear that he doesn't like having it shined on him. The one time the beam falls across him, he hisses and shrinks away from it. 

You aren't really in the market to be pissing him off. 

So, the flashlight is trained carefully towards the ground, so that you don’t trip over anything as you follow your new guide. He remains low to the ground, often moving forward on all fours as he leads you down the desolate hallways.

“Moon,” you ask, voice hushed as you follow him. He doesn’t pause; he doesn’t even look back at you. “Where are we going?” 

“Kindergarten,” he tells you. It’s the only answer he gives.

Kindergarten, he tells you, like it’s the most normal answer in the world. Jesus Christ, what are you getting yourself into? Sun is asleep, and you're following a definitely-former-and-potentially-still homicidal robot into the depths of the pizzaplex where no one would hear your screams. This is fine. 

“What’s in the kindergarten that we need, Moon?” 

“No talking. Follow me.” 

Your jaw snaps shut, and you feel foolish, heat rising to your cheeks. Of every guest, employee, and animatronic in this place, Moon is the last person in any position to be giving you orders - and yet, you shut up pretty fast.

The hallways are getting tighter, and while Moon has no problem navigating them, you’re starting to lag behind a bit. It’s cramped back here, and you’re having to squeeze your way through crates and other mechanical scrap. 

You squeeze your way around a crate someone had deposited right in the middle of the hallway, and freeze. 

“Moon,” you breathe. At this, he finally turns to look at you. His head swivels 180 degrees, and you can feel the anxious impatience radiating off of him - but that’s not what’s caught your attention. “What is that? What’s down there?” You ask, and his head turns back, to see what’s got you so wound up. 

At the end of the hallway, past Moon, is a pair of glowing red eyes. 

Now, you haven’t explored much of the utility underground; really, you’ve kept mostly to yourself and your daycare duties since starting your employment with Fazbear Entertainment. So you don’t know what sort of things are down here - but you do know that seeing two pinpricks of red in the darkness has, historically, not turned out well for you. 

“Endoskeletons,” Moon hisses back. “Inner workings of robots, like us. Stay away.” 

Well, you don't have to be told twice! Moon waits for you to catch up before continuing on. He leads you down the hallway, towards the endoskeleton that’s staring you down with an unyielding glare. Every step is taken reluctantly, and it’s so dark down here that even your flashlight only provides marginal relief. The battery is dying, and you’re relying on Moon's gentle glow to lead you through this awful maze-like corridor. 

Once your flashlight flickers out completely, you grope blindly and find a fistful of cloth, latching onto the very animatronic who has, at this point, tried to kill you twice. You swallow your discomfort, and just pray that Moon’s apparent change of heart lasts long enough for you to get him back into the light. 

There are more red eyes in the darkness, and tighter corridors. It’s getting harder and harder to follow Moon, who forges ahead with a flexible indifference, all but ignoring your desperate hold on him as he creeps through the halls and around the endoskeleton animatronics. 

He’s moving too quickly for you to keep up with, and you lose your grip on his pants leg, stumbling to a stop momentarily as he slips between crates. You give a little grunt, trying to keep up with him as you slip between crates, and almost immediately come face-to-face with one of those ghoulish endoskeletons. As you reel back in alarm, your back clips the crate you had just sidled your way past, and you gasp in pain - those bruises, remember? - and double over for a moment, clutching at your shoulder.

And you’re certain that you’re imagining things, because the whirr of machinery is suddenly right in your ear, and you look up–

“Moon! Moon! Holy shit!” You gasp, staring up at the endoskeleton that is reaching towards you. You press yourself up against the crate, as far from its grasping reach as you can shift yourself. That thing moved - Jesus Christ, it moved! “You didn’t tell me these things were alive!” You manage, breathless and feeling like making too much noise will spur it into movement again. 

Moon peeks over the top of one of the crates, almost seemingly amused by the little scare you’ve suffered. “You didn’t ask.” 

“Yeah, ha ha, you’re hilarious,” you snap. There’s a pause, and Moon chuckles. “Are these things… dangerous?” You ask, neglecting to mention the way their eyes glowed, just like his had. You refuse to look away, now.

“Oh, yes. They’re not used to people, yet. They think you’re an exoskeleton. They want to wear you.” 

Perhaps Moon could see the way the blood drained from your face, despite how dark it was. He flips himself over the top of the crate, maneuvering until he's sitting on the crate you’ve backed yourself up against. 

“You don’t seem to like that idea,” he cooed, laying face-up against the top of the crate. The pom-pom of his nightcap falls down into your face. “Do you need assistance?” 

You bite your cheek. Yes, very much so, because this thing is within a hair’s breadth of getting its freaky, wiry hands on you. On the other side of that coin, you're reluctant to accept any kind of help from the robot who has a track record. 

You bat the pom-pom out of your face, only for it to fall right back in front of your nose. A hand extends downwards, to help you up. “I promise not to bite.” 

Jerk.

You have a choice to make, here. You can either let Moon help you and risk… being dropped or crushed alive or who even knows what else - or, you can try and navigate your way through this hallway full of endoskeletons that apparently see you as little more than a nice winter coat. 

Moon flexes his fingers in front of your face, and his head swivels to look down at you properly. “I promise not to drop you this time.” 

You give a start, caught between indignation and surprise. You don’t believe that; he knows you don’t believe that. But he also knows that you're caught between a rock and a hard place. Caught between a box and a robot that wanted to use your corpse as a sleeping bag, if you will. 

You don’t have a lot of options, here. 

Reluctantly, you put your hand in his, and he pulls you up effortlessly. One hand cradles you against his chest while the other pulls the both of you up against the pipes in the ceiling. You hate this. You hate this, you hate this! You hate this. You feel unsafe in ways you hadn’t even imagined a human could feel, and the mechanical whirring that’s following you and Moon down the hallway does not remedy this at all. 

You tuck yourself as close against him as you can, gripping the ruffle of his collar with every ounce of strength you could muster. You aren’t sure how sturdy the ruffle is, but it sure beats trying to stick your fingers anywhere near his joints. 

“You helped me,” Moon says to you, his voice so close to your ear, reverberating through his chest and from behind his face plate, the sound enveloping you. “So I will help you. Simple. Hush, starlight.” 

It’s almost enough to actually soothe your nerves. 

You can feel the mechanical inner-workings of the daycare attendant as he carries you over a dangerous minefield of other robots that want to kill you. You’re starting to wonder why so many of the robots in this family-friendly pizza place have such violent tendencies, but you don’t have much time to dwell on that thought. Before long, Moon’s arm curls tighter around you as he drops down from the ceiling. 

You’re curled up in his hold as he traverses the hallway, and you notice how differently his hold is compared to Sun’s. They’re both still gentle and secure, now that Moon isn’t trying to crush the life out of you, but where Sun’s hold was like a gentle sling, Moon holds you close, as though he expects you to put your head down on his shoulder and fall asleep. 

The idea is tempting, considering it's almost two thirty in the morning, but no. 

The room you end up in looks an awful lot like the daycare, actually. It’s small, but decorated with the same foam padding on the floor and the same bright primary colors. However, unlike the daycare, this place seems to have fallen into disrepair a long time ago. 

Moon does not put you down, when you enter this room, and you quickly realize why. Several of those endoskeleton animatronics are suspended from the ceiling by strong cables hooked into their backs and shoulders; it looks like they’re asleep, but you can’t be certain. Either way, you curl in a little closer to the protective hold you find yourself in. 

“Don’t worry,” he says to you. “We won’t be here long.” 

Chapter Text

It’s a strange feeling, clinging to Moon while your concern lies squarely with the unknown animatronic endoskeletons that seem all too eager to reach for you. It’s weird, for there to be an obvious threat here and it not be Moon, for once. You aren’t sure how much you trust him not to try and kill you, but you were realizing you trusted him more than you trusted these endos. 

“Moon,” you whisper, held close enough by the robot that you don’t raise your voice. That, and maybe you aren’t keen on the idea of drawing attention to yourself in this darkened maze of creatures that want to wear you like a skinsuit. You wrap your arms around his neck as he cradles you like a child against his hip. It’s hard not to feel a little childish, like this, with the way you were letting your nerves get the better of you. “We should go back to the daycare. There’s a lot to do, now. We can open on schedule, now that you’re back.”

He doesn’t answer you. The daycare attendant is as silent as the night is still, and you eventually fall into a hush as he searches around the little office. There’s a desk in the middle of these endoskeleton creatures, and Moon brings you right to the desk, lowering you into the rickety office chair as he bends forward to brace his weight against the desk. 

“Your card,” he says. “Turn it on.” 

You give a little start as you realize what he wants from you - security access. An unpleasant feeling creeps its way into your core as you swipe the level ten security badge in the little cardreader next to the console. With a beep and a dutiful little tune, the computer monitor turns on, as if greeting you. 

But it isn’t the only thing that turns on. You gasp, and clutch at the seat of your chair as every sleeping endoskeleton in the room suddenly twitches to life. Red eyes glow, all staring right at you. Your breath hitches, and before you can leap from your chair, you feel Moon’s hand on your shoulder, keeping you seated. “Keep looking,” he tells you, and you find it almost funny. No force on God’s green earth could get you to look away from those things right now. 

The hand at your shoulder squeezes gently, a reassuring gesture as he spins his faceplate around to keep an eye on the endos behind you. Every one of them is accounted for, and the ravenous endoskeletons are locked in stasis around you. 

“Don’t fret, starlight,” He coos. “Follow my instructions. Type what I tell you.” 

Type? Was he out of his mind? He brought you down here for a goddamn Mavis Beacon lesson??

Hesitantly, your fingers hover over the keys. You refuse to take your eyes off of the endos across from you long enough to actually check your placement, but typing was (usually) second nature to you. Moon dictates slowly - not nearly fast enough for your frazzled nerves. It’s all run commands and executables that you’re not familiar with, and you can practically feel your future self getting fired for tampering with multimillion dollar robotics AND the Pizzaplex security system. What the hell were you doing? This was completely and totally unlike you. Contrary to what Moon seemed to think, you were never a rulebreaker. You didn’t even like breaking rules! You like to stay on everyone’s good side, do the job you’re assigned, and keep your head down! 

But it really seems like all you’ve done since starting this job is break rules. You went into Sun’s room without permission - which, really, was necessary considering the absolute nuclear bomb he had been hiding from you - you tampered with equipment, you were using a security card that wasn’t yours to access unauthorized areas of the Pizzaplex, to tamper with the security system in ways you didn’t even understand– 

You freeze. 

Moon hears the typing come to a halt, and though he doesn’t look at you, and you don’t look at him (you both had other, more pressing things to be staring at, at the moment) you can feel the curious shift in him. 

“Nervous?” He asks you, after a beat has gone by and you remain as still as the endoskeleton you’re staring at. 

“Moon,” you breathe, not a muscle in your body twitching. “What am I doing?” 

“You are helping.” 

You let out a miserable little laugh. “Helping do what, exactly?” 

Moon moves one hand from your shoulder. It comes up, and you feel his fingers gently grip your jaw. There’s so little pressure behind it - despite the fact that his hands are entirely too close to your throat to be entirely comfortable, you don’t feel the flutter of fear you thought you would. Funny, considering how it’s been less than maybe two hours since he’d tried to asphyxiate you, and you were letting him put his hands this close. 

Slowly, he turns your head. You protest, just for a second, unwilling to tear your gaze away from the endo standing in front of you. But after a moment, you yield, praying that the endoskeleton stayed where it was. You let him turn your head, turn your gaze to face the monitor fully, and it feels like you swallowed sand. 

There, on the flickering monitor, is an image of you. 

It’s security footage, more accurately. You can see yourself standing at the console in Parts and Service, typing something into the computer while Moon lay motionless inside the protective cylinder. 

“Wh-what is this?” You ask. It’s clearly the video feed from Parts and Service. You aren’t sure why you asked that, but you’re just desperate for some kind of direction, here. 

“Evidence. Clean up, clean up… better safe than sorry.” 

You let out a bewildered little laugh. “You want me to tamper with Fazbear Security? Are you out of your mind? I’ll get so fired for this, it’s not even funny. They’ll fire me so hard, my great-grandchildren will get fired.” 

A low chuckle escapes the robot. Apparently, he finds you getting super-fired funny; good to know. “So worried over nothing. No one will know.” 

“Moon, I’m not going to screw around with security! I could go to jail!” 

“There are things worse than time out,” he whispers, and cold dread fills your stomach. “He knows what you did. He knows you helped me. Clean up, or he will punish you.” 

You try to ignore the way your hands are shaking over the keys. “Who is he?” You ask, gaze flickering back to the endoskeleton; it’s still there, unmoving. “You keep mentioning him, but I don’t know who he is.” 

Moon hums. It’s an unpleasant sound, the jest gone from his voice as the conversation grows solemn. “Neither do I,” he admits. “But he’s there. And he’s dangerous. Please, friend,” he says, and you stiffen minutely. “Clean up, and hide from him.” 

There’s something so chilling about the tone of his voice, the solemn sincerity that he speaks with - you realize that whatever this is about, whoever he is, Moon is trying to protect you from something. 

Or, perhaps, from someone. 

Your hands hover over the keyboard, and you watch the feedback loop play over and over again, showing you front and center as you tamper with Moon’s programming. It’s damning evidence, if nothing else. Feeling the sick weight of guilt in your heart, you drag in a breath, and delete the security footage. 

You delete everything that points to your presence in parts and services, so why stop there? If Moon brought you here to scrub you from the security footage in some effort to protect you from something, you figure the least you can do is return the favor. If you were going to reopen the daycare, you didn’t want corporate looking at security footage and getting the wrong idea about Moon.

After all, it’s not like they can fire you any harder than they were already going to. 

You scrub through the Pizzaplex’s security footage meticulously, keeping your gaze split between the monitor and the endoskeleton eager to get its hands on you. The entire kindergarten is still as a statue as you work. 

Footage from the utility corridors, of Moon chasing you to Parts and Services: gone; footage from the daycare, of the transformation as Moon began to stalk you: deleted; footage from the main stage area–

Your breath catches, as you watch it play out before you. You watch, detached and omniscient, with your heart pounding like a wardrum against your ribs, as Moon lifts you off the staircase in the middle of the main atrium. You watch as you fade out of view entirely, too high up for the security camera to catch. You’re up there for what feels like an eternity. 

And then, you fall. 

The lights flicker back on, just in time to illuminate your motionless body sprawled against the smooth tile of the floor. If you were anyone else, you might think the unfortunate employee was dead. After a fall like that, how could they not be? It sits uncomfortably in your chest. 

You’re too stunned by the sight of your own nearly-lifeless body to move, you realize, and the video feed continues to play. If it were not for the timestamp ticking away dutifully in the corner, you might think it a still image. 

Then, at long last, there’s movement. It’s slow, from the top of the screen down, and after a long moment you realize it’s Sun; that’s right, you think, distantly - the lights have come back on, so Moon must have gone back to sleep just after you’d hit the ground. 

You watch, the way he hovers there for a moment, the way he’s curled in on himself as though expecting the universe itself to deal him a blow. He’s clutching in terror at the sides of his faceplate, the points of which aren’t even visible with the grainy, flickering CCTV footage. Multi-million dollar animatronics and FazEnt couldn’t swing a slightly better security camera? Well, you suppose, at least you know where their budget went. 

He hovers there for a moment, looking down at your body as though simply willing you to wake up would work. You find it funny, almost, how he was programmed to remain in the daycare at all times, and yet was so clearly shell shocked that his circuits were probably on fire with clashing directives. Going back to the daycare was probably the last thing on his mind. 

Eventually, you watch as Sun touches down on the linoleum, jittering and uneasy as he approaches you. There’s no audio, here, but you can almost hear his nervous chatter. He’s wringing his hands and pacing around you in a tizzy. It’s clear that he’s panicking - afraid, ashamed, guilty for what he’s done to you - and there’s no longer anything even remotely amusing about it. 

You watch as he approaches you, his massive form crouched carefully over you as his hands hover in uncertainty. He scoops you into his arms, your body limp in his hold. He’d carried you back to the daycare, you realize. It’s a silly thing to realize, you think to yourself, sitting there. Of course he’d carried you back to the daycare; how else would you have woken up there after your fall? 

But you watch him lift you, cradling you carefully in his arms, and you’re struck to realize how gentle he is with you. How much care and tenderness he holds you with. You suddenly feel like you’re being choked, again, your windpipe buckling under the crushing weight of what you’d just witnessed, and you swallow the pain in your throat. 

“What’s taking so long?” Moon asks, and you nearly jump out of your skin, resisting the urge to look over your shoulder at the animatronic you had almost forgotten was there; there’s no irritation in his voice, but you can hear a tone of urgency. You clear your throat and refuse to wipe your eyes with the endoskeleton watching you. 

“Sorry,” you whisper back, and make haste by deleting the rest of the security footage. “There. All cleaned up.” 

Moon heaves a sigh of relief, and waits for you to log out of the console. Your level 10 security badge is more useful than you’d initially thought, and you’re grateful for Vanessa’s little slip-up. You try not to think about the fact that you might get her fired, too. 

When everything is shut down and left the way you had found it, Moon lifts you right out of the seat. He knows how fragile you are, how desperately these endos want a casing and how much they don’t understand that you’re not a piece of machinery like they are. He holds you close, and lifts you out of the grasp of danger. 

You find it easier to let yourself be held, this time. You settle against him, arms around his neck as he creeps back through the cramped, endo-infested hallways. 

You’ve committed several felonies in one night and nearly died, again. The realization hits you like a freight train as he carries you through the dark corridors. Without so much as a breath out of place, you look up at him as he keeps you secure against his chestplate. The crescent moon glows gently, a soft and soothing light. 

Yeah, you think to yourself. 

It was worth it. 

Chapter Text

So. 

You nearly died (again), committed several fireable offenses and multiple felonies in one night, became a rogue technician, and seemingly got the naptime attendant back in working order, all in one shift. You think on it for a moment, as Moon carries you back through the cramped hallways, and decide that - yeah! - you’re willing to call that a productive evening! 

Once you're out of the endo maze, Moon sets you down; the rest of the Pizzaplex is relatively safe, once you're well away from the endoskeletons. You walk alongside him, one massive hand swallowing yours as he leads you carefully through the utility tunnels. You suppose animatronics like him must have had the place laid out like a GPS in their heads. Which is good, because all these hallways look the same to you, and you’re certain you would get lost back here on your own. 

As you traverse the utility corridors, you notice that the red glowing dots of passing security cameras were dull, and realize with a jolt that you’d shut down security across the Pizzaplex, and your hold on Moon’s hand tightens minutely. 

“Hey, uh… Moon?” You ask. “Are all the cameras out?” You think of Vanessa, the security officer who is already stretched too thin trying to patrol this whole complex. She has security S.T.A.F.F. bots, sure, but they weren’t much more than patrols, you’d noticed. 

“They’re sleeping. Covering our tracks.” 

You feel distinctly uncomfortable. “But we’re going back to the daycare now, right?” You ask, hopeful. 

Moon is silent for a moment, and it unnerves you. “Sure,” he offers, and you can tell by the tone of his voice that it’s just to appease you. “Something like that.” 

Well, surely that was nothing to worry about! You figure as long as he takes you in the general direction of the daycare, you won’t complain. He’s already brought you through the nine layers of robot hell and convinced you to tamper with security cameras. You’re not sure there’s much else he could do to cause problems. 

As soon as that thought crosses your mind, you regret it. 

For as long as you’ve known him, Moon has caused nothing but problems - even if half of those problems weren’t really his fault. You couldn’t bring yourself to blame him for his behavior with you - not really. You know it was just faulty programming, something he couldn’t help. You want to believe that things will be better now, but… you have to admit, he’s not really off to a great start. It’s clear he has his reasons - you just wish you understood them, if you were going to be complicit.

He’s not trying to murder you anymore, though, which is a bonus! Definite improvement there, you think, watching him almost absently. The detail on his faceplate is underscored dramatically by the way the crescent moon glows. You can see all of the little designs and patterns that speckle the lit portion of his face, and you lose your train of thought in the intricate, delicate designs mimicking craters and crests. 

You can’t help but be fascinated with the reformed robot. Sun is in there somewhere, you realize, and you wonder - can he feel the change? Does he know that Moon is himself again? You think about how much Sun seemed to miss his lunar counterpart, and smile gently to yourself. He’s going to be so happy - you’re not sure if Sun and Moon can communicate, or if they share memories, but you know that the moment Sun realizes that Moon is back, he’s going to be overjoyed. 

You’re surprised to find that Moon actually is taking you back to the Superstar Daycare - the lobby is just as quiet as always, and speckled with stars. Moon stops in his tracks, and tilts his head back to look up at them. 

You, too, look up at the fake stars - they were pretty, but it’s nothing more than light filtered through a million tiny holes. You don’t say this, though - for whatever reason, Moon is utterly captivated by it. Your hand is still in his as you both come to a pause under the starlit ceiling. 

“It’s nice,” you whisper, and Moon tenses, looking down at you as though realizing you were even there. You smile up at him. “I think this is my favorite place in the pizzaplex.” 

He doesn’t respond to this, but he does continue walking - he’s leading you deeper into the daycare, and as the garage door lifts, the abrasive music of the daycare center washes over you again. 

The statues greet you, as always, but you notice that Moon deliberately ignores them - both his own statue, and Sun’s. Past the lobby, past the waiting area, past the gate separating the upper floor from the elevator, past the party rooms, past the elevator itself, is another lifting door. 

Fazbear Theater. 

Adorning the sign hung over the entrance of the theater were two golden reliefs of the daycare attendant - one smiling, one frowning. Comedy and Tragedy, you note. 

The door slides upwards, and Moon leads you into the theater. It's silent in there, removed from the energetic soundtrack. Without the great silverscreen casting its glow onto the theater below the balcony you now stand on, it’s also very, very dark. 

“I had no idea this was even here,” you tell him. Isn’t that funny? All this time spent in the daycare, and you didn’t even realize this was up here. This place really was huge. 

“It is a family favorite spot,” Moon explains, keeping his voice low as he lowers one of the folding theater seats for you, “to watch Fazbear feature films, and old Fazbear cartoon classics. But that is when the screen is on. For now,” he tells you, “it is dark.” 

“Yeah, you can say that again,” you say. You’ve had a hell of a shift so far, and it was only half over. Plus, all the security cameras were out - so the breaks corporate doesn’t know about won’t hurt them, and you sink into the seat. You heave a sigh as you tip your head back, and stare up at the star shaped lights dotting the ceiling. “Can barely see my own nose in front of my face,” you mutter.

“I double as a night–light, you know,” he says, standing over you. You snort, grinning in the dim light.

“Yeah - I see that. It’s nice.” Moon lowers himself to sit directly in front of you. He sits cross-legged with his hands in his lap, just like Sun. You rest your elbow on the arm rest and prop your head in your hand, watching him in silence for a moment. It really is so strange, that they’re the same animatronic. They’re such vastly different people. 

“What did we come down here for, Moon?” You ask him, lazily. You can feel the adrenaline in your body finally starting to wear off, and you knew you were going to have to get up eventually, or you’re going to fall asleep here by accident. 

But for now, you just watch your robotic companion, as he sits there in the darkness with you. He’s silent for a long moment, the white glow of his eyes searching you, his smile unchanging even as he adopts an air of caution. Funny, that - him, cautious of you. 

At long last, he turns his face away from you, instead looking up at the same neon stars you had admired just a moment ago. 

“I have… been asleep, for months,” he tells you. “Maybe, we can keep the lights out… just a little longer.” 

The breath leaves you for a moment, and you let your gaze slip from the animatronic. You close your eyes, and hum out a sigh. “Suppose that’s the least upsetting rule we’ve broken today. You don’t think Sun will mind?” You ask. 

Silence greets you. 

You crack an eye open, and look over at him. “Moon - you alright?” 

“Sun needs time to rest, too,” he tells you, and you shift, looking at him. You watch him, the way he won’t meet your gaze. There’s an air of avoidance, and you can almost hear the hesitation in his voice. 

“Moon?” 

Silence. He’s stock still, as he looks at the stars hanging above the both of you. “I did bad things. Our daycare shut down. My fault.” 

Your heart sinks, and you sit up to face him, hands braced against the edge of the theater seat, looking at him in the dim light. 

“Sun isn’t mad at you, Moon,” you tell him firmly. He stiffens, as though giving voice to his fears was too much. “He wants you back, safe and sound. He’s going to be overjoyed that you’re yourself again. The daycare isn’t the same without naptime - and no one does naptime better than you.” 

Moon drags in a long, synthetic breath, and though his chest does not shift, his shoulders do. 

“Do you promise?” He asks, and you can hear the fear in his voice. 

How terrible, this must be - living your life in the dark, knowing the other half of your very being was left to shoulder the burden of your actions. You smile at him, unsure if he can actually see you clearly in the darkness, and hold your hands out. He takes them, desperate for some kind of a tether. 

“I promise.”

Chapter Text

You and Moon spend the rest of your shift in the dark theater room. You don’t know that Sun isn’t going to be upset when they finally switch back, that he spent several hours asleep, unsure of what was happening while his corrupted counterpart potentially wreaked havoc out here - but Moon had been asleep for three months. You didn’t have the heart to tell him it was time to switch back. 

Besides, you think, perhaps a little selfishly, you want to get to know this side of him a little better. 

You’ve spent too long knowing Moon as violent and malfunctioning. When you started, he was little more than a ghost story that lurked in the shadows of the daycare, but things were different now. 

You tell him that you found a box of naptime blankets in the storage room, while you were setting up the daycare with Sun. You can see the visible change in him, even in the dark. 

“You miss naptime, huh?” You ask. 

“Of course I do. It’s my programming,” he says, and it feels like a silly question, now. 

You smile at him, gentle as he explains. “Sun told me the kids used to love you. I’m sure all the little superstars have missed you these last few months, and they’re going to be so excited to see you again. I can tell you and Sun really care about the daycare.” 

Moon fidgets, in that same nervous, jittery way Sun does, only slower. There is something on his mind, you can see it in the way he holds himself. His head tilts to the side, but does not dip down into the roll you were so familiar with.

“I can tell,” Moon says gently, “You do too.” 

You blink, wide awake now. “Huh?” You mean, sure, the daycare seemed like a nice place, and you hadn’t really had any complaints about your job until very recently. But still, you didn’t have the kind of investment or dedication to the place that the Daycare Attendant did. You’d only been there for a few weeks. It was just a job. 

“You made dangerous choices. Why?” 

You’re… not sure. You blink, suddenly struck silent as you sit there in front of him. “Because,” you start slowly. “Because… they were going to scrap you. And, if none of this was really your fault, that’s not fair at all. If Sun was right, and you’re friendly and kind like he is, then you don’t deserve to be scrapped.” 

The animatronic is silent for a long moment, as though that simple statement was difficult to process. He scoots forward, and you - for once - don’t feel the urge to move back. He reaches up and folds his arms across your lap, laying his head there and looking up at you with a tilt. 

“You’re staying? Even after the chasing? Even after the dropping?” 

You lift a hand in turn, running it along the side of his faceplate, feeling the smooth seam where Sun’s rays are supposed to come out. They’re hidden for now, and the dent you had put in him is no more, smoothed out by the repair station in Parts and Services. “Yeah,” you say. “I’m staying. We’re gonna open the daycare together - you, me, and Sun. All the kids will come back, and we’ll play games with them and put them down to sleep for naptime. Things are gonna be okay, now.” 

Moon hums, a contemplative sound from deep within his chassis. “Sounds nice. But he’s still there, waiting.”

“And who is he?” You ask, hoping for a real answer this time. Without the looming threat of the endoskeletons and the security footage, maybe Moon will be a little more willing to open up and talk. Or, so you hope.

He tilts his head, looking up at you. “Don’t know who… just what. Nasty thing, in my circuits, making me do things. Making me act wrong.” 

“A virus?” You ask. Moon hisses in agreement. “Well, it’s all gone now,” You assure him, but you can feel him shift in discomfort. Maybe not, you think grimly to yourself. “...No? Do you still… feel it?” You ask, hesitantly. 

You’re worried, for him and Sun - if that virus lingered in his circuits, that means that your trick at Parts and Services didn’t do much. If your trick at Parts and Service didn’t do much, then that means that you can’t reopen the daycare until you figure out how to clear this thing out of his system. If corporate catches wind of any of that… you don't really want to think about the consequences. 

But at long last, Moon speaks again, putting your fears to rest. “No,” he says shortly. “But he’s here. In the pizzaplex.” 

You look down at the robot, and feel a chill shiver down your spine at the thought. You decided that whatever this thing was -whether it was a person or a piece of malicious code, it didn’t matter to you. Whatever it was, you didn’t like it.

Whatever it was, it had to go. 

But for now, you were just happy to let Moon experience a little bit more time awake. You weren’t going to rush him back to the daycare, and you had to admit that this was… pretty nice, actually. You ghost a thumb at the edge of his faceplate, rubbing gently in little crescent moon shapes as he looks up at you. 

Just a week ago, you wouldn’t have been able to fathom feeling so at peace around Moon. You suppose that really is his programming - he was built to soothe others, and by god was he good at it. But in this moment, you can’t help but feel like he needs soothing as well. After so long he’s been a prisoner of his own actions, controlled - corrupted - by this outside force he so clearly loathes and dreads. He must have been feeling so very much, in these last few hours, if this was the first time in months that he was awake - and even longer since he’s been himself. 

You wonder what it was like, having that malicious code in his system, but before you can vocalize such a dark and invasive question, you think better of it. He picks his head up slightly, perhaps having caught on that you were about to say something, before you’d changed your mind. Instead, you just smile down at him, softness in your eyes as he leans his head into your touch. 

“Whatever it is,” you say, “We’ll figure it out together. How’s that sound?” 

Moon hums again, letting his head drop back into your lap. He does not close his eyes - you don’t think they actually have the ability to, with their static faceplate - but you can feel the ease radiating off of him, the way his body slumps against your legs as he rests there. He might be the naptime attendant, but now you were the naptime attendant assistant. It was your job, to help where you could. 

And that was exactly what you intended to do. For now, though, you would both just enjoy the quiet calm of the daycare theater. Moon can sense something in you, the way you’re finally at ease, sitting there with his head in your lap. You look exhausted and haggard with everything you’ve experienced that night, and your eyes are already half-lidded. 

You hear this god-awful cranking sound coming from deep in his chest, and it alarms you for a fraction of a second before you realize what it is - your powers of deduction are a little rusty at three in the morning, but you don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to realize, as the delicate bells chime in tune, that the cranking sound had been the wind of a music box. 

You stare at Moon, who stares back. “You sing?” You ask, a grin creeping onto your lips as you listen to his gentle lullaby. 

“Sort of. Helps the kids sleep.”

A soft laugh escapes you. It’s so strange, how different this animatronic was. How wrong you’d been about him, all this time. Your eyes feel heavy as you look down at him. You can feel the ping of each note reverberate through him. “It’s nice,” you tell him, your voice little more than a murmur under the calm of his music. 

“You’re tired,” he notes, and he’s not wrong. You are tired, but you’re still on duty here. Instead of admitting it out loud, you just give a non-committal hum, your head tipping to the side to match his. “Rest.” 

“Can’t rest,” you murmur, but the darkness of the theater and the comfort of Moon’s presence and the gentle music drifting through the air is like a siren song to your entire body. You can feel your eyes getting heavier. You cannot fall asleep on the job– you can’t fall asleep here! 

“Shh,” he whispers back, barely loud enough to be heard over the music box resonating from within his chest. “Nighty night.” 

Last time you heard that, you fell, and were immediately plunged into unconsciousness. 

This time, you realize, your eyes finally slipping closed at a quarter past three and your exhausted body thanking you for it in a sigh of relief, would be very similar. 

Chapter Text

The next thing you’re aware of is an enormous, terrifying bang. 

You jump nearly right out of your skin, and your knee accidentally knocks Moon under the chin, his faceplate jerking and the music box coming to an abrupt halt. Light spills into the darkened theater from beyond the doors, and a concentrated beam sweeps across you. You squint from the sudden assault on your sleep-bleary eyes. 

Ah, shit. You fell asleep. 

You twist in your seat, Moon refusing to move from your lap even as you’re desperate to stand up and make it look like you hadn’t just been passed out in a comfy theater seat. “V–uh, Officer Vanessa! Hi!” You chirp, anxiety driving your voice up an octave. 

The light finally falls on you and your robotic companion, and Moon hisses in discomfort. Sun rays spike outwards in a pattern, but he doesn’t switch. It’s still too dark. Long, nimble fingers clutch at the excess fabric of your jacket, and you remember that you aren’t in uniform. 

You swallow the knot in your throat, and give the annoyed security guard a nervous grin. “Hi! What, uh, what can I help you with?” You ask, trying to play all of this off as totally normal. You didn’t fall asleep during your shift, you were totally supposed to be up here, and the animatronic currently occupying your lap like the world’s guiltiest lap animal definitely wasn’t thought to be volatile and dangerous by almost all of upper management! 

This was fine! 

“What the hell are you doing up here?” Vanessa demands. “You two should be down in the daycare, where you b–” The security officer freezes up, staring now at the animatronic nestled comfortably - and rather stubbornly - in your lap. “That thing shouldn’t be out,” she cut across herself. “It’s dangerous.” 

You frown up at Vanessa, laying a hand at Moon’s arm where he still rested against you. “No he isn’t. He’s fine, see? I’m in one piece.” 

The flashlight snapped back to shine in your face. “And away from your post! What are you doing up here? Fazbear Theater isn’t reopening with the daycare.” 

“Needed to stretch,” Moon said coolly, still lounging almost lazily in your lap, as though he refused to show any deference to the security guard at all. That worried you; you’re pretty sure these animatronics were supposed to recognize some type of authority, for the security guards. Is there still something wrong with him? “Gave my new friend a tour. This is the daycare. I am the daycare attendant.” 

“No,” Vanessa sapped at the robot, “you’re the naptime attendant, and by my last report you were malfunctioning. You shouldn’t even be out.” Vanessa reached out towards the wall, and flicked the lights on. 

They came on all at once, and Moon finally reeled back. You leap from your chair in alarm, already knowing there isn’t anything you can do to help as you watch him struggle to maintain control; he’s been asleep for so long, and for the first time in months was able to watch over someone while they slept (to your embarrassment, of course.) The glow in the dark stars fade, as does the glow of his faceplate, and one by one Sun’s rays - all nine of them - return to their outwards positions.

Sun looks up at you, and you can practically feel the shock radiating from him; his gaze then falls upon the irate security guard standing at the door, and the mood shifts entirely: dread. 

“O-officer Vanessa!” He yelps, shooting to his feet so fast he nearly overbalances. You’re both up, both stressed, and both hanging on every word of the security officer. 

“Get back to the daycare,” she snaps, and Sun gives a hurried, frazzled salute, before grabbing your wrist and practically dragging you out of the theater. You know he doesn’t mean it - the way his grip is like a vice and he nearly yanks your arm out of the socket. He’s absurdly strong, and more stressed out than usual. You hurry after him, towards the door.

“You,” Vanessa catches your other arm, nearly rending you in two, “are coming with me.” 

“But–” Sun tries to protest on your behalf, but Vanessa shuts him down.

“Shut it,” she barks, and pulls you from his grip. He yields easily, and you stumble. “Just get back to your post and wait for further instruction.” 

There was a moment, you can see, where Sun looks like he really was going to protest - but he turns, and heads back to the daycare without another word. 

That just leaves you and Vanessa. 

Once satisfied that the animatronic was headed back to his post, she turns on you. It's bright in the Fazbear Theater, now that she’s turned all the lights on, but she still sweeps you up and down with her flashlight. “Away from your post, not in uniform, and I’m pretty sure you were sleeping on the job,” she snaps, the accusation in her voice palpable. You open your mouth to defend yourself, but she turns before you can even form the first syllable. “Save it. Follow me.” 

Your jaw clicks shut, and you follow Vanessa out of the daycare theater. 

As you pass the great open cage of the daycare down below, you can see Sun; he’s staring up at you, hands wringing nervously as he watches Vanessa lead you out of the daycare entirely - past the party rooms, through the gate at the top of the stairs, and out of his sight as she leads you through the lobby. 

You can’t be sure, from so far away, but you feel cold dread spill into your stomach as you realize that Sun’s rays are contracting, sporadically switching between fully extended and fully retracted. 

You’re not sure why, but they’re fighting for control. 

It sits uneasily with you, as you follow the chief security officer out of the daycare, and down the utility hall towards the front lobby. 

You aren’t sure about a lot, right now - if you are going to get fired, if Sun and Moon are going to get in trouble for what you did, if Vanessa even knows that you’d been down at Parts and Services tampering with the (and you cannot stress this enough!) multi-million dollar animatronic you had no right to tamper with! 

But you did know one thing; one indisputable fact that didn’t need definition: you were in trouble. 

Chapter Text

The Security Office is quiet, with huge monitors that hang on the walls. It’s clear that this is the main base of operations, with several stations for several different officers to monitor the activity around the Pizzaplex. She drags you into the office by your sleeve, and you follow miserably, without a word. You look a wreck, and it’s evident just by your haggard reflection in the blackened security screens just how much of a beating you’d taken that night. 

It's nearing four in the morning, and you are about to lose your job. You try to swallow the dread creeping up your throat, and shrink under Vanessa’s simmering gaze. She lingers in the doorway, glaring daggers at you.

“You’re going to stay right here until I figure out exactly how much damage you caused tonight,” she seethes, jabbing her flashlight at you. “Do you have any idea how many conduct violations you committed in one night? I don’t know what that thing back at the daycare said to trick you, but it’s a machine - a malfunctioning, seventy-eight million dollar machine , and you think you can just mess with it however you want? You’ll be lucky if you’re allowed to sweep the floors after this.” 

And with that, she's gone, the door sliding shut behind her, leaving you locked in the security office. 

Anxiety begins to pool in your chest; is she going to call the cops? She's just a security officer, she can’t actually arrest you, right? If she does call the cops, would they have enough evidence to actually arrest you? Did you actually commit crimes? You’re certain you did, but you’re not sure you can name any. 

Exhausted and sick to your stomach with nerves, you sink into one of the security chairs, sighing deeply and burying your face in your hands. Damn it. God Damn it. 

The security office is dark, with only the glow of the monitors illuminating it. It’s almost dark and quiet enough to sleep again, and lord knows your body would thank you for it, but the sick pit of anxiety in your stomach would never allow it. Even leaning back just to close your eyes causes a pang of guilt. You really messed up tonight, and you know it. 

You sink a little further into your seat, and drag your hands down your face with a low groan. Either way, what a miserable night. 

Well, it wasn’t all bad, you suppose. 

Your nerves soften just a bit, thinking about how Moon had made himself so comfortable back at the theater. How he’d made you comfortable; he’d made sure you felt safe and soothed, and the jerk had put you right to sleep despite your protests. 

Yeah, you were in a lot of trouble, but on the other side of that coin, you couldn’t imagine a world where you didn’t do exactly what you’d done that night- if Sun and Moon’s lives were on the line here, if that defect or glitch or virus or whatever it was, meant that the Faztechs would have scrapped him without a second thought, then you would commit tonight's string of felonies all over again. 

You sit there, looking down at your hands held loosely in your lap. With all the uncertainty and fear and stress, you realize you’ve grown quite the soft spot for those animatronics. Sun and Moon, one and the same but different as night and day, and you realize you’re risking everything to protect them, to ensure that the daycare can reopen, and resume operations as normal whether or not you’re there to help run it. 

You let out a little laugh. You’re so screwed. 

Something you find funny? 

Your laughter dies abruptly, and you look up at the security monitor. Oh, no way in hell. 

You roll back in the chair, looking up at the screen. Your arms fold across your chest, and you try to parse this thing speaking to you, again, through the screens. It’s the same text, the same terminal font that the Parts and Services AI had used to speak to you. 

“Who are you?” You ask, ignoring its question. 

As though embarrassed that it had been caught, the message flickers away into TV static, and then goes black. You blink, suddenly uncertain that it had been there at all. That sick, unsettled feeling was back, and you lean back into your chair. 

The sound of static sounds from behind you, and you swivel. 

A friend , the text says. Or, at least I’d like to be . 

This text, too, flickers to static, then to black. 

You swivel in a frenzy, looking around you. “You were at Parts and Services, too, weren’t you? When I fixed Moon. You tried to stop me.” 

Another flash of static, another message. 

What you were doing was dangerous. That thing is dangerous. 

“That thing is my friend,” you snap back, immediately. 

Until it isn’t. 

“Look, I don’t know what you’re implying , but Sun wouldn’t hurt me - and Moon… was sick. But we fixed him. You were there!” You gesture wildly at the screen bearing the newest message, and you feel only slightly more crazy than you did the first day, talking to a twelve-foot robot. 

That animatronic has been infected by an advanced form of malware, the text says, its message split across multiple screens, all at the same time . It is buried in code upon code. You’re not a technician. You’re not a programmer. You’re a babysitter. What makes you think you would able to crack a virus like that?

“Look, whoever you are - the Parts and Service AI or something overseeing the Pizzaplex systems, you’re not going to convince me that either one of them is dangerous.” 

Oh, friend, said one monitor. You spin, trying to find the rest of the message. Whatever this thing is, you decide you don’t like it. 

The entire security room goes dark, illuminated by only one monitor, front and center where you’re sitting. 

I can be very persuasive. 

The room is plunged into darkness - just for a split second, before every monitor lights up with bright, flickering light as they come to life with some kind of video feed. You shoot to a stand, wide awake now. 

The image is hard to make out, at first - the video is zoomed in, grainy and flickering like bad security footage, but it’s definitely a face. Glowing eyes, a nose, whiskers - some kind of animal. Your heart is in your throat as it leans in closer, and you can almost feel it looking at you through the one-way CCTV.

“We know what you did, little star,” the bunny says to you. His voice is glitched and garbled - audible, but just barely. 

A chill rolls down your spine, and you back towards an exit. There are two, in this security office, one on each side of the room, and really, you’re not choosy. Something vile is going on here, and a small part of you is surprised to find that your first thought is that you wish Sun and Moon were here. 

At the first bang, you flinch away from the door, heart pounding against your chest in rhythm with the thing just outside of the room. You back up, placing yourself into the middle of the office, trying to keep your distance from both doors. 

You’re trembling, you realize, as your breath hitches in your throat. You’d had enough tonight. You’re at your wits’ end, you’re ready to go home, you’re exhausted and can hear the static of the television screens over the pounding. Lights flicker and the world is too much. You wedge yourself under the security desk, desperate to hide from everything coming after you.

The thing outside the door, the thing speaking to you through the screens, the overwhelming sound of static and the faint sound of toreador music playing somewhere distant. You cover your ears and screw your eyes shut, curling in on yourself under the desk. 

Your eyes are closed, and your face is tucked against your knees, but you can still see that green terminal text flashing in the darkness behind your eyelids. 

You’re tampering with things you don’t understand, it says, before fading into static. 

And I’m not going to let you get in the way .

Without even thinking, you claw at your eyes, as though you might be able to rip the messages away. You’re not stupid of desperate enough to draw blood or dig your nails in, but you try to force it away, hoping that the lights and colors popping in your vision would chase the messages away entirely. 

The lights blare, every fluorescent on and shining, every security monitor blaring white as the banging finally ends. The static is unbearably loud, and you aren’t even sure anymore if it’s real or just in your head. 

It’s a tumult of sound and fear and you feel something move into the room with you. You curl in on yourself, letting out a guttural scream that sounded far away, like screaming in a dream where your voice doesn’t work. Everything is like a nightmare, and it’s hard to tell what’s real and what’s in your head anymore. You scream and scream, trying to drown out the static, but its not enough. 

Suddenly, something grabs you - the cold grip wraps around one wrist, the other pressing your head down as it drags you out front underneath the desk. You thrash, panicked and terrified as you try to break its grip, but in your blind frenzy you’re unable to break free. 

Once you’re out from under the desk, it grabs your other wrist, holding you like a steel trap. You’re terrified and shaking like a leaf as the thing steadies you, and through the terror you hear the jingling of bells. 

Tears streaming down your face, you finally open your eyes. Your vision is grainy, like the television static lingered behind your eyes, but he’s there. Sun, smiling down at you, holding you by each wrist so that you don’t hurt yourself in your panic. 

“It’s okay,” he says, and the ringing in your ears fades, his voice cutting through it. “You’re safe and sound.” When he finally sees you return to yourself, he lets go of your wrists, confident that you’re no longer a danger to yourself. Instead, he pulls you against his chest, crouched there by the desk in the brightly lit security office. 

Trembling there in his hold, you practically collapse. 

Chapter Text

You are carried out of the security office. Whether or not Vanessa will be angry at you for leaving, you can’t really be bothered to care. Something awful was in that room, and you curl into Sun’s hold like a frightened child. You cling to the ruffle around his neck, trying to curtail your shallow breaths and the feeling of hyperventilation making you lightheaded. 

“You’re okay,” he reassures you, though you never remove your face from his chestplate. He holds you close and carries you.

He’s taking you back to the daycare. He doesn’t say so, but you know Sun. The daycare is safe, and his programming must be lighting up his circuits desperate to get back to his designated area. It’s a comforting thought, at least. You miss the daycare; you miss the safety of the bright colors and cheerful music that was so different from the terrible static behind your eyes. 

“Whatever happened in there, it’s over. I’ve got you, kiddo.” 

He sets you on the edge of the daycare security desk, and gentle fingers light upon your cheeks. He lifts your gaze to his, one thumb pressing gingerly underneath your chin as the other wipes gently at your cheek, wiping away the water that your panic had left to streak stains down your cheeks. You sniffle and look up at him, your vision finally clear. 

You’ve never been so happy to see the smile of a Fazbear animatronic. 

“S-something… happened,” you whisper to him. “Something spoke to me, through the monitors. It was like the entire world was full of static, and then it was in my head, like a bad dream–” 

At this, Sun’s hands still against your skin. “O-okay…” he starts. That wasn’t usually part of the conversation when he had to calm kids at the daycare. “Well, we’re safe and sound here in the daycare! Let me give you a quick check up and we can make sure you’re a-okay! Then we can talk - okay, sunshine?” 

Sunshine. 

Sunshine, Starlight, the terms of endearment soothe your nerves, and you look up at him with a clear head, enveloped by safety and care. Your throat is tight and the static still lingers in the back of your head, like the ghost of a nightmare you’ve just woken up from. You drag in a shaking breath, and nod. 

“Good! Good. Now, just hold still!” 

You do as he asks, sitting there with your hands folded in your lap as he gently checks you over, making sure you aren’t hurt in any way. You’re not bleeding, nothing’s broken, you don’t have any injuries. You’re just rattled, and frightened, and out of breath from whatever had happened to you. You’re not even sure what had happened, you just know you had a dull headache and your heart was thundering against your ribs like a war drum. 

“Okay,” Sun says, affirming that you are, in fact, still in one piece and alive. “Now, officer Vanessa might be a little miffed when she finds out you’re not in the office, anymore, but I think I can take good care of you until she gets back from her errands! She was awfully mad at you, you know,” he tells you. 

Oh, you know. 

“I, uh,” you sniffle, bunching up the sleeve of your sweatshirt in your fist, and dragging it across your cheek. “I might not be with the daycare, much longer. But you guys are gonna open on target and things are gonna go back to how they should be, around here.” 

Sun is silent for a moment, looking down at you. “Now, I have it on good authority that you were very brave tonight, and did a very scary thing to help someone you care about!” 

You avert your gaze from his, and swallow the lump in your throat. “Yeah. You probably figured it out already,” you tell him, fighting to keep the waver from your voice. “Moon’s back. He’s… feeling better. I’m sorry about hitting you in the face.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that! All water under the bridge, friend! I’m sorry we gave you such a hard time, and Moon is very sorry for everything that happened. He hopes you can forgive him.” 

You take a deep breath, and look up at Sun with watery eyes. “I forgive him. Water under the bridge, right? I’m just happy he’s himself again.” 

“And he wants you to know… whatever scared you so bad, back there, he - we’re going to keep you safe and sound, now. We’re going to help you, just like you helped us!” 

You can feel the pounding in your chest start to wane; it’s funny, but just those words of encouragement have left you feeling safer than you could remember feeling since you started working here. You hold your hands out for Sun, and he takes your hands carefully. His thumbs trace crescent moons against the backs of your palms, and he watches you keenly as your stress level slowly begins to subside. 

“What happened to me back there?” You ask him. Sun cocks his head as he looks at you. It’s obvious that he doesn’t have an answer, and it's obvious that your question unnerves him. 

“W-well, you know,” he starts, as the gentle thumbing on the back of your hands slows to a halt, “you had an awful stressful night. Sometimes stress like that can… play tricks on your mind! Makes you see things that aren’t there!” 

You hum, not convinced. “Sun, I know tonight has been more stressful than usual, what with the chase and Vanessa and everything, but I really don’t think I was seeing things. I don’t think I’m crazy, Sunny...” 

Sun bristles, his rays contracting in a sharp, short motion. “I - I don’t think you are, either! That isn’t what I meant at all! It’s just, sometimes– sometimes,” he tries again, slowly, “fear can get the better of us, and–” 

He goes silent. It’s eerie, and you look up at him. You can practically see the gears turning in his head, and his focus is somewhere distant. “Moon says… that you’re not crazy at all. It’s… hard to explain, but… Oh, Moony, that can’t be right!” 

He suddenly stands, back straight as your hands slip from his. He wrings them together nervously. It’s clear he’s in a conversation with himself - or, rather, with Moon - and you watch in a dazed fascination. That’s something you’re going to have to get used to, you think to yourself. 

Or, something you would have had to get used to, if you weren’t about to lose your job forever. You sigh heavily, and drag your hands down your face. The static is finally gone, but the buzzing behind your eyes lingers like a phantom pain. 

Sun looks back at you, and through his usual cheerful grin you can see a tint of anxiety. You sit a little straighter, and frown gently at him. “What?” 

“Moon says–” There’s a palpable hesitation to his voice, and he turns slowly back to face you. “Moon says, that’s how it starts.” 

You swallow hard, and lace your fingers together. Your knuckles are white, and your nails press little half-moons into your skin, your grip like a vice. “How… how what starts?” You ask him. 

Sun brings a hand up to his head, fingers laced between his rays, which have retracted. “Are you sure? Are you positive? I mean, that doesn’t make any sense!” 

“Sun!” You bark, nerves on edge and a sick pit in your stomach. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Slowly, Sun’s hand slipped down, and even though his eyes were blank, you can feel him looking right at you. “The bug, in Moon’s system. That’s - that’s how it started. The static, that thing, talking to you… there’s a glitch in your code.” 

Your mouth hangs open for a moment, and you stare blankly at him in return. “Wh– you… you think I’m infected? Sun, that’s– that’s silly, I’m not– I’m not a robot, I’m not a machine! I don’t have code.” 

He wrings his hands together again, and you can see the conflict in the way he holds himself. “I - I don’t know about that, Moon. Humans aren’t like us, you know? But–” 

“Sun,” you cut across him. “What’s happening to me?” 

He smiles at you, and you’ve never seen a smile so devoid of any kind of joy before. It's hollow, and tinged with dread. You’re afraid, and you know something is very, very wrong. 

Moon knows it, too - that much is evident. But regardless of Moon’s opinion on the matter, you already know what Sun’s answer will be. There’s no comfort in his answer - just frustration and anxiety. 

Sun looks at you, apologetic.

“I… I don’t know .” 

Chapter Text

Sun won’t let you out of his sight. 

You suppose it’s best that way, at least. You can’t fathom the idea of being left alone right now, anyway, and you’re always grateful for his company. He’s since plucked you from the countertop and settled you, instead, securely in his lap. For a robot, he’s not terribly uncomfortable, and you aren’t going to complain after the night you’ve had. You feel safe, at the very least. 

You’re no longer tired, though you can feel the exhaustion creeping through your brain, just waiting to descend upon you later, but your nerves are too shot to relax in any meaningful way. You’re silent, cradled carefully in his lap, leaning back against his chest, and you can feel his stress. He doesn’t like the silence, the stillness as you both wait out the rest of your shift, and you take a deep breath, resigning yourself to conversation. 

“Thank you for coming to get me,” you tell him, your voice barely more than a whisper in the relative quiet of the daycare. Sun’s hands go still, hovering over you carefully. 

“Oh - oh, it wasn’t me, actually.” 

You twist, looking up at him, humming. “What do you mean?” 

“It was Moon’s idea. And, you know… I can’t leave the daycare.” 

And yet, he was the one who had come to your rescue at the security office. Something akin to revelation blooms in your features, and you slump in his hold. “Can… Moon hear us?” 

“He says you’re welcome,” Sun says, with a little chuckle to his voice, and he’s pleased to hear you laugh in return. It’s been such a rough night, between the chase and the repairs and the… whatever had happened to you, in the security office. It’s clear that he’s trying his best to comfort you with all of the uncertainty you’ve been through this shift. It’s his programming, after all. 

You exhale deeply, sinking in against him. 

“Thank you, Moon,” you rest your head back against Sun’s shoulder. “Thank you both. I don’t know what the hell happened back there, but I’m feeling a lot better.” In no small part because of the protective attention that the daycare attendant is showing you. Still, though, you know that whatever you had experienced before isn’t over. 

Something is wrong with you. 

And it was that cheerful thought that was interrupted, by the low groan of the castle doors at the front of the daycare. The lights were on, here, and there was no need for Vanessa to shine the flashlight right in your eyes like she had in the theater, but you still weren’t too pleased to see her. 

“I thought I’d find you here,” she snaps, crossing the daycare to confront you at the security desk, where Sun had settled the both of you. “I told you to stay in the security office, what are you doing back here?” 

“I needed help,” Sun said, without missing a beat. You hadn’t even had the opportunity to open your mouth to tell Vanessa that you’d had a brief psychotic break in the security room and that Sun was taking care of you until the end of your shift. “So I got the Daycare Assistant!” 

Vanessa glowers at the animatronic; it’s abundantly clear that she has a distaste for this animatronic in particular; you absently wonder how she acts towards the Glamrocks, since they’re the stars of the show, here. 

“Am I in trouble?” You ask, and you can’t help the flat apathy in your voice. It’s been long enough now that you’ve come to terms with the fact that you were getting fired, tonight. You just wanted to get it over with and get to go home instead of waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Vanessa’s venomous glare shifts down to you, no less sour. “You’re out of uniform. I’m gonna have to write you up for it, but you know what’s weird, rookie? I reviewed the security footage through the entire pizzaplex, and it looks like the security cameras went down, halfway through your shift. Isn’t that funny? You and that animatronic, completely off the radar, for like two hours. And it just so happens that in that time, you got that freaky naptime attendant working again.” 

Your breath catches in your throat, and you think back to the kindergarten - the abandoned security desk, and all the footage you, personally, erased. You think back to Moon’s insistence. He knew you were going to get in trouble for it - he knew that fixing him was going to have consequences. 

Not all of them were avoidable, you're starting to realize… but at least you're going to keep your job. 

You'll have to thank him, later. 

“Moon and I… spent a lot of time in the theater,” you lie. “He’s been asleep for so long, and I hadn’t met him yet. We were just getting to know each other.” 

Vanessa scowls. “I don’t know what you did, rookie, and I don’t have enough proof to figure it out. Yet. But don’t think you’re getting off the hook so easy - Fazbear Entertainment doesn’t tolerate rogue employees… and neither do I.” 

“Of course not, officer,” you say, your voice flat. You’re too tired to muster any emotion behind it, and this only seems to piss her off more. “I’ll be more careful about my uniform, next time.” 

She sneers at you. “Make sure of it. And don’t think I’m not writing you up for your infraction, tonight. Whatever you did while the cameras were out, a dress code infraction is the least you deserve.” 

You have a lot to thank Moon for, you realize, but you keep quiet. You merely take the scolding, and nod. “Yes, ma’am. I assure you, you won’t see any more uniform infractions from me. After all,” you tell her, and watch her bristle like a cornered animal, “we’re reopening next week.” 

The look on Vanessa’s face is somewhere between bewildered and furious - surprise, that you were somehow able to get this place up and running again, and fury that you’d been able to succeed in an impossible task. You’re not sure why, but this woman seems to have it out for your animatronic friend, here. Maybe you’re just tired and stressed, but you get the distinct feeling that Vanessa doesn’t want him fixed. 

“Right,” she eventually manages, stiffly. “I’m sure all the kids are going to be thrilled to come back to the daycare. Just make sure you keep that thing on a tight leash. We don’t want any more incidents.” 

“I couldn’t agree more,” you tell her, coolly, and she sneers at you, turning to leave the daycare. 

You can feel Sun slump in relief once she’s gone. 

“Gosh,” he wheezes out, “she’s awfully strict, isn’t she! I guess you have to be, when you’re the head of security at a place like this!” 

You hum, only half listening. “She doesn’t need to be so rude, though.” 

“Oh, I’m sure miss Vanessa is just having a stressful night, is all! Usually she leaves us alone!” 

You hum again. 

You can’t put your finger on exactly what, but something about the security officer just rubs you the wrong way. You yawn, and lean back against your temporary caretaker. Maybe it was all just in your head, you think, your own thoughts distant. 

A lot seems to be just in your head, these days. 

Chapter Text

You’re right about one thing, at least. 

With the advent of Moon’s repair, he was operating within normal parameters, and that meant that you could submit the bid to be assessed, be given the green light, and reopen on schedule. By the end of the month - just a few days away, now - Fazbear Entertainment would announce the grand reopening of the Superstar Daycare (after several months of maintenance to make sure the daycare was up to their superstar standard, of course), and kids would start signing up again. 

Sun is excited about it, of course. 

You’re excited about it, too! Really, you are, but you’ve just felt so drained since the incident in the security office during your last shift. The uncertainty of it all left your mind racing at all hours; it’s hard to focus, harder to sleep, and the idea that you were slowly going crazy has crossed your mind more than once. 

Apparently, Fazbear Entertainment has company psychologists, but… you’ve been in this job for less than a month, and the idea of caving so soon and needed to go see a shrink because you apparently can’t handle the stress of being a daycare assistant who hasn’t even had any kids to take care of, yet - well, it didn’t sit well with you. Not in the slightest. 

So, you tuck the information away, to be promptly forgotten about. You don’t need a shrink. You just need a single good nights’ sleep and some solid answers. You’re not going crazy! No matter how many times you wake up sweating in the middle of the night, plagued by visions of that weird rabbit mascot you saw on the monitors, you’re certain that you’re just… a little tired. That’s all. 

Corporate has informed all current daycare staff - which, really, amounts to you, Sun, and Moon - that pending assessment, the Superstar Daycare was set to reopen on the first of the month, which is three days away. Your job is to contact parents on the waiting list for enrollment. The Superstar Daycare offered both an hourly rate for parents looking to drop their kids off while using the Pizzaplex amenities, and a monthly rate for parents looking for something a little more long-term. The long-term parents were practically chomping at the bit to get their kids back into the daycare.

You wonder if any of them actually know what happened, that forced the daycare to close. You wonder if any of them know that a kid died there. 

You don’t blame Moon - you understand (perhaps a little too well, now) that the bug in his code was a nasty piece of work. You’re not sure how it ended up there, but you suppose the particulars didn’t really matter. The fact is, things are better now, and you spend the following shift sitting behind the security desk, making phone call after phone call. 

Sun is there, watching you. He’s sitting on the other side of the security desk, practically laying down on his stomach with his legs kicked in the air, head resting on intertwined fingers like a teenage girl eager to gossip. He’s patient while you’re on the phone with parents, but you can tell it’s killing him to stay quiet while you work through each enrollment. 

“Alright, thank you Mrs. Sullivan; we look forward to seeing your son this week! Sounds good - you too!” With another enrollment under your belt, the phone is placed back on the receiver and Sun practically springs to a stand, leaning over the desk with gusto. 

“Oh! I remember little Tommy! He loves arts and crafts! If he’s coming back, we need to make sure we have enough popsicle sticks for him, he’s quite the little architect!” Sun is so giddy he nearly giggles. You lean back into your chair, and smile up at him. You can feel a migraine starting to bloom between your eyes, but you ignore it for now. 

“I think we’ve got plenty of arts and crafts supplies, Sunny,” you tell him, “the kid’s not going to build the Chrysler Tower.” 

“Maybe not, but you’d be surprised how many of those things a determined superstar can go through! He’s got a vision, you know!” 

You chuckle and concede; if anyone knew how to run the daycare, it would be Sun, and you weren’t about to argue. “If we need more, I’m sure the supply room in the lobby has another box or two of craft supplies. I’ll check there if we start running low. You really remember each and every one of these kids, huh?” You ask him, folding your arms across your chest as you look up at your companion. 

He beams - more than usual, at least - and stands up straight with pride. “I sure do! I have a complete database of every child enrolled in the daycare, complete with contact, medical, and attendance information! Tommy used to come every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday from three to six - right after he got out of school!” 

You hum, and rub your eyes. “That’s pretty impressive, Sun. I bet it’ll be nice to see these kids again after being closed for so long–” 

“Oh, you have no idea! I’m so excited I could exPLODE!” His entire upper half twirls in excitement, and you chuckle. You can’t seem to muster the energy to match his enthusiasm, and as he comes back to center, he seems to notice. Leaning forward against the security desk countertop, he cocks his head at you, and there’s a tinge of concern behind his smile. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright, friend? You’ve been acting weird today…” 

You bristle, and look up at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m fine,” you tell him, and you realize too late that your voice is sharper than you really meant it to be. You can see the surprise in Sun’s body language, and you exhale slowly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. Really, I didn’t. I just haven’t been sleeping well lately, and I can’t stop thinking about whatever it was I saw the other night, back in the security office. It’s sorta freaked me out, I guess.” 

“Oh!” Sun extends himself over the end of the desk, leaning forward towards you in such a way that you can’t help but be reminded of a crane extending its neck. “If you’re having trouble sleeping, I bet Moon could help! He’s got a knack for putting the little ones down to sleep for their naps. Even the fussy ones!” 

You shift uncomfortably in your seat and scratch out the last number you called, moving down the list to the next parent. “I dunno, Sun. We still have a lot to do before the Daycare opens, and–” 

“Your shift is over at four, right?” 

You blink up at him. “I mean, yeah? You know that, I’m eight to four every night. But forget it, I wanna keep this job and I feel like that security officer’s been breathing down my back just looking for a reason to fire me. I don’t wanna give her any reason to kick me out of here before I even get to see the daycare open.” 

“So,” he leans a little slower, lower, his voice a conspiratorial whisper, “Moon can help after your shift! You can’t get in trouble for sleeping on the job if you’re off the clock, can you?” 

You punch in the next number on the list of contacts, and look up at Sun. You rest an elbow on the desk, and prop your cheek up as you wait for someone to pick up the line. “I thought you were supposed to be all about rules and following directions? What’s with the rebellious streak, all of a sudden?” You ask him, voice hushed as you listen to the phone ring. 

Sun giggles, and lowers himself a little further, until he’s resting on his elbows and watching you with that unending smile. “You fixed Moon! He’s a terrible influence!” 

You roll our eyes. “Yeah, I bet,” you mutter, and hear the click of someone picking up the other end of the line. “Hi! I’m with Freddy Fazbear’s Mega Pizzaplex, and I’m just calling to inform you that the Superstar Daycare is going to be reopening next month. I see you’re on a waitlist based on your previous enrollment, here, and I was just reaching out to see if you would still be interested in re-enrolling your child with–” 

“The hare has set his sights on you.” 

Your jaw snaps shut, and you’re fairly certain that the person - or, thing, the thought presents itself distantly to you - on the other end of the line isn’t Ms. Wahl, as the paper before you had indicated. You’re silent for a moment, and the voice on the other end doesn’t speak. 

“Who are you?” You ask, and you can feel Sun’s gaze boring into you. 

There’s static on the other end. 

“What do you want?” You demand, and can hear the tremor in your own voice. 

There’s an uncomfortable pause, as if the thing on the other end is thinking. It’s unsettling, the idea that this thing - whatever it was - could think, could plot and plan… and then it speaks to you, its voice measured and careful. “I want you to do your job.” 

You feel a chill roll down your spine, and open your mouth to argue, to ask what the hell it wanted, why it was being so cryptic. The line dies on the other end, and your voice dies along with it. 

You swallow hard; it’s like swallowing sawdust. Shaking hands place the receiver back on the cradle, and you look up at Sun, who is watching you with no small amount of concern. It’s clear that he, too, feels something is off. 

“I think,” you tell him, shakily. He reaches a comforting hand out for you, and you take it, grateful, “I’ll take you up on your offer. I…” you hesitate, feeling foolish for even thinking this. “I don’t think I’m ready to go back home, just yet.” 

Chapter Text

You’ve clocked out, and your entire body feels heavy like lead. You’re exhausted and confused and can’t get that garbled, staticky voice from the phone line out of your head. What the hell did it mean, the hare has his sights on you? What did it mean, that this mysterious voice wanted you to do your job? You're trying to do your job, but that… thing - whatever it was! - had interrupted you in the middle of a phone call! 

Everything is just too much, and as you walk back to the daycare from clocking out, you know that this is all stupid. It’s stupid to be intimidated by this freak on the other end of the phone, and it’s stupid to be anxious to go home. You want to collapse in your bed and shut out the world for a few hours.

But you have already decided: you would spend the night here. At least if something were to happen (and you’re really not sure what - just… something.) then at least you would have someone there with you. Back home, you lived alone, and right now alone was the last thing you want to be. 

Sun is there to greet you when you return to the daycare, as usual. You can feel some of the tension melt away from your shoulders when you see him, waiting patiently for you, and the disquieted hammering of your heart has finally quieted for the time being. 

It’s funny, how after everything that’s happened in this daycare, that you feel safe around the daycare attendant. Even if you guys got off to a rocky start - even knowing what you know, about what happened in this daycare months ago - you can’t deny that the daycare attendant knows how to make scared little kids feel safe again. 

It sits uncomfortably, in your stomach. You do feel like a scared little kid, and at your age that’s embarrassing. You’re not an elementary schooler missing their mom. The things you’ve been experiencing these past few days - frightening visions, voices, whispers in the dark and lines of code in the dark space behind your eyelids, every time you close your eyes - it’s downright disconcerting, but you can’t help but feel childish for it all. 

You can’t help but feel a little childish now, embarrassment heating your cheeks as you return to the daycare. The attendant is expectant, and it briefly occurs to you to call this whole thing off and just tell him you’ll see him tomorrow for the scheduled check up. But really, what’s the alternative? Laying awake in the darkness of your own bedroom, waiting in terror for that thing’s voice to creep back into your head? 

You suppress a shudder at the thought, and meet Sun in the middle of the daycare.

“Are you all ready?” He asks. You hum, some noncommittal answer as you stare off into the distance, observing the fascinating nature of the giant Roxanne Wolf head bolted to the jungle gym. 

“Yeah,” you manage, eventually. “Are you sure you don’t mind? I don’t know what you really… do, when the daycare’s empty. You don’t have anything else to do? You don’t have to charge, like the others?” 

“Nope!” Sun bleats cheerfully. “Not as often as animatronics like the Glamrocks, at least! Imagine if I had to leave the daycare every hour to recharge! Who would watch the kids? I can’t just leave them unattended, so my charge is a lot stronger than the others. Which means,” he leans in, excited as he takes you by both hands and leads you back towards the security desk, “you don’t have to worry about me! This is gonna be the best sleepover ever!” 

You can’t help but laugh at the animatronic’s goofy enthusiasm as he stoops down nearly half his height to lead you to the back wall, like you didn’t know exactly where it was. “Right. A sleepover,” you chuckle. It was something like that, sure. 

“Now, I’m going to be waking you up bright and early so you have a chance to go get ready before maintenance is scheduled to drop in for my check up tomorrow! If anyone asks why you’re here so early before your night shift, I’ll tell them I needed my Daycare Assistant to help me be extra brave during my check up!” 

You smile up at him and your hands slip from his as you round the security desk, where he cannot follow. “Don’t be so dramatic, you big baby,” you tease him gently. “You’re gonna be fine during your check up tomorrow, you don’t actually need me there.” 

You grab the flashlight from the charging dock, and when there’s no witty comeback or wisecracking joke from behind you, you turn to look at him. 

He’s standing there, smiling at you in that blank, contemplative way you’ve grown used to. It’s no longer eerie. In fact, you’re starting to learn to read him - the minute details in how he holds himself betraying the emotions behind that static smile. You feel your entire body freeze, and look up at him in surprise. 

Slowly, you move out from behind the security desk, to stand in front of him. “Sun?” 

“Maybe you’re right,” he starts, and the manic cheer to his voice is muted, now. An oversized hand rests on your shoulder, engulfing it. “But I want you there. You don’t realize how different things have been since you showed up, do you?” 

It wasn’t a question, and you can feel your cheeks flush with heat. This was… oddly solemn and sincere, for Sun. You stutter for a moment, unsure what to say. “W-well… yeah,” you manage, and give him a tight smile. “This place was a wreck before I got here. You’re welcome.” 

Immediately, you regret your deflection. For once, with Sun, this wasn’t a joking moment, and you can feel it in the way his hold tightens against your shoulder minutely. You swallow sawdust and look up at him. A beat passes, and for a moment you’re afraid you’ve forgotten how to speak entirely. “I… I hope it’s been for the better,” you manage, and there’s a small part of you that feels fear at that utterance. Fear that your presence here and the danger present in the daycare has been unbearable for the daycare attendant. 

“This daycare’s seen a lot of superstars in its day!” Sun crows proudly. “But you’re my favorite.” 

You feel a lump in your throat; somehow, over the last month, you and this twelve-foot robot have grown on each other. Shit, you realize. 

You were type of nutjob to comfort your roomba.

A nervy little laugh escapes you, and you lean forward, wrapping your arms around his waist. “And you’re mine, you big sap. The both of you.” And you really mean it. It’s a surprise, even to you, after everything that’s happened over the last month. You’ve risked your life and committed felonies for this robot, and you would do it all again in a heartbeat. You only move back from the hug when you feel him brace his hands against your shoulders, urging you back, and look up at him. 

He towers over you, but that doesn’t stop him from stooping down, and pressing the flat of his faceplate against the top of your head. There’s a hollow little thunk, and if it weren’t for the sound he made when he did it, you might not have even realized. 

“Mwah!” 

You blink, and look up at him in surprise. Neither of you say anything, but his smile is genuine and kind. Your own smile softens, and you take a deep breath. “You ready, Sun?” 

“Sure am!” 

And with that, you lean over the security desk, and with the flip of a switch, you kill the lights. 

Chapter Text

The lights go out, and you’re no longer afraid. You watch as the switch happens, the way Sun’s head rolls and the rays contract smoothly and seamlessly with the movement. When it comes up the other side, he’s no longer Sun. You can see the focus shift, the awareness coming back into his eyes as he takes control. You smile up at him. “I want to thank you,” is the first thing out of your mouth. “For helping us cover our tracks. You really saved my butt, back there with Vanessa.” 

“Nosy night guard…” he hisses, and slinks towards you. “I don’t like her.” 

“Yeah,” you say, as Moon rounds you, peering down at you as though he’s conducting some sort of inspection. You feel scrutinized, here in the dark. You turn to watch him as he watches you. “Are you looking for something?” 

“Nothing we can see.” He tells you, lifting your arm as he examines you. “You’re not well. Sick. Infected.” 

You wretch your arm out of his hold and keep it close to your chest. “Infected? I feel fine, Moon. I’m fine.” 

He stops in his tracks, and looks at you. 

“Is that the truth?” 

You open your mouth, and your voice dies in your throat. 

No. 

No, it’s not. 

“I’m just tired,” you lie. “It’s been a stressful week.” 

“You’re tired,” Moon echoes you. It’s not the whole truth, but he doesn’t need your answer, anyway. He already knows. Instead of pressing the matter, he holds out a hand for you. “It’s past your bedtime.” 

Yeah, it was almost five in the morning. ‘Past your bedtime’ was an understatement. You lay your hand in his, and let him lift you into his hold. You hear the click of the wire lift attaching to the hook set into his back, and suddenly the ground is disappearing beneath your feet. He keeps you secure up, up, towards the castle balcony, clear across the daycare. 

It doesn’t escape you how ironic it all is; the bruises haven’t even cleared up yet, and you’re letting him swing you thirty feet in the air clear across the daycare like some kind of demented zipline. But you don’t feel unsafe, and as your feet touch down on the castle balcony for the first time since the fall, you can’t help but marvel a bit at it all. 

“I know I asked Sun, already, but… are you sure this is okay? I don’t want to… bother you, or–” 

“Bother me,” he interrupts you, as though amused by the notion. You pause, and look up at him. Without saying anything, he takes you by the hand, and leads you into the room beyond the balcony. It’s private and quiet and dark. 

“Well– yeah. I mean, It’s not like this is our… normal routine, and–” 

“I am the naptime attendant,” he says bluntly. “Naptime is my job.” You open your mouth, and then close it again. Well - yeah, okay, he had a point. “I was asleep for months. No children to look after. No naptime.” 

You let him lead you into the quiet calm. “You miss it,” you tell him. It’s not a question, either. 

“I miss it,” he echoes you, and pulls a blanket out of the box of naptime blankets still sitting on the table by the rest of the supplies you and Sun had stored up here. The bed of blankets you’d woken up on after your fall is gone - to where, you’re not sure, but you watch as Moon settles himself against the back wall. His smile glows gently in the darkness, reassuring and inviting.

You join him, sinking down into his lap and letting him drape the blanket over you. For a robot, he’s actually pretty comfortable, as you rest back against him, cradled carefully in his lap. As you find a comfortable spot, he lays his hands on you, the weight and presence a calming comfort. 

One hand combs carefully through your hair once or twice, before settling at the back of your head. 

“Usually,” Moon tells you, drawing your attention in the darkness, “humans close their eyes when they sleep.” 

You hum, realizing how wired you are. Despite how comfortable you are, falling asleep is going to be hard with everything racing through your mind. “What did you mean, before, that I’m… infected?” You ask him, ignoring his insistence that you close your eyes, and instead looking back up at him. 

His hand goes still, and Moon shifts his entire face to look down at you. “I’m worried,” he admits to you, one long finger brushing the hair from your eyes as you look up at him. “I can still feel it, inside me. You do, too - don’t you?” 

You suddenly feel sick, and though you’re tired, you don’t feel like sleeping anymore. “Wh-what do you mean? I’m fine, Moon.” 

“If you were fine, you wouldn’t be here.” 

Well damn, okay. You can’t even argue. You know that something’s wrong, otherwise why would you have agreed to sleep here tonight? You’re scared, and Moon knows this. Your breath catches in your throat for a moment, and you avert your gaze from his. He cradles the side of your head, and your chest aches at the understanding in his touch. You drag in an unsteady breath, and when you speak, your voice is barely more than a fearful whisper. “What’s happening, Moon?” 

“You had contact with the virus,” he tells you, “And it wants you, now. Don’t know why. You’re infected, like I was.” 

You let out a little laugh, but there’s no humor behind it. It sounds desperate, and you can feel hot tears stinging at your eyes. “That’s crazy,” you whisper back to him. “I’m not a robot. I can’t get a computer virus.” 

“He’s different,” Moon tries to explain to you. His thumb strokes gently across your brow, and he looks down at you. “But not invincible.” 

You manage another shuddering breath, and nod. You keep your wits about you, leaning into his hold as he pulls the blanket up around your shoulders. You bury your face against him, and feel him hold you close against him. 

“Don’t worry about that, for now,” he tells you, as if you could simply turn off the bone-deep terror of uncertainty. “For now, you’re safe. Your friend Moon is here to chase away all the bad dreams, starlight…” 

You can feel that horrible cranking reverberate through his entire body, now that you’re this close to him - but it only lasts for a second or two before the soft chime of music fills the quiet, still space of the castle room. You close your eyes, and let each hollow pang of the music box flood you. Your heart feels heavy and sick, but in this moment, at least - with Moon cradling you to sleep, enveloped by care and safety - you feel calm wash over you. 

Chapter Text

Moon can practically hear the tick-tick-ticking in the back of his head, as his assistant sleeps soundly in his lap. It’s like a time bomb. Sooner or later, the daycare assistant is going to spiral. That thing was inside the assistant’s head, and Moon knows firsthand the kind of havoc it could cause. He’s under no delusions about what he is. He’s very, very different from the little thing sleeping in his lap, there’s no mistake about it. 

His new friend was so much more… fragile. Robots, see, they can be repaired and reprogrammed, taken apart and put back together. He’d had his code scrambled, but after a quick nap in Parts and Services he was himself again. 

His hands hover over his little charge. He’s so used to comforting little ones, and yet all of a sudden he’s uncertain. He doesn’t like it. 

Well. He was mostly himself again. 

And it was frustrating, to be mostly himself again, but to still feel the buzz of electricity in his circuits. It was unnatural, irregular, and he wished it would go away - but he knew it wouldn’t, and he could only imagine what the daycare assistant was feeling now. 

No doubt this would be a fitful sleep. The virus was already installed; getting rid of it was going to be hard. It wasn’t going to be as easy and hooking up to the repair system and having it flushed out. No, humans were much more complicated - not as easy to fix. 

But for right now, Moon ignored the ticking time bomb, letting his charge rest comfortably in his lap. It was sorely needed, and he hoped that things would be a little more bearable come morning. 

He is still and silent, the only sound coming from him the gentle tune of the music box in his chest. He is the naptime attendant, and this is the first naptime he’s overseen in months. It feels strange - off - and despite his smile he’s quietly afraid of what’s going to happen when the kids arrive. 

He’s not himself anymore. Not fully. And if he’s different, what’s going to happen if the kids know it? What’s going to happen if, when he lays them down to sleep, the kids can feel that he’s not the same friend they left behind when the daycare closed? 

Gently, mechanical fingers pass over the daycare assistant’s shoulder, down the curve of the spine. It’s gentle, careful stroking motion, and Moon is painfully aware of how easy it is to stir humans from their sleep. Really, that was the last thing he wanted. 

There was too much to worry about. Sun was usually the one who worried about these things. All Moon knew was that he had this fragile, frightened thing in his lap, whose entire being was on the verge of being rewritten by a computer virus. 

It didn’t make sense. Oh, he’s well aware of that - the idea that a human could be infected by the same virus that had just been cleared out of his own systems? It sounded silly, made up, the stuff of scary stories you tell in the darkness. And yet, he knew the malhare well. He knew the static and the whispers and the commands. He knew exactly what the daycare assistant was experiencing - it was everything that he’d felt, in the days and weeks before the daycare had shut down. 

And he knows what’s going to happen, too. The daycare will be shut down again, inevitably, when another kid goes missing or worse - and it won’t be his fault, then. He isn’t sure how to explain it, without making things worse. He isn’t sure how to break the news. 

The Daycare Assistant is dangerous. Or, at least, will be - eventually. 

It’s easy, to pretend nothing’s wrong - that his friend will wake up in the morning right as rain, and the daycare will open on schedule and without incident. But he knows that’s not how things will really pan out. He knows that things are going to get worse before they get better. 

But that’s something to worry about later. Right now, all he was concerned about was naptime - keeping his friend safe, comfortable, and asleep. Everything else, they could worry about when the sun rises, with bright eyes and clear heads - because Moon was there to make sure that naptime was restful - there to chase away all the bad dreams, and scare off all the monsters. And now that he had control, again, nothing could change that about him. It was the very thing he was built for; it was what he was programmed to do; it was his purpose. 

And right now, his purpose was to make sure that his new friend, charge, and caretaker was taken care of. After everything the daycare assistant had risked - had endured - to help him, it was only right he return the favor.

And once he figured out how to undo the virus’s grasp, he would return the favor in full. 

But for now, Moon adjusts the blanket, and watches each and every breath. The music box chimes out the perfect tune, and the daycare assistant slumbers almost peacefully in his lap. 

For now, his little Starlight was safe. 

For now, this would have to do. 

Chapter Text

Today’s the day! 

Moon receives a clean bill of health - though, Sun can’t help but remark on how frustrated the IT guys are with whatever cleaned out his code. They called it a butcher job, apparently, which - sure, maybe you were a butcher where code was concerned, but you were a butcher who got things done. You didn’t see anyone in the IT department clearing the virus out of Moon’s programming, thank you very much! 

But anyway, now that Moon has been given the all clear by IT, that means you can reopen the daycare. It’s all Sun has been waiting for, all this time. It’s all both of them have been waiting for - the opportunity to do the task they were built to. 

And, if you’re honest… it’s something you’ve been waiting for, too. It is, after all, what you were hired for. What you’ve signed on for, in the first place. You were tasked with getting the daycare up and running, and through that directive, you’d come to care for the daycare attendant. Getting the place up and running, naturally, meant making sure the daycare’s animatronic was operating correctly, as well. That was your task, and you’d seen it through, but now it was time to actually do your job. 

You stand at the entrance of the daycare with Sun; your uniform is freshly pressed, and this is the most refreshed and alert you’ve felt in a hot minute, despite having spent the night in a backroom at work curled up on what essentially boils down to a half-ton of metal and wiring. 

It was a comfortable half-ton of metal and wiring. 

It turns out that sleeping at the daycare wasn’t as half-baked an idea as you’d initially thought; not only did you actually get a good night’s sleep for once, with Moon carefully watching over you, but it turns out that you were expected back on the clock at 7 AM the next morning, for the official reopening of the daycare. You were off night-shifts, now, a manager you didn’t recognize and were sure you would never see again had informed you. Which made sense, of course! You were a daycare assistant, here to take care of the kids at the daycare. There wasn’t really anything for you to do during the night-shift, with the whole pizzaplex closed, after all. 

And really? You’re a little relieved to be back on a normal, sane schedule. The pizzaplex was dark and impossibly vast overnight, and barring your time here in the daycare, you can’t say you really cared for the graveyard shift experience. 

Strange, inexplicable things were less likely to happen in the daytime. Or, at least, that’s what the quiet voice in the back of your head says, and the calming of your heart. 

“Are you excited?” You ask Sun, knowing full well the answer but just wanting to hear his squeal of delight anyway. 

He does not disappoint. “Oooooh!! I’ve never been more excited! Just think, in a few minutes the kids are going to start getting checked in and we’re going to be open again, for real! I was so afraid this day would never come!” He hugs himself and his entire top half spins around in glee. 

You laugh, and watch his antics with a warm smile. This is the most right things have felt in a few days. “And what about Moon?” You grin up at him, almost teasing in how you’re egging on his excited nature. 

Sun’s spinning comes to an abrupt stop with robotic precision as he faces you. Hands find your shoulders, and practically shake you down. “He can’t WAIT to tuck in all the tired little superstars during naptime! And it’s all thanks to you, Sunshine!” 

You roll your eyes and grin, shaking his hands off your shoulders as the great garage door at the end of the second floor balcony rolls upwards. Sun perks up the moment he hears it, and lets another excited squeal escape him as he takes his place at the edge of the ballpit, eager to greet the kids quite literally sliding into fun. 

The first kid to come flying down the slide is no older than seven years old, screaming the whole way down until his laughter is swallowed by the ballpit; Sun knows there are more kids on the way, and fishes the first out of the ballpit with one well-practiced sweep. He spins them into a hug, his upper body rotating like machinery as he greets kids at the ballpit, plucks them out for a hug, and then places them carefully on the rainbow bridge, where you escort them into the daycare proper, to keep them from piling up on the bridge. 

It’s abundantly clear though, as you usher kids away from the bottleneck of the bridge: they’re eager to see their friend Mr. Sun again, after all this time. It’s practically all you can do to keep them from swarming him in the ballpit as he counts out the thirty kids who fill today’s daycare schedule. 

And as the thirtieth kid is set on the rainbow bridge into the daycare, you look back over your shoulder and– 

Where’d he go? 

Wait, no, where did he go? How do you just lose a twelve foot animatronic like that, in the blink of an eye? Your first instinct is to look up, thinking maybe he’s gone for an impromptu flight to impress the kids, but no. His wire hangs there, waiting his signal, empty and Sun-less. 

Your delighted smile falters out of confusion, as you look around. The kids crowd around your waist and giggle and snicker, like they knew the punch line to the joke he was playing on you. 

“Hey? Sun?” You call out, and the kids all part like the red sea while you practically spin circles looking for the - and you cannot stress this enough - twelve foot tall bright yellow robot you’ve misplaced. 

“Sunny? The kids miss you!” You call out, cheerfully. Like, jesus, he had to be here somewhere, right? The lights were on and shining bright, the place was full of kids, there was literally no reason for him to be– 

The world topples backwards so fast you barely register the shadow falling over you from behind, or the feeling of metallic arms wrapping around your waist and yanking you backwards. 

You shriek, completely undignified as you’re pulled viciously back into the ball pit. Thirty shrieks of delight follow yours (of terror, mind you) as they pile into the ball pit after their daycare attendant and his first victim. 

The daycare is officially open. 

Chapter Text

At eleven thirty, it’s snack time. You pass around granola bars and juice, and can’t help but feel Sun’s gaze boring into your back as you make your rounds. He’s been occupied with the kids all day - puppet shows and arts and crafts and story time that you’ve helped out with, and his focus is on the kids, certainly… but you can’t help but feel like he’s keeping an eye on you. 

You don’t like it, and something deep in the pit of your stomach is distinctly uncomfortable. Like he’s afraid you’re going to have another freak out around the kids. The part that you don’t like is that you know it’s a possibility. 

But you have to admit, with your focus on the kids and the high-energy environment of the daycare and trying to keep up with Sun, the static in the back of your skull is the furthest thing from your mind! You actually feel great, maneuvering all day around the kids and playing second fiddle to all of Sun’s activities. As long as you’re busy, there’s nothing to worry about! 

Which is why, despite being eager to see Moon again, you can’t help but be a little nervous about naptime. 

But you’re sure it will be fine! After all, it’s not like you didn’t have naptime duties yourself! You were helping Moon during naptime, and you’re sure that he would keep you plenty busy while the kids slept. 

You hope. 

You can feel something simmering in the back of your skull, something itching at the back of your brain and scrambling your thoughts like static, but you ignore it. It’s easy to ignore, until you start thinking about it, until you start thinking about whatever happened in that security room. So you don’t think about it! Instead, you focus on keeping little Jessica company because she misses her mommy, and cleaning up spilled juice and glue from the craft tables. 

You see Sun wrangling kids in front of the puppet theater, and know that it’s time to put on a show. You pick up Jess, who sniffles in your arms and is immediately transfixed by the stars dangling from the points of your cap. She grabs one as you walk her over to the storytime mat, and set her down right in the front.

You can hear Sun giggling, his hulking frame mostly hidden behind the puppet theater facade, but he’s twelve feet of robotics and the theater is… not exactly built to his specs, let’s say. You can see the tops of his sun rays, and his right knee is sticking out from behind the facade no matter how he tries to keep himself hidden. 

You duck behind the curtain too, and find that there’s no way in hell you’re both going to fit in there. “Need a few extra hands?” You ask in a whisper, wiggling your fingers at him.

He snickers, and even through the static smile you can see the absolute glee in his features. “Oh, no, I think we’ve got this!” He whispers back - or, tries to, at least. ‘Whisper’ doesn’t seem to be in his settings, but he’s doing his best. 

We? You grin, and give him a funny look, but you hold your hands up in surrender, and back out of the admittedly crowded puppet theater. You stand at the back of the crowd, watching over the kids as he disappears behind the curtain once more. 

The thirty kids are enraptured as Sun makes fake trumpet noises, announcing the start of the show, ducking as far out of the way as possible before a hand puppet came into view; it was a little prince, complete with red mantle and little golden crown. 

You grin and fold your arms across your chest, watching fondly. You know, deep down, that Sun is programmed to be good with kids, but it’s still so endearing. You can almost forget about all the incredibly worrying shit you’ve seen over the last few days, as you watch Sun and Moon work together to put on what you can only assume is the coolest puppet show these toddlers have ever seen. 

After the puppet show, it’s time for nap from twelve to two. You look forward to seeing Moon in his element; Sun’s been playing with these kids all day, and you can only imagine the impatience that poor robot is feeling right about now. 

More than once, you could swear you saw his rays twitch as though he were about to switch over - but Moon was being polite, waiting his turn. You really can’t blame him, at least. It was the first day in how many months that there were actually kids here, and both the daycare attendants were eager to make today the best day of superstar daycare ever for these kids! 

You admired Sun and Moon, how much they cared about this daycare and about the kids. You just hoped that things were better now - that there would be no more incidents, and the misfortunes of the daycare were in its past for good, now that Moon was himself again. 

As you watch Sun elicit a laugh from all of the kids there at the daycare, you can’t help but feel an uncharacteristic calm wash over you. 

Yeah, you figure, watching him peek out from behind the curtain to see all the kids giggling and clapping. Yeah, things are gonna be okay here. How could they not? This daycare had Sun and Moon looking after it, after all. 

Standing there at the back of the throng of children, you watch over them and over your daycare attendant, making sure that everything is operating smoothly and that all the kids are safe and sound. You trust Sun and Moon implicitly with these kids - they’re not your concern like they had been not too long ago. Even Moon’s virus was dormant and managed, now. 

No, what worried you - what nagged at the back of your mind even as you laughed and smiled along with the children was– 

Slowly, you felt the chill wash over you, raising the hair on your arms and against the back of your neck. From where you were standing, facing the balcony, you could see it there, sitting quietly, observing the show happening down below. You feel your pulse quicken, gaze locked with that horrible rabbit, its grin static and unsettling as it swung its legs back and forth over the edge of the balcony where it sat.

You know it’s not real. You know its just another trick and that it’s all in your head. You feel your throat tighten and your entire body enter fight or flight mode, and even as the monster is sitting innocently halfway up the wall on the far side of the daycare, you can’t help but feel the danger settle over you and the children like a dense and dismal fog. 

Reluctantly, you tear your gaze away from the malhare, back down towards the kids still enraptured in the puppet show happening before them. Not a single one of them seems to see what you see; Sun is blissfully unaware. You feel hot under the collar as nausea washes over you and when you look back up towards the balcony, the bastard’s gone. 

Not just gone, you think sickly. He was never there to begin with. It’s all in your head, playing tricks on you like a feverish delirium. You press a hand to your forehead, feeling how clammy you are. Maybe you really are sick, infected by this thing. 

The laughter of the children falls away, and you feel hot under the bright, relentless lights of the daycare that were keeping your friend himself while you were feeling increasingly less like yourself. 

You don’t notice that the puppet show has come to an end; the announcement that it’s time to get ready for Mr. Moon’s visit falls on deaf ears. The world tilts, and Sun calls you name in alarm as you collapse, and that is the last you know before the world goes black again. 

Chapter Text

You take a deep breath, and shift uncomfortably; you’re drenched with sweat, though it seems to have subsided by the time you come to, and the first thing that you notice upon your return to the waking world is that it’s dark. 

It must be naptime, you think. Your thoughts are distant and disjointed as you screw your face up in discomfort; your head is still swimming and even thinking feels like too much. You’re dizzy and nauseous and aching all over for no reason. 

“Shh shh, Starlight,” you hear the voice coo, and your entire body goes limp as though on command. You feel like you’re going to vomit, but that voice so close nearby is a comfort. You reach out blindly, and a gargantuan metal hand swallows yours. There he is. 

You grab him, using the grip as leverage to pull yourself forward, sitting up. The music box inside Moon is ticking away dutifully, each pluck of the comb is like a bullet through your brain, but you cling to it and let it drag you back to reality. “What happened?” You ask pitifully, keeping your voice down to a whisper. You can hear, beyond Moon’s music, the gentle snoring of thirty toddlers. It’s naptime, and you don’t want to wake anyone up. 

“You fainted,” came his gentle, concerned voice. Once he sees that you’re stable enough to sit up on your own, his hands are on you immediately. He’s checking for injury, trying to check your temperature, trying to determine if you need further medical attention beyond the monitoring care he’d been providing you while the kids slept. “What happened?” 

“I - I don’t know,” you whisper in return. You take off the stupid jester’s cap and run a hand through your hair, pushing it back from your forehead, where it’s been matted with sweat; as the motion completes, you check your watch - God, you were out for most of naptime. At least it seemed that Moon didn’t need too much help; everyone seemed to have gone down without much of a fight, judging by the thirty quietly slumbering children scattered about the floor.

You feel like you just broke a fever there in the daycare, but you know you’re not physically ill. “I don’t know. Maybe the stress of the last few days is catching up,” you say offhandedly, and use your leverage against Moon to struggle back to your feet. The world lurches violently around you, but only for a moment. Once you’re up and the world has straightened itself out, things come to a grinding halt and you’re able to see straight again. 

You take a deep breath, and feel the nausea start to melt away. Okay - okay, good. You could make it through the rest of the day as long as you don’t throw up. 

You feel Moon moving, trailing after you with no small amount of concern. His hands hover carefully, as though waiting to catch you, afraid that you’re going to pitch over again and drop to the floor like the sack of potatoes you’d been during the puppet show. You pause, turning towards him with a gentle smile. 

“I’m fine, Moon. I’m sorry for the scare.” 

He studies you, his smile permanent but the look of concern in his gently glowing eyes all too evident. His head tilts gently, and you realize with a little jolt that he doesn’t believe you. 

You shift, shuffling away from his concerned care. “Really,” you stress. “I’m good. It was just a freak thing. I don’t need you hovering over me. Shouldn’t you be watching the kids?” You ask, and realize that it had come out pretty harsh. You hadn’t meant it that way, really, but your head is still throbbing and the world is just too bright, even in the darkness of naptime. 

You grimace and turn away from Moon, pressing the heel of your palm against your eye, trying to stave off the migraine that was surely on its way. “Look, just - I’m fine. I just want to do my job, okay?” You mutter. You’re not in any mood to be navigating the nuances of this conversation, and no sooner do those words tumble out of your mouth than you hear crying. 

Not yours, at least. 

You blink, and feel Moon shift behind you as he zeroes in on the crying child. “I’ve got it,” you mutter, taking off towards the back of the daycare, where a little girl was curled up on her mat, clutching her blanket to her face as though she were trying to hide. 

Carefully, you lower yourself to the ground, sitting next to the child’s mat and rubbing her back gently, cooing as you find that the blooming migraine is suddenly gone with something else to focus on. It’s a welcomed relief, as you pat the toddler’s back, hoping that her complaining doesn't turn into something louder. The last thing the daycare needed was for her to wake up all the other kids. 

You can feel Moon’s gaze boring into your back. You wish he would do something else. Anything else! He’s watching you, judging and assessing you, and its putting a knot of anxiety in your chest. This kid’s still crying, and you feel exasperation rising from somewhere deep, deep within you. You pick the kids up, wrapped in her blanket and everything - still crying, by the way! - and bounce her gently in your hold, an almost frantic motion as you try to get her to quiet down. 

Moon is watching you. Moon is watching every movement you make, and it’s infuriating. So you weren’t feeling your best, so what? It wasn’t like the daycare attendant could understand - he was an animatronic, a robot. Humans didn’t have perfect programming or reliable datasets or infallible code. Sometimes they just had a bad day. Sometimes they just felt like crap for no reason. 

You bounce the little girl against your hip, patting her back with a quick, frantic rhythm, and you feel her start to settle down. Her cries soften into blubbering hiccups, and she lays her cheek against your shoulder, pulling the blanket closer. 

“Shh, shh, shh,” you coo to her, and feel her tiny fist ball up in the soft collar of your uniform. “It was just a bad dream. You’re okay.” 

You feel your own stress level go down as the little girl settles in against you; your day was still shit but at least you weren’t going to have to deal with thirty crying toddlers. You leave her mat, strolling around the daycare in hopes of rocking her back to sleep with the steady motion. 

You can still feel Moon’s heavy gaze on you, and you resent it. You’re not a child to be watched, you’re not a criminal, you’re not a risk. You’re just trying to do your job, and he’s there, getting in the way. 

You feel something prickle at the back of your mind, unpleasant like slime pooling in the recesses of your subconscious. You can’t help but feel twitchy, like you’d touched something unpleasant. 

Moon is watching you. 

You adjust your grip on the kid, gaze sweeping the daycare as you map out the rest of your circuit around, hoping the kid will fall asleep sooner rather than later in your hold. 

The great double doors of the daycare are coming up fast, and you reach out– 

A metallic hand wraps around your upper arm, merciless and swift. “Not allowed,” Moon hisses, and you turn as much to face him as his unrelenting grip will allow, conceit written into your features as he looms over you. He’s a two-ton machine capable of crushing your bones into dust, and he has a history of making bad choices here in the daycare. 

Carefully, you retch yourself from his hold, gaze still held defiantly with his blank glowing stare, the smile ever-so-slightly strained as he looks down at you, head tilted at an angle and surveying every minute twitch of muscle in your body as you reach forward again. 

You flick the lights back on, and Moon’s gaze goes dark. Naptime is over, and its time to wake the kids up. 

“Shh, shh,” you coo to the troubled little girl, as Moon collapses. The glow-in-the-dark stars on his clothes fade back into his jovial yellow and red stripes. One by one the rays pop back to life as the transition happens less than smoothly. 

Looks like you caught the animatronic by surprise, you realize. And though you know, logically, that there’s no reason for you to make note of that, it’s a little bit of information that has been tucked away in the back of your mind. 

You never know, after all. 

Might come in handy. 

You finish out your shift that evening with something unpleasant buzzing in your chest, like an electrical current begging for release. You feel something creeping around in the back of your mind, and you’re not able to get your mind off the fact that catching Sun and Moon off guard with the lights could mean incapacitating the daycare attendant - even if just for a minute. It’s a critical flaw in his design, and one that anyone can exploit. 

Chapter Text

Your leg bounces as you sit in the break room of Freddy Fazbear’s Mega Pizzaplex. You’re not hungry, and you’re not eating anything on your break. You haven’t eaten since the morning you passed out, actually. The thought strikes you as odd, as that was at least two days ago. You haven’t had an appetite in a while, and it’s just another reason to be concerned for your health. You were sure you didn’t have a fever or anything like that. You’ve taken your temperature three different ways - not the least of which having been the thermal sensors on the staff bots, used to make sure no egregiously sick children go around germing up the entire complex. Those guys were supposed to be incredibly accurate, so if they didn’t think you were sick, then neither did you.

Still, you can’t help but feel run down and deflated. A part of you berates yourself, because there’s no way the crummy way you’re feeling at the moment wasn’t directly connected to the fact that you haven’t eaten much in nearly three days. But for right now, you just focus on the information you had gathered the other day, and the subsequent day or two since. 

It was a pastime, of sorts - a game you played with yourself to help the hours go by faster as you’re stuck in the daycare taking care of all those impossible, crying little rugrats. Like pretending to rob a bank, or steal a diamond - an imaginary heist to pass the time. Except your prize, here, was more intriguing than any singular diamond or even all the riches in the world. 

Your little game had a different target. 

It doesn’t help that both Sun and Moon have taken to watching you like a hawk since you passed out the other day. No matter how many times you tell them that you’re fine, they don’t seem to believe you. You’re not sure what their deal is - it was one little incident, and you were fine now! Really, you were. Despite being tired, you’ve felt more alert since you passed out than you had the whole time working in the daycare. You’re keeping up with the kids, helping the daycare run smoothly despite Sun and Moon barely letting you out of their sights for long enough to serve snack. 

It’s gotten to the point where you find their company more stressful than the daycare job. You wish things could go back to how they used to be, with the synced up energy and the fondness you and the animatronic shared, but they were acting so strange, now. You’re not a toddler, you don’t need the constant supervision and the check ups and the monitoring like you were liable to stick a fork in an electrical socket because you’re too stupid to do your job. 

You lean back in the flimsy plastic chair, pushing so that it’s propped up on two legs and wobbling precariously. A lazy glance towards the clock tells you that your break is almost over, and you’re going to have to get back to the daycare soon. It fills you with… something. Some kind of raw, unpleasant emotion caught somewhere between dread and frustration, and you can’t tell which it is. 

With a heavy sigh, you let the chair drop back to all four legs. It scrapes against the cheap linoleum underneath the blazing fluorescent lights as you resign yourself to your fate - another day stuck being babysat by the daycare attendant. 

You clock back in, ignoring the cheerful little tune and popping a sundrop candy into your mouth.

You’re an adult, damn it. 

You can hear he daycare long before you get there - the joyful screams of children playing in the ballpit, the abrasive music you’ve all but grown numb to at this point and the jovial, perpetually-stressed out electronic voice of your partner from the other side of the door. You pause for a moment, hearing his nervy cheer and for a moment you hesitate, unwilling to push your way into the daycare because you know the moment he sees you again, he will go quiet and concerned, hovering like a mother hen trying to get you to admit that you were sick when you felt just fine. 

At least for now, for this brief moment, you can alost pretend that nothing happened, that nothing changed and you’re going to be able to wal in there with a great grin and be met by a goofy, upbeat animatronic instead of the nervous pile of wires and rivets he’s become over the last few days. 

But you’re due back on your shift, and can’t waste any more time without corporate coming down on your ass. So you bite the bullet and push into the daycare. 

Immediately - and you mean immediately - twenty-odd little toddlers came running your way, like a stampede eager to tackle you to the ground. It’s enough to put a smile on your face, and you happily drop to the ground under their assault. They’re climbing all over you and all over each other in an attempt to be the first to put stickers on your face, and you laugh as you make false attempts to stop them, acting as though it were too much for you to bear. 

For a brief moment, you feel lighthearted and happy, like the early days of the daycare. The laughter of a dozen children overwhelmed you - but only for a moment. 

Before so many as three or four kids had actually managed to land stickers on you, they were being pulled off of you two by two, careful but impossibly strong hands scooping them up from around their middles as you go still, trying to hide your disappointment and just let the animatronic complete its process. 

You sigh, complementary to the disappointed groans of the kids. “Mr. Sun the No Fun Police,” you grump up at him, arms folded. 

“No fun? Me?” He sounds genuinely and disproportionately upset at the idea, and you would feel bad about it if he hadn’t just ruined the fun of a dozen giggling toddlers (and yours, to boot!). “No, no, no!” He protests, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. You know what comes next. “I just wanted to make sure everyone’s safe and sound, sunshine! That the kids weren’t– oh, you know!” 

“Hurting me? Sun,” you hiss, ushering the pack of kids back to the arts and crafts table. You didn’t want the kids to see their daycare leaders arguing, but it was getting ridiculous now. “They’re two years old and weigh like twenty pounds. My life isn’t exactly in danger, here!” 

He shrinks back, and you can almost see something deep within him twitch awake - only for a moment, and you bite back a sneer. Moon was the worst of the two of them, convinced you were sick and frail and needed care. You were fine. Stressed and tired and annoyed , sure, but fine. 

“I - I know, but–” 

“Knock it off, will you?” You snap, keeping your voice hushed as you watch the kids. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve got a job to do. Can we please just focus on the kids?” 

He looks between you and the kids at the craft table. At least two of them are covered in stickers, and Sun watches as one of them eyes the bottle of craft glue with a hungry look in their eye. He lets out a processed sigh and you see his shoulders sag under the weight of agreement. 

“You’re right,” he says, and you can see that familiar twitch again. You try not to frown up at him, knowing that Moon was fighting this tooth and nail. What was that robot’s problem, anyway? But this is the most leeway Sun has given you in a few days. He knows as well as you do that the kids need to come first, and that you’re just fine. There’s no reason for him to waste so much of his processing power worrying over you when you were fine and functional. 

You let out a breath, releasing with it all the frustration you’ve been holding in your chest since you’ve walked into the daycare. You offer a smile up at him, and can see him visibly perk up at the gesture. He hasn’t seen a smile from you in… minutes! 

You don’t have it in you to play into his reaction; until he cuts the babysitter act, you’re done playing cheerful happy-go-lucky counterpart to his boundless energy. You’re tired and annoyed, and instead of meeting his enthusiasm, you finally turn your attention back where it belongs - the children. 

With one coming your way to show you the sticker collage they’ve made, you turn bodily away from Sun to scoop up your little superstar - and with your back turned to your daycare companion, you don’t see the way that his sun rays twitch conspicuously. 

Sun grips gently at the sides of his head, having felt it. 

Moon isn’t happy. 

Moon isn’t happy at all. 

Chapter Text

You’ve gotten really, really good at quieting fussy kids during naptime. 

Really, that was one of your biggest concerns, when getting into childcare - how were the kids going to react to you? Were you going to be one of those unlucky souls who could make babies cry just by looking at them? Would you actually be good with the kids? You had hoped against hope, the whole time that you and Sun had been cleaning the daycare, that the kids would like you - or at least tolerate you. 

But as you sat there, rocking a little toddler back to sleep next to their mat, you realized that you were actually rather good with kids. Maybe even a little better than Moon, when it came to putting them back to sleep after a bad dream. Moon is good with kids, and great at getting them to lay down to sleep - but he’s a twelve foot tall uncanny valley abomination. You can only imagine what kids must think when they wake up from a nightmare and see him descending from the dark towards them. 

You were much smaller, much more non-threatening in the darkness. Less robot-shaped, more parent-shaped, and you knew how to use that to your advantage. You learned quickly how to quiet a child’s worries, taking them into your arms and rocking them back to sleep with gentle patting to their back and ignoring the way that Moon watched you from his perch on top of the play structure, staring down at you from atop the Roxanne Wolf Head. 

You try to ignore him; you barely even speak to him anymore, which you would find more upsetting if he hadn’t changed completely since your first real meeting in Parts and Services. A part of you can’t help but wonder if that virus still lingered in his code. The IT department had called your work a butcher job, after all. Maybe you really hadn’t done as good as you’d thought. 

As the little girl hiccups against you, though, your thoughts are pulled back to the present. He’s been like this for days now, and it’s creeping you the hell out. It wouldn’t even be so bad if he like, blinked or something - but they hadn’t given him that functionality, so it was nothing but a horrible, blank, unrelenting stare the entire two hours of naptime. No matter where you are or what kid you’re making sure is quiet and asleep and comfortable, all he does is stare at you while playing that godforsaken music box tune - which, by the way, doesn’t help how goddamn eerie he’d been acting! It’s like something out of an indie horror game. 

Imagine that - a horror game about creepy animatronics… 

You tuck that idea away for later.

But for right now, your more immediate attention is on the little boy whose hands - still covered in sticky craft glue, you can’t help but note - are balled up in the front of your uniform. It’s going to be a chore unsticking him from your collar, but you don’t worry about that right now. Your only concern is getting him to settle down. You walk him quietly around the daycare, stepping around the mats of the other children resting quietly and comfortably on the padded green of the play area. 

You feel Moon’s gaze boring into you as your heart pounds in your chest. He doesn’t trust you, he doesn’t like you walking around with the kids as if you trying to put them to sleep is some kind of crime. You know at any moment, this disgruntled, glitching animatronic could jump you and crush you into a fine paste. 

Still, the quickening of your pulse is almost too loud to ignore - ba-thump, ba-shhh-thump, shhh-thump, each rhythmic beat accompanied by the relentless static and an inkling of a bad idea. You pat the boy’s back, and surreptitiously check your watch. 

Naptime was almost over. You desperately coo to the little boy, hoping to put him asleep again before it was time to turn the lights on. You have the bare outline of a plan, here. The rational part of your brain knows that this is stupid and half-baked, but there is a base instinct deep within you telling you to go for it. You have to; it’s your job. 

So you make eye contact with Moon, showing him your watch as he climbs down from the play structure like some kind of creature, never once taking his eyes off of you. He creeps across the daycare towards you, prepared this time for the lights to flick on as you cradle the little boy in your care, towards the far side of the daycare with the animatronic trailing behind you like a predator. 

“Be careful, starlight,” he says, his voice low and devoid of his usual tender care, and you feel a chill run down your spine as you realize it’s a warning. So you turn to face him, one hand on the light switch as you make your intentions clear. He’s on high-alert, and a simple flip of the switch won’t be enough to catch him off guard again. So you turn the lights back on, and watch as his gaze goes dark for the split second where his consciousness flips like the lights. 

With the little boy cradled in one hand, you wait - watching the animatronic as each sun ray returns in full force individually. You wait until you see the awareness flicker back into his eyes, until it’s Sun there grateful for your care and cooperation, Moon’s worst fears put to rest along with the naptime attendant, before–

The room, once well-lit, goes dark again. All it takes it a push of a button, and you can see the horror and confusion in the daycare attendant’s gaze before it goes blank again. 

From there, you have to be fast - on, off, on, go the lights, and the robot’s programming doesn’t know what to do for one horrible, confusing moment as you grip the little boy close to your chest and slip out the double doors of the daycare. 

You were careful and calculated, leaving the lights on in the daycare - because even with the door open, even as you absconded with a child, even as Sun came to consciousness filled with horror and dread and anger, he was the daycare attendant. 

He couldn’t leave the daycare. 

Chapter Text

You try to fight the urge for your breath to come out ragged and alarmed. You walk swiftly out of the daycare with the child in your arms, and you can hear Sun behind you in a pure panic. There’s nothing he can do without disobeying his own programming. He can’t leave the daycare - but more than that, he can’t just leave twenty-odd kids to fend for themselves, and you both know that. 

Your heart pounds so loudly you can almost hear it beyond the buzzing of static in your ears. What were you doing, the pounding begged? What the hell were you doing? You were going to get fired for taking a kid out of the daycare! You were going to get arrested! Where the hell were you even going? 

It didn’t really matter, the soothing static said. You just had to go, and the rest would fall into place. The garbled, synthesized sound of Sun’s panic screamed in the back of your head, and you know that you’re making a huge mistake - but your body is on autopilot. You’re just doing your job, after all, and your job can’t be stopped. Not by you, not by her, not by Sun, not by any of them. You were going to be whole again, no matter the cost. 

The little boy sniffles against your shoulder; he’d fallen back asleep, but you fear that the bright lights and loud sounds of the pizzaplex are going to wake him up again. You take the first exist you can find, into the service tunnels of the entertainment complex. Fewer distractions, fewer prying eyes, and a direct route to where you needed to go. 

Where, exactly, did you need to go, anyway? You aren’t entirely sure, but you know that you need to keep moving. After all - if you stop and admire the scenery, you’re sure to be caught. You’re not sure if Sun has had the foresight to call security on that big red emergency telephone hooked to the desk or if he even has the capability to - so many critical pieces of equipment were off limits to the animatronic, programmed to be untouchable: the security desk, the light, the phone… all the most critical of equipment in the event of an emergency, where the daycare assistant was unable to attend. 

Or, in this case, where the daycare assistant was the emergency. 

You descend into the bowels of the pizzaplex, feeling the pent up, frantic energy of being out in the open flee you all at once under the quiet solitude of the service tunnels. You aren’t sure where you're going with this sleepy toddler, but you’ll figure it out. 

Or, you would, if you’d gotten the chance. Beyond the static buzzing in your brain and the soft snores of a sleepy toddler, you can barely hear a commotion coming your way. Your heart leaps into your throat, realizing that your certainty that Sun couldn’t call security was really all just conjecture. Surely the daycare attendant came with preventative measures. Hell, he might have a direct line to the cops built right into his processors. You freeze there for a moment, realizing how stupid this had been, and in a moment of cold dread, the bright beam of a flashlight swings around the corner. 

“What the hell are you doing down here? Who told you you could leave the daycare?” Comes the short, displeased bark of the head security officer. 

Ah, fuck. 

You stand there like a deer in the headlights, knowing that there was no really good excuse that wouldn’t land your ass in jail. The static is beginning to clear from your mind and the grainy quality that the world had taken on in your vision begins to dissipate like breaking fog. You take a deep breath. 

“One of the kids fell off the play structure,” you effortlessly lie to her, feeling like the words were coming from someone else entirely. “I’m taking him down to first aid.” 

“You’re going the wrong way,” she sneers at you. Her flashlight points to some symbol on the wall behind you, and you swivel your head to look. “First aid is down in Roxy Raceway. You need to head back up that way, and make a left at the sign. You have a job to do, don’t you?” She asks, and you look back at her with some grim kind of understanding itching away at the back of your mind. 

“Don’t be stupid,” she tells you. “And don’t be long, rookie.” 

You swallow a lump in the back of your throat and nod, cradling the toddler and knowing full well how important it was to get this over and done with; something deep inside you - something you didn’t even understand - knew. There was something bigger than the Pizzaplex underneath it all. The chase for eternity, the next step of human evolution. Some greater calling, something bigger sitting in the back of your head - bigger than yourself, bigger than this child, bigger than a hundred children. It can’t be stopped, and you aren’t going to be the one to try. 

So you dutifully turn around, following the map markers towards the raceway and whatever lay within. You aren’t sure - but you’re certain you’ll figure it out. 

You can’t help but think of Sun in the daycare ,probably freaking out; Moon had been very clear, that taking a child out of the daycare was not allowed, but Sun was bound by something immutable in his programming that prevented him from leaving the daycare. You had almost left the light off, back there, but your run in with Moon in the atrium had been enough of a grim reminder of what the naptime attendant was capable of. 

When you see the Roxie Raceway logo emblazoned on the wall, something lights up in the back your head. You were almost there. 

Where? An irritating little voice questions. Where exactly were you taking this kid, anyway? You thought it was so necessary to take this kid out of the daycare and risk both your job and your freedom - but why? What was at the other end of these tunnels? 

The first aid station, soothes the static. There’s a quiet, drowning part of you that doesn’t like that answer, but it can’t fight back. The static in the back of your brain is spreading like a cancer, and if you were still yourself, you might even notice how the visual snow has crept back into your vision, as well. You might notice - if you were inclined to care about such things - that you’re not feeling yourself, right now. 

But you’re not inclined to care about such things. Right now, the only thing that matters is getting the child to its destination. A brief glimpse of somewhere dank and dirty flashes in your mind’s eye - a vision that surely was not your own, but you welcome it all the same. It’s like an influx of information, a signal you latch on to. 

You know where you’re going.

Chapter Text

The smell of rot and decay lingers in this underground hell. A construction site in Roxy Raceway led your down here, and even as your every base instinct screams that misery lives in this place, you’re drawn further and further in. 

The child with you is no longer sleeping. Instead, you keep it held against your shoulder despite its crying and struggling. It has woken up, and wants to go back to the daycare. It cried about missing Mr. Moon, and having bad dreams and needed its mommy. 

You don’t listen. 

Truthfully, you don’t even really hear it. You feel as though you’ve been consumed by fever, trapped in a fugue state as you shuffle your way through the rubble and debris that litters the checkerboard diner floor. You notice, out of the corner of your eye, a red charging station for the animatronics, and feel your lips pull up into a smile. That will be useful, later, when he’s whole again. 

This he you yearn for is a mystery - a stranger you haven’t yet met, but who consumes your thoughts and leaves you in a deep violet haze, unable to think. You can’t wait to meet him. You’ll do anything to meet him - an unmitigated, unparalleled visionary.

That’s why you’re down here - you know that much. Any step closer to Him is a step in the right direction. It’s that pull, that has led you all this way. That drive, that need to help bring to fruition something much greater than yourself. Eternity is almost within his reach, and you will be honored to be one of the chosen few to hand it to him. 

Your grip on the crying child is unrelenting, now. It’s pushing against your hold, throwing itself back as if in tantrum, but your hold is absolute. You weren’t going to fumble the prize this close to the finish line. He needed this. He needed more, more, always more, never enough in pursuit of the  greatest, purest desire of man. 

The toddler, being inconsolably upset, bites your shoulder - you barely feel it. Even when blood fills the child’s mouth, you remain unfazed. You aren’t going to let anything get in the way of delivering your prize to where it needed to be, least of all a child. 

There is a place where the floor has collapsed, leading to the leviathan underneath. It is surrounded by filthy barricades in bright neon orange - on the surface, a warning to stay away. 

Here, an invitation. 

Your brain is alight with millions upon millions of electrical impulses, all blaring at you to dive deeper and deeper still, to explore the unknowable depths of the pizzeria until you can go no further. Somewhere at the end of this dark trail, you will find God. 

As if by magnetic force, you’re drawn to the plastic barricades, welcoming you warmly into the dangerous underneath - but you’re never afforded the chance to descend. 

Over the static in your ears and the crying of the child in your relentless grip, you can hear the faintest, most delicate sound: the jingling of bells. 

You freeze, mere feet away from the final descent as you scan the darkness you came from; your vision is poor, clouded by adrenaline and static that was digging its way deeper and deeper into your brain like a maggot burrowing into decaying tissue. Past the fugue and past the static, you’re afraid in that moment. Despite knowing the invincible, eternal nature of the beast below, you are mortal. You are weak, compared to the thing laying in wait for your gift. 

You don’t stand a chance. 

But you’re just being paranoid, the soothing white noise tells you. Quickly, quickly, you must not delay. You must not waste time with the what-ifs, when your part in this play was so quickly drawing to a close. 

And if you died down here, would that really be so bad? Would it be such a terrible thing, to decay in service of a God? Letting out a slow breath, you turn your attention away from the darkness lurking in the edges of the derelict room, and press onwards. 

There’s a scream that isn’t your own as - all at once, and without warning - the child is ripped from your arms. You had been keeping a grip on it, to make sure that it couldn’t wriggle loose in its fussing, but the thing that had snatched it away was far stronger than you, and clearly liked to play dirty. You barely turned fast enough to catch a glimpse of the child disappearing into the darkness, and the pounding in your chest only doubled its already heated tempo. 

You mind the gap, backing yourself into the nearest corner without pitching headlong into the abyss below - you can’t, after all. Not yet. Not without the child. 

The blow is unexpected; it catches you across the chest, and knocks you back. You land on your back at the edge of the crevice leading deeper into the horrors below, and your neck snaps back, your head well over the ledge with nothing to support it as you hit the floor with all your body weight. You gasp out the last of your air, trying to right yourself, but there’s suddenly a crushing weight on top of your body, accompanied by the jingling of bells. 

The only thing you’re able to do, in this compromising position, is look up.

The glow is almost painful - the light too bright for your dizzied and addled brain to handle, but there’s no mistaking the shape keeping you pinned to the underground fissure. You can barely breathe with his weight on top of you, but you give it the good old college try, to struggle out of his grip. 

Moon holds you fast, the static grin joyless and something horrible set in the blank hollow of his eyes. Something, you might have realized once upon a time, as close to fury as the animatronic’s programming would allow him to come. 

You struggle there beneath him, monstrous hands pinning your torso to the cracked and crumbling tile beneath you. As you lift your head in fruitless fear and alarm, he lowers himself down, pressing his faceplate right up to your face, mere inches away and absolutely blinding in close quarters. “Not allowed, ” he hissed again, his grip tightening on you as he ground out each unforgiving syllable. You realize far too late that the animatronic is contorting itself, standing upright in one fluid, impossible motion and dragging you with it. 

While Moon remains graceful and well-articulated in his movements, you struggle; you try to claw at the tile below, to gain some kind of leverage as the animatronic hoists you bodily into the air - and without much pomp or circumstance, throws you clear across the room. 

Your back hits one of the generators that had been dragged down here by the construction crew, and you cough out something sticky. You spit, and struggle back to your feet, scanning frantically. It’s here - it’s here, and it’s hunting you, and it took your prize. You’re so close, you’re not going to let a bucket of bolts stop you now. 

“You failed!” You scream into the inky blackness. The jingling is hard to pinpoint, and you sweep your anxious gaze across the entire room, staggering backwards as you try to put your back up against a wall until you can get your bearings. It’s too dark down here - even with the generators powering this place, there’s just not enough light to trigger the switch, so you’re stuck running from the man in the moon. “He chose you to help and you failed! You were nothing compared to what we can be!” 

There’s no answer to your accusations, flung with as much venom as they are. You hear something moving in the dimly lit restaurant, and know that he’s still there - moving towards you, ,calculating, planning, waiting to attack again. 

Your breath quickens, and nowhere feels safe. There’s nowhere to hide here, either - nowhere except the towering, hulking form of the charging station. 

Slowed by fear and the looming threat of the consequences of losing the child, the rusty gears in your head begin to turn, cranked by an invisible hand as your mental processes struggled back to life. If you could trap the animatronic in the charging port, you could find that child and finally do your job. 

“Naughty, naughty,” came the sing-songy voice, marred by anger. He was taunting you. “Rulebreakers must be punished…” 

If you had half a mind left you might have found it horribly eerie, how similar this sounded to that terrible night where you’d taken a terrifying fall. But that part of you is buried and dormant, now. The virus has taken hold, and you’re rabid and afraid of the naptime attendant - more than you’d ever been as part of the daycare. 

Because now, you know it’s out to put a stop to the infection, once and for all. 

The jingling grows nearer and nearer, but the empty abandoned pizzeria makes it so much harder to tell where it’s coming from - jingle, jingle go the bells, the only hope that you make it out of this in one piece, to continue your job and do the duty assigned to you by forces greater than any corporate conglomerate or poorly-programmed animatronic. 

Jingle, jingle, go the bells, and you lunge forward in a desperate attempt to avoid Moon’s grasp. The walls, crumbling all around you, were not nearly as hard to scale for something like him as they would be for something like you, and he had crept up above you without you even realizing it. 

It’s the single moment of surprise that he needs. Strong metalling fingers seal around your throat, and the garbled choke that escapes you - nothing more than air being forced out by his grip - is miserable and desperate as he brings you up to face him. 

“But not you,” he says, and it takes you a moment to catch up through the lights popping in your vision. “Won’t punish you.” 

You scramble, kick, and claw at him in some attempt to breathe. The animatronic’s grip is absolute, and even as you watch the sun rays dance frantically at the edges of his faceplate, a desperate internal struggle as he squeezes the life out of you, you realize that there’s nothing you can do. Your shoe slips uselessly off of the robot’s chest, and you snarl up at him with reckless abandon. 

There’s a hiss somewhere behind you as he moves with you. You don’t know where the kid has gone, and for the briefest, most electric moment you don’t care. You’re going to disassemble this bastard robot yourself, piece by piece, screw by screw. He’s been trouble for you long enough, and if he couldn’t keep his stupid smug grin out of your business then you were sure the kids at the daycare would love a new mangle. 

“You reset me,” he says to you, and the words dance on the edge of your consciousness as he crushes your windpipe. “Made me me again.” 

And then, all at once… he lets go. He drops you unceremoniously, and you hit the ground like a sack of rocks, gasping and wheezing and hacking up a lung as the air violently re-enters your body. You double over, coughing and retching as your airways open back up. The black dots in your vision begin to fade back into oblivion where they’d come from, and you hear another mechanical hiss, like the closing of a hydraulic door before you. 

Your entire body stiffens, and as you come back to your senses, you realize where he’s put you. Bracing yourself against the inside of the charging station, you struggle back to your feet. Your head spins, and the static in your brain is screaming. “Luuhg–” you try, your throat still protesting. “Me– ouh–” 

Let you out? From the other side of the charging station, Moon looks at you with that same awful blank grin you’ve come to hate. You hear a pleasant digital tune, garbled by years of disrepair and the notion that you were going to die here.

Despite the dark, sun rays struggled out of the side of his faceplate - desperate, panicked, jittery rays trying to hold ground as the two animatronics struggled. The awareness never left Moon’s eyes, but you could see it there through the plexiglass barrier - Sun was vying for control, and Moon wasn’t going to budge. 

“Moon! Moon, what are you doing! That’s not an animatronic! You can’t do that”! 

There’s the horrible grin of the jester before you, and the sizzling of flesh as the world was turned inside out. Electricity coursed through your body, more than any bolt of lightning could hope to burden you with. You don’t hear Sun’s voice through the door. You don’t even hear your own screaming. 

You hear nothing but the sizzling. 

Chapter Text

The daycare has been in operation for quite a while since its grand-reopening, following the mysterious death of a child under the care of the daycare attendant. You like your position here, at least, despite the daycare’s tumultuous past. Working with kids is something you’ve always wanted to do, you think. At any rate, you feel at home in the SuperStar Daycare. It’s good work; the kids are cute and fun to entertain during the day with puppet shows and hide and seek. You even made friends with the animatronic that runs the place! 

There were two of them, you learn - Sun, the daycare attendant, and Moon, the naptime attendant. The two animatronics - one animatronic? You aren’t quite sure, yet - whatever they are, they take a liking to you almost immediately. It’s charming, actually, and you’re just relieved that you seem to make a good first impression on your new co-workers, because they’re actually your only co-workers. 

You like them just fine, but they must have some wires crossed or something, because unlike the other adults that wander into the daycare looking to pick up or drop off kids, the animatronics seem to fret over you just like they do the kids. 

It’s endearing, actually. They’re always making sure you’re okay despite the daycare being a pretty low-maintenance job with the animatronic around; it’s like they’re worried you’re going to pass out or something. It’s a little weird, at first, but you figure it must just be a part of their programming. Everyone here is the responsibility of the SuperStar Daycare -  even the staff! 

You figure that’s a good enough explanation, at least, and don’t bother to press the issue further. The daycare and naptime attendants don’t seem too keen on explaining it, either, and you really don’t want to get off on the wrong foot with either of them. They’re so nice to you - you would hate to do anything to sour that relationship. You cherish coming in for the early morning shift and being greeted with Sun’s cheer, or the quiet care Moon takes to ensure each child is sleeping soundly during naptime. You can’t imagine doing anything to upset that balance.

It might not seem that long to most other people, but you’ve been working here for as long as you can remember. You’re sure you had some kind of a life before Freddy Fazbear’s Mega Pizzaplex, but if it must not have been anything worth remembering. You don’t mind, though, because things here are just how they should be! Sun and Moon, the celestial bodies of the daycare center, and their little assistant - they even have a theme for you, to fit right into the astral landscape.

Your new name is Star, and you’re the daycare assistant.

Chapter Text

The first time you meet Eclipse, it's by accident.

You didn't even know there was a third; Sun and Moon had been your coworkers for almost a year now, and neither of them had ever mentioned Eclipse. It's a kid's fault - as much as the three of you try to keep the kids away from the more... mechanical parts of the animatronic caretakers of the Superstar Daycare, all it takes is one split second that you and Moon are occupied with a poor, feverish little kid for it to happen. Naptime has just started, and while most of the kids had already fallen asleep, but there were a few that were still fighting naptime.

The older kids... well, you like them well enough. They behaved themselves, for the most part, but some of them felt they were too old to be dumped in the daycare with the babies. Old enough to take care of themselves, they'd argue, but not old enough to know not to stick bent-up paperclips from the crafts corner into the electrical ports on the back of Moon's faceplate.

Really, it happens so fast that you aren't even sure what's happening. All you know is that there was a short spark, the sound of electricity buzzing from somewhere behind Moon, and then the Daycare Attendant had simply shut down. You watch in abject horror as your coworker slumps forward, his blank stare practically lifeless as he stares unseeingly at the ground. You pivot immediately, trying to figure out what had happened to your coworker, scooping up the feverish three year old just in case the lifeless chassis topples.

Oh man. FazEnt is gonna have your ass for this.

It's a very real fear, that something had happened to render your animatronic coworker just plain old broken. Did these things have a life expectancy? Maybe he was under warranty? You place a hand across the child's forehead, remembering for a moment that you're actually supposed to be checking the kid's temperature... but the only working thermometer in the entire daycare had just kicked it.

Uncertainly, you move away from the animatronic - it's naptime, and if Moon is out for the count, you're gonna have one hell of a time getting the rest of the kids down all on your own, but maybe if you call up to management or security, they could send and IT specialist to help reboot Sun - or, at least, help you pat some of the kids to sleep.

"Okay," you'd coo to the uncomfortable and unsettled three year old in your arms, setting them down on their mat and covering them with a blanket to keep them from shivering through their fever. "It's okay! Mr. Moon is just taking a quick rest. Even Mr. Moon gets sleeps at naptime. Right Moon?"

Silence.

Well, you're not sure what you'd expected.

You pull the kid on their mat just a little bit further away from Moon; even crouched over like that, Moon is still pretty tall, an intimidating figure and quite frankly a safety hazard without any of his usual processes in order. The room is dark, but you can hear snickering from the other side of the daycare as the older kids settle innocently into the still quiet of naptime. You squint.

Little punks.

It's as you're trying to discern which one of the older kids might have broken your boss, that something catches your eye with an unexpected twitch of movement. In the dark like that, you jump. Your breath catches, and a pang of mortal terror shoots clean through your heart. You swallow the strangest urge to turn and run, to escape the daycare as you watch your companion and coworker twitch back to life. His movements are jerky, robotic and unnatural as he claws his way back to a stand, and it' the most peculiar thing.

Sun's rays are out.

You watch Moon carefully - the lights are still off, the room still swathed in darkness, so this must be Moon, right? His uniform still glows softly, speckled with glow-in-the-dark stars just like yours. The animatronic's faceplate is still dark, split down the middle by the sculpt of a crescent moon.

But Moon never, ever had rays. Never, in the whole time you've known the Daycare Attendant. Maybe it was some kind of glitch? Maybe it was--

"Good morning!" Came the voice, the inflection soft like Moon's but full of joy like Sun's. This strange iteration of your friend welcomes you with open arms, one eye bright white and the other the glowing the warm, reassuring red of night vision far greater than your own. "Safety mode active and daycare secure. You must be Star!"

You sputter for a moment, taking care not to trip over any toddlers as you move back from this new and unpredictable machine. You're not sure why you're afraid - Sun and Moon have never been anything but nice to you. All of the Fazbear animatronics have! This one was no different, but it wasn't your friend.

"I-- yeah," you manage. "I'm Star."

This thing moved close to the ground, like Moon, its movements fluid and far more natural and organic than the twitchy reboot it had experienced moments ago. "It's okay, Star! I'm here to help! What's the problem, friend? Maybe we can work together to solve it!"

What's the problem? The problem is that your naptime attendant's programming is freaking out, and you have what appears to be an entirely brand-new coworker in the daycare. You were definitely not briefed on this at the last team meeting.

"Uh-- nothing," you manage, lamely, and the animatronic before you tilts its head curiously, the sun rays protruding along its face plate retracting and extending in turn, one at a time, around the rim of his faceplate, as if in thought. "One of the kids must have... hit a switch or something. I'm... I'm gonna call IT and see if they can come down to fix you, okay?"

"Fix me? Stardrop, there's nothing wrong with me! I'm operating just exactly how I'm supposed to!" It bring itself to its full height, and extends a hand to you in earnest, amid the sleeping children. An introduction.

Tentatively, you put your hand in his. It never fails to amaze you how gargantuan this thing really is, its hand swallowing yours in a gentle, polite grip. You shake, uncertain but not willing to be impolite. This was your friend and coworker, after all. Probably.

"My name's Eclipse! I'm the daycare's emergency safety protocol! When something's wrong, I'm always here to help!"

Eclipse... Sun, and Moon, at the same time. That certainly explained the sun rays, and why the faceplate was still dark. It explained the mannerisms, too. With this knowledge, your shoulders soften a bit, the reassurance that this attendant was just the very same as the attendants you've already made friends with.

"It's, uh... nice to meet you, Eclipse," you tell him. It's not untrue; aside from the minor heart attack, Eclipse was just as pleasant and polite as his counterparts. You just wish someone had maybe thought to mention him, literally at all, anytime in the last year you've been working here. "But, there isn't any kind of an emergency. I think... you might have been activated by accident."

Like Sun, and like Moon, Eclipse's face remains static and unchanged, but you've learned to read your coworkers well enough to see the mild surprise in the animatronic. "Oh! My goodness, isn't that unusual! Well, good! It's always a pleasure to meet new friends, and spend time with the little Superstars," he says, giving a wide, sweeping gesture to all the sleeping kids, "but if I'm here on accident, that means everyone's safe and sound! That's what's important!"

You let out a breath you hadn't realize was caught in your chest, grateful that Eclipse didn't take offense to being here on mistake. You know how touchy Moon can get, if naptime gets pushed back for any reason - like he can't bear being away for too long, like he's afraid of leaving the Superstar Daycare to Sun and then just... never coming back. It's a strange fear, for an animatronic to have, especially when the switch is hard-wired into his programming. Once the lights are out, Sun and Moon switch out. It's not something they can even fight.

You've wondered, before, if there was a time where the daycare simply stopped having naptime.

But regardless of Moon's fears, Eclipse seems perfectly happy to go back to sleep. He, like his counterparts, is very much the agreeable sort, it seems, and you're glad to have at least met him once. You hope there aren't any emergencies in the future, but Eclipse seems nice.

By the time Moon has rebooted and the emergency safety protocol was slumbering safe and sound in the recesses of his code once more, you felt... funny.

Maybe, you think, distantly, as you watch the awareness pour back into your friend's glowing red eyes... maybe you're catching that kid's fever. You catch all kinds of things in the daycare.

But as Moon scoops you up, the pulley line tethered to the ceiling descending so that you could both have a bird's eye view of all of the children at once, you can't help but wonder about Eclipse.

Something about that animatronic. About a part of the daycare attendant buried so deeply, slumbering so soundly, that maybe even Sun and Moon aren't aware of him.

You don't know why, but your head hurts.

Chapter Text

You decide that if you were going to talk to anyone about it, it would be Sun.

As always, the Pizzaplex closes at midnight. The only kids remaining in the daycare that late are the employee kids - children whose parents can't pick them up until after they clock out. It's twelve fifteen by the time the last child leaves the daycare, cheek propped on his father's shoulder, dead asleep as Sun waves enthusiastically all the way until the great garage door of the daycare rolls shut behind them.

The daycare is empty, and it's just the two of you, now.

You stretch, hands locked high above your head as you rise onto your toes, and Sun pokes playfully at your middle once he's sure the last little superstar is out of range. "What a long day!" He chirps, the joy and energy never leaving his voice despite the fact that you've both been on your feet and chasing kids for hours.

You recoil at the little poke to your midriff, arms wrapping around yourself defensively as you let out an undignified little laugh. That tickles and he knows it! "Yeah-- you have no idea, Sunny." 

The animatronic watches you carefully as you finish cleaning up from your last few superstars, and you can feel his gaze burning into you like the surface of the sun itself. "Everything okay, Sunshine?" He asks. "I know the kids can be more rowdy than usual..."

"No, no," you venture, sweeping up underneath the craft table as you feel Sun staring at you. "I don't know, just... can I ask you a stupid question?" 

You already know what the attendant's answer will be, before his voice processor can even simulate a breath. "Of course! I'm an open book, ask away!" He chirps.

You go stock-still for a moment, staring down at the broom in your hands. Sun hovers over you in concern, waiting for you to get your thoughts in order. It's an old habit he came into when you got to the Daycare; back when you first started here, it was so much harder for you to put your thoughts together. You've been getting better at it, now, but Sun still knows to be patient.

"Have you and Moon ever... been out, together?" You ask. "Like... both of you, at the same time?"

You can hear Sun buffering, his AI coming to a screeching halt. There's a long pause - long enough that you actually drag your gaze back up to the robot to see his blank smile as he stares at you.

"What?" He asks, dumbfounded, and you can feel the heat rise to your cheeks in embarrassment. You shouldn't have looked up, and you quickly revert your gaze to the broom and its humble work.

"Uh - nothing. Never mind," you manage.

Your embarrassment is evident, but Sun is rarely the type to take a hint, and now that he's actually processed your question, he launches himself wholeheartedly into answering.

"Well, Sunshine," he starts, "Moon and I have our designated jobs, you know that! I can't be out when it's naptime, and Moony can't be out when the lights are on! So, that makes it kind of hard for us to ever be out at the same time, you know!"

Yeah, you do know that, actually.

"Well, there was that one time--"

You freeze, gaze snapping back up to Sun.

"What one time?"

There's silence in the daycare. It's just you staring up at Sun staring down at you as he realizes he really shouldn't have said that. The both of you are still as statues there in the middle of the playground.

"Oh, Sunshine, it's not important!" He tries to wave it off with the flick of his wrist. It was important - if it wasn't, he wouldn't be avoiding the question.

You bite the inside of your cheek, and avert your gaze, sweeping slowly and thoughtfully, even as you can feel Sun's stare boring into the back of your jester hat. "Well, if you say so," you manage, trying to keep your voice light and unaffected by the curiosity burning within you. "But man, you and Moon out at the same time? That must be weird, huh? Like... like an Eclipse."

You don't dare look back at the animatronic. You don't want to see the look on his face, the concern stirring behind the static faceplace devoid of all emotion except joy. You've gotten to know your coworkers well over the last year; you know how to read them, regardless. You can feel his processes come to a screeching halt as he tries to decide what comes next.

"Sunshine," he starts, finally tearing his mechanical gaze from you, bending down to pick up some fallen stacking toys, "you know how I always tell the kids there are no stupid questions?"

Your head whips around to face him so fast you feel a crick in your neck. "Jeeze, Sunny, tell me how ya really feel." You mutter, as you suddenly feel every inch of height the animatronic has on you. You're small, compared to him, and keenly aware of it in that moment. 

"What I mean is," he stresses, finally finished re-stacking those toys as he moves over to you, "there are no stupid questions. But... sometimes, questions just don't need to be answered! You know?"

There's silence. The two of you look at each other.

Neither of you say anything, after that.

With Sun resolute that you won't get another traitorous peep out of him, the two of you finish cleaning up.

Along with the daycare attendant, it's your duty to clean up the daycare and prepare for the next morning. You're the daycare's human closer. You're also the daycare's human opener, back on shift at eight AM the next morning, right when the Pizzaplex opens. You'd say you practically live at the Superstar Daycare, but there's no practically about it. Once everything is prepared for tomorrow morning, Sun scoops you up and the two of you ascend to the castle balcony. You've been crashing here, at the Daycare, for as long as you can remember. It's not like anyone is going to notice, and Moon gets fussy when he can't tend to your 'naptime,' anyway.

You're sure you used to live somewhere else, but its all too distant to recall. FazEnt has been paying you in cash for a while, since your weekly checks went uncashed to a bank account you can't remember. You're pretty sure you used to have a car, or at least a bus pass, but any identifying information was long gone, and not even management could seem to find your paperwork. The people who had worked with you so far just know you as 'Star,' so that was the name you answer to, now. You're sure you used to have a life before the Superstar Daycare, but quite frankly?

When Sun finally flicks off the lights in the little balcony room, you hear the tell-tale rattle of machinery before two pinpricks of red glow in the dark, zeroing in on you. Moon moves close to the ground, approaching you in a crouch as you hold your arms open wide, welcoming the strange comfort of a mechanical hold.

You're sure there used to be something before this, you think distantly, as Moon instinctively cradles you in his lap. You stopped putting up a fuss, long ago. You were comfortable in his hold like this, even if you didn't need to be babied to sleep. But Moon, his programming was impossible to ignore. He was literally built to coddle and soothe and cuddle the little superstars to sleep - and if it made him feel at ease, as you drifted off with your cheek pressed rather comfortably against the smooth curve of his chestplate, listening to the gentle notes emanating from Moon's music box, then so be it. You were happy to oblige. 

The last thing you're aware of as you drift off in the still and quiet darkness is Moon gently removing your hat. He pulls the sheet you 'borrowed' from the industrial laundry room downstairs over you, and you feel the weight of one gargantuan mechanical hand settle securely over you.

You know there was something before this, but you don't miss it.

Chapter Text

Life in the Daycare is the same as it's ever been.

You and the Daycare Attendant have your own little routines and rituals. You take turns during arts and crafts to pick which superstar gets their work hung up on the wall; you make up songs together to sing during the day - songs to encourage the kids to clean up or eat everything on their plate during lunch and snack time. You have your own cleaning games, when the kids are asleep or in the after hours, once everyone is gone and the two of you are trying to get ready for the next day.

It's a content, pleasant little existence.

No one knows you're living at the Daycare, of course. You were, at some point, given a security badge. Level 10, which seems excessive for a Daycare employee, but you're certainly not complaining and definitely not opening your mouth about it; the keycard gives you access to all sorts of useful areas in the Pizzaplex, and the service tunnels help you avoid security S.T.A.F.F. Bots.

Moving through the security tunnels almost feels like muscle memory, and though there's always something deep down inside of you tugging you in a specific direction at a specific intersection within the labyrinthine corridors, there's something stronger within you, too afraid to follow that pull. Too afraid of what you might find on the other end of this strange instinct. More than once, you've found yourself with an armful of clean naptime blankets and your freshly-laundered spare uniform, standing stock-still with your flashlight shining down the hallway you couldn't bring yourself to venture into. There were red pinpricks in the distant darkness, but your flashlight was not strong enough to illuminate their source. 

You couldn't bring yourself to move closer, and they were gone when you blinked. 

You hurry yourself back to the daycare - the safety of the fluorescent lighting and the comfort of the bouncy song that played relentlessly over the speakers. This is where you belong, you think with an inward sigh of relief, seeing Sun waving enthusiastically at you from the other side of the Daycare enclosure - not the grimy, dangerous hallways beneath the Pizzaplex.

"Back already? I didn't even get a chance to wipe down the jungle gym!" He laments, plucking the laundry basket of clean naptime blankets from your hold. He lifts it with ease, like it weighs nothing to him. It probably doesn't.

"You're falling behind, Sunny," you tease, your voice lighthearted despite the frustration and fear that had nestled itself in your chest while staring down the abyss of that darkened hallway. What was down there? What could be so terrible that it was lighting up your circuits with terror and trepidation? You were sure you knew - just like you knew you had a live before the daycare.

You just couldn't remember.

Despite your best efforts, Sun can hear that something is amiss in your voice. You see the briefest flicker, the way his mechanical hands clench around the handles of the plastic laundry bin he's carrying, his hydraulic grip strong enough to nearly splinter the weak and hollow plastic. It's over in a flash, though, and you swallow something uncomfortable in your throat.

He sets down the basket, and you freeze there before him as his entire torso pivots to face you, followed only after a moment by the rest of his body. "Sunshine? Is something wrong?" He asks, and you can fee his blank gaze traveling, examining you. There's something unsettled in his voice, the expectation that something was wrong.

You almost laugh, right then and there, right in his face.

He'd be right - something was wrong. You just couldn't put your finger on it.

Instead, you wave it off with an exaggerated swipe, your entire arm caught up in the motion. "It's nothing, Sun, you know me! Right as rain! Perfect as a peach! Dandy like candy!" Okay. That might be overselling it, you think to yourself. 

He sets down the basket, moving to you. Elongated but graceful fingers tilt your chin, trying to get a good look at your eyes as he leans down to loom over you, his faceplate drawing close, rays clicking rhythmically in thought.

'Are you sure, Sunshine? Is something bothering you?" He asked, and you bite back the urge to shout. Yes! Yes, God, something IS bothering you! You just don't know what!

"Sun," you say, taking his hand in both of yours, pulling it away from your face to clasp it lovingly at your chest. He was a worry wart by nature, you couldn't blame him. You knew you were a little off. That damn hallway always left you feeling a little funny, like your head was full of static and the darkness stretched on forever. "I promise, I'm okay. You don't have to fuss over me like Moon does!"

"Well we can't help it!" He complains loudly, his voice a synthetic whine. His faceplate does a full three-sixty and he scoops you into a hug. "You're our favorite Superstar! Long as you promise not to tell the kids that!"

You laugh, full and bright and genuine as this twelve foot robot quite literally sweeps you clean off your feat into a bear hug. You've gotten used to this over the last year with the Daycare Attendant; no longer do you fear being crushed like an egg in a hydraulic press. "Okay! Okay! I promise, Sun!" You chuckle, arms slung over his shoulders in some pathetic attempt to hold on, as though his grip were anything but nigh-unbreakable.

At last, your feet touch the ground again; Sun has one hand firmly on your shoulder as he leans down to come to your eye-level. Behind his static grin is a look of utmost seriousness. It's incredibly silly, and without a word, he holds his other hand up to you in a solemn, serious gesture.

"Do you pinky promise?" He asked.

You snort, and roll your eyes, but your finger meets his all the same. "I pinky promise," you say, melodramatic gravitas tinging your voice as you make your solemn oath.

Satisfied that you really, really, really meant it, Sun straightened up to his full height, beaming brightly as sun rays spun enthusiastically. "I'm gonna hold you to that, Star! That's the most serious promise there is!" And don't you know it! Sun makes you pinky promise over the littlest thing. "Now! We gotta get the daycare ready for tomorrow! Oh, think of all the kids coming in bright and early to play! We gotta clean up! Clean up!" He chirps, picking up the laundry basket again, now that he's satisfied your in better spirits and probably not dying. "How about you start on the arts and crafts center while I go put these away?" He offers, and you're happy to oblige.

The arts and crafts center was always... the hardest, for Sun to clean. It always required a good scrubbing. And after you were done, you would probably need a good scrubbing, too, with how much loose glue had ended up on the chairs and tables. Sun tried his best to avoid cleaning this center, as washing up wasn't quite as simple for him.

You're on your knees, scrubbing some mysterious blue substance from the seat of one of the bright yellow plastic chairs - some species of glitter glue, you can only assume - when it catches your eye.

Your sponge goes forgotten for a moment, left to rest miserably in the very seat it was supposed to be cleaning as you duck down even further, head and shoulders now wedged underneath the low craft table. You reach, fingers curling around your prize, and as you finally re-emerge, victorious, you look to see if Sun is watching you before you uncurl your fingers, staring down at the mangled and manipulated paperclip sitting guiltily in your palm.

You never did take this from that kid, the other day, you realize, and it feels like God himself has dropped a golden opportunity right into your lap. You feel your heart race momentarily. If Sun and Moon don't have any recollection of being Eclipse, then... what they literally don't know won't hurt them, right?

Immediately upon that thought, a hot wave of guilt crashes over you. Your face grows hot, and with another guilty glance up to your robotic companion across the way - blissfully ignorant of the little revelation you're having in the craft corner - you shove the bent-up paperclip into the pocket of your uniform, for later.

Chapter Text

You're going to have a very narrow window of time to do this, you realize. At the end of the night, once Sun turns out the lights, you're going to need to be right there before Moon's programming can fully take over. In that split-second interim between Day and Night, you're going to trigger the Eclipse. 

And maybe Sun can tell that something's off about you, no matter how he tries to play it off. He can see it in your movements, in the tone of your voice, and the way your gaze keeps darting away from his - but he trusts you. You've told him you're okay, so you must be! 

You're really not, you think miserably, as Sun lifts the both of you up into the castle balcony. 

You're not, but you will be. 

You linger aside him at the front of the room, waiting for him to switch off the lights. You have both of your hands in your pockets, and your left hand fiddles and flips the paperclip in a nervous, hidden motion to sate your nerves. He's chattering on about how great tomorrow will be, and while you usually find it endearing, you can't help but feel it grate on your already frayed nerves. You clench the bent paperclip, and the moment the lights go out, you move. 

It's nearly impossible to see in the darkness of the daycare with the lights out, but you're already right there next to him. You grope blindly, feeling the rays at his faceplate. Each one gives a satisfying thunk as it retracts, and you're careful to keep your fingers clear from any moving parts. You can feel the little port at the back of his faceplate - but you can also feel his programming rebooting, the way he activates in phases. The way his body shifts under your hold, taking on a similar but different form, a new personality flooding the chassis. Your fingers tremble as you feel the paperclip slot carefully into the port, too small but enough to do the job. 

As the first glow of red spreads like a warmth through the castle balcony room, you twist. 

The humming of his servos stops, and the upper body goes limp again, just like how it had the other day. You hold your breath, and wait for the sun rays to come back, for the animatronic to come back to life, for the hidden celestial body to awaken. 

The sun rays re-emerged, lining the face of the moon: a total eclipse. Awareness spills back into the being's eyes, the lights of his eyes turning directly to you.

"You again!" Came the gentle joy; he sounded genuinely pleased to see you, and you couldn't help but feel a rush of relief to see him, too. The smile that spills over your lips is almost delirious, and the Eclipse can see the stars from your uniform reflected in your eyes. "Little Star! I didn't expect to see you again so soon!"

You open your mouth, and feel your voice die in your throat. You hadn't expected to see him so soon, either. "I-- I need your help," you whisper, this meeting clandestine and risky for reasons not even you were totally sure of.

This, unsurprisingly, gets Eclipse's attention. He perks up after a moment, taking a brief look around, to assess your surroundings. "Stardrop, it seems that the Daycare is closed for the day," he mentions, "There aren't any kids here!"

Yeah - yeah, no, you're well aware of that. "I-- I know. I don't need your help with the daycare," you venture, and you can see the clear confusion in his body language. You aren't sure how to explain this to him; you're barely sure how to explain it to yourself. Honestly, you didn't think you'd actually get this far.

"Are you hurt, Stardrop? In some kind of danger?" Eclipse asks you, nimble fingers carefully lifting your wrist, beginning to examine you inch by inch to ensure nothing was broken or bleeding.

Long fingers intertwine with your own. He can feel you trembling.

Eclipse cocks his head gently, looking down at you with a concerned curiosity.

"There's... something I'm missing," you tell him, your voice a grave whisper. You can't bring yourself to look him in the eye; you simply watch his fingers curl around your palm, unmoving in his hold. "I don't know what it is, but I know it's gone. I can feel it."

"There's a lost and found at guest services, Stardrop! If you lost something--"

"It's not like that," you tell him, and he falls silent to hear out your grievances. "It's like... like a part of me is missing. Like it's something I can't reach." You swallow hard, unable to keep the waver from your voice. "Sun and Moon... they never told me about you. I thought maybe... you're the same way."

Eclipse heaves an artificial breath, faceplate tilting down towards you gently. "Oh, Stardrop," he says, his melancholy voice careful with his words, "that's not quite how we work." He gives your hands a gentle squeeze as your heart plummets. "What you're feeling is different."

Your heart aches, and you feel hot tears prick at the corners of your eyes. Your breath is measured and careful not to spill over. "I can't remember anything," you whisper fearfully. It's the first time in over a year that you've uttered that horrible fact out loud. Your name, your home, your life before the Pizzaplex - it was all gone. You feel a lump form in your throat, as Eclipse watches you carefully. "Eclipse - I need to know what happened to me. I need to know why I can't remember anything from before the daycare. I need to know why I can't remember who I am. Sun and Moon, they--"

"Sun and Moon care about you," he interrupts, his voice gentle but stern, "very much. We all do!" Eclipse lifts one hand to your cheek, cradling the side of your head with the utmost care, thumbing lovingly just below your eye. The distress buzzing in the back of your head is a low din, one that's getting harder and harder to ignore, even as you lean into Eclipse's touch.

"Then why won't they tell me?" You ask. "Why won't they tell me what happened?"

There's a moment's pause, and Eclipse searches you, contemplating something.

"Stardrop," he manages, after a moment, "they're just trying to keep you safe."

"Safe from what?" You plead, gripping his wrist at your cheek.

His head cocks, a clockwork sound of grinding gears as he goes horrifically still before you. There's silence, and an eerie stillness, and for a moment you can't help but pray for an answer.

"Hhhngnngrrr...." Eclipse groans, a throaty, compressed sound coming from his chest, and it's horrifying enough to snap you clean out of your desperation. You stare up at him with wide eyes, and suddenly his hand at your cheek feels suffocating.

Soon, that, too, slips from you. Eclipse curls in on himself, his torso folded over and his fingers gripping desperately at his faceplate, at the sun rays that jittered, retracting and extending by centimeters with disturbing irregularity.

You watch in horror as the sun rays lose their struggle; one by one, they retreat into the animatronic's faceplate with a decisive thunk, as Eclipse is dragged back into the depths of the robot's programming. "Hhhnnggrr--rr--ruLEBREAKER!" The animatronic screeches, fury and alarm mingling so powerfully in the robot's artificial voice box that the speaker starts to garble, the red lights of his pupils burning brightly as Moon slams back front and center.

Once-gentle hands turn angry, gripping the frill of your collar, his hold nearly pulling you clean off your feet. You gasp, instinctively grabbing at the hands that held you captive there. 

You've been here, before. You know you have; though your conscious mind can't recall a single moment that Moon has been anything but caring and gentle, you suddenly feel the sensation of the floor dropping out from under you, some terrible memory lost to time remembered only by the body.

Letting out a cry, you tear yourself from his grip. The adrenaline of mortal terror and the disorientation of a memory you can't recall send you reeling back, away from Moon; you're half-blind in the darkness, and lose your footing. You fall backwards, tailbone slamming hard against the concrete floor as you land, curling in on yourself as you stare up at the towering figure of Moon before you.

His chest heaves and he trembles minutely, and though all of these processes are artificial markers programmed by FazTech, the fear you feel in him is very, very real.

"Rulebreaker! Rulebreaker!" He repeats, distress and anger and hurt mingling in his artificial voice. Your own chest heaves with fearful and labored breaths, "R--rule..." His voice breaks up, coming to a halt as he sees you there, cowering before him.

Even if your memory has failed you, his remained sharp.

He lowers himself down, your gaze locked on the ailing animatronic. It's not predatory; in fact, it's clear he's trying to make himself seem like less of a threat. Trying to get on your level, which is harder than usual because you're laid out on the floor and he's a twelve foot piece of machinery.

Carefully, you sit up.

You can barely breathe, your throat is so tight, and even as you lift your arms towards him in a welcoming gesture, you can't help the corners of your lips trembling.

Moon moves slowly, practically crawling towards you. He slots perfectly into your embrace, burying the curve of his faceplate against your neck as one arm cradles your back. He's rigid and unmoving and perfectly sculpted to your hold.

"Rules... there to keep you safe," he whispers, and you can hear the static tinging his voice, the result of him overexerting his volume.

You cling tightly to him, seeking comfort from the terror of not knowing; from the horror of being afraid of him, even for that split second. "Safe from what?" You manage to croak miserably into his ruffled collar.

One hand comes up, removing your jester's cap and running a hand delicately down the back of your head; it's a comforting little gesture, starkly juxtaposed against his words.

"From yourself, Starlight."

Chapter Text

You wake up, hours later, in the gentle arms of the Moon. He's got your cradled against him, his hands resting against you in a secure and tender hold. Your cheeks are wet and your eyes still puffy from the night before, and Moon's music box still chimed gently through the darkness.

When you sniffle, realizing you were all stuffed up from the terrible night the two of you had had, Moon is right there to comfort you.

"Shh, Starlight," he coos over the gentle tune of his music box. A hand comes up to comb through your hair, your jester's cap discarded and forgotten in the emotional coming-to-blows you and your animatronic friend had had the evening prior. "Safe and sound. Safe and sound..."

You are safe and sound, and his words are only a reassurance of that fact. Your eyes flutter shut again, barely halfway through the night and still exhausted from the fear and distress and emotion that the two of you had felt together - emotions far too large for this cramped little room.

You let out a shuddering little breath and let Moon sooth you back to sleep.

The next time you wake, the lights are back on, and your animatronic caretaker is nowhere to be found; no doubt already starting the day down below in the daycare. You haul yourself up to your feet, stretching and gathering your own things to get ready for the day.

It's a little tricky, crashing at the daycare, but you manage, and eventually join Sun bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as the Superstar Daycare prepares to open for the day.

His attention is on you the moment you push back through the great castle double-doors of the entrance. He practically throws the stack of paper cups down on one of the tables, abandoning the set up for his early morning arts and crafts activity to instead bound directly towards you, scooping you up into a great bear hug. His entire upper body spins along with you in his hold, and he hugs you so tight you briefly fear for your ribs, even as you laugh gleefully.

"Sunny, you big goof," you chuckle, as your feet touch the padded floor again, "You weren't gone that long!"

"I know," he whines, hands on your shoulders as he holds you at arms' length, grinning down at you, "But I missed you!"

'You say that every morning!" You rest your hands at his forearms, smiling fondly up at him.

"Well, I miss you every morning!"

He scoops you up into another spinning hug, eventually putting you down and grabbing you by the hand to drag you over to the activity he's setting up. He's always looking for feedback (and, you've learned, blatant praise) for his activities. The little Superstars only deserved the best, after all! It looks like a fun activity, making paper cup puppets that you and Sun would then use for a puppet show later in the day.

Part way through explaining the activity to you, Sun asks you if you're up for helping out with arts and crafts time this morning, which strikes you as odd because... duh? Of course you are, you help run morning crafts every day. Why would today be any different, you wonder?

"Are you sure you're okay, Sunshine?" He asks, setting down his paper prototypes to examine you. Gentle fingers lift your chin, examine your eyes and surreptitiously take your temperature. The beep is obvious, but Sun tries to play it off with his trademark enthusiasm. "Ohhhh, if you're feeling a little funny you let your pal Sun know, right Sunshine?"

"Sun, I'm fine!" You protest; he has a habit of fussing over you, but this was out of the norm even for him.

"I-- I know! I know!" he presses back, "but, you know... a little birdie told me you had a difficult night, is all! And if you're not feeling well-- well, gosh, I don't wanna make it worse!"

Ah. There it is.

"Would your little birdie happen to be a Night Owl?" You ask with a knowing smirk, hiding your mild irritation. There's no hiding anything from these two, when they were two sides of the same coin in constant communication with one another. What one knows, the other is sure to find out.

Sun hesitates, and even though his smile never falters, the way his shoulders hitch up is a dead giveaway. "N--no?" He tries, and you can't help but laugh. It's fifteen minutes till the daycare opens for the day; you can already see the small crowd of parents and children gathering outside the daycare walls.

You snort, and shake your head.

"Sun, trust me. I'm okay. Last night was... rough, but we have a job to do!" You chirp, feeling the headache already blooming between your eyes. It doesn't matter. The kids come first. The kids always come first. You turn to go open the doors of the daycare, letting the kids flood in and beginning your next Fazerific Day at the Superstar Daycare, but Sun's grip on your shoulders tightens before you can move away.

You pause, looking up at him with no small amount of concern; he's still and silent for a moment.

"You really scared him, last night," he tells you, and you feel... small. It's that same tone he uses with kids who are having a hard time keeping their hands to themselves.

You gulp a breath down, and nod. "I know," you say, shame in your voice. "I shouldn't have messed with your emergency protocols, but-- I had to know. I had to talk to Eclipse." You cast a nervy glance over your shoulder, at the waiting families. You'd have to open, soon.

"Moon wasn't afraid about the emergency protocols," he tells you, and you drag your gaze back to the animatronic before you. Something uncomfortable settles in your stomach at the sound of the robot's voice. "Sunshine, he was scared for you."

You don't move. You barely breathe. Scared for you? Scared that you were going to break the rules that were there to keep you safe? You hear the laughter and shrieks of children just beyond the daycare walls, and you feel dizzy, the din of the bouncy daycare music drowned out by a white noise that filled your skull.

"I-- It's-- Moon doesn't-- have to be afraid," you manage. Sun's hands slip from your shoulders as he seems to finally notice the crowd gathering at the doors, waiting to be let in. You move almost as mechanically as your robotic counterpart, over to the doors. You give the Sun a million watt smile, and unlock the front doors.

"There's nothing to be afraid of, Sunny!"

Somehow, you both know that's a lie.

Chapter Text

"Your supervisor notes that you're here on a voluntary basis, isn't that right...?" There's an inquisitive pause; she's waiting for your name.

"Just... Star," you manage.

The therapist jots something down on the notepad they have sitting in front of them at the desk. You sink into the chair, knowing it was a blatant red flag, making your company therapist refer to you by your stage name from the daycare.

"Well, Star," she says, "you're free to chase any thoughts that come to mind, here. Your supervisor didn't specify what exactly you were going to be coming in for, but I'm sure we can get to the bottom of it together."

You bristle slightly; getting to the bottom of it was exactly why you were here. After the other night with Eclipse and Moon, it had become abundantly clear that there was something wrong with you. If the animatronic wouldn't tell you what, then maybe one of the company shrinks could.

You fidget in your seat for a moment - it's a nice seat, plush and comfortable, with a wrap-around back to envelop you. But it was set a little too low, forcing you to have to look up at your shrink, a rather beige woman in her mid-forties who looked like she'd been born and raised to be a therapist. As beige as she was, she was the one pop of color in the greyish-greenish room you both sat in, the entire affair feeling very... sleepy.

You distantly imagine Moon being rather jealous; this place could put anyone to sleep.

"I don't know who I am," you tell her, tentatively. It's hard to bring your gaze to her with any confidence; instead, you elect to stare unrelentingly at the greyish-greenish hourglass that sat on her desk. There was no sand in it. Why the hell did she even have that?

"That can be a very isolating feeling," she acknowledges, "but many people your age struggle with a shifting sense of identity. It's not uncommon for a new job or a new partner to make you question--"

"It's not like that," you cut across her, your voice maybe a touch sharper than you'd meant it to be. "I literally cannot remember who I am. My name, where I live, who I am-- it's like it's all gone. Everything before my job with Fazbear Entertainment is just... gone."

Your therapist blinks. "And this is... causing you distress?" She notes.

You don't bother lifting your gaze to her; you wish the hourglass did have sand in it; then you could count how many grains until you could get out of here. You'd thought that seeing a company therapist might help you figure out what had happened, but it was really just shaping up to be a massive waste of time. 

"My coworkers think I should just get over it," you say, and a part of you feels a little bit guilty; Sun and Moon were adamant that you shouldn't pry, but they weren't nearly as flippant about the situation as you made them out to be.

The therapist flipped through your papers for a moment. "Star, you don't have coworkers. It says here, you're the only paid employee working the daycare."

"I work with Sun and Moon," you say sternly, brow furrowing minutely as you imagine the sand trickling through the narrow neck of the hourglass. You had fifty imaginary minutes left in this session. "They're my coworkers."

The beige woman makes a barely-audible sound of disapproval; you ignore it, and you ignore her. "Well," she says, "Your... coworkers say you shouldn't worry too much about this. Why do you feel differently?" She asks. 

Why do you feel differently? Why does it disturb you that you can't remember anything from your whole life up until a year ago? Your gaze finally snaps up to her. "Because I think something happened to me, that made me forget. I don't know what, and it's eating me up!" You bark, and she sits there, unfazed.

"So we can agree - regardless of what a repurposed machine tells you, this is something you feel worth pursuing? For your own peace of mind?"

You hate these mind games, and you hate the way she talks about Sun and Moon. "Yeah," you mutter, dragging your gaze back to the hour glass. "And I want to. That's why I'm here, anyway."

"And that's a big first step, Star! You should be proud of yourself for that."

You cannot emphasize enough how pride was the last thing you were feeling, sitting in this stupid chair.

"Listen," you start, voice terse and unconfident, "I just need to know if this kind of thing can actually help me. Therapy, I mean."

There's silence between the two of you, for a moment. She shuffles her papers, and takes a deep breath. "Well," she says, her own tone frank and transparent, "Sometimes profound amnesia can be caused by trauma. It can be hard to remember if you even have trauma, because of the amnesia. It's your mind's way of protecting you from something you were... unable to process."

Trauma? You bite the inside of your cheek, and shift your gaze to the grey stapler instead. The imaginary sand was starting to get on your nerves. How were you supposed to cure an amnesia caused by a trauma you can't even remember happening--

With that singular thought, your blood runs cold and your breath stops momentarily.

Your mind might not be able to remember anything, but your body remembers. That one brief and horrible moment of mortal terror when Moon had grabbed you, the feeling of the floor dropping out from underneath you and the phantom pain that had blossomed across your shoulders before he had embraced you.

Your feel a black weight like lead fill your stomach and steal the breath from your lungs. Something had happened. Something awful had happened, and as much as you didn't want to entertain the idea that Moon had been at the center of it all, you can't help that possibility from clenching around your heart like a vice.

"Star?" The voice sounds distant, muffled through the realization that was suffocating you. "Star?"

Your gaze snaps back to the Therapist, and you struggle to find your words again. "If-- if this amnesia," you swallow thickly, trying to force the tremor from your voice, "is because of something that happened to me... what if remembering makes everything worse?"

You can't help but feel stupid and childish as it comes out of your mouth, but it's a very real fear. What if Sun and Moon are right? What if you don't want to know what happened?

"Processing trauma can be a very challenging experience. It doesn't happen overnight, you know," she tells you. "But with the right kind of help, processing your trauma allows you to move forward from what's holding you back. Processing your trauma might help you recover this sense of identity you feel you're missing. It might help you recover some of your memories."

And isn't that what you were here for? Isn't that why you'd come to this awful, sleepy, grey-ish green-ish little cubicle of an office for in the first place?

Moon couldn't have done this to you. He cared about you! Whatever happened, whatever that awful little fear lingering withing you was from, you knew it wasn't because of him. You knew Moon better than that! You knew Moon would never hurt you.

You're silent for a moment, considering your options, knowing that the only way to prove to yourself that none of this was Moon's fault was to find out what had happened in the first place; to understand that quiet terror in the back of your mind.

You take a deep breath, and shift uncomfortably in your seat.

"How do I start?"

Chapter Text

It was Moon that greeted you within the daycare when you returned; neither Moon nor his daytime counterpart knew where you had gone on your lunchbreak. You'd actually told Sun you were going to El Chips for something to eat. Everything Sun knows, Moon would come to know soon enough. There were no secrets from one that the other already knew, and you desperately did not want Moon to know that you were poking at the sleeping bear of your mangled memories.

And so, you had lied to them both. When Moon saw you from across the daycare, you could see him straighten up, his attention captured by your presence. You watch as he latches onto the flight rigging, launching himself into the air with one great leap. He glides gracefully across the daycare, over the heads of all of the sleeping children slumbering peacefully below.

He touches down in front of you, arms open as you instinctively move into his hold. You let out a sigh of relief, glad to fold into that familiar embrace - the very same hold that has soothed you to sleep every night since your stay at the Superstar Daycare had begun. 

"Missed you," Moon whispers, and you hug him back. You were only gone for an hour, but you know that Moon missed you for that hour regardless.

"Missed you too, Moon," you mutter into his chestplate. He's always been a bit more clingy than Sun, especially when you've been out of his sight for any amount of time.

"Naptime for little children. Everyone's asleep."

It doesn't surprise you that Moon was able to get everyone down even without you there; he had no problem at all running nap time by himself.

You take a look around the daycare. All the kids are asleep, and you look up at Moon with something bordering on desperation. He holds you so delicately. He's one of your best friends, and you can't bear the idea of Moon being at the center of all this trouble.

"Hey Moon?" You ask, looking up at him. You rest your chin on his chest, looking up at him as he cranes his faceplate downward to meet your gaze. He can see something pained there, and his already gentle hold softens, taking care to adjust the dangling star charms that hang from the liliripes of your hat so that they're not dangling in your eyes.

"Yes?"

"You and Sun are my best friends. You know that, right?"

His head tilts ever-so slightly, an artificial breath escaping him as his body language becomes just a touch softer. Nimble fingers that had just a moment ago been preoccupied with the little star charms were now preoccupied with his little Star, ghosting your cheek gently. "Of course we do, Starlight," he coos, the affection in his voice tangible. "We love you more than all the stars in the sky!" You feel your own body relax minutely. Even amidst all the confusion and uncertainty surrounding your amnesia, you're certain of one thing in that moment: regardless of what might have happened to cause this particular ailment of yours, the Daycare Attendant really did care about you. 

Without another word, you wrap your arms around Moon's neck in a hug. In turn, his hold envelops you, lifting you into his arms as the flight rig lifts the both of you. This time, you feel the floor drop out from underneath you - as you have a thousand times - and feel no fear. You would find out what had happened to you; you would overcome this strange persistent amnesia and finally figure out who you are. But right now, you were safe and sound, with your animatronic counterpart and all the strange secrets he held.

"Starlight?" Came Moon's gentle whisper; even though you were a full story above the slumbering children, he was still careful not to disturb anyone. You look up at him, his gentle glow illuminating the curves of his faceplate and the red glow of his eyes lending a warmth to the otherwise celestial light. You hum up at him, a curious little sound. He hesitates for a moment, the two of you landing on top of the sturdy steel mesh of one of the jungle gym cages as he sets you down. The two of you sit at the edge of the cage together, legs hanging over the side. Moon's feet dangle freely, kicking back and forth. You have one leg propped up against the top of Roxanne Wolf's ear. "Was thinking."

"About what?" You ask, as the two of you keep watch over every little superstar in the daycare, together.

"You weren't supposed to meet him."

"Eclipse, you mean?"

There's a confirming hum from deep within his chassis.

"Why didn't you and Sun tell me about him?"

He's silent for a long moment, and you watch as his gaze travels up, away from the daycare and up towards the upper floor balcony that overlooked the play area - the upper lobby, where the slide started. "We weren't made for this," he tells you, and those words settle into a knot in your stomach. "Reprogrammed." 

Reprogrammed? The information washes over you, but doesn't quite feel like its sticking. You can't imagine Sun and Moon anywhere but in the Superstar Daycare. They belonged here. Sure, things could get a little chaotic from time to time, but that was just the nature of childcare! But Sun and Moon, they were the best caretakers this dumb company could ever ask for! It takes you a moment to find your voice, your gaze locked on the animatronic before you. "Reprogrammed from... what?" You ask.

Moon is unmoving, except for the rhythmic drumming of his fingers against the steel mesh where he grips the edge of the cage. There must be something awfully interesting up there, you think to yourself. But you can't see anything out of the ordinary up there. There were no people milling about, at least. All that was up there were the empty tables of the lobby, the elevator doors, and the great sliding garage door of the Fazbear Theater--

A breath leaves you.

"Were... were you guys built for the theater?" You ask him, barely even able to wrap your head around the fact that the words were coming out of your mouth. You think to the great golden reliefs that are set above the entrance to the theater - comedy and tragedy, in the form of celestial bodies. Able to switch on a whim to suit the mood of a play. Able to shift and change and entertain as though they existed for nothing but the stage.

The only answer you receive from the robot is how he finally tears his gaze from the little-utilized theater, back to you. His fingers have stopped drumming, and his shoulders are hunched.

"Actors on the stage. Small Parts. Eclipse ran the show," Moon explains to you. "When we were... reprogrammed... he ran the daycare, too. It... did not work. So they woke the Sun and Moon, instead. Changed our programming again. Scrambled us, to open the daycare. To look after our little Superstars."

You're silent, as he recounts his past life. Despite the weight of his words, there doesn't seem to be any resentment in what he's saying. Trepidation, perhaps, but not resentment.

"Do... you miss it?" You ask, unable to keep the words from spilling past your lips, even as you know it's a terrible thing to ask.

"Oh, yes," Moon says, wistfully. "It's what we were built for."

You fall silent, your gaze lingering up towards the theater. What a terrible thing, to be ripped away from your very purpose for existing.

"We were not supposed to remember the theater," he tells you, at long last, "They hid it from us. Buried it. Buried Eclipse."

Something deep and dark and cavernous has settled itself in your chest. Your heart aches for these three - the kindest, gentlest souls in the entire Pizzaplex, treated with so little dignity or autonomy. Treated like machinery by a company that believed it had the right to rip their very sense of self to shreds for a business venture. Who needed live performers when you could just show Fazbear cartoons on loop? Nevermind the fact that they'd brought this being into the world with a singular purpose. Those directives could be changed, with a few simple lines of code. It made your heart sick to think about.

You knew where he was going with this. You're both sitting there, mourning the people they'd once been, and you know how to play along.

"But you found out?"

Moon hummed, and looked down back at you. "Found out," he says. He looks down at you. "Sun, too." This doesn't surprise you, of course. They share all things, are one and the same and different and together at all times. He moves one hand to rest atop yours, there at the edge of the cage. "Finding out hurts."

You feel numb. So there it is: finding out hurts, he says, and you believe him fully. There was a life up there that they could no longer have, no matter how much they wished they could go back. No matter how difficult childcare can get, they have nothing to go back to. They were forced into this existence by people in power who didn't care about them; in a way, you all were. The Daycare was home and a prison to all four of you, unable to go back to what had come before and unwilling to leave behind the memories of a life that had been taken from you by forces well beyond your control.

"I know it must have, Moon. And I know it will. But I can't just keep going not knowing who I am. If you'd never found out about the theater, if you and Sun were still in the Dark and Eclipse never woke back up... they want you to forget."

"Maybe they know best. Maybe they're just helping." 

"Maybe they're just helping themselves."

Moon is quiet, contemplative as his fingers dance slowly over yours. He seems to be deep in concentration over the moments of his nimble fingers, putting the conversation aside in favor of the little delicate touches that light upon the back of your palm and over the lengths of your fingers. You flip your hand over, allowing Moon to lace his fingers with yours. Together you sit atop the jungle gym, sharing in each other's company and each other's misery.

"Maybe... they know things we don't. Maybe they don't want to see you get hurt."

 "Moon," you say, drawing his melancholy attention as you look up at him, twisting where you sit so that you're facing him more fully. "Either way, it hurts."

"I know, Starlight," he says, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. "I know."

Chapter Text

"So, you're empathizing with the Daycare animatronic? Am I understanding that correctly?"

You pass a greyish-greenish stress ball from hand to hand, without making eye contact with the woman in beige. "Well, yeah," you counter, your voice flat as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Sun and Moon and I are friends. We talk, about a lot of things. That's what friends do."

"Star, those robots are a complex Artificial Intelligence, but they're not real. The things they tell you... they're just looking for answers and reactions that fit parameters outlined by their programming. You're not the first handler to think your animatronic was... alive."

You're silent, contemplative as you mull over this possibility. You don't like the way she says that. Of course they're not alive, but... they're still your friends. "Yeah?"

"We've had handlers in the past who have gotten a little too attached to our animatronics - especially with the Glamrock line. The headliner animatronics tend to be very personable, and sometimes our handlers get... confused."

"I mean, so I'm friends with a robot. What's so bad about that? I know he's not alive like you or me, but that doesn't mean he doesn't deserve a little kindness and respect. Childcare's hard; Sun and Moon always give a hundred and ten percent, and they don't even get paid."

"I'm not saying you have to treat them like a household appliance," she said sternly, looking down at you over the rim of her glasses. "But we've had handlers who let their 'friendship' with these machines cloud their judgement. Last year, Chica's handler started sneaking her kitchen leftovers at the end of the day because he thought she deserved, and I quote, 'a special little treat'," she said. "He caused hundreds of thousands of dollars of damage in cheese and pizza grease to one of the star Glamrock animatronics because he forgot that Chica is an exceedingly expensive machine. I want to make sure you're not headed down the same route."

"I'm not going to start feeding Sunny real food," you deadpan. "It's all I can do to stop him from short-circuiting himself with Fizzy Faz. Poor guy wants to try soda so bad," you chuckle. Your therapist clearly does not see the humor in it, silent across from you. Your gentle laughter peters out. 

"And, what about the moon animatronic?" She asks, and you pause to finally look up at her.

"What about him?"

"According to your employee file - or, what they were able to scrounge up of it - you were hired to get the daycare in order after its... extended closure. Is that right?"

You frown deeply at her. "If I could answer that question, I wouldn't be here," you remind her, an edge to your voice that you would be ashamed of with anyone else.

She hums in response. "Well, at any rate, that's what upper management seems to think. You were hired as the Daycare Assistant in charge of making sure the Daycare was up to code before the re-opening. Including the Daycare Attendant. Is any of this ringing a bell?"

You sit there, white-knuckling the little stress ball that you're staring a hole into. You have the most vague sensation of being on your hands and knees, scrubbing away at the playground equipment with... bleach.

You had thought it a strange sensation the other day, when sterilizing the inside of the jungle gym during naptime. Maybe that's what it had been - a sensory memory, floating a little too close to the surface to go ignored.

"I... maybe?" You answer, uncertainly. It all feels like a dream you forgot upon waking up, half-memories and sensations more than total recall. "It could, I guess."

The therapist flips through a few more pages of the file she's started for you. It contains every note and observation across your therapy sessions and... some, of the information of your hiring. Funny, how this beige woman knew more about you in that moment than you did.

"Did you know," she started, "that the Daycare was shut down for months following safety concerns? Did the Daycare Attendant ever mention that, since your amnesia's set in?"

You go very still and very quiet there in the chair.

"What?"

The Therapist gives an almost self-satisfied hum, like she had just been proven right. About what, you're not sure, and you really don't care. What was she talking about?

"What kind of safety concerns? Isn't that what Eclipse is for? He's their Emergency Safety Protocol. He--"

"Is just another part of the machine, Star. Just because an AI tells you something doesn't mean it's true. AI makes things up all the time - things that sound real, and believable. Fazbear Entertainment has concerns about the moon animatronic. That's why the daycare was shut down, prior to your employment. Did he ever tell you that?"

Well... no. The therapist can see it written all over your face, so you don't even answer. "Moon's fine," you tell her. "He's not dangerous. He would never hurt anyone." But even as those words came out of your mouth, you can't help but think of the mortal terror that had shot through you the other night, after meeting Eclipse - how he had grabbed you. How there was another strange memory buried deep somewhere, where your feet leave the ground and you fear for your life. 

"Maybe," the beige woman says, "you need to reassess what you think you know about being an animatronic handler, and if the role is really the best place for you."

Chapter Text

"Do you think management knows that twelve year olds think they're too cool for juice boxes?" You ask, sitting on the edge of one of the crafting tables and sipping out of one of the leftover juice boxes. Twelve year olds were, quite possibly, the most foolish creatures on God's green earth. This shit was good.

Sun snickers, putting the last of the bleached naptime mats back into the cabinet; at Superstar Daycare, there were no weekends off and no days of the week where the daycare wasn't open to all who needed to dump their kids somewhere. They had to get everything cleaned and in order tonight, because there was no time off during the weekend to get it done. "To be fair," Sun tells you, "twelve year olds are as fickle as the wind. Cool today, lametastic tomorrow!"

You snort. "Yeah, maybe, if we were still living in the 90s. Who taught you that word?"

"I have my sources! A good daycare attendant has to stay up to date on all the hippest trends!"

"I don't think playing Baby Shark on your Bluetooth counts as 'staying up to date,' Sunny."

The Sun near enough pouts, his upper torso going limp for a moment, forward lean as his arms dangled defeatedly before him. "Goes to show what you know! Baby Shark is the only song all the kids like!"

You glance at your watch; it's almost closing time for the daycare. Closing time meant lights out. You suck all the air from your juice box, and sit there in silent contemplation.

"Hey, Sun?" You ask, hopping from the table to throw away the empty carton, avoiding eye contact in the process as you pass by him to reach the trash can. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course, Sunshine! What's on your mind?"

You fidget, shifting your weight from one foot to the next, "I just wanted to ask you about something, but I need you to keep it a secret."

"Cross my heart, and--"

"--from Moon."

Silence.

Sun looks at you with some awful mixture of confusion and shock; surely he'd heard you wrong. Surely you weren't asking him to keep a secret from Moon. You were aware of who you were talking to, right?

Sun wrings his hands together in a show of nerves. "S-sunshine... what could you possibly want to keep from Moony? I - I - I'm not even sure I can! I've never kept anything from Moon before!"

"I was talking to... another employee, today, while on my lunch break," you tell him, and it's not a lie. "And they were saying some really... weird things, about Moon. About the daycare. I don't wanna ask him about it, I don't want him to be upset." And that, at least, is mostly the truth. "But I figured you might know."

Sun doesn't say anything for a moment. He, too, stands there uncertain, trying to navigate this minefield that your words have launched the both of you into. "Wh-what kind of things, were they saying?"

"Mean things," you say, and the truth is evident in the gravity of your voice. Sun's rays shrink, and that single motion alone is the nail in the coffin. "Were... were we shut down, Sun?"

"Oh, darn it! You know what?" He laughs, his rays expanding to their full size and spinning around his faceplate erratically. "I completely forgot, Sunshine! We have to - to get everything ready for tomorrow's morning craft!" 

He doesn't even stick around to hear you out.

The rigging wire comes down before you could even blink, carrying Sun up to the Balcony room where he knows you can't easily follow. You call fruitlessly after him, frustrated and nervy. You move to the edge of the ball pit, neck craned back to look up at the balcony; he was well out of your field of view, but you knew he had to be up there somewhere.

You stoop at the edge of the ball pit and pick up a few brightly colored spheres, holding them in your arms as you stand back up, and unceremoniously chuck one up towards the balcony.

You miss.

A huff escapes you, and you try again to get the damn thing past the edge of the balcony. At long last, a little plastic ball flies squarely and surely into the middle of the little room.

"Hey!"

The indignant squawk comes from beyond the edge of the balcony, where you can't see, but you wait for him at the edge of the ball pit with more ammo if needed. "Come out here!" You call.

It takes another minute or two. You've thrown another ball, but missed the balcony entirely, and are contemplating throwing another when the first hint of sun rays peek out past the theater curtains flanking the balcony. He looks down at you, and even though his expression is static as ever, you can practically feel the hesitation radiating off of him.

When he reaches the edge of the balcony, you throw another plastic ball up at him, and he catches it easily. "You-- you really shouldn't be throwing those," he tells you, haltingly, "it's against the rules."

You draw your arm back to throw another as you open your mouth to tell him to come down and answer your question if he wanted you to stop throwing the plastic balls, but your voice dies in your throat before you can even get a syllable out.

This feels... familiar, somehow. This was all familiar, and somewhere in the back of your mind you can feel your body ache, the tightness across your shoulders nearly unbearable. You can't feel the sensation, but somehow you know it's there. You stand there, one arm drawn back to throw another ball up at Sun when all of a sudden the scene before you blurs. 

Sun watches as you falter and stall all together, the ghost of pain written all over your face as something clicks into place deep in your psyche. You're staggered for a moment, and Sun leaps heedlessly from the balcony into the ballpit to come check on you as the rest of the colorful spheres fall from your arms.

You're hurt, is his first fear - and he's right, sort of. You know you've sustained some sort of injury, but it's as distant as a past life. You've been here before, and this injury - whatever it was that had left your muscles stiff and sore and your body off-kilter - you're not sure what it is, but you know one thing for absolute certain in your currently compromised state.

You got hurt, here.

Somehow or another, it was the Daycare that did it to you.

Fazbear Entertainment has concerns about the moon animatronic. That's why the daycare was shut down, prior to your employment.

Did he ever tell you that?

You lose your footing and fall back, hitting the padded rainbow bridge with a considerable thud as Sun wads to the edge of the ballpit. It's deeper than it looks, and Sun is able to kneel to almost eye-level with you like this, reaching out gently and taking your hands. He holds you, his grip secure and steadying as a life you can barely remember violently reasserts itself.

"Sunshine?" He croaks, nervous as you struggle to rip yourself from this awful reverie. You blink yourself back to reality, blinking away the water that had clouded your vision in that split second of terrible recognition.

You look up at Sun with rabbity breaths and uncertainty, still trying to make sense of the sensations that had just been thrust upon you by your own mangled memory. Sun stands there with you, one mechanical thumb ghosting carefully across the curve of your inner palm as he holds your hands steady.

"It's okay," he tells you. His voice is gentle and sympathetic, so different from the high-energy Sun you know to run the daycare. "You're safe here."

And you want to believe him; God, you want to believe him more than anything.

But it's closing time, and with the mechanical thunk-thunk-thunk of the automatic switch, the room is plunged into darkness.

Chapter Text

The Daycare attendant's gentle grip tightens like a vice, your fingers caught in the unfortunate crossfire of the electrical surge that causes the animatronic to seize up temporarily. You give a yelp and try to pull your hands from his, his eyes dark as his system reboots. The Sun was setting to way make for the midnight moon, and you watched every second of it. You could see the very moment that the consciousness flooded back into his eyes.

Slowly, fingers uncurl, his head cocked as his gaze settles over you, as the recognition floods his circuits and the world returns to Moon's awareness. You snatch your hands back, rubbing at where he'd practically crushed your knuckles. "Sorry," the robot whispers in a hiss. His movements are fluid but deliberate, clearly watching you to ensure that you're alright. He climbs out of the ball pit after you.

You move back to make room for his impressive size, rubbing gently at the back of your palm as you watch him practically crawl towards you.

Moon pauses, his movements coming to a complete and total halt as he looks at you; as he watches how you move away with uncertainty. For one blessed moment, you feel a wave of gratitude that it's dark, and Moon can't see your face. It only lasts a moment, before you remember that he is, in fact, a robot, and he can see you just fine, even in the dark.

"Starlight...?" He asks, gentle confusion lining his mechanical voice. You don't move; you don't flee. But you don't look at him, either.

"Was the daycare... closed?" You ask, feeling the words tumble past your lips without your permission. You can feel him tense, every joint in his body tightening. That's damning enough, and he knows it, but you want to hear it from him. You want him to tell you. You want the truth.

He's silent for a moment, and you're about to open your mouth and ask again, when he finally drops his gaze away from you, and a digital sigh escapes him. Quietly, he lifts his gaze back to you - and if you didn't know better, you would say remorseful - as he offered a hand to you.

It's well against your better judgement, but you take it, and Moon slowly creeps closer to you as gentle mechanical fingers cradle your hand in his. Even in this moment, it never fails to astound you how gentle the Daycare Attendant can be - this six hundred pound machine with the same crushing force in his hands as a crocodile's jaws. In this moment, you feel no fear. Why would you?

"I was sick," he tells you, the glow of his faceplate illuminating the both of you in a soft light. The daycare ceases to exist around you, and the Pizzaplex beyond your doors is a distant dream. "Lights on, lights on! Gone for months... not myself. They shut us down. Then," he says, as his other hand comes up to cover yours, "you showed up."

A breath leaves you as Moon's words settle over you; an answer - an honest to god straight answer. The daycare had been closed before you'd started working at the Pizzaplex, and you were willing to bet that wasn't the only thing your shrink had been right about.

"Moon." You hold his hand tightly in return, clinging, desperate for him to answer these terrible little questions that had wormed their way into your brain. "What happened? Why did they shut us down?"

"Bad things," he tells you.

His voice is hesitant, and you can't help but feel the question bubble up your throat. You search him, your heart pounding against your ribs. "What kind of things, Moon?"

He pauses, his smile unchanging even as you register the misery just behind it, the grief that floods his wires. You already know the answer, in your heart of hearts. What memories you had, or didn't have, it didn't matter. You knew without knowing.

He slips away from you, hands pulling from yours as he buries his face in his palms and cowers away from you. "Naughty Moon, Naughty Moon. Did bad things for bad people. Starlight... f-f... fixed... me... made me better."

You're silent; stunned. You don't know what he's talking about, but he's speaking with such conviction, such raw emotion, that you can't help but believe him. You aren't sure what you've done, but you know that you're happy you've done it.

Whatever moon had done, it was bad enough to close down the daycare. He'd hurt someone, that much was clear. Your gentle moon, caretaker of sleepy children, had hurt someone. It was such an unnatural thought, a dissonant thought that didn't belong. He would never hurt anyone. You know this, beyond the shadow of a doubt.

He wouldn't hurt anyone. He wouldn't hurt you.

You move carefully, taking a deliberate half-step forward as you open your arms for your friend. 

"Sun's always talking about how a hug is the cure for boo-boos," you say, as Moon looks up at you from between his fingers, still lingering in his defensive crouch. "I think it's the band-aids, but he's got a point, too."

Moon looks at you for a moment, as though he fears you're going to pull back, yell 'sike!' and blow a raspberry at him, before deciding that you really, actually, aren't going anywhere. Slowly, he moves into your hold, pulling you into his arms as you wrap yours around him.

He holds you with the desperation of someone who knew they'd been given a second chance and was trying with every ounce of their being not to throw it away; not to screw it up.

"Silly Sun says silly things," the animatronic whispers, "But maybe he's right. This time."

Chapter Text

The therapist's office is too damn quiet, as she waits for you to get your thoughts in order. You can barely hear yourself think amidst the screaming silence. For fuck's sake, you can't even hear her breathing, or the tick of a clock, or the passing of cars outside. It's just awful, sucking silence and the distant hum of fluorescents.

You'd been silent the entire session, and while your therapist had told you to take all the time you needed to gather your thoughts, her patience is starting to get on your nerves.

So you finally speak.

"You were right," you tell her, your voice grinding begrudgingly out of your chest. You don't look at her.

"I was?" She asks. "What about?"

Your arms are folded across your chest, and you can't help but feel like a petulant child being reprimanded by the school principal in this moment. It makes you want to close off even more, the way she tries to egg it out of you. But that's why you're here, isn't it? You grit your teeth and bite back a scowl.

"Moon told me that the daycare had been shut down before I was hired. He said that something bad had happened to them to shut down the daycare." Every word out of your mouth is defensive. So what if she'd been right? Moon had told you the truth. He'd been honest. That had to count for something.

"Did he tell you why the daycare got shutdown, Star?"

Fuck.

You avert your gaze further. He hadn't told you what had happened to get the daycare shut down, but did you really need to know the specifics?

Ha.

Of course you did.

Your therapist sighs, and scribbles something on that stupid clipboard of hers."You know, Star, you don't have to be here," she said, and you gaze suddenly snaps up to her. That got your attention, it seems. "These sessions are on a voluntary basis. No one is forcing you to be here. And since you're making it rather obvious that you don't enjoy being in my office, I can't help but wonder why exactly you continue to schedule these sessions..."

You avert your gaze again. You both know the answer to that.

"Because something's wrong," you tell her, your voice small and hesitant. "Because I need to know."

She hums in acknowledgement, or maybe agreement, it's hard to tell which. "And you think I can help you figure that out?"

You're silent. Uncertain. It's not a yes... but it's certainly not a no.

"Let me ask you this, Star: what do you want to happen if you recover your memories?"

You think on this for a moment. "I... I don't know. I'll be able to go back to my real life. My home, my friends, my family. I must have those things, right?"

"I'm sure you do," she says thoughtfully, following your train of thought. "And if that's what you want, and you believe - as I do - that these therapy sessions will help you achieve that, then why, exactly, are you so hesitant to engage in the activities we've tried here? You make these appointments because you believe they'll help you, and then you refuse to engage in any constructive way. Why?" You blink, looking up at her with some measure of surprise. When she puts it like that, it almost seems like... "Is there something that you feel you're trying to protect yourself from? By making this as difficult for yourself as possible, you put off a realization that comes with recovering your memories," she says.

"What are you afraid of, Star?"

Suddenly you're white-knuckling the knees of your pants, your body feeling like it was freezing from the inside out as she poses that question. It's a question you don't want to answer, but it's a question you've long already known the answer to.

Your breathing is shallow, rabbity, nervous as you stare down at your lap. You know exactly what it is you're afraid of, and it has nothing to do with your home, your friends, your family. It has nothing to do with who you used to be, before this job. It has nothing to do with why the daycare got shut down. But you hadn't lost your memory out of nowhere.

Something had happened to you, that caused this. Amid all of the half-formed memories and foggy uncertainties, you're positive of that much.

You drag in an unsteady breath, and grip the knees of your striped pants with a vice grip, trying not to tremble. You croak out a miserable confession, your voice barely a whisper as though you're too terrified to even speak the possibility into existence. You can't help but think about the way Moon had cowered before you. How he'd been so ashamed to admit that he'd done something so terrible that they'd been forced to close down the daycare. You can't help but think about how Moon looks after you just like he looks after the kids. You can't help but feel sick at the thought of how some questions didn't need to be answered, and how the rules were there to keep you safe from yourself - from your own memories. You curl in on yourself, sitting there in the chair that wraps its arms around you like Sun and Moon always did.

You feel small there, in the office, and you feel small thinking about returning to the daycare. If you dare to utter this out loud, you're afraid you won't be able to go back to the daycare pretending like nothing's wrong.

But something will be wrong either way. Won't it?

"I..." Your throat is suddenly dry, like you'd scarfed down sand and cotton for lunch. Your heart flutters, and the warning bells are ringing at the forefront of your mind. "I'm afraid... that I'll remember how this happened to me," you whisper fearfully. The greyish-greenish room blurs in front of you, and you blink rapidly in a stupid attempt to clear your vision. Your therapist is silent, waiting for you to come to the natural conclusion.

"I'm afraid they did this to me."

Chapter Text

“I want to try something different, with you.”

You blink slowly, blearily up at your therapist. The conversation with Moon has weighed heavily on your mind all afternoon - now, sitting here in the same greyish-greenish room you've come to hate, you can't help but feel you shouldn't have left the daycare at all that day.

Your therapist continues, seemingly unbothered by your despondency. She shuffles a few papers, brings out a list of questions that she had jotted down before the session, and looks down at you over the rim of her comically dated cat's eye glasses. “Sometimes, in cases of dissociative amnesia, like what you seem to be experiencing, regression therapy can help a person move past that mental block and retrieve the memories that the traumatic event has buried. Would you, perhaps, be interested in trying this method?”

You hum, and slump back in your seat. “Sure. You got a pocketwatch?”

She gives a little chuckle. “How Hollywood of you. No. Regression therapy doesn't require any swinging clocks. But it _does_ require you getting veeeeerry sleeeeepy,” she teased, her voice dancing on a song. “The mind is more pliable in a half-asleep state. We get you there, and start the regression therapy, and you may be more receptive to uncovering those pesky memories.”

Cool. Good to know your trusted mental health professional is a complete quack. But at this point… after everything you've spoken with the daycare attendant about, after meeting Eclipse and even going behind Moon's back to get answers… you would do anything, to find that missing piece of your mind, those missing memories.

“You think it will actually work?” You ask her, and you can see the irritation set into her gaze.

“I think it's worth a shot,” she said, “if you want to get to the bottom of all this. You want answers, don't you?”

More than anything, screamed that void in the back of your mind. You were silent for a moment, contemplative as your therapist waits and watches you shift uncomfortably in your seat. “Yeah,” you admit to her. “I'm willing to try anything, but just… what if it doesn't work?”

“Then we try something else, Star. But what if it does?”

Your breath catches in your chest at the thought. What if it does? What then? Will you finally know who you really are? Will you have a name and a home again, after all this time?

And why, you realize with nausea coiling in the pit of your stomach like a snake, does that thought terrify you? This is what you've wanted this whole time, isn't it?

“Right,” you croak out, your throat dry as you sit up a little straighter. “Let's give it a shot.”

The process is almost funny.

She has you lay out in a couch in the corner of the room, fingers laced as your hands fold across your stomach and your head tipped back ever so slightly on the world's scratchiest decorative cylinder. You think it's supposed to be a pillow, but you're not sure.

There's no way you're falling asleep like this. You feel like an idiot trying to take a nap in your therapist’s office, and despite how utterly sleepy this entire room has always been, you suddenly feel wired and aware of every inch of your body.

You hate this, you decide rather quickly, as you lay back and close your eyes, trying in vain to make yourself comfortable and ignore the way your ears are burning in embarrassment. But you're willing to try anything. You have to be.

It's uncomfortable and demeaning and absolutely foolish, and you're certain beyond the shadow of a doubt that you're not going to be able to fall asleep like this. You won't even come close. You simply lay there, feeling stiff and unpleasant as you stare at the endless void behind your eyelids. You can hear your therapist shuffling around the room, tracking the sound of her movements in your mind’s eye. She sure was busy, shuffling papers as you're trying to fall asleep.

She gets up from her desk, and moves…. somewhere to your lower right, her presence felt like radiation against your skin as you imagine her approaching the book shelf that was set in the corner of the room. The thought briefly crosses your mind that if she was so busy at the bookshelf, maybe she was planning to read you a bedtime story.

Honestly, you wish you could say that it would have surprised you. But after today? After being told that regression hypnosis might be the cure for all that ails you? Ha, you'd be surprised if anything this lady did could surprise you after that.

Which you eat crow about almost instantly, as the first gentle notes of a music box ring out through the office. It's not the same tune that Moon plays, but the delicate chime is close enough to still elicit that familiar comfort. It washes over your body like a rising tide, And you exhale slowly and deeply as you listen to the gentle melody.

“You still with me, Star?” Your therapist asks after a few minutes, her voice a hush. You hum in response, strangely relaxed and teetering on the verge of sleep. How deeply comforted you felt, hearing that music box melody, and if you pretended hard enough you could almost feel the weight of Moon's head in your lap. The sunlight filtering through the closed blinds of the office was almost the same hue as the light of the crescent moon that spent so many nights watching over you.

Your heart aches in your chest, and you wish more than anything that Moon was there with you now. To feel nimble fingers, so delicate despite the mechanical force they were capable of, combing through your hair or dancing carefully across your skin to soothe you to sleep. To hear the whirr of his servos as he watched over you. How careful he was with you, how much care and affection you could feel in every movement.

But Moon wasn't there. It was just you and your therapist, who had turned the little chair around to face you. She sat there, watching your body sink into the cushions.

“Do you remember when you started with Fazbear Entertainment?” She asked.

You tried to think back to your first day… you had always been there, in the daycare. You has always known where it was, always had your uniform. You remember your first day, but… it had felt like you'd worked there for as long as you could remember, at that point. Sun and Moon had seemed to already know you, too.

You wonder if you had always known them, too. You think you would have had some kind of misgivings, about your only co-worker being a twelve foot tall animatronic–

But... you did, you realize. You hadn't expected to see Sun or Moon greet you when you first arrived at the daycare, when you had been told to meet with the daycare attendant, you had expected a person, not a robot. you aren't sure how you know this, you just… do. But then you had met Sun and Moon, and it had taken a little while to adjust to the idea that you would be working with robots…

No. One robot.

Moon wasn't there.

“I… think I do. I feel like I do. I met Sun, that day, and I was… confused, about who was running the place. I told Sun I wanted to speak with the Daycare Attendant. I didn't realize it was him.”

“And do you remember when this was?”

“A long time ago. Before my memories started again.”

“Good. Look at that - we're making progress already. Do you know your name, Star?”

You did, back then. It had been printed on your temporary security pass, that had been given to you on your first day. It's there, you know it is, and you can almost remember giving it to the girl at the ticket counter, but…

“No. It's… too fuzzy. Like static.”

“That's okay. We'll get there. What about Sun and Moon? Do you remember meeting them?”

“I remember meeting Sun. Moon… isn't there.”

“Why?”

“Because… the lights are on?” That didn't feel quite right. “Because…” the gentle chime of the music box transported you somewhere else entirely, to the darkened Fazbear Theater. The very first place Moon had taken you once he… once he was…awake. “Because he was asleep. The whole time.”

“Well, if there are no kids taking a nap, I guess who needs a nap time attendant?”

Well… yeah, sure, but that didn't feel right either. Think backwards. Moon had brought you to the Fazbear Theater, because it was the first time he'd been awake in months. Why was it the first time he'd been awake? Surely the lights in the daycare went off at night then, just like they did now.

Except… the generators. The generators kept the lights on. Kept Moon asleep.

Why?

“Moon… wasn't allowed to come out,” you slur, your head hurting. “He was… sick.”

“Star,” your therapist says gently, “robots don't get sick.”

You’re the naptime attendant, and by my last report you were malfunctioning. You shouldn’t even be out.

“Malfunctioning,” you correct yourself.

Malfunctioning how?

That thing shouldn't be out. It's dangerous.

Dangerous how?

Nimble fingers that can exert incredible mechanical force, that have soothed you to sleep countless nights up in the balcony loft, curl tightly in the ruffle of your uniforms's collar.

There is a flash of something, a memory held onto by your body no matter how desperately your mind had tried to forget it: the sensation of the floor falling out from underneath you. The flutters of fear in your chest as he lifts you, higher, higher–

Your breath comes in ragged gasps tinged with fear and dread, your heart thundering in your chest. You know what comes next. In your half-asleep state, there is the sensation of falling, and when you finally hit the unyielding, unforgiving ground below, your body jerks awake on the couch. You gasp and clutch at your chest, your arms, your shoulders as you struggle to sit up. There is no expected soreness, no lingering bruises.

You're fine, but your heart is still racing, and your therapist says nothing as hot tears prickle at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision.

“He– he–” you gasp out, scrubbing at your face with the back of your sleeve in a vain attempt to cut off this panic attack ripping through your chest. “...he was malfunctioning.”

Chapter Text

There are no bruises, no permanent damage, but it's almost like you can feel the phantom pain lingering in your upper body once you leave your therapist's office. It's stiff, unpleasant, a constant reminder of what happened even if your mind can't quite grasp onto the memory itself. You want desperately to believe that this memory is merely a fabrication, something that was made up in your mind's fevered attempts to create some kind of justification for the things you're feeling, for the things you think you might remember.

But you know it's real.

Even if you cannot remember all the minute and infinitesimally important details of that night, you're certain that those sensations are rooted in reality. 

But Moon? Your Moon? You can't will yourself to believe it; he isn't capable of something as terrible as that. Moon, who has watched over you with a gentle nature every night for literally as long as you could remember. You feel sick, walking back through the Pizzaplex, when the thought strikes you, one hand extended to press your security badge to the reader.

Maybe Moon was so gentle with you because he knows what he's done. What he'd nearly done, to you, back then, in that other life you had lived.

And the thought that follows, your body frozen in shock and horror as the card reader times out, locking again while you hesitate: What if Moon is the reason you're like this.

Your memories are fuzzy at best, and - logically - you know that jumping to conclusions will only end badly. You know that you trust Sun and Moon; you know that they care about you as much as they care about the SuperStar Daycare, and that was saying something--

But you also know that Moon, by his own admission, had hurt people. He'd been sick. He'd malfunctioned. Who was to say you weren't one of the people he had hurt in his unspecified sickness? Who was to say you were not nearly the final victim of the corrupted Moon?

You snap yourself back to reality, tapping the keycard again and moving swiftly through the security door, back towards the daycare. You don't want to think about these things right now. Your head hurts, and you can't seem to shake the feeling of static in your brain. You just want to clock out and go home.

Ha.

That's a joke, of course. Who remembers where home is, anyway? Not you.

But the balcony loft in the daycare is good enough for now, you suppose. 

You push through the great castle doors of the daycare, surveying the bright primary colors of the landscape. The lights were on, bright and shining, and there was no sign of your celestial buddy anywhere.

You can't help but feel a pang of guilt at the relief that washes over you at this realization. You aren't quite sure how you're going to handle this. How you're going to talk to Moon, about... any of this. You know you have to. You know you need answers, and you know that Moon is the only one who will be able to give them to you.

Sure, Sun probably knows enough to sate your curiosity, but to ask him... to try and circumvent Moon like that, for something so grave, would be a real shitty move.

And besides, you think, grabbing your jester's cap from one of the kids' craft tables, where you'd left it before your little outing - even if you did ask Sun about these new memories of yours, it was unlikely he would actually spill the beans. Everyone in the daycare - You, Sun. Moon, and Eclipse - knows deep down that this was a conversation that would have to be had between you and Moon. Thee was no getting around that.

Except, you muse, pulling your cap on and moving through the daycare, you might not be having a conversation about this at all, if you couldn't find him.

"Sun! You up there?" You call into the balcony loft, well beyond your reach and far out of your line of sight. You pause, straining to hear any mechanical giveaway over the bouncy, jaunty music of the daycare.

You've been working here for a year - longer, counting the time you can't remember - and you still haven't figured out how to turn that off.

Carefully, you scale the outside of the jungle gym cage and use the decorative cutouts of clouds surrounding the balcony to scale upwards; usually, Sun or Moon bring you up here no problem, but on the off chance they weren't able to get you up to the balcony, you figured this wasn't a half-bad alternate route, right? 

As soon as you pull yourself up over the edge of the balcony, you find your daycare attendant. "Sun--" you huff, hauling yourself back to your feet. "Didn't you hear me? I'm back, I--"

Oh.

Well, shit.

He sat there, knees hugged up to his chest as he sat against the back wall. Splayed out around him like a blast radius were a collection of papers - familiar papers. Your papers, each one given to you at the end of a session with your therapist. You'd just been stuffing them in an empty box up here, for lack of anywhere else to put them. You hadn't thought Sun would actually go digging.

Suddenly the weight of your newest entry to the long and damning paper trail weighs heavily in your pocket. You move almost as mechanically as your coworker, movements on autopilot as you pull the newest entry to your receipts out of your pocket, and hand it to him.

You close the gap between the two of you, and he reaches out to meet your admission of guilt, taking it in one gargantuan hand and looking down at it with that same static smile, as though nothing in the world were wrong.

"I've been seeing a company therapist," you tell him, "on my off-time."

"You... you're still looking. Still searching?"

"How could I not, Sun?" You ask him, crouching down and beginning to gather all the papers, one by one, into an unforgiving stack of sins. "I can't just... I can't accept this. I can't pretend something isn't wrong with me. I need answers, Sunny." 

He doesn't lift his gaze to you, and when he speaks, there's this... distant, haunting tone to his voice that sends a chill down your spine. "You're not going to like them," he says, and if you didn't know him better, you would have said that was a goddamn threat.

Your grip on the stack of papers tightens, and you bristle there before him.

"That's not for you to decide," you spit back, something ugly creeping into your voice as you clutch the paper stack close to your chest. "You don't get to tell me what part of me is worth keeping! You're supposed to be my friend!" You feel your voice rising, feel the heat prickling at the corners of your eyes as you stand there before the robot still sitting docile on the floor before you. You feel your cheeks flush with heat and fury and betrayal.

After all this time, after everything you've been through, the daycare attendant was still fighting for you to remain in the dark--

"Are you trying to protect him?" You spit. "Is that it? You know what he did to me, so you're trying to cover his ass and your own??"

At long last - at these, the unkindest words you've ever dared to speak in the daycare - Sun finally lifts his static grin to meet your fearful gaze. Long fingers grip just a little bit tighter at the fabric at his knees, and he stands up. Sun brings himself to his full height, all twelve feet of unyielding mechanical force, to tower over you. You - this tiny little thing in the wake of this creature that you had once thought your friend and companion. Your protector.

Without a word, Sun reaches out - and flicks off the lights in the balcony loft, plunging the both of you into darkness.

Fear claws up and out of your throat in a horrified gasp, the papers you were holding fluttering back down to the concrete floor as you drop them in your shock.

The only other sound in that little balcony loft is the whirring of servos and the quick thunk-thunk-thunk of the sun rays retracting without hesitation, and you are bathed in the warm red glow of the naptime attendant. 

Chapter Text

Your can't help but take an involuntary step backwards as day turns to night there in the little balcony loft; the red glow of infrared light falls on you, as Moon's consciousness clicks into place. By the time he comes to from the switch, you're already halfway back to the balcony, white-knuckling the railing as you try to swallow the fear trying to claw its way up your throat.

"S-stay away," you tell the naptime attendant firmly, despite the fact that the animatronic hasn't made so much as a move towards you. Moon merely tilts his head, a perfect tip to the side as he watches your erratic breaths and uncertain movements. 

"Starlight..." He hisses, lowering himself into a crouch against the concrete. Nimble fingers support his weight, and he tries to make himself as nonthreatening as possible there before you; it's a gesture you've seen countless times. He uses it with you when you can't sleep at night. He uses it with the kids, when they wake up from nightmares. He practically prostrates himself before you, in some vain attempt to assuage your fears. He means meekness, but all you see is a creature lowered for the hunt. "It's okay. It's me."

You take another step up, back towards the balcony, and Moon's gaze sharpens on you. He moves, too, and you know you can't let him get too close - you aren't sure what, what something inside of you is screaming, alarms blaring that your very life was in danger. Quickly, you glance over your shoulder, to gauge just how far back the balcony is. 

You could make it.

"You're confused," he tells you, and you feel your breath hitch, your attention torn away from your escape route and back to the robot before you. "You're safe. Safe and sound, with Mr. Moon..." he sings, the same little lullaby he uses to soothe the children. You feel sick to your stomach as it creeps towards you, low to the ground and ready to lunge--

You bolt.

You take the remaining stairs three at a time in two incredible bounds fueled by adrenaline and fear, and you can hear the clang of metal on metal on concrete as Moon chases after you. Your breath catches in your throat and you feel hot tears sting at your eyes, all of the horrible emotions of the day finally catching up to you as the consequences of pushing are catching up to you fast.

You push past the velvet curtain, feeling it thrown open after you as Moon stays hot on your heels. He's saying something - calling out to you - but you can't hear him. Your heart is pounding like a war drum in your chest and the blood is rushing in your ears. The world is drowned out by your own ragged gasps.

Everything - everything about this life you lived at the daycare was a lie, a fabrication meant to keep you for learning about what had really happened to you. They had killed the old you and buried the body, and played nice this whole time to cover their crime. It made you want to throw up, and the adrenaline pumping through your body certainly didn't help.

You pull up short, hitting the edge of the balcony. It's a sheer drop into the ball pit below, and as your feet shuffle at the end of the structure, you can't bring yourself to jump.

"Starlight--" comes the voice, low and mechanical. You spin to face him, wild-eyed and every inch of your body on red alert. He shrinks back, ever so slightly at the sight of your fear. "Safe and sound. Safe and sound. It's me. Your Moon." 

Your Moon? Your Moon? What the hell was that supposed to mean, with everything that had happened? How the hell was he your anything?

"You hurt me," you choke out. It sounds stupid and childish, and you hate the way that your voice cracks, but it's the most basic, unavoidable truth. "You hurt me-- you're the reason I'm like this!"

Moon hesitates, and the gesture retches a miserable little sob from you too quickly for you to swallow it down. So it was true. So it was fucking true. It was his fault.

"What did you do to me?" You howl, the volume tearing at your throat.

Moon recoils. He stays silent for a long moment, the two of you there on the balcony with no witness to this terrible confrontation but a thousand colorful plastic balls below.

"Had to," he tells you, eventually, his voice barely audible over the grating music of the daycare. "Had to. Had to. Had to. Had to. Had to. Had to stop you from getting... sick..."

You feel plenty sick, right now. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Slowly, Moon creeps forward. You take a half step back, braced for the worst - but it doesn't come. He's gentle. He's always gentle, as he creeps up towards you. "A bug in your code," he whispers, as though the knowledge itself is the most terrifying nightmare one could have. "You were sick, like me. Sick here," he brings one long finger to the center of your forehead. "The static made you sick."

Your heart drops out, settling somewhere near your knees. "H-how--"

How did Moon know about the static? You admit - your memory is pretty terrible, these days, but you're certain - positive, beyond the shadow of a doubt - that you had never mentioned the static. The ambient snow behind your eyes when you were just a little too tired. The sound that filled your ears when you were half asleep in Moon's hold. You know you never mentioned it... so how does he know?

"Your memories... gone. The static... gone. To protect you. You saved me, Starlight. You made me me again. I couldn't... I couldn't let you--"

You hiccup a breath, and look up into the face of the creature that had tried to shatter your body against the main stage. Who had cowered before your judgement when he told you that he'd done bad things for bad people. And you, somehow, in a life you can no longer remember, had fixed him.

He had just returned the favor.

"You tried to kill me," you whisper fearfully. "I can't forget that."

Moon's smile is unnerving, and for once in the entire time you've known the daycare attendant, this permanent smile is more like a grimace. "You did, once. But not now."

You had forgotten. You hadn't been given a choice but to forget, so that you and Sun and Moon could live happily ever after here in the daycare, day in and day out, a perfect team where one of you was completely and utterly in the dark to the terrible secret the other two had tried so desperately to hide from you.

If nothing else, they had been right. You don't like the answers. The adrenaline has subsided, leaving your limbs feeling weak, leaving you head feeling cloudy, leaving your emotions on your sleeve as you feel warm water leak unbidden down your cheeks. There are no sobs, no miserable cries... just silence, and your tears.

"Starlight..." he tries again, reaching toward you, but you can't-- not yet. Not when everything was so confusing, not when your very world had been turned on its head. You pull away, step back, and feel the sickening sensation of the edge of the balcony ending under your heel. You pitch backward, wide-eyed and too startled to even scream as you stumble, then fall through the air. 

The scene is horrifyingly familiar; you, falling. Moon, over you. The sick sensation of waiting for impact, knowing it's coming--

But it never does. The rush of your fall is cut short - not by the ground; not even by impact with the ball pit; but by a pair of arms - sturdy, strong, unyielding metal, closing around you. Your vertical descent becomes a horizontal drift, your body held close to his as he brings the both of you to solid ground again. And in your terror - in your blind instinct - you find yourself curled up in his hold, clinging to him for dear life. Your arms are thrown recklessly around his neck, and your face is buried in the ruffle of his collar.

You are held securely until the very last second; cradled until he's certain that your feet are on the ground. And even then, his hands linger, steadying you, making sure that you're safe and sound. One comes up to cradle your cheek. His touch engulfs the entire side of your head, and even through your confusion and your hurt and your fear, you can't help but laugh. It's a miserable little chuckle that bubbles up from your chest out of sheer nerves, but it's a laugh all the same, and you can feel Moon's touch soften and relax at the sound. You lay a hand atop his at your cheek, a thoughtful gesture.

Just as quickly as your mirth had bubbled out of you, it's soon replaced by apprehension. You can't look him in the eye; not yet. Not after all... that. So you close your eyes, and lean into his touch.

"I'm afraid, Moon," you admit, your throat tight as the words practically force themselves from you.

There's hesitation. You can feel Moon's fingers give the most minute twitch, as though he's contemplating pulling away in that moment. Instead, the hesitation - the fear - comes through in his voice, instead. "Of-- of Moon?" And oh - how you wish more than anything that FazEnt had done a worse job at giving this robot a voice.

Your silence is... not comforting. But eventually, you sniffle, and manage a deep breath. "I... I dont know," you admit, guilt evident in your voice. "I feel like I don't know anything anymore. "

"You know me," Moon tells you, something almost desperate in the artificial cadence of his voice. "You know Sun. You know you're our Star. And we love you."

"More than all the stars in the sky..." you mutter, and you want nothing more in this world than to believe it.

Silently, Moon leans forward, and presses his faceplate to your forehead. A gentle good-night kiss, to soothe your fears and keep your nightmares at bay. You feel the tension in your body leave you, and something chasmic cracks open in your chest.

You move, unthinking, molding yourself to him as you wrap your arms around his middle and simply believe whatever you want in that moment. The world has been turned on its head, and you don't know what's real anymore.

Except this.

This, you're certain, is very real indeed.

Chapter Text

So now what?

Well, isn't that the question of the hour. Now what? The cause of your ailment has been revealed - you know that it was Sun and Moon that left you like this, that had stolen away everything that you are. They had done it to protect you, to save you from some... illness that lives inside of you. You aren't sure whether or not you're angry. You're hurt, certainly, but angry...?

"This... static," you ask him, the lights of the daycare off as Sun yields the floor to his lunar state, the one who knows about this virus, who knows exactly what it is you're feeling and what's wrong with you. After all, he was infected himself. You don't remember fixing him, but he's adamant it was you. Moon cards one massive hand through your hair, holding you against his chest. You do not feel like you're in any danger, and though your heart still hurts, you can't help but feel comforted in his hold - as you always do. "What... is it?"

Moon hesitates, turning his faceplate away from you as his hands hesitate for a moment. "The static... it is... strange. I heard it too, when I was sick. I... still do, sometimes. He's speaking to you. Or trying to..." 

The more questions you ask, the more you regret asking questions at all. You hate that answer - awesome! Great! Exactly what you wanted to hear! You blanch at this, and stutter a little under his touch. "W-who is speaking to us?"

Moon is silent for a long moment, fingers lacing through your hair once more as he hums, thoughtful as he looks across the play place, at the castle balcony. "Him. The virus."

"That doesn't explain anything."

Moon hums again, displeased with how little information he actually has for you. "The virus is... someone. An old someone. A cruel someone... He lives in malicious code and takes over if you get too close."

The trepidation in Moon's voice - him, the comforter, the caretaker, the protector - it sends a chill down your spine and settles a black pit in the bottom of your stomach. "How did we...?"

Moon's fingers still against your head, buried in your hair. The gentle pressure of his touch, usually such a comfort, carries with it a strange apprehension. "Too close. It lives somewhere, in the Pizzaplex. Don't know where. Don't know how. But it found us."

You think back on all the times you've felt that static - in the quiet in-between of sleep and consciousness, in the early morning or late, late night hours alone cleaning the daycare. Whenever you had been alone with your own thoughts for a little too long. Something - someone - had been trying to speak to you, an unholy language from beyond the grave that your mind could barely, barely comprehend on even the most subconscious level.

You feel nauseous.

"I'm... I don't understand," you squeak out, pathetic, as though you're afraid this virus will somehow hear you. "I'm not a computer. I'm not like you, Moon, how could I possibly...?"

"I don't know, Starlight... but it's there," he said, tapping gently at your forehead, one metal finger pressed between your eyes. "I saw it. I saw it try to... corrupt your code. Like it did to me."

You press your cheek against the smooth plane of his chest. It didn't make sense to you, but you could hear the utter conviction in Moon's voice. Somehow, it made perfect sense to him.

"I can still feel it, Moon," you whisper to him. There's fear in your voice, and Moon presses your head gently against his chest, his other arm wrapping around your shoulders. Even now, if you think too hard about it, you can feel the faint buzzing in the back of your skull, like a pinched nerve giving off that pins-and-needles feeling of a sleeping limb. A part of your mind that was fuzzy and dormant. Something rotten, slumbering away...

"How did you fix me before?" You ask, and the moment the words pass your lips, you regret them. You don't want to know. The little bits and pieces you can remember are enough to make you feel sick, to make you want to Olympic vault out of the attendant's caring hold. You really, really don't want the full picture.

But it's too late, and you can feel Moon's gaze zero in on you as the question hangs heavy in the air between you.

"Starlight..." he starts, a warning tone to his voice.

You're stupid; you double down. "I need to know, Moon," you say, and wish more than anything you knew how to shut your own damn mouth. You don't, actually!! You don't need to know anything, you're content to live in blissful ignorance, really!!

You know that, too, is a lie.

He looks at you, contemplating for a long moment as he seems to understand just how badly the past you can't remember is eating at you - especially now, with these new revelations falling so messily into place.

He pauses for a moment, and then sighs, his vocal processors simulating an exhausted resignation. "I reset you, Starlight."

And what, exactly, in the fresh hell is that supposed to mean??

He senses your confusion, the way you can't even begin to wrap your head around that sentence long enough to ask, and smooths down your hair once more, to try and placate your worries. "Can't remember the virus; it's locked away. It can't hurt you there."

You have a horrible moment of clarity, there in his hold. Whatever he'd done to you, whatever he'd thought would keep this... virus, at bay - he'd caused this amnesia intentionally. You feel something unholy slither down your spine as you look up at him with wide eyes; he can see it register, and Moon turns his face away from you. For once, you can't tell what artificial emotion is swirling behind that perpetual smile of his.

"You--" your voice threatens to buckle all too early, and your throat aches with the weight of your words. "You didn't want me to find out--"

"Starlight needs to forget," he pleads, his fingers tightening their hold on you almost imperceptibly. "Forgetting is safe."

You push yourself up to your hands and knees, breaking free of his hold; it's such a sudden and unexpected movement that Moon can't help but swivel his head back towards you in alarm. He makes no move to hold you there - he doesn't grab you, or try to catch your clothes. He simply opens his arms, having long accepted that his actions and your obsession with uncovering what best remain forgotten would inevitably lead to this. 

"But I remembered, Moon," you stress, not daring to drag yourself even so much as an inch further away from him. In the dim light of the balcony room, you stare each other down. Moon sits there, patient and perturbed as he watches the near-mania enter your eyes. "I don't have to forget to be safe! I know what y-- I remember falling, I remember being dropped, and I'm still-- I'm still me!"

Moon's hands hover uncertainly over your form, looking up at you. "You... remember the dropping?"

"Yes!" You stress, your voice hitting a feverish pitch, desperate to make him understand. You want this horrible confrontation to be over, to collapse back into his hold and let him tell you that everything's okay now, that you've remembered the worst of it and that proves that you're okay now! You can feel the bare concrete underneath your palms. "I remember all of it! And if I remember you trying to reset me, and I'm still me, then I'm fine, right?"

Moon looks at you, a hollow and haunting stillness behind his smile. Slowly, your own manic smile falters.

"Right?" You ask again. You need him to say yes. You need him to snap out of whatever this is and tell you yes.

"Starlight..." He croaks through his smile, and yours falls away all together. You sit back, coming to an uncomfortable seat before him with your legs crossed and your hands in your lap. You stare blankly somewhere at the space between you and Moon, as the last terrible reality presents itself to you.

The dropping wasn't the reset.

The memory that you had recovered was one from before you were infected, one that had struggled its way to the surface because it was just terrible enough to assert itself without blue-screening you in the process. Whatever was lying in wait in your head was still dormant, still waiting for something to unlock it - still waiting for that one specific memory to open the door to the rest of your files. But...

"If... if you dropping me wasn't the reset... wh--why? Why would you--?" Your throat is tight and terrible. It's hard to breathe with the crushing weight of this entire night sitting on your chest.

"I was sick," he tells you, without so much as a moment's hesitation. Carefully, he reaches out and lifts your hands from your lap. "Would never hurt my Starlight. Never ever."

You lift your gaze to him when those words hang between the two of you, and you don't even need to say anything. You can see it in him, too: the understanding that he already has.

Twice, apparently.

His fingers curl around yours, pleading with you even as you pull your hands back, feeling them slip from his grip no matter how desperately he wants to hold onto you.

"Moon," you say your voice flat and surprisingly steady despite the fact that every syllable felt like it was slicing your throat to ribbons. You look the robot dead in the eye as you stare at his figure in the darkness of your shared little loft. "What did you do to me?"

"I reset you," he whispers again, his artificial voice trembling as though begging not to have to answer any further than that. It's terrible enough.

But it isn't enough for you, for that terrible itch in the back of your brain that you need to scratch more than anything. It isn't enough until you have all the answers you've been looking for.

"I'm not a piece of machinery, Moon," you hiss, unkindness lacing your voice that makes his head cock at an angle. "And you can't keep something like this from me." You can hear his fans whirring at top speed, his body and artificial intelligence trying to self-regulate. "Tell me what you did," you say to him, "or I'm going to tell management about the dropping."

The cacophony inside of him comes to a dead halt. The room is suddenly silent, the air between the two of you thick and unpleasant. You both understand the ultimatum, and you're sorry, but you've had enough. Your friend, your protector, your Moon... had nearly killed you twice and had robbed you of your entire life, of everything you were, without a second thought.

"Liar," he hisses, and... he's not wrong. You know what the consequences would be if management ever found out about any of this. Moon would be decommissioned so fast, he'd be a pile of scrap before you could even say 'regrettable promotion.'  But Moon certainly didn't seem to see the harm in lying to you about your work, your memories, and everything else for the past year. Fair's fair, Moon Man.

"Try me, buddy. What the hell did you do to me, Moon? That's all I want to know. Tell me that, and no one needs to know about any of-- shit!" 

Suddenly, a mechanical fist is curled in the front of your uniform. Moon's faceplate is an inch from your nose, red pupils boring into yours as you try to steady yourself under his unexpected grip. You're practically dragged forward, Moon looming over you with an intensity in his gaze you can't remember ever seeing from him before. You can see the rays trembling, hidden just out of sight as Sun fights for control in the darkness that keeps him subdued.

"Then scoop," he hisses, his voice low. "Scooping and scooping until Moon is a pile of wires. Better than hurting you."

Your breath trembles, hands gripping at his mechanical wrists, the decorative ribbons he wore the only thing between your fingers and the pinch point of his joints. You look up at him in that moment, and you're searching him, praying to find some kind of an answer in the little glowing lines of his crescent relief. Tears spring into your eyes - some terrible combination of fear and shame as he holds you there, willing to be dismantled before putting you in danger.

"T-t-tell me," you whisper, trying to hide the fear in your voice, trying to swallow the misery that was trying to push its way up your throat like bile, "and I-- I'll... I'll stop."

Moon's vacant smile and sharp gaze give pause, staring down at you as his head tilts. "Stop?"

"Tell me this one thing," you breathe, your words trembling along with every other part of you, "and I'll-- I'll stop trying to-- r-r... remember." You let out a little breath of relief as Moon's fist uncurls from your uniform's collar, moving away carefully as the two of you come settle across from one another. Despite your misery, despite how desperately you want your life back, despite how much you despise that you don't even know your own name, you mean it. You'll be content knowing this one thing, clearing the air between you and the Daycare Attendant once and for all. This one thing, and you will finally stop looking.

You both understand the ultimatum.

"Star... was not Star," he tells you. His voice is halting, and it's clear that he doesn't want to do this. He's afraid, you realize, staying silent as he gathers his thoughts and tries to find the right words - to give you the answer you've been looking for this whole time, with as little information as possible. "You did bad things, for bad people. Tried to hurt children... so, I reset you," he explains. "Found a charging station, and... charged you - until you forgot."

Chapter Text

The days after Moon’s confession are a blur; you have no choice but to pretend like nothing had happened. You still have a job to do, after all, and the kids come back the next morning unaware of any of what you’ve been through in the last twenty-four hours. You have a headache – it had started as a dull pain in the back of your skull the night before, from the stress and tears and violent surge of emotion, but it had since dug its claws into your brain and snaked tendrils down your neck and into your shoulders. 
You feel strangely mechanical, and there are moments where you find yourself idly wondering which one of you is the machine. You’re going through the motions, and even Sun’s cheery demeanor can’t pull much enthusiasm from you when the kids aren’t looking. 

Sun approaches you first. It’s after the kids have all gone home, and all you have left to do is re-organize the cubbies and then clock out before lights off. You used to look forward to night time, to Moon’s music box lulling you to sleep. You used to look forward to so much about the SuperStar Daycare – now you feel trapped and uncertain, and Sun can see it in you. 

“Hey, Sunshine?” He starts, his voice careful and light, desperate to keep this casual as you turn tired eyes towards him. You’re not sleeping, either – jolting awake in the middle of the night to find Moon looming over you in watch, your nerves have been rattled beyond repair. “I know things have been… difficult,” he chooses his words carefully, steepling his fingers together towards you as he speaks, “since you and Moony had that little argument, but… I’m starting to get worried about you…” 

You sigh, and shove the cubby bin back into the cubby hole. “I’m fine, Sun,” you tell him flatly. You can hear him jingling across the daycare towards you, the sound of bells hitting you and your headache like a sledgehammer. 

His figure blots out the lights from above as he leans over to meet you where you sit crouched on the floor. “Oh, that’s not right, Sunshine. Your heartrate and blood pressure are elevated, you have a low-grade fever, and according to Moon you only slept two hours last night! Plus,” he tells you, sinking down to sit next to you. He takes the next cubby bin from your hands, and sets it aside. “I’m your friend. And I can tell you’re not okay.” 

“Of course I’m not okay,” you snap. He goes still, looking at you. That’s already more than he expected to get out of you in this state, and his entire body language softens as you curse yourself. 

“You don’t have to be, you know,” he says gently. 

This gives you pause; this thing, with its perpetual smile and boundless energy, who always told you that laughter is the best medicine and that there was no time for frowning, wasn’t the type you’d expect to concede to an idea like that; but you don’t answer. You look away, instead, suddenly fascinated with the way the plastic tip of your shoelace is starting to fray. 

“I mean it,” he chuckles. “What you and Moony talked about was difficult. And I know you’ve been putting on a brave face for the kiddos, but you don’t have to for me. Or for Moon.”

He reaches out, laying one gargantuan hand on your knee as you sit there cross-legged in front of him like a child being admonished. It never fails to surprise you how gentle his touch is, for someone his size, for someone with such a ferocity behind every limb and mechanical joint. They’d programmed this robot with the ability to compact steel in its grip, but the way it laid its hand on you in that moment, with all the tender affection of a human being, almost made your head swim. 

Carefully, you lay a hand over his in return. 

“I’m… I want to be okay. But Moon…” 

“The only thing Moon wants is for you to stay safe, Sunshine,” he tells you, his voice tinged with a hint of sympathy and desperation to make you understand. “I – I know you don’t remember how bad he was, when you came to us…” His words falter, trail off, as though it’s difficult for him to even say. Your frown deepens. There was a reason you didn’t remember. “But it was just me, out here, for months. By myself! Because Moon – Moon wasn’t himself. And I – I know you don’t remember,” he said again, his voice warbling, “but you fixed him! I… I never thought I’d…” 

Your heart clenches as you feel his hand on your knee tighten, just a fraction. It wasn’t nearly enough to hurt, or even to bruise, but it was there, and it was desperate. 

“I just… I didn’t think I’d ever get Moony back,” he says. “And I’m so happy he’s better, but… I feel like I’m losing you, now, too.” His voice is soft, distant, afraid to put words to the fears that have been lingering in his circuits these last few days. 

You rub your eyes with the back of your hand, digging your knuckles into the sockets to try and clear your vision. You don’t speak. You don’t know what to say. 

“We love you,” he says softly. “You know that, right? Moony and me, we both—” 

“I know,” you cut across him, your own voice soft. It’s a confession. Despite your fear and anger and hurt, you know. How could you not? You shift your touch, lacing your fingers with his as your hands rest, intertwined, at your knee. 

“I – I know-- We know, that we’re not what you wants us to be, but we mean it. You’re the most important thing in the world. You’re more important than – than crayons! Or blankets!” he practically squawks. 

More important than crayons, huh? Well, put that on your resume. 

Despite yourself, you crack a smile and look up at him. “Sun—” 

“You changed everything when you showed up! We’ve never had anything like you before, and I—” 

“Sun—” 

“—don’t even know what Moony and I would do without you here! You’re so good with the kids and the parents, and you know where everything goes and help sing them to sleep and you act like we’re actually—” 

“Sunny.” 

He pulls up short, looking over at you with a hint of embarrassment in his perpetual smile. 

“I love you too,” you tell him. “You’re not losing me. I just… need time.” 

His rays contract, just a little – but enough for you to notice. His rambling is cut short, and he looks at you, as though trying to figure something out. “Do you promise?” 

“Sunny…” 

“Do you promise?” He asks again, his voice even, the inflection unchanged. It gives you pause, and you look up at him. Sun is silent for a moment, taking you in as though committing you - this you, tired and disheveled and upset as you were - to his memory backs, as though he's desperate for this moment to mean something. For your promise to mean something. He gives your hand a squeeze, fingers still laced together as he ignores the thin veneer of static creeping in on his vision.

“I promise,” you breathe.