Chapter Text
It's 5:30, and you've just gotten home from work at the gas station. Sun has already heated you up some french fries and chicken nuggets for dinner, and despite everything you can't help but snicker at him. (He's clearly trying very hard, but most of the things he makes you would not be out of place on a kids menu. You suppose it's probably familiar and comforting for him in a way, and hell, it's comfort food for you too, so you're really not complaining, it's just funny.)
You're about halfway through dinner, Sun snuggled up on the couch beside you, when there's an abrupt and intent pounding on the door. You exchange a terrified look with the animatronic (landlord? cops? FBI?) but you don't have long to wait before Tim's familiar voice calls out. "Hey! Hey! Let me in! I've got something!"
You rush to open the door, tossing your plate of food on the counter. "Tim? What --?"
"I think I've got something," he announces with a grin, strolling in holding his open laptop, so eager he has to backtrack just to take off his shoes. "I think I've finally hit a breakthrough!"
"Did you...come all the way over here to tell us that?" you ask, stunned as you shut the door behind you, but Tim's already set his laptop down on the kitchen table, and Sun's now hovering over his shoulder, clearly unable to suppress his curiosity.
"Remember when I told you I saw some suspicious flags in Moon's code?" he asks, quickly pulling up some files. He doesn't wait for your answer before he continues. "I was doing more digging and I thought it looked familiar. I missed it before because I wasn't looking for the right thing. This thing is -- well, it's damn near otherworldly, I can tell you that. You ever heard of Flame?"
"Uh --"
"Like, just massive spyware used for espionage, super complex, the most sophisticated virus currently known. This thing is like that. It's not as sophisticated as that, but it's got its hooks into everything, audio, video, Bluetooth, even RAM and encoded memory access."
Sun leans in, obviously fretting. "You mean, this thing can read our memories?"
"Well, at least Moon's memories, whenever he's active. That's the thing. This code is self-replicating, but it's hiding in the boot files, and for some reason it's not able to cross over into Sun. But whenever it's active in Moon, which is every time he runs the boot files to wake up, it not only does everything it's been doing to mess up Moon, but it also seems to be beaming back data to some database somewhere. But that part's not important." He's gesturing now, clearly getting swept away and trying to refocus. "What's important is I think I've figured out something else it shares with Flame. This thing has a suicide code. And I think I know how to activate it."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Tim, hold on," you try, wincing. "What are you talking about? What's a suicide code?"
"This doesn't sound like a good thing!"
"It's also called a kill code. I guess that doesn't sound much better. Basically, whoever wrote this thing established a communication link with their virus, so if they were ever caught, they activate that command and it will wipe all traces of the virus off so they don't get discovered. Which means..."
"...which means if you can activate that, it'll delete itself and we'll get Moony back," you finish, breathless.
"Exactly. I've already tried it at home on a dummy bot computer, and it worked. I wrote up a program that activates it and then checks for any remaining traces of it in the file system. I think we can do this. I think I've got something that can save him."
For a moment, both you and Sun are speechless as that sinks in. But it certainly doesn't take Sun long to recover.
"What do I have to do?! When can we start?!" he cries, grabbing Tim and shaking him a little.
"Whoa, there," he says, gently extracting Sun's grip from his shirt. "We can do it right now --"
"Okay!"
"-- I just have to hook you up like we did before when I was looking at your code. Just give me the permissions like before and I can run this thing."
"Do you really think this could work?" you say, still letting this sink in, and terrified of getting your hopes up.
"It worked at home," he replies, pulling the connection cable for Sun out of his bag. "I couldn't find a trace of it after I ran this. It's our best shot."
"Then let's do it," you reply, swallowing hard.
"All right. Let's get him out to the living room so he can sit down, bring me a chair and we'll get started."
It takes only a moment to get set up, with Sun literally on the edge of his seat on the couch, and Tim sitting on one of your dining room chairs across from him, laptop in his lap.
"All right," Tim says, holding the cable to connect his laptop out to Sun. "Are you ready?"
Sun steals a glance to you, tapping his fingertips together anxiously. He makes a soft sort of choking noise, nodding. "Yes," he says finally, leaning forward to allow Tim to set the plug.
He does so quickly, gesturing for Sun to sit back down on the couch. "Okay, this is probably going to take a while, so you might want to get comfortable. It's...going to be pretty hard on the hardware, but just try to give me some heads-up if you think you're headed to any kind of crash."
"Got it," Sun replies, rays quivering nervously. You stand at the arm of the couch, leaning in a little to gently cup his face.
"All right, then let's get this started." Tim pauses, exhaling forcefully. "Good luck."
---
Tim's program has been running for only a few minutes now, but already Sun looks incredibly uncomfortable. You've taken to pacing around the living room, watching cautiously, but at least trying not to hover. (You are definitely failing.) You lean in a little, cocking your head. "How're you doing, Sun?"
He groans, clearly distracted, and sinks lower on the couch. He's been fully lying down for a while now, obviously trying to take Tim's hint to relax as much as possible. His fans are roaring, and he looks miserable. "CPU 1 and 2 both 100 percent," he says, with no small amount of difficulty.
"I can monitor that part on here, just try to rest," Tim replies quickly. "This has got to take a lot out of you."
He groans again, rubbing the side of his faceplate. "Sst -- Starshine? C-core temperatures up and rising. Can -- can you get -- ice packs?"
You jump to your feet, nodding quickly. "What, like -- like a cold compress kinda thing?" He doesn't respond apart from a delayed and weary nod. You run to the freezer and dig around; the best you can do is a couple of packs of frozen peas. They'd have to do.
You settle one against the metal on his forehead, like a human with a fever. He doesn't correct you, so you move on. "I've got one more, where do you want it?"
With some incredible effort, he wordlessly takes it from you and presses it against his chest plate. Ahh, of course, there's not really anywhere else his mechanics could be, the rest of his body is so gangly and scrawny. You gently stroke the side of his faceplate; he feels hot to the touch.
"Well, this is a change," you joke, trying to keep the mood light-hearted. "You're usually the one taking care of the sick kids, not the other way around!"
He doesn't really respond aside from a drawn-out huff, tilting his faceplate up. He does look utterly sick, you think to yourself, and the sight is disconcerting in more ways than one.
"Hang in there," Tim mumbles, staring at the screen. "Almost done."
"Ssst -- Starshine," Sun exclaims suddenly, with a panicked edge you don't like at all.
"What is it?"
"I -- I -- I don't know, I -- something's wrong."
He's tense, writhing now on the couch. You turn to Tim, hoping for more answers. Tim looks tense as well. "Ohh, no."
"Oh no? What does that mean?" you demand, your own panic spiking.
Sun responds faster. "Stt -- Starshine -- feels -- wrong. F-feels -- l-like --" He's cut off by a staticy burst from his voicebox. Tim is scrambling to stand, clutching his computer tight. You don't like that at all.
"I was afraid of this," he says quickly, looking scared. "The virus is self-replicating, I think it's gotten through Moon's firewall and it's affecting Sun. I -- I should have run this on both of them at once but I don't think his processors could take it."
You freeze in place. "What -- what do you mean it's gotten through? Now Sun's infected?!"
He clutches the computer tight. "Yes."
You whip your head back to Sun; he's tilting his head back, rays quivering and retracting. "Starshine," he says softly, laced and garbled with static. "C-can't -- don't -- want to hurt you, Starshine." He's balled his overly-large hands into fists and it doesn't take much effort for you to think about just how much damage he could easily do if he decided he wanted to.
"Sun --"
He looks you dead in the eyes, slowly emphasizing each word. He's not exaggerating, not being defeatist; he wants you to know he means it. "I c-can't fight this."
You turn back to Tim, starting to shake. "What do we do?!"
He pauses, considering that for a second. "...I have an idea. But you're not going to like it."
"What?"
"So -- in theory -- we've cleared the virus from Moon's code, now, right?"
It takes you a moment, but the realization slowly dawns on you. "Ohh...no, no, Tim, no, you can't be serious!"
"I don't think we have a choice."
"But you don't even know if it worked!" You gesture frantically, stunned. "And -- and it's still light outside! I don't have any curtains! How can we make it dark enough in here?!"
He looks around the room frantically; Sun is writhing and gargling now, the way you've seen him do before fighting a transformation to Moon. Except this time, there'll be no transformation, no other you may be able to stave off somehow. It's just him, and you have no idea how long you've got before the virus overtakes him and makes him as terrifying and zombie-like as Moon.
"Sun!" you cry quickly, diving onto your hands and knees beside him on the couch. "Sun, where -- where is your photosensor, maybe we can cover it up!"
He shakes his head, gutterally groaning. "Whole -- whole faceplate," he manages.
You groan. "The whole faceplate senses light?!"
"Maybe a heavy blanket?" Tim suggests.
"St -- Starshine," Sun whines, "Y-you don't know -- if this will --"
"-- work? Sun --"
"Don't want to hurt you," he cries, pressing his palm to your cheek. "Just d -- decommission me."
"I'm not killing you, Sun!"
"Have to," he replies, gripping your cheek gently, and in one gut-wrenching moment you realize he can't even feel that hand anymore. This touch is only for you.
"Sun -- no, no, let's try Tim's idea first, let's -- I'm going to get a blanket, just wait, just wait there, don't move!"
Sun lets go as you stumble to your feet, and grips the couch instead. "...can't promise," he warns, eyeing Tim nervously. It's a warning to him as much as it is to you. You don't need any more incentive to move quickly, accidentally body-slamming the wall by your closet as you fling it open to dig around, looking for a heavy blanket, surely, surely you have one of those somewhere, there's that thick one you use in winter, it has to be around here somewhere -- ah. You yank it free from the shelf, pouring towels and other clothes all over the floor, barely noticed in your scramble back to the living room.
"Sun," you say, holding the blanket up. He looks to you, eyes deep with the full understanding of what's about to happen.
If you cover him up and Moon's code is clear, there's still no guarantee you can ever wipe the virus from Sun now that it's escaped its containment. There's a chance you might get Moon back, but this may very well be the last time you'll be able to speak to Sun.
If you cover him up and Moon's code is not clear, there will be no safe way to deal with either of them. Then...then neither of you want to think about the end result.
"Sun," you choke out, suddenly frozen.
"St-t-ay safe," he tries, gripping the couch a little harder.
"Sun," you say again, dropping back down to your knees in front of him. "I'm -- I'm sorry. We're gonna do everything we can, okay?"
"St-ttt-ay safe," he repeats, emphasizing. "M-most important."
You clutch the blanket tight to your chest. "I love you."
The words come out before you have the chance to think about them, but you don't regret them even a little bit, not even with Tim standing over your shoulder and awkwardly still clutching the laptop.
It's true. It's true, it's true, it's true, the words have died on your tongue in a thousand better opportunities than this but it's something that you've felt for a long time. He means everything to you, he's the only reason you'd ever consider risking something as insane as stealing what is likely a multimillion dollar machine from an incredibly unscrupulous company. He's sentient, he's alive, and you could give a damn about what anybody else thinks about his personhood anymore. He's real, he's a person, and you love him, you love him like any other person you could fall in love with.
You know he can't move his face, but you can see the emotion anyway: in the tensing of his shoulders, the minutest of a rotation of his faceplate, in the way you can feel his iris-less eyes finding yours. There's a long pause, then a soft crackle of his voicebox. "St-ar-shine..." he begins, sounding breathless, "I -- I lo--"
It's as far as he makes it before a sudden rigidity overtakes his frame and he arches his back with a distorted scream. In your gut somehow you know that this is it, this is your last chance, and you react before you can think about it, tossing the blanket overtop of him.
You don't know quite what you were expecting, but it wasn't for him to struggle so much, and Tim has to set the laptop down on the floor to try to help you hold the blanket down. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" you yelp; he's writhing and screaming so much and you don't know how much is confusion or disorientation from the blanket as the virus overtakes him, how much is the virus itself, how much might be the forced shift which has always seemed painful ever since he lost contact with Moon --
And it's too much, it's too much now, it's just too far, you were prepared for a surprising amount of all of this, but you weren't prepared for him to put up a fight. Even as you're entirely focused on using your body weight to pin down the blanket to keep Sun from pulling it back off of his head, you feel the hot tears slipping down your face. It's entirely detached, even as you sob openly in front of Tim, it's dissociated and divorced from you as much as if you were watching an actor on TV. Tim says something to you that you don't catch, too focused on the animatronic in front of you.
Eventually, after what seems like forever but is probably only a few seconds, the screaming dies down; Sun makes a sudden, pained gasp, chest heaving as if it were a real breath, and he suddenly collapses, going limp on the couch. You freeze. You don't need to check to know that whatever condition he's in under the blanket now, it is absolutely, certainly Moon.
Fat, hot tears are still slipping down your cheeks; you're not ready to look, not ready to lift the blanket, not willing to face that dead-eyed stare, your failed attempt to save your best friends, how you've only made everything worse, you can't do it, you've come this far and you just can't do it you can't do it --
"Sss...Starshine?"
It takes every amount of effort in your body to keep from whipping the blanket off in a flurry (the lights!); instead you dive under yourself, making sure to pull it taut around your shoulders to let as little light in as possible. "...Moon?"
He finds your eyes and quickly sits up, blanket still over his head. You yelp, Tim yelps, but Moon wraps his arms tight around you. "Starshine," he whispers, holding you close. "You're crying. What happened?"
You're openly sobbing, arms wrapped around his back, but you somehow find the presence of mind to ask. "What do you remember?"
There's a long pause and a soft mechanical whirring. "...naptime, the daycare," he says finally, letting go of you with one hand to gingerly touch the couch cushion beneath him. "This...isn't the daycare."
Oh, no.
Oh, no.
Oh, god.
You wrap your arms tight around him, sobbing openly again, for different reasons this time.
There's a sort of warble to his voice when he asks his next question, a hesitation that tells you he's pretty sure he already knows the answer, and that he really doesn't want to be right. "Where is...Sun? Why can't...I hear Sun?"
For several long, aching moments, all you can do is hold him. And cry.
---
"...and...the daycare?"
"...gone. Completely gone. Burned to the ground."
He hesitates for a while, though his tone reveals more desperation than doubt in you. "...are you sure?"
"Yes." You hug him tight again around the shoulders. "I'm sorry."
It's been a couple of hours now, gently and carefully getting him caught up on a lot of things he's missed. The sun is finally beginning to go down, but it's still too bright in your apartment for him to be anywhere but under the blanket, so you make do, sitting under the blanket together like it was a tent.
Tim is still here, despite his laptop being long disconnected. Not long after you and Moon started talking, he announced he'd be making himself a coffee and taking another look at his antivirus program at the kitchen table. It was obviously a bid to give you two a little bit of privacy despite all of the rather intimate moments he was just witness to, and you appreciated it. You also appreciated his company, quite grateful he hadn't gone home just yet, though you're not quite sure if he was there to support your mental health, or physical (should the virus turn out to not be as eradicated in Moon as you had hoped).
Moon is mostly quiet, but entirely how you remembered him all those months ago, much to your incredible relief. He is reserved, gentle, kind. He's slower than Sun, more deliberate with all of his words and actions, and despite being understandably disoriented by suddenly waking up in a new time and place, he's obviously making an effort to go through everything calmly and methodically.
"...do they know we are missing?"
"...who? Fazbear?"
"Yes."
"...Sun told me there was a tracker on your arm, but that it was burned away."
He inspects his forearm, turning it over. "...hm. Yes." He gives the exoskeleton a soft tap with a finger. "New."
"Yes. There was...a lot of you we had to replace," you say, and there's no way to say it without a wince. Moon is running his fingertips together, rubbing his thumb over his fingers.
"...no feeling," he mumbles, mostly to himself. "No pressure."
"...yes. I'm sorry. Sun said you used to have sensors there before the fire. I don't know how to replace that kind of stuff. We made new fingertips that fit, but..."
He's still running his thumb over his fingertips, staring for a moment at his hand as if deep in thought. Finally he lowers his hand to his lap. "Can fix that later," he says finally; it sounds sighed, slumped, defeated, as if it's not something he really wants to have to wait to deal with later, but needs to reluctantly move on anyway. "How is...Sun? Before...the virus."
You hesitate; there's a lot of ways you could answer that question and you're not really sure where to start. "He's...getting by. Really worried about you."
"Does he...do we...look okay?" he wonders softly, touching a hand to his faceplate. "...forgive my vanity. Just curious." You nod, realization dawning on you; he just "woke up," it's not like he's gotten to see in a mirror. For all he knows, his faceplate could be half melted.
"Yes. Yes. Here, just a second. I think I have a picture." You get out your phone (making sure to turn the brightness way down) and you find a recent selfie. It's of you, Sun, Avery, and Bailey over at Tim's house; Sun looks genuinely happy, you're all making ridiculously dorky peace signs for the camera. You pass the phone over to Moon carefully.
He takes it gently, cradling it like he's not really sure how to hold it (and perhaps he's not, since he can no longer feel his hands). He pauses for a long time, just staring at the photo, then finally runs a delicate finger over the screen. "...children?" he asks.
Oh. Right. He wouldn't know about them at all, would he? "They're Tim's kids," you clarify. "Sun and I went over to babysit."
"Kids," he says to himself; the tone is warm. "I'm glad Sun got to see them. It...sounds like he was away from kids for a long time."
You nod softly; you elect not to talk about some of the other events that happened the first time you babysat. He doesn't need to know about that right now.
"...missing rays," he says, touching the phone again over Sun's face.
"Yeah," you say softly. "From the fire. We didn't get new ones yet. You're also missing your hat."
He hums; you're assuming this is not actually news to him, but he delicately touches the top of his faceplate anyway. "...could use a new one anyway," he says dismissively, but it sounds pained. He holds out the phone and you take it back from him, giving his shoulder a soft and loving rub.
"...I know this is a lot," you offer. He hums again.
"It is...hard to hear. But I am more worried about Sun." He shifts a little on the couch, tilting his head. "...how do we charge?"
"Sun's got...uh...a bed of sorts beside the couch. I'm sorry, the plug wouldn't reach for him to sit on the couch at the same time." The floor-blanket-nest might have been Sun's idea, but you can't help suddenly feeling embarrassed and guilty for the impractical setup you've just thrust upon poor Moon.
"Hmm. We'll need to charge soon. How dark out is it?"
You poke your head out of the blanket, taking a look around. "...the sun is down. I think it might be dark enough."
He slowly, cautiously pokes his head out from under the blanket. He flinches a little and your blood runs cold, but he clearly catches your reaction and places a hand comfortingly on your shoulder. "It's fine. Still a bit bright, but fine."
"I'll have to get some blackout curtains," you mumble to yourself, frowning. Keeping things dark was certainly going to be much more of a challenge than keeping things bright.
Moon slowly pulls himself out from under the blanket, then off the couch. He's gazing around, clearly getting his bearings. His eyes linger on Tim, still sitting at your kitchen table. He looks over to Moon and gives a tense wave, which Moon, just as tense, returns. "Hello."
"Hi," Tim replies automatically, looking quite uncertain. (You're not particularly surprised at his reservation. His one and only interaction with Moon was attempting to flashbang him away from hurting his kids, after all.)
Moon hesitates, as if sensing the tension, though of course he clearly doesn't know why. "Thank you for saving me," he says, blunt as ever. Tim actually laughs, obviously taken aback.
"Don't thank me just yet. I've got a lot more work to do to get Sun back."
You come up behind Moon, frowning. "Do you think it's possible?"
"All things are possible with programming," he mumbles, turning to his laptop to turn the brightness down. "The question is if their hardware can handle it."
Moon cocks his head, and it's honestly a bit chilling, reminding you of the last time you saw him, so you quickly look away. "What if we...upgraded their processors or RAM or something?" you offer.
There's a low chortle from Moon and he turns to look at you. "Starshine."
"What?"
He explains nothing, but puts a delicate hand on top of your head; it is dismissive, but loving, like a gentle parent. You huff, annoyed, even if it is hard to stay annoyed at him for long.
"Then what else can we do?"
Tim sighs. "Let me keep looking at this. Maybe there's ways I could trim it down to be easier on him when it runs. But I think it's pretty clear that we're going to have to run it on both of them at once, or they'll just keep passing it back and forth at the point we have to break down the firewall."
Moon pauses, finger curled to his chin, thinking. "...there is a way we could both be equally active at the same time."
"What?"
He pauses, still thinking. "...risky. I would risk losing control to Sun, or being infected myself. And I...do not know how the virus makes him act. I am...not hopeful it would be pleasant, from how you've described me under its influence. I do not know if I could stop him from hurting you." He's drumming his fingers against his faceplate now, looking deep in thought.
"You can be active at the same time?" you ask, tilting your head in surprise. In all the time you'd worked together, other than the occasional momentary outburst from the one backseating, you'd never seen that before.
"Yes. It...it is not easy to accomplish even when we are both willing." He crosses his arms, still staring off. "And like this, Sun is not willing. But it is possible."
Tim's drumming mindlessly on the surface of the laptop. "The code only touches the boot sector and active files because the virus doesn't seem to go after anything else. If you can both boot and be active, that means we could probably eradicate it for good."
"Yes." There's a sort of desperation in his voice, but you can tell his fear and reservations are winning out. "Let me...let me think about it."
You hesitate. "What are our other options?"
There's a long pause as the two of them think it over. "Pack them in ice and hope for the best?" Tim suggests.
"No. It's not a processing power limitation," Moon mumbles. "You couldn't do both of us at once your way." He shakes his head, still drumming his fingers. "You don't understand. We are separated. It's what kept Sun safe in the first place. Unless it's done deliberately, only one boot up for body control is active at a time. To touch all the files we need, both boots must be active. Total. Completely, equally shared." He thinks for another moment before heaving a sigh. "I don't see another way out of this."
"...what do you need to do?"
Moon is hesitating. "We've done it before, a long time ago. At the theater, occasionally, for dramatic effect. But only for a few seconds at a time. The virus check will take minutes. This will take fighting." He looks at you, an unsettled frown behind his eyes and ever-present grin. "You will have to pull Sun out with the light, and I will have to not leave. There will be...a struggle. Sun will not be thinking clearly anymore, he will try to take over. I...will have to stay present, in control. Somehow."
"This sounds really risky," Tim says with a frown.
"That's because it is."
"Isn't there any other option?" you wheedle, wincing.
"...the only other option..." He looks to you again, cocking his faceplate. "Is we never talk to Sun again."
There's an uncomfortable silence that settles in over the room. Finally, Tim puts a hand on his laptop, shutting the lid.
"I'm sorry, I've really got to get home," he says softly, "Laura's waiting. It's been a long, long day. Let's revisit this tomorrow. Will you two be okay overnight?"
"Yes." Moon answers quickly, and answers first, before sparing you a glance. "I will ensure it stays dark. Starshine has nothing to worry about."
You frown, not because you don't trust him (although admittedly, that's a little bit hard, this is the first time you've spoken in months), but because the entire situation is just so overwhelming. "Yeah, we'll be fine," you agree finally, sighing. "Thank you so much for all your help, Tim."
He pauses awkwardly, shuffling on his feet a little, as if there's something more he's looking to say. . "...don't worry, we'll get him back," he says finally, and you feel your cheeks start to flush as you remember everything he was witness to a little earlier.
You want to say something to squelch the awkwardness, but there's nothing really for you to say. You just poured out your heart for a robot in front of him, a grandiose movie-like admission of love, and as much as you don't regret sharing that moment with Sun, you still can't help feeling the sickening tug of humiliation making you suddenly want to barf.
"...I don't think you're weird," he says finally, surprising you out of your thoughts.
"What?"
"About...saying all that to Sun. You've got that look on your face, you're dwelling on it, I can tell. You're embarrassed. Look, he's obviously more than just one of Fazbear's mindless attractions. I'm not judging you, if that's what you're worried about."
There's a long pause, and you still can't meet his eyes, cheeks burning. "...thanks," you mumble to the floor.
Moon is staring at you curiously, and that is decidedly not helping the embarrassment. (Oh, god, the conversation he's going to have with you about this. After all, the last thing he remembers is being a bit chummy with you in the daycare. How exactly are you supposed to tell him that you just admitted your love for the first time? And for that matter, it's true, you do love him too, but it's been Sun you've been spending day after day with all this time, it's Sun you really have a relationship with, what if Moon doesn't feel the same way? What if Moon doesn't love you, and you wouldn't blame him at all, comparatively he barely knows you, and --)
"It'll be okay," Tim tries, snapping you out of your spiral again. "Try to get some rest, both of you. We'll figure this out."
You can't hold in a soft groan. This was worth way more than the case of beer and two nights of babysitting that you'd offered to pay him. "Thank you."
He's finished packing up and is pulling his shoes on, laptop bag slung over his shoulder. "Of course. Call me if there's any problems."
"We will," Moon replies, and you're suddenly unsure if he's caught on that Tim means if there's any problems with him.
"Good. I'll see you tomorrow," he replies, and then just like that it's you and Moon alone in your apartment. The air is heavy with tension, but where exactly do you start?
You hear the soft jingle of the bells on his wrists as he steps forward; you know full well those only make noise when he wants to be heard. He's being cautious, warning you, approaching slowly. "...we don't have to talk about any of that," he says softly, much to your great surprise. You whip around to face him, startled.
"What?"
"Yes. I have...gathered enough from the subtext. That conversation can wait for another time. If you like. I'm sure it will be a long one." He cocks his head, watching you closely. "We will need to charge soon. Can you show me where we are?"
You're not exactly sure what he means by that, but you start taking him on a walk through your apartment (switching off light switches as you go), showing him various things that seem relevant, or just sharing familiar memories of Sun. It's as much for your benefit as his right now, you really need the reminder of happier times. The kitchen. The sink, where Sun typically helps you with the dishes after eating. (Your forgotten dinner that you're much too stressed to finish now.) The living room, Sun's charging area. (Moon makes a soft hum at that which you can't read, and you quickly move on.) The couch, having movie nights with Sun. (He is such a sucker for sappy romantic crap, you say fondly, and Moon makes a soft, amused murmur of agreement.) Hallway, bathroom, your bedroom.
Moon pauses at the doorway of your bedroom as if a bit worried about invading your personal space. He's just gazing in, staring off as if in thought. "...it's been a hard day, you should go to sleep," he says finally, and you can't help but bristle with a sharp, scoffed laugh.
He clearly reads the anxiousness in your noise. "What is it?"
"Nothing," you say quickly, finally taking note of the disaster state you've left the room in, clothing everywhere that was accidentally yanked out of your closet along with the blanket you'd thrown over his head. The last bit of light in the window was fading fast, but you've got enough that you can see by to start picking some of it up, at least.
"...Starshine," he says softly, pressing. You hesitate, this wasn't really a conversation you wanted to have, but you figure it's probably also not fair to leave him in the dark -- no pun intended. You sigh, slumping a little.
"...Moon...do you remember how I told you the virus made you all...creepy?" He hums again, nodding. "...well, you kind of just...got obsessed with putting people to bed. Always saying it was past their bedtime, that they needed to go to sleep now, being...being really threatening about it. That was the last time I saw you before now, and it just...I don't know. You saying that now just freaked me out."
There's a long pause as he processes that. "I'm sorry," he says finally, tone soft. You can hear the pain in his voice.
"It's not your fault," you counter quickly, continuing to fold and shove clothes away in the closet. "I know it's what you're built for, the virus just made it go haywire. It'll just...take some time to get used to."
He drums his fingertips on the doorframe, clearly thinking. "I don't...remember any of this."
"I know."
He's clearly got something else on his mind. Where Sun might skirt and dance around a topic all day, hemming and hawing before you can finally drag his question out of him, Moon is and has always been much more direct. "Was it because of me that they closed the daycare?"
You freeze, shirt shoved halfway in the closet. You had intentionally skipped out on the details when he had first woken up, not wanting to stress him out any more than you already had, but he had clearly already put two and two together. "...yes," you say finally. "...I'm sorry."
"...do you know what happened?"
"...not everything," you say softly, straightening up. It's too dark now to see much of anything to finish putting away your clothes. "Sun...told me a bit about it. It wasn't..." you pause, trying to find the words. "It's going to be hard to hear."
He's clearly hesitating, but cocks his head at you anyway. "I want to know," he says, too achingly soft.
You gently lead him back to the living room, sitting down on the floor next to the charging cable. He takes the hint, sitting beside you, taking only a moment to inspect the cable before hooking himself up.
"Okay. Sun...Sun only talked about this once. He...didn't like to remember it," you say, shifting uncomfortably. "...it was naptime at the daycare. There was a little girl that didn't want to go to sleep. He said she got up and left, crying."
You hear a soft whirr of fans kicking on and give him a moment, he appears to be staring off in thought. "...Amelie," he says finally, and you bristle.
"You remember?"
"I remember that." He pauses, clearly thinking. "...I don't...remember anything after that. There is..." He shakes his head a little. "Corruption. Bad sector. Something. Maybe not hardware...but like the data wasn't stored."
"...what do you remember?"
"...getting up to go get her. I was sitting with the other children. I started to stand. That's all I have."
"Mm." You shift a little in your seat. "Sun...said he was talking to you, but you felt...off, somehow. That there was something wrong."
Moon is listening intently, head tilted slightly in an attempt to show sincerity, softness. His ever-grinning gaze certainly felt overbearing for this conversation. "Sun said...you grabbed her and called for your wire."
He bristles. "What?"
"That you...that you took her up into the rafters and dropped her," you finish finally, and even in the dim light you can see his body freeze.
There's a long, long pause before he finally speaks again. "...what...?"
"I'm sorry."
He looks away, staring off. "...did she...?"
"Oh. No, no, no, I'm sorry. Sun said she was okay. Just hurt. But she lived. Sun said -- he said he tried but he couldn't stop you. That was all he would tell me."
Moon is still staring off, loosely holding his arms. "...not supposed to be able to hurt children," he says finally, steeped in pain. "There are...protections." He looks back at you, eyes somehow sorrowful, and you're sure more than anything right now he probably wishes he wasn't smiling. "This should not have been able to happen."
"I don't care about the programming," you say softly. "I know you wouldn't have ever done this, Moon. You loved the kids. This wasn't you."
He pauses for a long while before looking over his hands. "...but it was me."
"...Moon --"
He turns to face you again, shaking his head. "Starshine...please...let me sit with this for a while. You should go get some rest."
"Moon --"
"I will be fine. I promise." He takes his hand and gently, gingerly puts it atop of yours. He's obviously taking great pains to be careful, having difficulty judging the amount of pressure to use with his insensitive hands. "I'll make sure it's dark enough in here by morning."
Of course, you're hesitant to leave him. There are so many reasons why. You could scarcely get this traumatic memory out of Sun, who was at worst an innocent bystander during the whole event, but after dropping this enormous weight on Moon, after everything else he's already been through in the span of a few short hours, he expects you to walk away and let him deal with this by himself?
"...Moon --" you try again, but this time he pats you, quickly cutting off the conversation.
"Please, Starshine. Okay? I want to be alone."
It leaves little room for arguing, and at this point you're not sure if fighting him will just do more harm than good. Finally, reluctantly, you nod. "...all right."
"Good. I will be here tomorrow morning."
And so with a heavy heart, you slowly head off to get ready for bed.
---
As you both bid your goodnights and you left for your bedroom, Moon didn't move, nor did he plan to move for quite some time. He knew, first of all, that the need to recharge was going to take time. And he knew, second of all, that you would likely be so restless after the day's stressful events that sleep wouldn't find you easily. (He longed to help, but more than his short tether to the wall outlet kept him in place: you seemed unsettled, even scared of him when it came to sleep, and he didn't wish to press his luck.)
So instead, when the door to your bedroom finally shut and the apartment went quiet, he sat back against the wall, alone with his thoughts, and the weight of the event that was now settled down on his shoulders.
A child. He had injured a child. Apparently so badly that they had closed the daycare in response. One of his babies. One of his children. He had injured a child, and given the drop he had put her through, it was a miracle that an injury was all that had happened.
He might not have been in control, but it was still her blood on his hands.
He may have had no memories of the event, but Sun did. He hesitated. He wasn't content to only hear about something he did, he wanted to know exactly what had happened. He wanted see it firsthand, face the actual event, no matter how upsetting it would be. He had done it, and he had to know what had really happened.
But accessing Sun's memories just wasn't something he did without permission. Generally, there was no issue, because the two of them worked together more often than not, and their memories were shared freely between them. It was rare for Sun to block him out or vice versa and keep a memory to himself, and this boundary was always respected.
But he needed to know, and Sun wasn't here to ask for permission. He flinched, fondling the blanket he sat on between his deadened fingertips. It was hard not having Sun around. Sun was always hovering, teasing, judging, offering his support and guidance no matter what he was doing or thinking about. He was his partner, his brother, his friend. The silence was deafening.
He hesitated again. Well, he supposed, it wasn't like Sun had intended to hide this memory. It wasn't Moon's fault that whatever had happened to his own memory of these events had happened, otherwise he would have had his own copy. Surely Sun wouldn't mind him accessing this one. (Anything after this, including all Sun's time spent with you, would have to stay painfully locked away, however. He would have no way of knowing what memories Sun would have been comfortable sharing, and that was a boundary he wasn't willing to cross. Not yet.)
He sat back and searched, flicking through files that lined up with the right timestamp. He saw, through his own eyes, Sun's memories of that day: naptime, getting the kids put down. He could hear Sun's voice in his head and he jumped; loud and ever-present, that was his Sun.
The silence now was so deafening.
Oof, got a feisty one there, Sun teased in the replay as Moon struggled to catch a squirming girl. She was wearing a red plaid dress and leggings, dark hair tied up in tiny pigtails, only a couple of months past her sixth birthday. Amelie. He remembered her instantly. She had nightmares often, was hard to soothe, and especially hated being put down for naps. Moon had been working on finding a method to consistently calm her, but so far it had been a hit-or-miss struggle. And now that naptime had been announced, she was on her way back to the play structure, sobbing in that uncertain way that children do when they haven't fully decided if they're ready to enter a full-on meltdown just yet. She was stubborn, and scared.
Still, he felt nothing but empathy for her. He didn't dream in his sleep mode, didn't have that dose of humanity, being a robot, but he could see the results of nightmares in the children. The fear, the sweat, the raised heart rates, the occasional sleep-wetting, even in those that were long out of diapers. Nightmares were scary, and so very hard for the little humans to deal with.
So it was with nothing but love and concern that he replied to Sun. She'll be okay. Just needs more time.
At least, that's what he remembered saying to Sun.
In Sun's replay, he only heard a clicking, garbled mess.
...what? Sun asked, a soft note of confusion in his tone.
But Moon was already climbing to his feet, getting up to go after her, to soothe her and hopefully get her settled down for naptime. It was here that his own memories cut out.
Moon? Sun asked, but he went unanswered. Immediately, Moon could tell something was very wrong. His movements seemed twitchy, jerky. Unnatural. He could see his hands held out in front, rhythmically twitching, as if he were playing the role of the nighttime goblin to tease the kids, not to soothe a crying child. He seemed to be crouched over, his vision didn't stay straight.
He approached her, and she seemed hesitant at first, softly turning her sorrowful, stubborn eyes up at him. He could see it in her face the moment her expression changed from determined to nervous as he loomed closer to her, and she suddenly didn't seem so concerned about how to get out of nap time. She was uncertain, and seemed off-put by his presence instead of simply defiant. Mr. Moon? she asked, hesitant.
He didn't answer her. There was more than stubborn frustration on her face as he simply stood there, eerily weaving in front of her. Mr. Moon, I don't wanna nap, she said firmly.
It was something Moon was used to hearing from the girl. He was always patient, always kind.
And he was entirely unprepared for what came next.
Nnnnnaughty girl, he hissed, venomous and vicious.
Moon? Sun tried again, a rising edge of anxiety to his voice.
It's bedtime, Moon heard from himself. Her anxiety was clearly rising too, and she pulled away from him.
No! I don't wanna go to bed! she shrieked, turning to run. But Moon was faster, jutting out his hand to grab her sharply around the upper arm.
She screamed, an obvious cry of pain as he clutched her way too tightly. Sun was clearly panicking now. Moon! What are you doing?! Let go, you're hurting her!
Nnnaughty children need to be punished, he snarled, and only tightened his grip. She shrieked, struggling, but she was obviously no match for him. Nearby, he could hear the tell-tale zip of his wire lowering down, and his heart sank.
In the replay, Sun clearly heard it too. Moooon, what are you doing?! Moon?! Moon?!
But he was paying him no heed at all, and the girl started to shriek even louder now, kicking and fighting as he pulled her into the air. By now she had attracted the attention of the entire daycare, the human staff and the rest of the kids standing below and getting smaller by the second as Moon pulled the terrified girl up into the rafters.
Moon! Moon! What are you doing?! Moon! Stop! Stop! Put her down, Moon! Sun was shrieking in his headspace, so loud it was deafening, so loud he could be clearly heard even overtop of the little girl who was, at this point, absolutely hysterical as the darkened rafters and the stars of the ceiling swallowed them both up.
Nighty-night, Moon said aloud, suddenly releasing his grip.
He was sure the staff and kids were likely also screaming down below, but he could hear little over Sun's incredible anguish. He was screaming, screaming endlessly, wordless and gutted at the soft thunk of the girl's body hitting the daycare floor. The staff couldn't catch her in time.
Sun's screams turned into vocalizations, and finally some semblance of words. Mooooon! Moony! Moony! No! What have you done?!
Moon was already descending on the wire when the lights abruptly came back on, and Sun took over. There was a sudden wrenched scream from his brother, like the transformation was painful, but Sun was clearly too focused on the scene below him to do much more than that. He frantically unhooked himself and dropped from the wire down to the floor, stumbling hard from the too-high distance as he ran to the girl, immediately placing his hands onto her chest.
There was blood everywhere. So much blood. The children were screaming and the staff was yelling something unintelligible at Sun, but he was clearly drowning everything else out. You're okay, you're okay, you're okay, he kept repeating out loud, paying nothing else around him any mind, quickly trying to feel for the rise and fall of her chest, the beat of her heart. A pulse. A breath. She was unconscious, but alive. Her arm was bent back at a sickening angle and the blood was puddling beneath her, but she wasn't dead.
She's alive! Sun screeched, but the human staff quickly shoved him backwards, knocking him out of the way as they moved in.
Everything happened so quickly. The rest of the children were ushered out. Paramedics arrived. The staff alternated between being furious and terrified of Sun, clearly mistrusting of him as well. And Sun --
Sun was swiftly left alone in the daycare as everyone moved out, blood stains coating his hands and the daycare floor.
The door was audibly chained shut from the outside.
Wait! Sun was shrieking. Wait! Don't go! Don't go! Something's wrong! Something's wrong with Moony! What about the lights?!
Nothing but silence followed. Sun sank at the daycare doors, staring at his bright red palms, the copper already soaking into his silicone and plastic --
Clean up, clean up! he whimpered to himself, strangled and pained, like an attempt at a mantra. Clean up, clean up, clean up--
Moon had seen enough, and swiftly closed the replay.
He sat in silence for a few moments, just absorbing the horrors he had seen. In the meantime, the file details sat off in the corner of his vision, until something caught his eye.
In their internal records, they could see logs of how many times memories had been previously accessed by either of them. Most old memories ended up flagged for deletion from disuse after a while, much like a human memory prunes away the old and useless to make way for the new, but their memories would be kept and protected from removal if they were periodically rewatched. Particularly cherished memories might have hundreds, even thousands of replays.
Sun had rewatched this gruesome footage hundreds of times.
Particularly and especially the moments leading up to the girl's terrifying drop.
The emotion panged Moon deep in the chest. He knew Sun too well. He knew he must blame himself. Replaying this scene over and over, he was likely trying to figure out what he could have done to stop Moon, how he could have taken back control, self-flagellating that he didn't fight hard enough to save the little girl. As if he wasn't sick enough already, that realization stuck in his gut and twisted into his circuits.
And now, he couldn't even extend any comfort to his brother. His brother, who was now afflicted with the same virus that had made Moon act this way in the first place. The virus he had gotten, somehow, obviously not paying enough attention, not running system checks that could have caught this early, not keeping himself or his brother or any of his babies in the daycare safe --
Sun wasn't the only one that was good at self-flagellation.
Moon wrenched forward, battering the heel of his hand against his forehead until it ached, trying to stifle the anguished sobs threatening to spill out of his chest. This was his fault, all his fault. He didn't know how it had happened, but at this point none of that really mattered. All anyone really knew was that it was Moon that got the virus first, which meant that he was the one responsible for everything. All of this suffering, all of this pain -- had Amelie ever recovered? Sun would never be the same. Neither would all of the children and staff that witnessed that along with Sun. And it was all because of him.
He hadn't noticed anything strange in the days leading up to the event. He felt fine, seemed fine. Something as sophisticated as Tim had described had to have been deliberate, targeted, not some random worm or trojan picked up from being careless with internet safety. This was clearly specifically designed for him. And maybe not him in particular, but any of the animatronics -- he wondered suddenly what became of the others before the fire. With Sun unable to leave the daycare and the daycare closing, he probably wouldn't have gotten word of any other strange happenings in the Pizzaplex. It was Moon's domain to learn all of the gossip during patrols and come back to tell Sun. Could the others have gotten infected with this as well? Were children throughout the Pizzaplex at risk?
(A stark, vibrant image flashed suddenly through his mind: a small boy with an unruly mop of dark hair, wearing a defiant but terrified look on his face. There was instant recognition, but in a flash it was all gone, the recognition along with the image of the boy. Try as he might, he couldn't pull it back. Perhaps it was unimportant?)
He slumped down against the wall, toying with the blanket between his fingertips again. It was always a calming action for him, soft, self-soothing. But now, with his body and hands ravaged by the Pizzaplex fire, he could feel nothing, not even how much pressure he was using to hold the fabric. He couldn't stifle the frustrated groan that escaped him as he clutched the blanket in his fist.
He was utterly overwhelmed, and desperately missed his brother.
But he had to focus. He had already managed to scrape up a 70% charge, and that was good enough to get unplugged and get things prepared. It was already early morning, and he couldn't risk even the slightest light getting in. He had a lot of work ahead of him, and the rest of his charging and thoughts could wait until later. There was no time to be traumatized. Starshine was relying on him to stay safe.
Carefully, he pulled the plug from his head and got to his feet.
There were curtains over the windows, but they were too thin to be of any use. Starshine might have spare blankets, or maybe some towels he could use --
His eyes lingered on a pile of junk mail sitting forgotten on the table.
That might work.
He softly tiptoed through the apartment, carefully and quietly opening up drawers as he found and gathered his supplies.
---
The next morning, you wake up with a start to your alarm in a dimly lit bedroom, inky November sun just beginning to think about peeking up over the horizon. For a moment, the darkness scares you, until the memories of yesterday's events catch up with you and you realize it's no longer the dark you have to be afraid of.
You bolt out of bed and into the living room. Moon is sitting on the charging cord by the couch with a book in his lap, and looks over as you stumble out of your bedroom.
God, the apartment is dark.
"Hi...Moon," you call softly, and he tilts his head in a smile.
"Good morning, Starshine. Sleep well?"
"I guess as best as I could..." you reply, eyes transfixed on your living room windows, squinting in the dark. "What did you do?"
"Layers of cardboard and paper," he says. "Taped up the windows. Then, blankets. Towels. Whatever I could find."
You pause. "But all the blankets were in my bedroom closet."
"Yes."
"How did you...?"
"Careful."
You shake your head, a bit in disbelief. "You're too damn sneaky."
"Language," he scolds. He seems pleased with himself regardless.
You heave a sigh, looking around. "...thanks, Moon. I appreciate this. Are you...doing okay?"
"Do you have a job?" he asks abruptly, cocking his head.
"...Moon --"
"Heard an alarm. Need help getting ready?"
You sigh, plopping down cross-legged on the blanket beside him, like you always sat with Sun. Unlike Sun, Moon bristles at your presence, obviously surprised if not uncomfortable at the closeness.
You set your hand on his leg, staring at him. "Moon. Come on, man."
He pauses, too long. Finally, he cocks his head at you. "Don't want to talk about it."
You pause as well. "... I'm not going to make you talk about it if you don't want to, Moon. I just want to make sure you're okay. As okay as you can be right now." He says nothing, so you sigh and continue. "...Sun liked a lot of reading. I think he's read everything in the apartment at least twice. I can show you how to set up the TV to watch kids' cartoons. I've got a bunch of card games in my dresser drawer in my bedroom, and if you -- if you want, there's a file on the desktop of my laptop of the daycare song, Sun helped me save a copy from a recording I found. Sometimes he'd just sit there listening to it. Just...please be okay while I'm gone." You press a hand to his shoulder, where you're used to comforting Sun since he could no longer feel a squeeze to his hand.
Moon looks away, shoulders slumping under the weight of your hand. "...thank you, Starshine," he says finally, soft and breathless. He stares off for a moment before finally looking back, meeting your eyes. "...I will be fine. Get ready for work. Do you need anything?"
"No, I'm fine. I'll be back tonight just after five, okay?" You wrap your arms around him in a tight hug. "Try not to let anybody see you or make too much noise. I think you'll have an easier time with that than Sun, though."
He hugs you back, softly chuckling. "Most likely. Anything else?"
"Just...look after yourself, Moon. Please. I know it's all been...a lot."
He finally pulls back from the hug, tilting his head softly before placing his hand on top of your knee. "It has, Starshine. But don't spend your time worrying about me. I will be fine. Get ready for work."
As much as you hate to rush this conversation, he's right, the clock is ticking, and you can't afford to be late again.
"...all right. I'll see you tonight, okay?"
"Yes. Stay safe," he says, gently bonking his head against yours.
You get to your feet to get ready to face the day, trying to hide the deep pang of pain at his words, reminding you of Sun's last words to you, reminding you of the dangerous situation you're in. Instead, you give him a forced smile and a nod. "I will. I promise."
It's going to be such a long day.