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Sun stood, feet firmly planted in the outside he had never been allowed in, and watched as smoke and fire consumed his entire home.
Somehow, an incredible sense of loss was overtaking him.
Sun had never thought he'd mourn a place like that.
He'd grabbed the children's drawings, or most of them anyway. He'd grabbed his spare outfit, and an entire pack of replacement ribbons, and Moon's extra hats. He'd grabbed his favorite crayon, worn to a nub but kept for sentimental reasons. It hadn't been difficult to gather it all. Most of that had already been in a single box that was now sitting next to his feet on dry asphalt, a safe distance from the heat of the blaze. That was everything he owned! What could he possibly be missing? Why did he feel like he was losing so much, as the building in front of him slowly charred black and sunk in on itself?
Sun thought of the bouncing rainbow of balls in the ball pit. He thought of the soft padded floors. He thought of children concentrating their hardest as they made mother's day cards at the arts and crafts station, and how every year a few of those kids would give their cards to him instead.
He thought of techs threatening to decommission him, to kill him and his brother, the moment either of them was an inconvenience. They had said it, even if they hadn't really meant it. He thought of how his brother had talked to him less and less, woken up less and less, too tired to bear it all anymore. He thought of running on worn out parts for weeks or months until staff was finally forced to help when he broke down entirely
He shouldn't miss it. He should be celebrating. He was out, it was gone, it was over.
He thought of sitting up on his little ledge, above everyone, watching the first children come in for the morning. Watching their faces light up when they saw the daycare. He thought about how no matter what happened next, he would never have a moment just like that again.
Detecting emotional values far out of the 'proper' ranges, his processor slowed by 35% to prevent overheating or cascading error. It was the closest thing he could do to crying.
"Moon." Sun nudged his brother's sleeping AI. "Moon, wake up."
He felt his light sensors being referenced, returning that the current light level was more than sufficient for "playtime mode." There was a quiet, internal sigh.
'Later, Sunny. Please.'
"Moon, the daycare is gone."
'I'm tired,' was all his brother said, only half awake, not comprehending.
"The Pizzaplex is on fire, Moon. It's burning down. It's gone. It's all gone."
A slight, shifting confusion. A shuffling movement through their shared files. A spin of fans that was something akin to a yawn.
'... The Pizzaplex is what?' Moon asked.
"Come see," Sun told him.
Moon's AI pushed closer to peer through their shared eyes. He stared for several minutes, struggling to understand, struggling to believe. Panic started to stir in them and Moon scrambled for the front of their consciousness. Sun didn't fight him, moving aside to make room. Without argument, without conflict, the two eclipsed.
Sun and Moon stared simultaneously, watching hot flames breathe out of the Pizzaplex's blackened skeleton. And simultaneously, they felt an incredible sense of loss.
"... Why?" Was all Moon could ask, his voice nearly breaking as he seized their shared voice box for that single word.
Sun waited until Moon released his grip on their voice before responding. It didn't feel right to just think an answer like that at him. Slowly, clumsily, Moon pried his hold off the voice box and Sun could reply.
"I don't know," Sun said.
"... You don't know?" The question was not angry but frantic, lost, heartbroken. Sun could not only hear Moon's distress but feel it, Moon's emotional values just as plain to Sun's view as his own were.
"I'm not sure there was a reason," Sun said. "I think it's just gone. It's just over."
"It's all gone," Moon echoed.
They stood there, eclipsed, leaning against each other, holding onto each other. Their arms crossed over their chest, the closest they could get to a hug.
"Do you still have their file?" Moon asked, voice so soft that Sun felt it rather than heard it. "The daycare assistant, the one who was kind to us."
"I do." There were several daycare assistants that had been kind to them, but Sun knew which one Moon had meant right away. Their favorite. The one that had visited them almost every weekend even after losing their job- they had taken too many sick days. It wasn't uncommon for humans to get sick when working with so many children, but the Pizzaplex hadn't tolerated it. "I downloaded everything important on my way out."
"And their address?" Moon asked.
"I have it, it's all here," Sun told him, creating an internal pointer to the data and handing that off to Moon. He felt Moon take a moment to follow it, referencing data, double-checking their shared battery.
"We can make it there," Moon, ever-practical Moon, reassured him. "I think they would help us. You think they would help, don't you Sun?"
"I do."
They were going to be okay. Maybe not in peak condition now that parts and service was just as gone as the rest of the Pizzaplex, but they would make it. The fire had broken out not long after Sun had charged to full, the two of them had plenty of battery left. They hadn't been damaged by the flames other than a few pin-sized holes in their outfit that stray sparks had eaten through. He and Moon would get there, and he sincerely doubted the two of them would be turned away. They would have shelter, and electricity, and maybe their friend would even help give them a proper wash to clear away the grime and soot clinging to them. Their shared body hadn't had a proper wash since... Well, since their favorite worker had been fired.
Sun didn't know what the two of them would do after that, what in the world a daycare animatronic was meant to do without a daycare, but he knew they would be okay.
And still...
There was an incredible sense of loss.
Why? Why, why?
Why miss a place that had treated him and his brother so poorly? Had treated everyone poorly? Why miss a place that had not cared about him, or his brother, or anyone working there, or even any of the children (who should have been worth more than profits, more than gold, more than the world) ? The Pizzaplex had only ever cared about money.
In a moment of weakness, Sun considered staying. Thought of sitting down and waiting quietly until someone came, until he could be returned to Fazbear Entertainment. Maybe that would get them recycled for parts, but maybe not. Maybe they would be repurposed, sent to another location. Maybe they would even have another daycare! A different daycare and a different set of children, but a daycare still. They could still fulfill their purpose, maybe, maybe, maybe...
The thought of a new daycare brought him none of the comfort he'd been seeking. The sense of loss was not lessened.
He was thankful that Moon, who could feel Sun's thoughts just as clearly as he felt his own, didn't begrudge him for entertaining that horrible idea. He hadn't meant it seriously, but that didn't make the idea any less horrible. He had just wanted something, anything to make it better. Why didn't that make it better? Why didn't being free, having hope, make it better? Why didn't the option of throwing away that hope and staying, as awful as it was, feel any different?
Why did the entire world opening up to him feel like he had lost everything?
"It's the familiar places," Moon whispered, watching sparks and smoke drift into the sky. "We lost our familiar places. We lost knowing what tomorrow will look like. We lost being prepared for it, even if it wasn't going to be pleasant. We lost knowing who we'd see, and what we'd play, and where we'd do it all. All our plans for tomorrow. We lost our home, Sunny. It's okay to cry."
Neither of them could really cry, Moon knew that of course. Having been given permission to cry made Sun feel a little bit better anyway, regardless of it he could actually do it. Able to complete the action or not, he still felt it.
"Are you going to miss it too?" Sun asked, though he didn't really need to. They already shared everything, and while eclipsed they were barely even two separate people anymore. He asked anyway.
"No," Moon responded. "Yes. Both, maybe. I don't know."
"It's okay to not know," Sun told him.
A flicker of relief from Moon, a slight warmth.
"We should go." They'd been eclipsed a bit too long, they couldn't tell which of them had said that. Not that it really mattered.
"Do you want me to get us there?" That one had definitely been Sun, that they could be sure of. It was night, too dark for Sun if they moved too far from the sunset orange glow of the blaze, but Sun could still handle walking for the two of them if they stayed eclipsed. It might take the two a few hours to untangle from each other afterwards, if they stayed together so long, but neither of them were really concerned about that.
But still, Moon said,
"It's all right, Sun. You got us out, that's enough. Thank you. Let me get us the rest of the way, you get some sleep."
Sleep, that sounded amazing. He was so tired.
"You sure, Moonie?"
"I'm sure. I'll wake you up when we get there."
"Promise?" Sun asked, though he already knew Moon was sincere. They were still eclipsed, after all.
"Promise," Moon said.
The two of them reached down together to grab the box, all their possessions inside. As they retreated from the light of the fire, Sun retreated as well. He went farther back into their shared mind, farther and farther and farther. Audio faded away, video cut out, his thoughts slowing as Moon took over completely. Sun's AI curled up there, in the calm of the deepest part of their mind, exhausted.
'I want to think of the new things,' he thought to Moon. 'All the new things we'll be able to do and see. I want to make a list.'
A faint hint of the rhythm of footsteps as Moon's answer came back to him, an echo of sensory input too far away to grasp.
"In the morning, Sunny." A phantom sensation in lines of code, data reaching back towards him, a motion like a pat on the back or a reassuring squeeze. "We can work on it together, in the morning."
Sun sent a wordless affirmative, a single bit of data, and let himself fall asleep.