Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

DJ Music Man has only been active for four years when the writing appears on the inside of his right wrist. At first he thinks it’s just graffiti, something he is unfortunately quite familiar with as teenagers frequently seek to prove their mettle by antagonizing a giant robot spider after hours. Though why they think themselves brave for doing this is a mystery to him, given he’s forbidden from retaliating. He can’t even utter a protest once the dance hall’s speakers are turned off for the night. Not that DJ’s various warning buzzes make for particularly compelling protests anyway.

But this is no graffiti. Aside from the fact that he definitely would have realized if someone had climbed onto his stage and written on him, it’s far smaller than the hastily spray painted or sharpie’d graffiti he usually deals with. It’s as if a human had simply written on him with a black pen the way they would write in a notebook.

“They really did a number on you, huh?”

DJ isn’t sure what to make of that. Most of the graffiti he gets on him is names and symbols, not cryptic, vaguely sympathetic messages.

A couple days after it appears he has his weekly maintenance with one of the techs, a middle aged man named Karter. Karter is more or less the only human DJ interacts with on a regular basis. DJ likes him well enough, and he considers Karter to be something of a friend. As much as a non-verbal robot can be friends with a human, anyway.

Karter never says much to DJ. What can he really say when DJ has no way to respond? But he is kind to him, expressing sympathy when DJ is graffitied or damaged, and he is mindful of DJ’s comfort when working on him. He always tells DJ what he’s doing and makes sure DJ is prepared before opening up panels or soldering wires or swapping whatever hinge or joint needs replacing.

DJ had taken this for granted until, a year after DJ was first brought online, Karter’d had his first sick day. The tech who had filled in for him didn’t speak to DJ at all. She’d almost seemed unaware that DJ could feel what she was doing, or that DJ would have any kind of opinion on it. DJ, of course, had still done his best to cooperate with her, trying to infer what she wanted from her occasional frustrated grumbles when he moved in a way she hadn’t wanted him to.

It had been a small taste of what life could be like with less kind techs and DJ, unsurprisingly, had not cared for it.

But DJ has no qualms about trying to get Karter to pay attention to the writing on his wrist. He can’t tell Karter what it says, of course, but that hardly matters. It needs to be cleaned off, regardless of why it’s there.

But as DJ repeatedly tries to show Karter his wrist, even pointing at it with two of his other hands, Karter’s expression begins to darken.

“There’s nothing there, DJ. It’s fine,” he says, his expression troubled as he avoids DJ’s gaze.

DJ plays a noise through the speakers, a small synthesized chirp that he often uses as a way to get someone’s attention.

“DJ, please!” Karter snaps.

DJ flinches back, wringing his main pair of hands worriedly. Why is Karter so upset at this? He’s cleaned worse graffiti off the DJ before. Granted, this is small enough to probably not be noticed by most of the audience, but it’s still there. Why does it seem as if Karter didn’t even see it?

Karter sighs, his expression softening as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “...Okay. Tell me this. Is…is something written there?”

DJ brightens, nodding as a jingle of affirmation playing over the speakers.

Another sigh as Karter runs a hand down his face. “Goddammit. Goddammit, goddammit…”

DJ’s eyes widen at the language even as he cants his head in concern, replaying his questioning chirp.

“DJ. I’m only going to tell you this once. Forget it. Ignore it. It’s not there. Okay?” he says, looking up at DJ pleadingly.

DJ couldn’t help but repeat the querying chirp.

“I know it’s hard to ignore when it’s right there, but you have to.” Karter runs a hand through his greying hair, debating with himself on what DJ needs to know…how much the phrase “Ignorance is bliss” applies to the situation.

“Just promise you won’t tell anyone.”

DJ frowns, but eventually nods, glancing down at the writing. Is he the only one who can see it? Well…if that were the case, it’s harmless enough…if incredibly baffling. And despite DJ’s limited social skills, he can tell Karter is not interested in discussing it further. Not that DJ can even put his many questions into words.

So DJ lets the matter drop. What else can he do?

The next week, Karter is out, and DJ is serviced by another quiet, vaguely sullen tech. When DJ pulls Karter’s employee profile, he finds out that his former tech has quit.

…Is it because of him? DJ doesn’t understand what he’d done wrong, but something had clearly caused Karter to be upset. DJ just hadn’t realized he’d been upset enough to quit over it. He can’t help but feel he’s done something seriously wrong…and that it’s his fault Karter had quit.

DJ becomes sulky after that. Though he never lets it show in his performances of course. Those are just as lively and energized as ever. But between shows, and overnight when he’s not in his recharge cycle, he just…sits. He barely acknowledges Moon when the night attendant comes to visit him, nor does he acknowledge the trio of Little Music Men as they visit his stage to try to cheer him. They send worried pings over their shared network, but DJ doesn’t respond other than to make it clear he doesn’t want to be bothered.

More weeks go by, and each week there’s a new tech doing the weekly inspection. Not new to the Pizzaplex, of course, but new to this task. A quick glance at their employee profiles confirms many of them had been working here for at least a year or two.

DJ stops doing them any favors. He’ll move when asked to move and keep still when asked to keep still, but he no longer tries to anticipate what they need from him, or infer anything from whatever they might be mumbling to themselves. If indeed they mumble at all. Several are completely silent.

During those weeks, something else happens. Something that, before the incident with Karter, would have seemed completely innocuous and gone unnoticed by DJ.

One evening during his set, his gaze happens to fall on a young woman standing against the wall at the edge of the dance floor. She’s gazing down at her wrist, her other hand lightly tracing a pattern on her skin. She looks so happy; with a soft smile full of warmth and even the barest hint of tears of joy in her eyes.

His eyes flick down to his own wrist, curious. The track skips slightly as he turns his hand to check the inside of his wrist again, but he quickly recovers before anyone notices.

The DJ’s gaze returns to the young woman just in time to see her being approached by two other women her age.

“Oh. My. Gosh. Did you--?” one of the friends cries excitedly.

“Yes! I got my soulmark!” the young woman says, tearing up in earnest.

“What’s it say?” the second friend asks with a teasing smirk, her tone clearly indicating she doesn’t actually expect an answer.

“You know I can’t tell you!” she protests, hugging her wrist to her chest as if her friend would sneak a glance.

“Yeah, yeah. But as soon as you meet him you’re telling me what it says!”

“Maybe your soulmate’s here in the room right now!” the first friend says, squeezing the woman’s shoulders.

The first woman blushes, shaking her head. “Oh no. I doubt it. I-It could still be months before I meet him…or years…” she adds, the briefest hint of worry in her eyes.

“Oh come on, be positive! Weeks at most!”

DJ doesn’t allow himself to skip another beat as he listens to the conversation. He can hear them perfectly, even over his own music.

Soulmate.

DJ’s familiar with the term. Besides having been loaded with a basic understanding of human society (much of which he can’t imagine ever needing to know), he’s heard talk of such things on the dance floor. Especially during the slow songs.

Could that be what the writing on his wrist means? He…has a soulmate?

But one needs a soul to have a soulmate, and animatronics don’t have souls.

Years worth of conversation snippets he’s overheard begin to fall into place. From what he can piece together, the words on his wrist are the first words his soulmate will say to him. And they will have the first words he will say to them on their own wrist.

But DJ has no voice. What could possibly be on their wrist if he never speaks to them? He knows there are humans that never speak, but he has no information on how that affects someone’s mark.

A chill runs through DJ’s circuits as he begins to process what this truly means. A human is bound to him. Him. Easily the least humanoid animatronic in the Pizzaplex. He isn’t like the Glamrocks or even the Daycare Attendant--humanoid and personable. He’s more of a set piece than a character. More like a piece of furniture than a person.

He looks across the dance floor, picking out several couples holding each other as they dance, or sitting on the benches along the edges of the dance floor leaning on each other…or even just holding hands as they walk.

DJ can’t do any of that. Not with a human. Not even with the other animatronics.

He’s aware that not all soulmates are romantic, but most of them are. He has to imagine he is one of the exceptions though. Much as he finds himself wishing otherwise.

Now why does he wish that? Being unable to express any romantic affection would be just as bad for him as it would for his would-be soulmate, wouldn’t it? But then, he’d always been fairly separate from humans. He could make due.

But it’s still unfair to put that on his potential partner.

Partner? Him, with a partner? He can’t even believe he’s thinking it.

He realizes he has repeated the same one-minute loop multiple times, and people are starting to notice. He quickly switches it, forcing himself to get his head back in the game.

Yet once the show is over, the musings continue. They don’t help his mood. It all just seems so unfair. Not just to him, but to whoever is bound to him. Someone who, despite not having met them yet, is already so dear and important to him.

He lets out a silent sigh, or at least imitated the motion of one. An odd quirk of his AI that he sometimes has an urge to sigh or yawn despite having no lungs and no voice box.

DJ’s evening sulk is interrupted by the sound of kids, probably teens, sneaking into the dance hall.

Great. Usually he would try to climb over the kids and hide in one of his tunnels until the night guard arrived, but tonight he can’t bring himself to bother.

Cans of spray paint come out as the kids begin tagging him and his stage. Flashes go off as they take selfies, causing his optics to rapidly toggle between day mode and night mode, which gets disorienting after only a few switches.

Though the disorientation barely matters when he doesn’t plan on moving. He closes his eyes and hunkers down to wait it out.

Fate is against him tonight, for that isn’t good enough for these kids.

“Let’s see if we can get a picture of him chasing us!” one of the kids says.

DJ tenses at that, though it isn’t obvious to the kids that he’s even registered their remark. He has never chased off intruders. Deep in his code is a never used, never completed bouncer mode…but he can’t even activate that himself. Not that he’d ever want to, of course.

Still, he knows somewhere out there, some kids have pictures and even short videos of him “chasing” them, but those are little more than them running in front of him as he scrambles around the dance floor trying to avoid their companions.

Well. Easy solution. Don’t move. As he is already not doing.

CLUNK!

DJ scrambles to his hands in surprise, his eyes wide as he clutches his left eye where the rock had hit his eyelid. If the speakers had been on, the staticy feedback that would have come through them at DJ’s pain and shock would have surely scared the kids off. With them off, though, his distress is silent, aside from the dull thuds of his gloved hands scrambling on the stage.

As soon as he lowers his hand to glance at the kids, another rock gets thrown. This too hits its mark, shattering the cracked plexiglass as the stone lands somewhere inside DJ’s eye socket, rattling around unpleasantly.

DJ keeps backing up until his backmost set of hands find the wall behind the stage. He tries to get the rock out of his eye socket, but recoils at the unpleasant sensation of his finger pushing against the wires that had previously been protected by the plexiglass dome. His frantic scrambling causes one of the speakers beside the stage to topple over, taking one of the rainbow spotlights with it in a shower of sparks.

Another rock sails over his head, hitting one of the spotlights above him. The heavy stage light is knocked loose and falls, In a stroke of bad luck, it lands on the elbow joint of his second left arm. The mechanism bends, seizing up and causing every movement of the joint to grind unpleasantly against the wires that run through his arm.

“HEY!” a deep voice calls out as the night guard finally arrives.

The kids quickly scramble, every brat for themselves and each one hoping the guard would grab their friends before them.

The guard doesn’t even glance at DJ as he runs after the kids, leaving DJ alone on his stage.

Just as well. DJ isn’t in the mood to see anyone else. He hadn’t been before and he certainly isn’t now. He lays back down on his stage, keeping one hand over his broken eye until morning.

The incident is reported, of course, and come morning two techs are at his stage looking over the damage. He removes his hand from his eye when he’s commanded to, and does his best not to flinch as they survey the damage he’d done to himself in his failed attempts at fishing the rock out.

The dance hall will have to be closed today. Probably longer. Karter’s backfill is starting tomorrow. They’ll have to be the one to fix up DJ and his stage. Quite a task for a newbie, but they have to learn somehow.

Great. Cold, impatient techs are bad enough, but at least they know what they’re doing and get it done quickly. Now he has days of being worked on by some novice ahead of him, and no performances to keep his mind off things.

When the techs leave, he stares down at the writing on his wrist.

“They really did a number on you, huh?”

He hasn’t yet realized that this is that number.

Chapter Text

It’s either the best time to start your new job at Freddy Fazbear’s Mega Pizzaplex…or the worst time. That’s what your boss, Hannah, tells you as she walks you through the atrium towards the West Arcade.

Your predecessor had quit unexpectedly, which is why there had been such a fast turnaround to getting you in the door, and why they don’t have that many resources to devote to training you. Your new boss is not unsympathetic, though. She’s at least managed to convince the upper management to let the dance hall stay closed for at least a week, giving you plenty of time to get your feet under you.

“You’ll know more about DJ Music Man than the rest of us by the time you’re done, at least,” Hannah chuckles, giving you a supportive clap on the shoulder before leaving you in the dance hall with only a cart of supplies, a tablet full of documentation, and your own gumption.

Once she leaves, you slip through the small opening in the metal shield that blocks the dance hall from the rest of the West Arcade. The sound of the squeaky wheel on your cart echoes through the empty space as you glance tentatively around the huge hall. The lights over the dance floor are up, though they’re quite dim. Much like the lights in a movie theater before the previews start.

Your gaze drifts towards the stage.

And there he is. The gigantic mechanical DJ Music Man, the biggest animatronic in the world. He lays atop his darkened stage, apparently in some kind of rest mode since he doesn’t seem to register your presence as you approach. The only sign that he’s not powered off completely is the faint magenta glow from his mouth.

You frown at his broken eye. Even without the stage lights up, you can see a few wires behind the shattered plexiglass have been pulled loose somehow.

You climb onto the stage, circling the animatronic and surveying the damage. You’d been briefed on it of course. Broken eye, broken elbow joint, lots of graffiti…but you still want to take a look at the situation yourself before you get started.

You regard the elbow joint, figuring that would be a good thing to fix first. Between this, the eye, and the damage to the stage itself, you’re shocked at how much carnage a group of kids can cause to such a gigantic robot. But that’s what a few lucky shots will do, you suppose.

“They really did a number on you, huh?” you say, stepping towards his elbow and lightly touching the joint.

DJ’s optics switch on abruptly as his head shoots up. Those words! Those sacred words! Somehow he’d convinced himself he’d never actually hear them…and certainly not from the new tech he was deliberately ignoring.

Now you find yourself scrambling back from a flurry of arms and hands as DJ suddenly begins to right himself, dragging his bad arm as he quickly turns to see who had spoken to him.

As his massive head swings toward you, you vaguely register a look of alarm on his face at the same time you register a distinct lack of ground beneath one of your feet.

Your stomach jumps into your throat as you fall backwards off the stage. You close your eyes, already imagining the eight foot drop that’s going to see you land flat on your back if you’re lucky…or on your head if you're unlucky.

But it’s not the hard dance floor you hit. It’s something soft and padded. Your heart is hammering as you slowly open your eyes.

Once again you’re staring at the face of the DJ, now more worried than alarmed.

He caught you, you realize. You’re in his hands. He cradles you gently in his gloves, lifting you up and staring down at you, a strangely awestruck expression on his face.

“Erm…Th-Thanks…” you manage after a moment, your voice thin as you resist the urge to peer over the edge of his gloved hand. You can’t tell how high up he’s holding you, and you realize you don’t want to know. Just pretend you’re only a few feet up. No more than that.

He scoots back, his bad arm scraping against the stage. He gently sets you down, but keeps his hands cupped behind you like a wall. You hope he’s only doing that to keep you from stumbling off the stage again.

DJ tilts his head, looking at you in concern.

You glance nervously at the massive gloved hands behind you. “I-I’m…okay. I won’t fall off again…” you say. Maybe he’s running some kind of safety protocol. That kind of thing usually requires some kind of positive affirmation from the human to release the robot from their obligations.

It seems to work, and his hands lower, coming to rest on either side of you. You had expected him to go back to his resting state, but he just continues watching you. Expectantly? Curiously? Despite being capable of emoting to some degree--moving his eyebrows, shuttering his eyes, and changing his mouth shape--his current expression is hard to read.

Probably because DJ barely knows what to think himself. He’d just been suddenly presented with his soulmate, and before he could even begin to process that revelation, he’d held you in his hands--though admittedly you hadn’t seemed too happy about it. Not that that’s all that surprising to him. He’s well aware that most humans wouldn’t be happy to suddenly find themselves in the hands of a giant robot, of course…but…

But what? What had he thought your first meeting would be like? He had already accepted that there was no way you’d know he was your soulmate when you met. Even if you did have a soulmark, his “first spoken words” to you weren’t happening any time soon.

You finally find your voice, and manage to stammer out your name, which causes DJ to perk up smiling and leaning forward eagerly, as if waiting for you to tell him more. Despite his trepidation, it’s hard not to feel giddy upon meeting one’s soulmate.

You have a lovely name, at least in DJ’s mind. The name of his soulmate. He’s destined to adore it!

You don’t bother to ask his name. You know it already, and you also have no reason to assume he puts much weight on the ritual of introductions, as you’ve never worked with a robot that did. So you continue, “I’m…the new tech. Here to fix you up?”

Realizing he is encroaching on your space, he pulls back slightly, nodding at your statement.

You smile awkwardly up at him. Your boss and the other techs made it sound like he wouldn’t move until you told him to. You step around his head to get to his arm, only for him to start circling with you, keeping you in his view.

“H-Hey!” you say, surprised as his bad elbow was dragged away from you.

DJ freezes immediately, lowering his body to the ground and staring at you guiltily.

You frown wonderingly at the expression. He looks oddly chastised…You’ve never seen a robot look contrite at a scolding (not that you’d meant to scold him, really) but you’ve also been advised that these entertainment robots are a bit different than the repair and cleaning drones you’re used to. They’re far more expressive and personable.

It may take some getting used to. As it is, his guilty look makes you feel a bit guilty in kind.

“S-Sorry…” you say, holding up your hands. “I was just surprised. Th-They uh…said you mostly…held still…”

He doesn’t respond, continuing to watch you. You’d already been told he had no voice, so his lack of response is hardly surprising. Maybe he just doesn’t understand what you’d wanted from him?

“I’m going to look at your elbow now, okay?” you say. You wait for him to tilt his head in a nod before you once again move around him to get to the broken joint. This time he stays put, though turns his head as far as he can to watch you over his shoulder.

“I know you probably want your eye fixed,” you say, taking a screwdriver from your toolbelt and starting to undo the fastenings of the purple orb joint of his elbow. “But I think every time you try to move your elbow it gets worse. So I want to at least look at it first. Minimize the damage, y’know?”

It’s always felt more natural to speak conversationally to the robots you repair, instead of giving clipped orders like many of your colleagues did. But now it goes double for your current charge. The DJ has a face. He emotes. It’s hard to imagine not talking to him like a human.

Besides, you were already told that if you’re ever in front of customers, you need to “stay in character”, and talk to the animatronics as if they’re your friends. “Because everyone’s your friend at Freddy Fazbear’s!”

You remove the broken casing, tossing it aside. No need to be careful with it--you can already see it’s damaged beyond repair. You’ll have to send for another one from Parts and Services.

You flinch a bit as you look at the joint mechanism. It’s worse than you’d thought. The stage light falling on the joint had warped it considerably, and apparently DJ’s frantic movements afterwards had actually caused the connecting wires to get tangled in the shards of the misshapen joint.

“Hm…looks like these wires are going to have to be cut off and replaced. Do you think you can straighten your arm enough so that the joint is on the ground? That’ll make it easier for me to work on.” The bend in his elbow currently had the joint slightly above your eye level.

DJ winces, both from the bad news and the command. But he nods, albeit with a slight bit of reluctance. His body shifts as if he’d taken a breath to steady himself, and then he slowly begins to straighten his broken elbow.

He gazes blankly ahead, seeming focused as his brow knits and his teeth clench together in a grimace. If he could sweat, surely a sheen of it would be coating his forehead now. The arm he’s moving is shaking, which isn’t that unexpected, but it seems like all five of his other shoulders and even his hands are trembling from the effort. Or from the pain?

He’s only lowered the joint a couple feet when you call out, “W-Wait…” That look on his face…he certainly looks like he’s in pain, and not mild pain either. That…can’t be right.

DJ stops, looking at you questioningly.

You hold up your hands, your fingers flexing slightly as you consider your question. “Wh-Why do you…look like you’re in pain…?” you ask.

DJ’s head tilts slightly, one brow raising.

You flinch. Of course he can’t answer. Stick to yes or no questions. “...Are you in pain?”

DJ frowns slightly before nodding. Nobody has asked that before. Not even Karter, though DJ had assumed that had been because Karter already knew he could feel pain, and DJ had gotten the impression Karter had at least tried to avoid causing him any discomfort.

You grimace. It’s not exactly rare for robots to have pain sensors for various reasons…usually as an incentive to keep them from damaging themselves, or as an exercise in trying to make them more “alive”. But the DJ didn’t seem like the type of robot that should have them. His routines are consistent, his wear and tear predictable--there’s not really a need to make him feel pain just to tell the techs about some loose wires that would have been caught in the weekly maintenance anyway.

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammer out. “Th-They didn’t tell me you felt pain. I-If I’d known…”

DJ’s expression softens. You’re worried? About him? He’s flattered, but…he also hates to see you so distressed. There’s no need for you to be upset. As you said, you didn’t know. He lifts one of his good arms, lightly brushing the back of one finger against your shoulder.

Your mind had already drifted to trying to figure out the least painful way to treat--fix--DJ’s broken joint, so when you feel something brush against your shoulder you jump slightly.

“Wh-What?” you ask, eying the large hand somewhat nervously. You’ve never worked with a robot this large before. Not even close. You can’t help but be a little intimidated when a hand large enough to scoop you up hovers beside you.

He regards you silently. He looks worried, though it doesn’t occur to you he would be worried about you. You can only assume he’s worried about the repair process. Is he anticipating being in pain and getting stressed about it? You’ve wondered if some robots have that capability, but the robots you’d worked with at your previous jobs never seemed to.

You try to smile encouragingly as you pat one of his fingers. “It’ll be alright. It’ll hurt for a little bit, but you’ll feel better afterwards. I’ll try to keep it as painless as possible.”

DJ pauses, but then forces a small smile of his own. His lack of voice had never bothered him before. He’s never needed to say all that much. The few sounds he’s adapted (yes, no, and his querying chirp), along with occasional pointing or waving have always gotten across whatever point he’s wanted to make. At least until Karter’s last day. And now today.

You don't understand he had been trying to comfort you. That he doesn’t want you to be upset. And he doesn't know how to make that clear. So he has to simply let it go.

Your own smile fades just a touch, as you get the sense that you didn’t actually address whatever his concern was. But you don’t know what to ask to prompt him to clarify. So like him, you have to simply let it go.

“Alright, let’s see…” you say to yourself, lightly resting a hand on his upper arm as you examine the broken joint. You glance over at him. “It doesn’t hurt if I rest my hand here, does it?” you ask.

He’s resting his chin on one of his good hands, still looking at you sideways with a look you can only describe as fondness. You must be seeing things; he has no reason to be fond of you. Maybe he’s just…friendly? Your boss hadn’t been kidding when she’d told you how much more personable the Fazbear animatronics are!

DJ shakes his head no, so you turn your attention back to his elbow.

He’s surprised you’d thought that gentle touch would hurt…but more than that, he’s moved that you’d even thought to ask. That you’re so worried about his comfort even though you’ve just met.

“Okay, I’m going to need to remove the casing on your upper arm here,” you say, patting the casing where your hand was already resting. “Will that hurt you?”

He shakes his head again. That, at least, is what you expected. Generally, unscrewing and removing swappable components doesn’t cause pain in robots. Making routine maintenance painful is, at best, missing the point behind giving robots pain sensors in the first place or, at worst, just plain cruel. You tend to lean towards the latter. Though you rarely admit it--calling any treatment of robots “cruel” is controversial and generally not something the higher ups who own said robots like to hear.

You begin unscrewing the small screws that line the casing. You have to hunch your shoulders at a slightly awkward angle, but you’re sure it hurts less for you than it would for him if you were to ask him to keep moving the broken elbow. Still, you occasionally have to straighten up, roll your shoulders, and crack your neck before continuing your work.

DJ watches this with some amount of guilt. He appreciates that you’re trying to spare him pain, but he wishes it didn’t come at the cost of your own comfort. If he could speak he would tell you to stop a moment, and he’d just deal with the pain of repositioning his arm. But he knows that if he starts moving unexpectedly you’ll fret over him, or worse, maybe even think he’s simply being uncooperative.

The casing is starting to come loose, so you have to hold it in place with one hand while you unfasten the last few screws. Since this casing is undamaged, you don’t want it to crash to the floor or start warping as the weight of the unfixed portion pulls at the screws that are still attached.

You see a movement out of the corner of your eye, and see DJ’s backmost hand reach over your shoulder and hold the casing of his bad arm in place for you.

You glance over at him, letting out an awkward laugh. “Right, you uh…have five other arms, huh?” you say.

He grins charmingly, his good eye closing briefly as he nods. You guess if he could speak, he’d be saying something about how he’s happy to help you.

You quickly turn back to your work, something about the endearing smile leaving you a bit flustered.

After unscrewing the last remaining screws, you keep your hand on the casing, glancing up at DJ. “Okay, I’m going to lift this part here, then you lower your end. This part of the casing seems undamaged, so I wanna keep it that way,” you say with a light smile.

He nods, and together you two carefully open and remove the casing, and you guide him to set it behind his body where you won’t trip on it.

“Okay. Now…these wires are going to need to be cut,” you say, lightly tapping the now exposed wires along his upper arm. He’s already flinching before you can ask, but you have to ask anyway. “I…take it that’ll be painful?”

DJ nods, but waves an arm in a “go ahead” gesture. There’s no way to replace his joint without cutting the wires that are now tangled up in it.

“Will covering the ends help?” you ask.

At his nod, you give a small sigh of relief. You suspected as much, but you’re glad to get confirmation. You make your way off the stage (via the stairs this time) and rummage around in your cart until you find the electrical tape.

From what you understand of robot pain, it’s having the conductive part of the wiring exposed that triggers the pain sensors. It’s a strong incentive for robots not to let their wires become frayed and potentially dangerous. So by covering the ends with electrical tape shortly after cutting them, the pain can be kept to a minimum, if not numbed entirely.

You climb back onto the stage, wire cutters and tape in hand. “Okay, ready?” you say, readying the cutters.

DJ nods, then quickly closes his eyes and turns away.

Well damn if that isn’t heartbreaking…

You quickly cut the wires, doing your best to ignore the shudder that runs over the DJ’s body. Not out of callousness, of course, but you need to stay focused and get this done as quickly as possible.

You toss the cutters to the floor where they land with a clatter, then quickly get out the tape and bind the ends of the wires. As you press the ends of the tape down, you glance back up at the DJ. “How’s that feel?” you ask. Remembering the yes/no rule, you quickly rephrase, “Does it feel alright?”

His eyes peek open and he nods.

“Alright. Let me detach the joint…then I think you’ll be feeling a bit better,” you say, giving him an encouraging smile.

He nods, then turns away again. The sight of his exposed endoskeleton and the wires hanging limply from it, as well as the ruined joint are uncomfortable to look at…but despite that, your kindness is keeping his spirits high. He smiles softly, letting you work.

You unscrew the bearings that are still intact, only to flinch when you realize some of the joint is too mangled to detach conventionally. You’ll need the mini circular saw.

“Uh, hey, DJ Music Man?” you ask.

DJ glances back at you, a bit surprised to hear you use his full name, though he supposes you have no reason to be as informal with him as Karter was. At least not yet.

“Can you put a hand under here?” you gesture to his forearm. “I need to get the saw, but the joint is a bit unstable right now and I don’t want the weight to pull on you too much.”

DJ nods, once again graciously using his backmost hand to hold up his arm while you fetch what you need.

You don a pair of work gloves and safety glasses, and then you’re back to work, sawing off the bolts too damaged to remove any other way. In a moment, the last bolt breaks free.

…Leaving DJ holding his own severed arm.

You didn’t think this through.

You quickly set the saw aside, pushing the glasses onto the top of your head as you stand up. “Here, DJ Music Man, lemme take that…I-I’m sorry, I…I wasn’t thinking when I asked you to--”

You take his arm, grunting as you lower it to the ground. It’s not exactly light. You glance up at him. He doesn’t seem all that troubled, in fact, he almost looks worried as he cants his head.

You let out a nervous laugh. “I-I…guess you’re not…that squeamish, huh?”

DJ shrugs his first set of arms, then lifts a hand and wobbles it in a “so-so” gesture. Ah. So, perhaps he is not exactly unphased by having his arm removed, but it’s still far from traumatizing? At least you hope it’s far from traumatizing.

And it is, though DJ has no way of telling you that. It’s unpleasant, certainly. He doesn’t like the sight of his injuries, and he especially doesn’t like seeing you cut at the wires and bolts. Holding his own arm like that wouldn’t be his first choice, though that’s preferable to seeing it…but he doesn’t have nearly the same visceral reaction that most humans would have in a similar situation.

You remove the gloves, tossing them down next to the saw and wiping your hands on your pant legs. “Is it…less painful now, at least?” you ask.

He nods. The pain sensors being triggered by the small bits you had to saw off is far less than what was being triggered by the mangled joint and tangled wires, though even that had been mostly bearable as long as he kept still.

You sigh in relief. “Good,” you say. “Then…I think this is a good time for me to break for lunch. If that’s alright,” you add.

He blinks his good eye owlishly, quirking a brow. If it’s alright? With him? You’re…asking his approval for your lunch break? As you continue to watch him expectantly, he finally tilts his head in a nod.

To his continued surprise, you thank him before once again taking the stairs off the stage. When you said you were going to lunch, DJ assumed you were heading to the atrium, or perhaps leaving the ‘Plex entirely. He didn’t expect you to grab a brown paper bag from your personal backpack within the cart, and he certainly didn’t expect you to bring it back on stage, then sit criss-cross in front of him while you ate.

He’s only known you a short time, but he’s constantly surprised by your kindness towards him. You’re spending your free time with him. Time you could be spending with other employees. Other humans.

But you’re here with him.

You watch as DJ folds his hands on the stage floor, resting his chin on them and staring at you with a smile that hovers somewhere between fond and dopey. You weren’t expecting him to be so friendly; the pictures you’d seen of him from his performances made him appear a bit more aloof. Usually in those, he’s wearing a cool smile and partially lidded eyes as he focuses on his music.

You can only assume he just acts a bit different when he’s not focused on performing.

You eat your sandwich in relative silence, looking over his broken eye as well as whatever other graffiti you can see from where you sit, formulating a rough order of tasks in your head. You wish you had a way to ask his input, so you could fix what’s bothering him most.

“I…don’t suppose you know any ASL?” you ask as you pick at your bag of chips.

DJ cants his head slightly. He would have played his querying chirp if the speakers were on.

“American Sign Language?” you clarify.

DJ shakes his head. He knows what sign language is, and even if he didn’t, the term itself is pretty telling.

“Hmm,” you murmur in thought. It’s strange they didn’t give such a complex robot the ability to communicate. Voice boxes aren’t the end-all, be-all of robot communication, of course, but no ASL? No text display? Nothing except nods, gestures, and cute little head tilts?

…You feel a bit rude for thinking of his head tilts as cute, given he wouldn’t need to do them so much if he’d been given a better way to communicate.

“I studied ASL in college. I was fluent, but I might be a bit rusty now…I really only practice with my grandma sometimes, but it’s not super consistent since she’s also hearing but--um--” You cut yourself off with an awkward laugh, realizing you’re rambling. “A-Anyway, let’s see…” You set the bag of chips aside, holding up your hands as you prepare to demonstrate a few signs.

“Thank you.” You tap the tips of the fingers of your open hand to your chin and then move your hand outwards towards DJ.

“Please.” You place your open hand on your chest and move your hand in a small circle.

“Sorry.” You close your fist against your chest and once again move your hand in a circle.

“Uh...oh! Yes.” You hold up your fist and bob it twice.

“No.” You hold up your hand, first two fingers and thumb extended, then open and close them demonstratively.

You pause, casting about for another word to teach him, and sign the first thing that comes into your head. “Broccoli.” You hold up your non-dominant hand, open, and make three quick clumping gestures with your dominant hand...then laugh faintly, “but I don't know how useful that one would be for you.”

He grins at that, shaking his shoulders as if laughing. He repeats the signs back to you, and you say the words aloud as he does.

“You learn quick,” you say, leaning back as you look up at him. Your smile turns a bit awkward as you add, “I…guess photographic memory helps with that…”

DJ grins excitedly at you. Your small bit of praise means the world to him. The techs generally don’t compliment him. Karter had sometimes, but even that had been more about letting DJ know he’d done what Karter had wanted him to, and less about praising DJ himself.

And, for the first time, he can actually start to tell you how much it means to him.

“Thank you,” he signs.

You smile up at him. “Sure…” you say.

He twirls a hand in a “go on” gesture.

“More?” you ask. You hold up your hands, pausing briefly to make sure you’re remembering the sign right. You touch your four fingers to your thumb on each hand and bring the two sides together in front of you twice. “More,” you speak-sign.

“More,” he repeats.

“Right!” you say, pleased. “Anyway…I guess most people start with the alphabet,” you explain. You begin showing him the letters of the alphabet, letting him repeat each letter before moving onto the next. A couple need to be adjusted to account for him only having four fingers, but he still learns each letter on his first try.

“You can spell out any words you don’t know the signs for,” you explain. “And names, of course,” you add before spelling out your own name, once again saying each letter as you do.

DJ repeats it perfectly. If he had a heart it would be beating out of his chest right now. He’d never understood that phrase until this moment.

He can say your name. He can call you by your name.

“And D-J-M-U-S-I-C-M-A-N,” you sign.

He repeats it obligingly, then pauses before signing just, “D-J.”

It takes you a moment to realize why he only signed part of his name. “Oh. You…want me to call you DJ? Instead of DJ Music Man?”

DJ nods eagerly, happy that you got it so quickly.

“Um, alright, sure,” you say, amused. You’re a bit surprised a robot would want a nickname…though maybe it’s less of a nickname and more equivalent to just calling him by his first name, instead of his full name. You’d probably get a similar reaction from Freddy if you called him “Freddy Fazbear” all the time.

“Oh, I’ve got an idea!” you say with a grin. “We’re gonna have to start doing a bit of grammar, though.”

DJ cants his head, his good eye blinking in confusion.

“Saying full sentences in ASL isn’t just swapping out words for signs--it’s not 1:1,” you say. You laugh nervously. “And I’m…not the best person to be learning it from…I’m not deaf or mute and I’m not any sort of teacher…”

DJ nods, more in acknowledgement than agreement. He supposes he can step outside himself a bit and see your point, but at the moment it’s hard to agree with any statement that starts with you saying you’re “not the best”.

“Alright, so, if you want to tell someone your full name is DJ Music Man, but then ask them to call you DJ, it would be something like this.” You point to yourself. “I.” You stick out your index and middle fingers on both hands, moving them together to form a cross, repeating the movement, “name.” You hold up a hand to fingerspell “D-J-M-U-S-I-C-M-A-N.”

You pause, allowing him to repeat it. “Good! Then,” you repeat the sign for name, “Name,” you raise your open hand to your face, using your middle finger to tap your chin twice. “Prefer.” You finally lift a hand to fingerspell the last two letters, “D-J.”

DJ repeats it, then, “I name DJ Music Man. Name prefer DJ.” Or, to use a less literal translation, “My name is DJ Music Man. Call me DJ.”

“Perfect!”

DJ grins repeats it once more. He’s not sure when he’d have the chance or the need to use it--his reputation tends to precede him after all--but he’s happy to know it.

“Pleased to meet you,” you speak-sign.

“Thank you!” he signs back with a big grin.

“You’re welcome!” you speak-sign back to him.

You don’t know why the little exchange has made you so giddy. Maybe the big robot’s bright smile is just infectious. But he does also seem…genuinely happy. Excited even, to have a new way of communicating opened up to him.

You crumple your lunch bag and toss it aside. “Back to work,” you announce. “But…maybe sometime I could teach you more? If you want?”

DJ nods eagerly. Then, almost belatedly, he quickly signs “Yes!” with another empathic nod. Of course he wants to learn more! To be able to have actual, full conversations with you! Conversations about--

About what, exactly? He’s never given much thought to what sorts of conversations he’d have if he’d ever gained the ability to do so.

There’ll be time to figure that out later.

Chapter Text

You’re scratching your chin in thought as you look over DJ, once again going over the list of tasks you’ve made in your head. He watches you patiently as you contemplate the order of tasks. You only deliberate on it for a couple moments before realizing the simpler solution.

“What do you want me to work on next, DJ?” you ask him.

DJ blinks his good eye, a bit surprised at the question. Perhaps he shouldn’t be; you’ve already asked him for far more input than any tech. Even Karter. He taps his chin in thought, unconsciously mimicking your pose.

You give a small chuckle at that, then clarify, “What’s hurting more? Your arm or your eye? Or anything else?” you ask.

DJ immediately points to his eye, then pauses. He lifts a hand, spelling, “E-Y-E.”

You don’t tell him you’d gotten the message from just him pointing. He seems happy to use what you’ve taught him, and you see no reason to knock the wind out of his sails.

“Eye,” you speak-sign.

“Eye,” he repeats, just as easily as he’d repeated all the others.

“Alright. Mind putting your head down for me, then?” you say. You tap your toe against part of the stage in front of you. “Just right here.”

You step back as he leans his great head forward, resting his chin flat on the stage. Once he’s settled, you step forward again, standing on your toes to take a look at his eye.

The past couple hours with DJ have made it even harder not to flinch at the damage. “Who the hell throws a rock at someone’s eye…?” you wonder aloud.

DJ’s caught off guard at the venom in your voice as you bristle on his behalf, and more so when you lightly rest a hand on his cheek, your fingers tracing along the pink outline of his eye as you survey the damage.

“Looks like I can get the covering off without the saw,” you say after a moment. As you pull your hand away, DJ’s head scoots forward ever so slightly, following after your touch.

“Woah! Careful, pal,” you say, mistaking the movement for him just shifting position slightly. “You’re gonna need to keep your head still while I unscrew these, okay?” you remind him gently.

He gives you an apologetic smile, and beside you, you see one of his hands giving you a thumbs up.

Pal. Replaying the word in his head makes his circuits buzz. Does it mean you already think of him as something of a friend? After barely a day? Is it because you’re his soulmate?

Once you’ve fetched the electric screwdriver, you pause, glancing up at his good eye. “Let me know if any of this hurts or feels off, okay?” you say.

You don’t think about how he would let you know when you’re too close to his face to see his hands, and when the need to hold his head still prevents him from nodding or shaking his head.

Fortunately for you, DJ does. Before you turn on the screwdriver, he lightly taps your back with one hand. You jump slightly, and he flinches apologetically.

“Something wrong?” you ask him, stepping back so you can watch his hands signing over your head.

“T-U-R-N-O-N-T-H-E-S-P-E-A-K-E-R-S,” he spells out the words. He then lifts himself up slightly to sign, “Please.”

“The speakers?” you ask. “Uh, alright, just a sec,” you say uncertainly, moving to the covered control panel at the side of the stage. You’re a little confused at the request. You know for sure the DJ can’t speak, unless Hannah misrepresented the situation to a frankly absurd degree. But you also figure the quickest way to understand his request is to simply acquiesce. It’s a harmless enough ask.

You lift the covering from the panel and are greeted with rows upon rows of buttons and dials. Controls for individual speakers, stage lights, the light up dance floor, the curtains to the stage, and even a projector and screens that could be lowered for special events.

Unfortunately, while everything had been labeled at some point, many of the labels were now faded and peeled off.

“Aw jeez…” you mutter, fishing a flashlight from your belt and shining it on the controls, squinting as your eyes wander over the labels one by one.

You hear DJ shifting, and glance back at him curiously as he moves to stand behind you, lifting a hand and pointing at a switch. Or at least you think he’s pointing at one of the switches. His hands are so big and the switches so small it’s hard to see exactly what he’s pointing at…but it does narrow it down considerably.

You take your best guess. “This one?” you ask, your hand hovering over one of the switches.

He flicks his finger downward, and you move your hand to the next switch below. “This one?” Down one more. Left. Finally he nods, and you flip the switch. You hear a staticy but brief crackle and then a quiet hum as the speakers power on.

That was certainly faster than trying to check all the faded labels. “Thanks, pal,” you say, patting his chin. You don’t know why you’re being so touchy with him…It just feels natural. Him happily leaning into your touch certainly doesn’t exactly discourage you, either.

A ding of affirmation plays over the speakers, and you glance at the nearest speaker in confusion. Realizing, you quickly look back at DJ. “Oh, that was you?”

DJ nods, and the ding plays again.

“I see…” you say. So he can express himself audibly, at least a bit. You pause, frowning slightly. “Why were they off, then? It seems like you really need them on.”

DJ gives a helpless shrug, then once again belatedly remembers his signing. “O-F-F-W-H-E-N-D-A-N-C-E-H-A-L-L-C-L-O-S-E-D.”

“But why? It seems like they’d be helpful to you no matter what time it is. Especially if people break in after hours…” you say, troubled.

Another helpless shrug. This one he doesn’t follow up with any signing, because he truly has no answer for you. He was never given a reason, and he’d never had the ability to ask for one. Not that he would have even thought to ask about it.

He looks a bit guilty over his lack of an answer, so you smile and lightly pat his chin again. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll see what I can find out next week. Maybe the higher ups just…didn’t think of it,” you say.

DJ smiles gratefully. He hopes that’s the case. It would be nice to not have to spend the nights completely silenced. Maybe just being loud could scare off trespassers without resorting to seeming too menacing.

He settles onto the stage again, resting his chin on the floor.

“Do you have some kind of…warning noise you can make if I hurt you?” you ask, following him and standing near his broken eye again.

DJ briefly lifts his head to nod, then points to the speaker as he plays a staticy buzz, reminiscent of a sound that would play when someone gets a question wrong on a game show, or when a videogame character tries to do something they’re not supposed to.

It definitely gets the point across.

“Okay, good,” you say, relieved that he has a way to communicate--at least somewhat--while you work without nudging your back. You don’t completely mind when he does that; it had been a bit startling at first, but you’re starting to adjust. He’s very gentle for such a huge robot.

But it’s still not a good idea to nudge someone working with power tools, and you’re glad DJ seems aware of this.

The optic you’re working on had been disconnected when DJ had tried to get the rock out, and you’re mostly in his temporary blind spot as you work. His proximity sensors are still online so he’s mostly aware of what you’re doing. He can feel each bolt being removed, though the sensation isn’t painful. It’s not exactly comfortable either, but it’s easy enough to tolerate for the sake of getting his eye fixed.

The plexiglass is in three different pieces, and as you unscrew another bolt on the bottom piece, it starts to warp and pull on the remaining two bolts. You frown a bit, putting your hand against it to hold it in place and doing your best to operate the electric screwdriver with one hand.

You see a movement over your shoulder, and DJ puts a finger on the plexiglass, holding it in place for you.

You stop the electric screwdriver for a moment, stepping back slightly to glance at his good eye. “Are you okay to be doing that? Sticking your finger on your eye like that?”

He doesn’t move, other than to give you a reassuring smile, and the speakers play his affirmative chime.

“Does it hurt?”

Negative buzz.

“Well…alright. I appreciate your help, then,” you say kindly. You don’t see DJ’s good eye close happily as his grin widens at your praise.

With his help you get the first of the three pieces of broken plexiglass off his eye. He shifts his grip, letting the piece fall into his hand and setting it aside for you.

“Thanks,” you say to him. He’s being more helpful than you’d expected. You’d expected him to move and hold still when you told him to, of course, but you hadn’t realized he’d take initiative in finding ways to make your job easier. It was certainly welcome, especially on your first day.

“You’re welcome!”

“One down, two to go,” you say, and together you and DJ repeat the process for the other two pieces. All three pieces are piled up near the edge of the stage. You lean forward, running a hand around the edge of his eye, making sure his face casing wasn’t also damaged. “Does this hurt?” you ask for probably the tenth time, and once again receive the negative buzz. You had been asking, “This doesn’t hurt, does it?” a few times before you started second guessing the double negative and changed your phrasing to be more direct, even though DJ didn’t seem to mind either way.

“Okay, good. Looks like the faceplate itself wasn’t damaged,” you confirm, and DJ plays his confirmation ding. “Now let’s see if we can get those wires hooked back in,” you say. As you step forward to begin work, DJ once again taps a finger against your arm.

“What’s up, DJ?” you ask, taking a couple steps back so you can see his signing more readily.

“C-A-N-Y-O-U-T-A-K-E-R-O-C-K-O-U-T-F-I-R-S-T. Please?” he asks.

You blink in surprise, your face falling. “It’s still in there?!” you ask. “I-I’m sorry, DJ, I just…assumed it had fallen out or someone already got it…” You grimace at the next question, but it needs to be asked. “Do…you know whereabouts it is?”

DJ considers, then fingerspells, “N-E-A-R-T-H-E-B-A-C-K. C-A-U-G-H-T-I-N-W-I-R-E-S.”

You flinch. “That…sounds painful.”

DJ grimaces slightly. “Yes.”

You scratch at your cheek. “Okay. Well, obviously I won’t be able to see your reactions too well…and you definitely shouldn’t move while I’m in there,” you remind him nervously, to which he signs an emphatic yes. “So…just buzz if anything hurts too much, alright?”

He signs another yes, and you pull the flashlight from your pocket and peer into his head. You hook your elbow around the edge of his eye socket to steady yourself as you shine the flashlight around.

DJ’s head is mostly empty--literally, not figuratively. Just below his eyes is a flat, plastic surface that acts as both a support beam and a divider between his eye circuitry and his mouth circuitry. The wires connected to the control mechanisms run downwards behind his eyes, passing through a series of loops along the “floor”, then cluster together before going through his neck to connect to the main computer in his chest.

His actual optic, which is basically just a small but powerful camera, hangs from a narrow metal beam, a few inches back from where the plexiglass had been and at about the center of his eye. Currently it’s folded upwards against the ceiling; a feature of the beam it’s attached to that allows techs to move it out of the way so it doesn’t get damaged when they work with the wires farther back. Luckily it appears undamaged, though you can see a couple of the wires are loose. You can’t tell which ones, so you’re not sure if the optic is completely offline or only partially.

It’s the bottom cluster of wires the rock is wedged beneath, pushing and splaying the mess of wires. Some of them look pinched and frayed.

You grunt slightly, hooking both elbows over the edge of his eye socket, your feet now barely touching the ground as you try to lean forward and shine a light on it, surveying the damage.

Hanging by your armpits isn’t exactly comfortable, so you let go and lower yourself back down to the stage.

“It’s wedged in pretty tight,” you say, frowning. “I guess it must have gotten stuck under the wires from being jostled around,” you muse, mostly to give DJ and update and fill the silence as you rub at your sore shoulders. This job is already more physically intense than you’d expected, especially compared to your past jobs. A far cry from repairing more humanoid robots at a workstation.

In any case, you weren’t expecting DJ to give you any insight on why the rock is where it is, but he flinches slightly, and you glance up to see his hand spelling, “T-R-I-E-D-T-O-G-E-T-I-T-O-U-T.”

You frown a bit. “Oh? They said nobody had started on your repairs…” you say, a bit confused. You assume he means another tech had made an attempt.

“No,” he signs, still avoiding moving his head. He points to himself. “Me.” Instead of elaborating in sign, he points at his own eye, the tip of his gloved finger going partially into the socket.

Your eyes widen. “Oh DJ…” you say softly. “That’s…” You’re not sure what to say that won’t sound at least a little bit chastising, and before you can think of something, he starts signing again.

“Sorry,” he signs with a guilty flinch, his good optic lowering slightly to avoid your gaze.

“No sorries!” you say quickly. “That just…it just sounds…really painful,” you say, lightly nudging his hand away from his eye. You let out a weak laugh. “Not that I’d’ve done any different, I’m sure,” you say. Like most humans, you’ve definitely had moments of rubbing at a sore eye well past the point of helpfulness. So you certainly can’t fault DJ for trying to fix his own situation.

DJ smiles weakly at you, but he still feels a bit guilty for making your task more difficult. Though…perhaps he can make it up to you.

As you step towards his eye again, he puts his hand between you and his head, causing you to bump into the back of his hand. You glance over at his good optic, confused. “What is it?” you ask.

He raises his other hand, spelling, “U-P?” as the hand in front of you turns, laying palm up on the floor in front of you.

You realize what he’s suggesting and you laugh awkwardly, scratching your cheek. Technically you’ve already been in his hands…and it would save you the trouble of getting the step ladder. Still…as quickly as you’re adjusting to his large limbs moving over your head and tapping your arm, being held in the palm of his hand feels…a bit more intimidating.

Though…it’s not like he’s going to lift you more than a couple feet or so. He’s just giving you a boost, really. Nothing more than a leg-up, if he were human.

Besides…he looks eager to help. Why not accept it?

“A-Alright, thanks…” you say, unable to keep the nervousness completely out of your voice as you step onto his hand. You quickly realize you’re going to have to sit…his gloved hands are too squishy and unstable to stand on while doing delicate work.

DJ watches you kneel down on his palm, waiting until you’re settled before lifting you up to his eye socket. He can sense you’re a bit nervous. More nervous than he had hoped you’d be at his offer. He hopes he isn’t being too forward…

Should he really be being forward at all? As kind and sweet as you are, no matter how much you seem to already care about him and want to help him…you couldn’t possibly want him as a soulmate? You’re just a kind person being kind. That’s all.

Before DJ can get too far into his moping, he feels a sharp pain as you pull the rock from under the bundle of wire, followed immediately by your yelp of “Sorry!” echoing inside his head.

So you were aware something had been pulled a bit too hard for comfort before he even needed to let out a warning buzz. But it does feel like the rock is out, and the feeling of you shuffling your upper body back out of his eye socket confirms that.

“S-Sorry,” you say again. “This was…bigger than I expected,” you say, holding up the impressive-sized rock. It’s about time and a half the size of a baseball, though slightly more oval shaped and pretty heavy. You’re no geologist but whatever type of mineral this is, it’s dense.

“That kid had a hell of an arm,” you sigh, and despite the words themselves sounding like a sort of praise, your tone holds nothing but disdain. “Too bad they’re using their powers for evil,” you say. Forgetting that you’re now a couple feet off the ground, you roll the rock off DJ’s palm and onto the stage…cracking one of the light up panels.

You flinch, glancing guiltily at DJ. “W-Well…I guess I’m one to talk,” you mutter. “S-Sorry…” you add meekly.

He smiles kindly at you. He’s not too worried about the stage paneling getting a little scuffed. “No sorry,” he signs, lowering you to the ground. You pick up the rock again, lightly running your hand over the cracked panel. It looks like it still works at least. These things have to be pretty durable for DJ to be able to perform on them after all. The focused, heavy blow from the rock must have hit the panel at just the right (wrong?) angle to cause it to crack.

You climb down from the stage to put the rock in the bottom of your cart. You’ll take it to the dumpster later; you don’t want to be responsible for a broken trash bag if you throw the heavy thing in one of the general bins around the ‘Plex.

As you climb back onto the stage, DJ notices your slightly downtrodden look and lightly nudges your arm.

“I-W-O-N-T-T-E-L-L-I-F-Y-O-U-D-O-N-T,” he says, leaning forward slightly, his grin turning slightly playful.

You laugh, patting his cheek before sitting back down on his hand. “Do you usually cover for your coworkers like that? Or is this a first day only thing?” you ask lightly.

DJ cants his head slightly. “C-O-W-O-R-K-E-R?” That wasn’t something he’d expected you to call him. Even Karter never called him that.

“Sure. Coworker,” you speak-sign, taking the chance to teach him another sign. “I mean, why not? What else would I call you?” you shrug.

He runs his free hand over his chin, considering.

“F-R-I-E-N-D?” he spells out with a tentative smile.

You don’t know why that simple word leaves you feeling even remotely flustered. Maybe you’re reading into it too much, but…it seems important to him, and somehow that makes it important to you too…even if you’re less willing to fully admit that to yourself just yet. You only just met him today, after all.

Though you were the one who started calling him “pal”...Which isn’t something you usually do after only a day.

Your smile is more than a bit shy as you nod. “Friend,” you speak-sign in agreement. “First friend in the new town,” you add as you go back to your cart to get the supplies you need to patch up his wiring.

He makes a querying chirp. Partially out of habit, and partially because you won’t be able to see him signing while you’re going through your cart.

“Oh, I moved here from Allendale,” you explain. “Don’t suppose you know where that is?”

He lets out a negative buzz, shaking his head.

You hold up a spool of wire, checking the label before putting it in your pocket. “It’s about four hours away. I had to move in order to take this job.”

You climb back on stage, tools in hand, and notice DJ looking a bit concerned. “I didn’t mind the move, of course. Hurricane seems like a neat town…Though I think Fazbear Entertainment was a bit put out that they had to wait an extra week for me to start,” you say, climbing back onto his hand. As he lifts you to his eye, you continue, “I was actually going to see if I could get them to wait another week so I could have more time to get settled…but I’m glad I didn’t,” you say warmly.

DJ smiles softly to himself. He’s glad too.

The conversation ends as you focus your attention on fixing DJ’s messed up wires. Most of them just need to be plugged back into their respective ports, but a few were ripped or damaged. It takes a couple hours with shrink tubing and the heat gun to repair them. At some point, you have to remove your jacket and toss it onto the stage behind you. You occasionally ask DJ if he’s doing okay, and each time he gives an affirmative ding.

You shuffle out of his eye socket, wiping your brow. Finally, you flip his optic back into place, double checking that it’s connected. “Okay, I think that about does it. How does everything feel?” you ask.

DJ lifts his head, considering. He raises his brow slightly, then blinks a few times, moving his eye around as he tests that everything was reconnected properly. He looks a little unnerving without the plexiglass covering his eye. The wires are somewhat visible when his head is angled towards the light, and the occasional reflection against the lens of the camera makes it look like a pinprick of light peering from the darkness.

But those are little more than passing observations as you watch him. You’re quite familiar with the inner workings of robots, after all. You’re not going to be unnerved at the sight of some wires and exposed endoskeleton.

Finally, DJ glances at you, giving a thumbs up. His grin turns playful as he shows off his newly fixed eye by winking at you.

You feel your cheeks heat up at that, but you quickly laugh it off. “Dork,” you mumble fondly, causing DJ’s grin to widen. He’s heard the word as both an insult and a term of endearment, and the affection in your voice makes it clear you mean it as the latter.

You quickly turn away, hastily muttering something about needing to get the replacement plexiglass from offstage. Why did something as innocuous as a playful little wink make your heart beat even a little bit faster?

Especially from an animatronic.

Still…you’re surprised at how quickly you’ve warmed up to DJ. You’re no kind of social butterfly, and you’ve never let your guard down around anyone this fast, not even the robots you worked with at your previous jobs. Though those had mostly been cleaning and construction robots…not entertainers. They were nice enough to work with, but not nearly as personable as DJ and the Glamrocks.

Maybe part of it was empathy, too. You’d always been sympathetic towards robots, more so than the average engineer in your field tended to be. Though it was unwise to admit that aloud.

So, a combination of factors just happened to set the stage for a fast friendship with you and your new colleague. That was all it was.

Because what else could it be?

You find the replacement lens along with the rest of the replacement parts along the back wall of the dance hall, near the huge cutouts of the Glamrocks. At least the techs who had examined DJ before had found time to put in orders for a few of the most obviously needed replacement parts.

As you start to pick up the large piece of plexiglass, you hear movement behind you. You turn to see DJ has climbed off the stage and followed you across the dance floor.

“Are you sure you’re alright to be walking?” you ask him, glancing at his partially disassembled arm.

He nods. “D-O-E-S-N-T-H-U-R-T,” he assures you.

Well. You suppose that’s the main point of giving robots pain sensors…so they know they’re not damaging themselves during basic functions.

“W-A-N-T-H-E-L-P?” he spells, then holds out a hand to take the plexiglass.

“Hm…Actually, since you’re down here anyway, I guess I don’t need to carry this all the way back to the stage. The lighting is a bit better down here anyway,” you say. “But I could use your help holding it in place,” you say, passing him the lens. “Do you know how to line it up?”

He nods, taking the lens and holding it over his eye. He takes a moment to line it up, then gives you a thumbs up.

“I guess you’re used to being an extra set of hands for this kind of thing, huh?” you muse as you start screwing the bolts back in.

The affirmative ding plays over the speakers while DJ keeps still for you. You’ve never worked with a robot much larger than a human. You’re not used to having to work with pieces that are nearly as tall as yourself.

You finish attaching the lens, and DJ removes his hand. “How’s that? Can you still see okay?” you ask, using your sleeve to wipe away a partial handprint you’d left on the lens.

Another ding, then, “Thank you,” he signs.

“You’re welcome,” you speak-sign. “You’re very helpful,” you add, giving his chin another pat.

He closes his eyes, leaning into it slightly. It’s a bit strange that he seems to enjoy it so much. Endearing, but strange. You’ve never known a robot to care about such things. You’ve occasionally given the robots you worked on a gentle pat on the shoulder or back, but they hadn’t shown any reaction.

Your hands are still on his chin as you look up at him curiously. “You’re…so different from any other robot I’ve worked with,” you say suddenly. You’re not sure what compelled you to speak the thought aloud.

DJ opens his eyes in surprise, raising a questioning brow.

You let a nervous, apologetic laugh. “S-Sorry, that…probably sounds…odd…” you admit.

DJ shakes his head, mindful of your hands on his chin, but before he can start signing a response, you both hear the creak of the metal grate being moved as someone else enters the dance hall.

You quickly remove your hands from DJ’s chin, stepping back. You realize the sudden motion probably just makes you look more suspicious, but it’s too late to take it back now.

You recognize the man who entered: Ezra Clark, Hannah’s boss. His specific title is Head of Animatronics and Technology. He had spoken to you very briefly during your round of interviews for this job. He’s about a decade older than you, tall with wavy dark hair, and smartly dressed. His button up shirt, slacks, and leather shoes make it clear that he spends most of his time at a desk, not down in P & S getting his hands dirty.

So why was he here now, you wonder?

Ezra frowns at DJ, snapping his fingers and pointing at the stage. “You’re supposed to stay on the stage, Music Man,” he says sternly.

With a guilty flinch, DJ quickly gets up and crosses the dance floor to return to his spot on the stage.

You fight the urge to glare at Ezra for his tone. It wouldn’t do to appear too defensive of a robot’s “feelings”, especially in front of a department head. Still, you can’t help but quickly cut in on DJ’s behalf. “Oh, sorry about that, Mr. Clark,” you say, forcing a friendly tone. “I asked him to come over here so I didn’t have to carry his replacement lens across the room.”

DJ cants his head slightly as he settles onto the stage. That was definitely not what happened. You’re lying to get him out of trouble? When he’s barely even in trouble at that?

Ezra chuckles, nodding. “Ah, I see. Work smarter, not harder, eh?” He doesn’t even look at DJ again, much less offer any sort of apology. But that’s hardly surprising. You’ve learned the hard way that the higher someone is on the corporate ladder, the less interested they are in the opinions or feelings of robots.

You laugh nervously at his response, hoping he’s not laying some kind of trap to goad you into admitting you’re slacking off. “W-Well, it…seemed like a timesaver…?” you say tentatively. Too tentatively, you think as you flinch inwardly. “A-Anyway, what can I do for you, Mr. Clark?” you say quickly. Change the subject and show initiative!

“Call me Ezra. We’re not so formal here,” he says, crossing the room to stand before you. He holds out his hand, and you shake it awkwardly. “I just wanted to swing by and see how you were settling in.”

“O-Oh, yeah, just fine!” you say quickly. “The damage to his eye’s been repaired, and I was going to get started on his arm here in a bit…” you say.

Ezra quirks a brow. “Oh? There’s only twenty minutes left in your shift.”

You falter a bit, glancing down at your Fazwatch. “O-Oh, I…guess I lost track…” you say.

He chuckles. “Well, if you’re at a good breaking point, you could head out early,” he says. He tilts his head slightly, his eyes seeming to survey you. “Got someone waiting for you at home?”

You glance at him, once again masking your initial reaction of annoyance with your best attempt at a neutral look. You’re only partially successful. “N-No, not…not as such…” you mumble.

You can already guess where this conversation is going. You’ve had it at every job at some point, and it only gets more awkward each time.

“No soulmate? Or do you live separately?”

Your shoulders tense and you feel yourself bristling. Unbeknownst to you, DJ is watching your reaction carefully from where he lays on the stage. He can sense the conversation is making you uncomfortable, and he wonders why Ezra doesn’t seem to realize it.

“No soulmate,” you say. “And no soulmark either,” you add quickly, already anticipating his next question.

He raises his brows. “Oh? That’s unusual at--”

“At my age,” you cut him off. “I know.” You’re going to kick yourself for being so curt with him later, but for now you can’t help the frustration leaking into your voice. Unusual at your age. They’ve been saying that since you were twenty-four. It was barely true then, but as you’re now mere days shy of thirty, it’s starting to become harder to argue against. There’s no true cutoff for soulmarks, but “in your twenties” is when most people get them. Or at least get their first one, if they’re destined for more than one.

You’d think the longer you’d been prodded about this, the less sensitive you’d be. But your skin never got any thicker, and each year without a soulmark just drives the knife deeper.

DJ frowns slightly, resting his head on his first set of hands as he watches you. So, as he guessed, you have no mark. Because DJ isn’t destined to speak aloud to you. His gaze drifts down to his own soulmark…those precious words you spoke to him only a few hours ago.

To your surprise, Ezra grins, letting out another chuckle. “Oh, don’t worry. I don’t have one either.”

You glance up at him in surprise. “You don’t?”

“Not everyone does. Not everyone wants one,” he says.

“I-I know that…” you say quickly. And you do. But you don’t often spare thoughts for those happily without soulmarks while you lament your lack of one. You’re happy their path is working out for them, you suppose, but it’s not the path you’d wanted for yourself.

Ezra smiles kindly. “Maybe you’re just more independent than you realize.”

You force a tight smile. He’s not the first to raise that possibility. That the path you’re on is truly the best one for you, and the sooner you realize that the happier you’ll be.

Ezra watches you a moment, seeming to debate with himself briefly before saying, “Well, I’ll get out of your hair. But if you need anything--work related or otherwise--you know where my office is.”

You pull yourself out of your own head long enough to look mildly perplexed at the “or otherwise” comment before nodding vaguely. “Uh, y-yeah, thanks…”

With that, he nods and heads out again. You close your eyes, taking a breath and trying to steady yourself, temporarily forgetting about DJ. You move around the room, picking up the tools you’d left lying about and returning them to the cart.

Independent. You are that…at least you’d like to think so. And you’re not without a bit of pride for it, either. You’ve certainly gotten praise at your jobs and even back in college for being very self-motivated and needing very little in the way of guidance, and you rarely have to ask for help.

But that doesn’t mean you don’t wish you had someone standing beside you.

You trudge back onto the stage, gathering up your jacket. DJ watches you, his brows knit in concern. He’d been so focused on how his soulmate would feel about being paired with him that he hadn’t given any thought to how you’d feel to not be paired at all.

Though of course, he still hopes if you ever do find out, your response will be a bit more enthusiastic than “better than nothing”.

DJ’s thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a soft sniffle and he quickly turns to glance at you. Your back is to him, but he can tell you’re holding your dominant wrist, your thumb lightly running over the blank skin. As if you’d hoped that your soulmark had appeared just now, and you’d never have to have an unpleasant conversation about your lack of soulmate ever again.

You feel his finger gently nudge your back, and you jump, quickly wiping your eyes and forcing a smile as you turn around. “Y-Yeah?” Your voice cracks as you speak and you laugh it off, wiping your eyes again. “S-Sorry, m-musta kicked up some dust or something…” you say.

It’s so unconvincing that you have to make an effort to not bury your head in a clawing facepalm.

DJ quirks a brow, smiling gently…if a bit sadly. Predictably, he’s not convinced, and he’s not bothering to pretend otherwise, though there’s no judgment in his eyes--not for the crying and not for the little white lie.

You let out another small laugh, a genuine one this time. “Yeah, I…I guess you know that’s a buncha malarky, huh?”

His shoulders shake in a silent laugh and he lowers his hand, gently touching one knuckle against your upper arm, nudging you slightly.

You pat his hand, letting yourself lean against it slightly. “I am okay,” you say quietly, with a bit more conviction. “I just…get tired of having that conversation. And I’m really not looking forward to having it with every new coworker and neighbor…” you add, not bothering to try to keep the sulkiness out of your tone.

“Sorry,” he makes the sign with his free hand.

You smile sadly, shrugging. “It is what it is. I mean…some…some people just…don’t meet their soulmates until later in life. And…if that’s how it has to be, that’s how it has to be.” You give his hand another pat, righting yourself and zipping your coat. “I’m fine waiting. I just…wish everyone else was,” you sigh.

DJ dips his head in a small nod. Maybe…he should just tell you. It’s tempting. Very tempting. You’re kind, and seem to like him well enough. But enough to be okay being bonded to him?

Maybe not yet. Maybe it’ll be easier to break the news to you when you’ve had more of a chance to get used to him.

You smile up at him, patting his hand again. “Th-Thanks for…letting me vent a bit,” you say. “I’ll…I’ll see you tomorrow, alright? Get some rest, friend.”

DJ nods, lifting his hand in a wave as you leave the dance hall for the day.

Chapter Text

It is the middle of the night and DJ is sitting atop his stage as usual. Though for the first time in weeks, he is actually active and alert overnight--aside from the few hours he takes for his sleep-like recharge cycle, that is. He no longer feels the need to curl his arms in and sulk; instead, he spends his night time practicing the small handful signs you had taught him.

Not that he really needs to, of course. Photographic memory and all. But it’s fun to go over what he learned; what you had taught him.

Especially your name. He signs that to himself more than a few times, just watching the way his own hand moves as he forms each letter.

“Feeling better?” a low, gravelly voice behind him asks.

DJ jumps slightly, scrambling to his hands to turn around. He recognizes the voice, of course. Moon--the daycare attendant who doubles as a night guard. It’s not unusual for Moon to enter the dance hall without DJ hearing. As exceptional as DJ’s hearing is, Moon’s stealth has been proven time and again to be moreso.

DJ resettles himself, facing Moon as the attendant perches atop one of the smaller speakers on the side of the stage. His glowing red eyes are narrow as usual, and his faceplate too darkened to make out much in the way of an expression, despite DJ having excellent night vision. When DJ does catch glimpses of Moon’s mouth, it’s usually turned downward in a closed frown.

He nods at Moon’s question, then signs, “Yes!” with an excited grin.

Moon’s faceplate rotates ninety degrees and he stares sideways at DJ with an unmoving expression. “ASL?” he asks.

“Yes!” he signs excitedly with another nod. “D-O-Y-O-U-K-N-O-W-I-T?” He’s aware the Glamrocks and the other animatronics speak other languages, but he’s never been given the full list.

“Yes,” Moon says. “How do you know it?” he asks, righting his faceplate and staring at DJ guardedly.

DJ smiles fondly, spelling your name.

Moon’s already narrow eyes narrow just a touch more. “Your new tech?”

“Yes.”

“I did not realize you would want to learn,” Moon says.

DJ shrugs easily. “I-D-I-D-N-O-T-R-E-A-L-I-Z-E-E-I-T-H-E-R.” He had always thought he and Moon understood each other well enough without DJ speaking. Moon isn’t exactly talkative himself, but DJ always enjoys his visits all the same. “More?” he signs, then smiles apologetically and spells, “I-F-N-O-T-B-U-S-Y.”

“Not busy,” Moon says simply. He lifts a hand, using his thumb and pointer finger to make a crescent moon shape over his eye, then raising it up. “Moon.”

“Moon,” DJ smiles as he signs his friend’s namesake.

Moon lifts a hand again, making the C-shape with his entire hand this time. Similar to the Moon sign, he holds his hand near his eye before raising it up. “Sun.”

DJ’s hardly surprised that the second sign Moon teaches him is the namesake of his counterpart, and he repeats it obligingly.

“I am M-O-O-N. The moon is moon. S-U-N is S-U-N. The sun is sun,” Moon says, signing the relevant signs as he speaks, demonstrating that he and his brother’s names are to be spelled out, while the celestial bodies have their own signs.

Moon spends the next hour teaching DJ dozens of new signs. Since DJ remembers them perfectly after only one demonstration, they can get through a couple signs a minute, making it a very productive hour. Moon even explains some of the grammatical details of ASL, moving on from teaching purely vocabulary. By the time the hour is up, they can converse entirely in ASL, with very little need to spell out words.

“Have to patrol,” Moon signs eventually. “Second lesson later,” he says, hopping down from the speaker.

DJ plays a querying chirp through the speakers, getting Moon’s attention before he can leave. Moon pauses, glancing back at DJ silently.

“Two more?” DJ signs hesitantly, giving Moon a tentative smile.

Moon rotates his faceplate, then nods.

“S-O-U-L-M-A-T-E. S-O-U-L-M-A-R-K.”

Moon tenses visibly at the request, staring at DJ in silence. DJ feels his own circuitry chill at Moon’s unreadable gaze, and the large robot actually shuffles back a pace nervously.

“No,” Moon speaks aloud without signing.

DJ cants his head, playing a querying chirp.

Moon takes a step towards him, staring up at him, his glowing red eyes dangerously narrow. “No need for you to speak of such things.”

“Why?” DJ signs, his hands actually shaking slightly. He’s never seen Moon upset before, despite most people assuming Moon is always upset. If those people could see how narrow Moon’s eyes are now or hear the harsh venom in his voice, they would never make that mistake again.

Moon’s expression softens…or his eyes become slightly less narrow, at least, though he still looks unhappy as usual. “Because, friend. You are not broken. You have no glitch.”

Glitch…? DJ isn’t sure what to make of Moon’s statement. As he tries to find the words to ask him, though, Moon leaps to the archway atop the stage, disappearing over it.

DJ plays a chirp of protest over the speakers, but Moon does not return. DJ slumps in frustration. What do Moon and Karter know that he doesn’t? And why would neither of them just tell him?

He wonders if you know it too. But after what happened with Karter, how could he possibly ask?

Chapter Text

You’re excited to get back to work in the morning. More excited than you’ve been about any job in awhile. Despite the slightly sour ending to your shift yesterday, you’d gone to bed practically humming to yourself as your mind had replayed various moments of your shift.

DJ seems so kind and sweet…though also a little lonely, perhaps. You wonder how much he interacts with people outside of his shows.

As you’re clocking in, Hannah leans against the wall beside the punch clock.

“So, sounded like things went well yesterday?” she asks.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry I wasn’t able to catch you on the way out,” you say.

Hannah smiles, waving a hand. “Eh, don’t worry about it.”

You hesitate a moment, then ask, “Though…there is one thing I’m curious about…?”

“Shoot,” she says easily.

“I thought…I mean, it sounded like…DJ mostly sat still. Didn’t really move around unless you told him to?”

Hannah tilts her head slightly. “Yeah, generally. Why?”

“He seemed pretty mobile yesterday. Eager to help,” you say.

“Hm. Maybe because you were a newer employee, he just wasn’t waiting for you to ask?” she suggests. “He’s supposed to assist with his own repairs to some degree, since he’s so huge. Things like lifting heavier or bulkier parts into place for you. But I think he usually waits for you to tell him to do that.” She shrugs. “But unless he’s doing something un-helpful I wouldn’t worry about it,” she reassures you.

“Fair enough, I guess,” you say. The noncommittal answer is a bit odd to you, but not outlandish, given your predecessor quit so abruptly. Employees taking huge chunks of knowledge with them when they quit, leaving their colleagues to relearn it on the fly, is a tale as old as tech. The important takeaway is Hannah’s not worried. Therefore, you are not worried.

You head up to the West Arcade, once again slipping through the metal barrier blocking the dance hall. You see DJ resting on the stage, and he lifts his head at the same time you call out a cheerful greeting.

“Hi DJ! How’re you feeling?” you ask, stopping at your cart to put away your bag and gather up the tools you’ll need to start fixing his arm.

Since you hadn’t turned off his speakers last night, he’s able to play his cheerful ding over them while he waits for you to finish what you’re doing. When you look up at him, he signs, “Feeling good! Comfortable. What about you?”

“I’m--” You pause, your smile fading slightly as you cant your head. “Did…you learn more ASL while I was gone?” you ask, realizing he’s used several signs you don’t remember teaching him…not to mention his use of actual grammar and sentence structure.

DJ nods proudly. “Yes. Moon taught me more last night.”

“Moon?” you repeat. “Oh, the…the naptime attendant, right?”

“Yes. He patrols at night. Visits me,” he signs.

You smile a bit at that. “I see,” you say. So he does do some socializing outside of his shows. You’re glad to hear it. “Well,” you say, clapping your hands together, “Ready to get that arm back on?” you ask, smiling up at him.

DJ nods eagerly. “Hinge was dropped off earlier,” he signs. He climbs down from the stage, grabbing a large box from near the edge of the dance hall.

“Oh good. I was worried I might have put the order in too late last night,” you say as he sets the box down in front of you. The hinge itself is pretty large and heavy, about the size of a large beach ball and at just around the upper limit of what you can comfortably lift yourself.

Once again you don’t even need to ask before DJ takes the hinge from the box, setting it near the stump of his middle left arm.

You don’t waste any time getting started. At least now you’re able to stand comfortably instead of crouching at an awkward angle. You also work faster than you had yesterday, not having to pause and ask DJ’s input as much now that you know he can just buzz over the speakers if you’re doing something wrong.

Though that proves unnecessary, as this part of the process is not particularly painful for him nor especially challenging for you. You attach the hinge to the stump of his upper arm, then (with DJ’s help) re-attach his forearm, all without doing anything that seems to cause DJ any discomfort. After that, it’s reconnecting the wires. That is a bit more uncomfortable, as you have to remove the electrical tape you’d put on yesterday, but it goes as smoothly and painlessly as possible at least.

“How’s that?” you ask once the last wire is soldered. You stand up, stepping back so he can test his range of motion.

DJ flexes his elbow experimentally, then moves his arm up and down, wiggling his fingers. His fist closes into a thumbs-up and the ding plays over the speakers.

“Excellent! Glad to hear it,” you say warmly, placing your hands on his knuckles and smiling up at him. “Sorry you had to spend the night without it…” you add.

DJ tilts his thumb slightly, gently booping your nose. “No sorries,” he signs. “Was painless.”

Your cheeks warm at the nose boop, but try to play it off with a laugh that sounds just a little more awkward than you’d hoped it would. “W-Well, that’s good at least…”

It doesn’t surprise you that spending the night without it was painless. For robots, having a limb deliberately removed would generally be less painful than keeping it attached while it’s broken. You’d been more worried about him having to be without an entire limb, though you suppose he’s been more or less “without” it ever since it was damaged.

“Well, let’s get the casing back on and then we can break for lunch, alright?” you say.

DJ grins, nodding eagerly. It’s a little thing, but he loves that you said “we”. Without hesitation, you’ve essentially invited him to join you for lunch once more.

You go to retrieve the arm casing from where you left it yesterday, but he’s already grabbing it and moving it into place before you can reach it. You give him a grateful smile and start getting the bolts back in.

Once the arm and elbow casing is back on, you take a moment to wipe away the fingerprints with your sleeve, then step back. “How’s that? Still feel okay?” you ask.

He flexes his arm experimentally once more, then nods. He shifts to face you fully, grinning playfully as he gives you four thumbs up.

You laugh. “That good, huh?” You fold your arms, looking up at him with an expression more fond than you realize. “Hm, four thumbs up…I belieeeeve that’s a personal record for me,” you say with feigned smugness. With a chuckle, you add, “And not one that’s likely to be beaten anytime soon.”

DJ smirks, quirking a brow. He brings his third set of hands around, giving an additional pair of thumbs up.

You snort. “Okay, I walked into that one,” you say. You wish you could say you had deliberately set it up for DJ, but alas…it was completely unintentional.

His shoulders shake in a silent laugh as he relaxes his arms, resting his hands on the stage once more.

You rest your arms atop one of his hands, looking up at his big, dark eyes. “But for real, everything feels okay? Nothing else is achy or needs to be looked at?” you ask earnestly. Playfully, you add, “I’m here all week, you know.”

“I’d give ten thumbs up if I could,” he signs.

Your cheeks warm as you’re caught off guard by the remark. “Flatterer,” you mumble, though you can’t help but smile.

DJ’s grin turns ever so slightly apologetic. He hadn’t meant to fluster you…even if he finds your shy little smile adorable. “Really do feel good,” he signs. “Thank you. So much.”

“You’re welcome,” you speak-sign. “But I mean…it is my job,” you add modestly.

“Yes, but…” DJ pauses, frowning in thought.

“But?” you prompt as you move towards your cart to grab your lunch, walking sideways to keep your gaze on him.

He reaches over you, plucking your backpack from beside the cart and handing it to you. “Words…are difficult,” he finally signs. “Not used to them.”

“Ah…” you say, reaching up to take your backpack from him. You sit down on the stage, in the same place you had yesterday, fishing out your lunch bag. You wonder what that must be like…to have spent so long without a need (or ability) to put thoughts into words. You’re certain DJ understands language just as well as anyone else…but he’s probably never bothered trying to put his own thoughts into words, at least not words clear enough to express to someone else.

You set your lunch aside to free up your hands. “It’s alright. Take your time,” you say gently. You give a weak chuckle, adding, “I’ve been speaking for nearly three decades and I still don’t always say the right thing…”

DJ dips his head in a slight nod. He’s familiar with the idea of humans still stumbling over their words. He’s seen plenty of human drama on the dance floor--it can be quite a tumultuous place, after all. Most of it is put out of his mind immediately, unless it seems like someone’s in danger, but he can recall more than a few instances of overhearing people say variations of “That’s not what I meant!” or “That came out wrong!” or “I don’t know how else to say it!”

You eat quietly, keeping an eye on DJ while trying not to stare at him in a way that could make him feel rushed.

“Your job is to fix. Not to be kind,” he signs at last. He hesitates, his hands twitching as if he’s trying to think of the words to sign next. Then, “I’m thanking you for being kind.”

You pause, looking up at him. You resist the temptation to glance away awkwardly, knowing he may start signing again. “W-Well…I…guess that’s technically true…” you say modestly.

“Kinder than the other techs,” he continues, smiling warmly at you.

You feel your cheeks warming up again. Sadly, even as modest as you might be tempted to be, you don’t have trouble believing that you’re the kindest tech he’s had. At your past jobs, you’ve usually been able to spin it as thoroughness, but the few times you’ve gotten negative feedback, it was for valuing the robots’ “comfort” over timeliness and budget.

“…I hope…they’re at least not…unkind to you,” you say after a moment.

He considers, then signs, “I guess they’re not,” with a shake of his head.

You nod. “Well, it sounds like you won’t have to deal with them much anymore. Probably only if I take a sick day or go on vacation,” you say. “The others were just filling in because my predecessor apparently left pretty abruptly.” You wonder if he had ever been made aware of that, or had perhaps managed to infer it. How much do they tell him about his own repair schedule?

DJ nods, frowning a bit. “Karter. He was my friend, I think.”

“The previous tech? Karter was his name?” At DJ’s nod, you frown. “And you don’t know why he quit?”

DJ shakes his head, not bothering to sign anything.

You frown. “Nobody else seems to either. Hannah says he didn’t even give his two weeks notice. Just dropped his uniform off in P & S and gave them an address to mail his last check to. He’s not even answering their calls.”

DJ’s shoulders slump, and his hands start signing before he can truly think through what he’s saying. “My fault, I think. Made him upset.”

You blink, canting your head. You smile gently, scooting forward enough to pat one of his middle hands. “DJ, I…find that hard to believe…” you say gently. “There are a lot of reasons why someone might leave their job so suddenly. Maybe he was mad at someone else, or just…got a different job offer or…something…”

DJ glances down at your hand on his, then carefully turns his hand over so that yours rests atop the tip of his index finger. He lightly rests his thumb atop it, the padding in his gloves making it feel like your hand is resting between two sofa cushions.

Is he trying to hold your hand? For…comfort, you suppose?

“You miss him?” you ask, scooting closer so you can rest your shoulder against the hand that’s currently holding yours.

DJ nods, still looking at your hand. It feels so small and delicate between his thumb and forefinger. He’s deliberately keeping his grip loose enough that you can pull away if you wish…but you scooting closer made his heart jump despite the melancholy conversation…and the fact that he doesn't technically have a heart.

“What makes you think he was upset at you? If…it’s okay for me to ask?”

He hesitates, the fingers on his main set of hands twitching as he starts and stops several signs before you can read them. You frown worriedly, squeezing his hand. Or at least trying to. It’s really more that you flex your fingers against the tip of his finger.

“DJ, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Or if it’s just hard to talk about.”

He does want to tell you. Sort of. He certainly doesn’t want to keep secrets from you, anyway. Even though he’s already keeping a couple pretty significant ones.

You put your other hand against his forefinger, giving him a gentle smile. “It’s alright, DJ, really. You don’t have to decide now. Tell me when you’re ready, or not at all. It’s alright,” you say. He seems so nervous, and you can’t tell if he’s worried you’ll be upset at what he might tell you, or if he thinks you’ll be annoyed that he refuses to tell you anything.

Not only does he have to learn to actually put his feelings into words now, he has to learn when to not say something even when he technically can. You can’t blame the poor guy for being a little overwhelmed.

DJ smiles in relief, giving a small nod. He does want to tell you, but…he needs to be careful. Karter and Moon were both so cagey around the topic, and he has no idea if you will be too. Eventually, he will at least tell you he has a soulmate. And from there…perhaps eventually he can tell you who that soulmate is.

You’re quiet a moment, then say, “Obviously I don’t know Karter. And I guess…I’ve only known you a couple days. But…for what it’s worth, it’s hard to imagine someone being so mad at you they’d quit. Maybe…he was upset about something else and took it out on you--or something…and it only seemed like he was upset with you.”

DJ watches you in silence, letting the statement sink in. He smiles shyly, lowering his gaze. If he could tear up, he probably would be. You admit you don’t know him that well, but you still have so much faith in him that you’re willing to reach for any other reason for Karter to have quit.

He wishes he were worthy of that faith. Maybe someday he can be.

When DJ seems to be letting the matter drop, you offer no protest. Besides, it’s about time to wrap up your lunch break. You gently pull your hand from his, but give the top of his hand a gentle pat after you do. “Well. Time to deal with that graffiti,” you say.

DJ’s glad for the subject change, and hastens to help you move the cleaning supplies that had been set up near the back of the stage. After a brief trip to the janitor’s closet behind the stage to fill the water bucket, you get to work scrubbing the graffiti off his side.

After a few moments, DJ waves a hand to get your attention, then spells, “M-U-S-I-C-W-H-I-L-E-W-O-R-K-I-N-G?” You assume he spells it out because signing words over one’s shoulder ranges from awkward to impossible. Since letters can be done with one hand, he doesn’t have to turn to fully face you for them to be readable.

“Oh, sure!” you say brightly. “I’ve been looking forward to hearing you perform,” you say.

He had started to move to his turntables when you spoke, and he turned to you in surprise. He doesn’t need to sign for you to see the unspoken “Really?” written on his face.

You laugh slightly, picking up the bucket and following him as he positions himself. “Sure, why not? I always like seeing what my friends make.”

Well, when you put it that way…

In a moment, he’s sitting at his decks, his upper set of hands on the dials and switches at the center front of the stage, and his middle set of hands is on the turntables that flank either side of him.

You expect loud club music, and you’re a bit surprised when the beat he plays is soft and mellow. A low baseline thrums through the speakers, along with an escalating and de-escalating wave of…something. Some kind of electronic sound you’re not sure how to describe. Whatever it is, it reminds you of listening to ocean waves.

It’s very peaceful.

You notice DJ’s head nodding along to the beat. He also adds a lot of flourishes to his movements as he performs. Exaggerated hand twirls before or after turning a switch, or flicking the turntable and raising his hand along with the swell of the music, or even just lifting a free hand and waving in time with the beat. Clearly the performance is meant to be visual as well as auditory…which makes sense; he wouldn’t need to be so big if there were no visual aspect.

You don’t realize your scrubbing has slowed to a stop as you watch him, entranced. It’s only when he glances at you over his shoulder with a quizzical look that you realize you’re no longer working.

“A-Ah, sorry!” you say quickly, turning back to your work. “D-Distracted…” you admitted sheepishly.

DJ’s shoulders shake in a small laugh, which manages to not interrupt his playing. He hardly minds if you slow your work a bit. He’s not in any particular rush to be rid of the graffiti--he doesn’t feel it, after all--so you being so distracted by his song is more flattering than anything.

You double down on your efforts to focus on your task, so you don’t notice that DJ doesn’t turn his head forward immediately. As he watches you, you still nod along to the beat, and occasionally the back and forth movements of the scrub brush you’re using sync with the song as well.

You like his music. He can tell you like it. And you liking it feels so perfect.

You work through the afternoon, getting every last bit of paint and marker off DJ. You’re glad for the soothing music while you work, or you’d just make yourself angry at those kids all over again.

It’s certainly tiring work, and more physically demanding than what your usual tasks as a tech would consist of. It’s not really something that needs a tech, either. Surely someone from the janitorial staff could have handled it. But even normally, you wouldn’t’ve considered simply unloading the task onto someone else, and especially after today’s lunch conversation you certainly aren’t going to make DJ deal with someone he seems less than comfortable around.

DJ asks you a few times if you need to sit down and rest, but you stubbornly shake your head and soldier on. You’re determined to have him clean by the end of your shift. The few days he’s spent broken and covered in graffiti have already been too long.

It’s actually a few minutes past the scheduled end of your shift when you finally toss the scrub brush back into the bucket, stepping back and looking over DJ. You place your hands on your hips and allow yourself a self-satisfied nod.

He glances over his shoulder at you, smiling fondly at how proud of yourself you look.

“And there ya go. A brand new DJ!” you say, leaning forward patting his side affectionately.

Brand new DJ indeed.

He takes a few seconds to wind down the song instead of just stopping abruptly--ever the consummate professional. Once he does, he turns to face you and signs, “Thank you.”

“Of course,” you say as you start to gather up the cleaning supplies to be put away. Another trip to the janitor’s closet to dump out the dirty water, and you’re back on the stage. You pause, stretching and rolling your shoulders.

DJ tilts his head, brows knit in concern. “Tired?”

You wave a hand dismissively. “Only a bit…but tonight’s definitely going to be a lazy night in. Just lay around and watch a movie or something, probably.”

“Sounds nice,” he signs, looking oddly wistful.

You pause at his look, but smile a bit sadly and give a vague nod. Both of you are having the same thought. Meeting up outside of work will simply never be in the cards for you two.

Although, DJ realizes, perhaps that doesn’t have to be as limiting as you’re probably assuming.

As you’re pulling on your coat, he signs again. “There’s a screen over the back of the dance floor. And a projector. Can play movies sometimes.”

You look up, squinting into the darkness over the dance floor. You can barely make out something that might be a rolled up projection screen. It’s placed in such a way that it blends in with some of the border decor on the wall, but you think you can tell where it is. “Hm,” you hum thoughtfully. “Maybe I can take a look at that when I’m fixing up the stage tomorrow. Maybe…we could use it for a bit sometime,” you suggest, still staring up at the potential screen as you speak-sign.

He leans forward, nodding eagerly.

You return your gaze to DJ. “Have you ever watched a movie?”

“Sort of. I can see through the gap in the stage curtain, a bit.”

You smile, patting the underside of his chin fondly. “Well, think about what you want to watch then. Because…movie night in this place sounds pretty fun,” you say. You’re reluctant to admit that, even to yourself, it’s less about “this place” and more about the company himself.

DJ gives another eager nod, following you to the edge of the stage.

You stop next to the stage stairs, turning to face him. “Anything else before I head out?” you ask, zipping your jacket.

He pauses. There is something he had thought of during his “performance”. Something he’d like to try. Maybe it’s still too soon, but…after a moment of deliberation, he gives in and decides to ask anyway. He smiles almost shyly, then spells, “H-U-G?” Moon hadn’t taught him that sign, no doubt assuming DJ would have no need for it.

You blink, your cheeks warming slightly. Though you let out a small laugh. “Hug,” you speak-sign, making two fists and crossing your wrists over your chest, mimicking a hugging motion.

“Hug,” he repeats.

“Yes,” you speak-sign, stepping forward and holding your arms out. You’re perfectly willing, but not entirely sure how to hug the giant spider robot…but you assume if he asked, he has an idea, so you let him take the lead.

DJ grins so widely his eyes close. He carefully brings his two main hands behind your back, gently holding you against his cheek. You let your forehead rest against the cool metal of his casing, patting the blue circle on his cheek with one hand.

Despite your pulse quickening you feel--you pause as you try to put a word on exactly what you’re feeling. Peaceful? Something like that. But more like…

Whole.

That’s…an odd way to feel about this. Moving to a new town for a new job must have just made you more lonely than you’d expected. Any feeling of being “whole” or “complete” or whatever is just the feeling of you rebuilding your social support system and finding your place in this new setting…right?

DJ had never realized just how warm humans feel. Scanning temperatures at a distance was one thing, but it pales in comparison to feeling your warmth pressed against his cheek; to feeling your little heartbeat against him.

His shoulders relax. If he had a voice box, he would have let out a sigh that would have immediately given away just how smitten he is with you.

You’re the first to pull away, albeit with some reluctance. It isn’t a particularly warm hug physically--DJ does not give off much heat, especially when he’s at rest--but in your soul there’s a warmth you can’t recall ever feeling before.

DJ lowers his hands as soon as he feels you push against them.

Your gaze flicks up to his dark eyes, then drifts down again shyly. You feel like something significant happened. That you should say something. But…it was just a hug between friends. What needs to be said?

You give his chin a gentle pat. “I’ll see you tomorrow, DJ,” you say softly.

He nods, too distracted to sign anything more as you climb down from the stage. You pause at the metal gate to glance back at him. He’s resting his chin on one hand, a dopey grin on his face as he lazily waves one hand in farewell.

You can’t help but giggle at his smile, returning his wave before ducking out.

You don’t even notice your own grin is just as dopey.

Chapter Text

You enter the dance hall yet again, this time idly humming to yourself. You’re barely even aware that you’re humming, so of course any awareness of what you’re humming is far from your mind.

But DJ recognizes it as part of the song he was playing for you yesterday. He smiles fondly, watching you. He assumes you’re going to start getting set up for today’s work, but instead you immediately go to him.

“Morning, DJ!” you say cheerfully, pausing briefly to pat the blue stripe on the bottom of his chin, giving a small chuckle when he follows after your touch when you pull away.

DJ could certainly get used to this.

And you’re not exactly opposed to it either. It’s endearing how much he likes that simple touch. Once again you briefly question your impulse to be so affectionate with the large robot, and once again you conclude it’s because he’s your first friend in the new town. Nothing more. Eventually you’ll get your bearings, build a more human-focused social group and--

And what? Pull back from your friendship with DJ?

That’s hardly an appealing option.

DJ notices your smile fading, but assumes you’re simply focusing on setting up for repairing the stage. And to be fair, that is mostly where your mind is at. You push the uncomfortable questions out of your mind for now.

“So, any preference on what gets worked on first?” you ask as you clip your toolbelt into place and return to the stage.

He shakes his head. “No preference.”

You hum in thought as you glance over the stage. You lean back, your gaze settling on the broken bearing that once held the stage light. “Then…I guess I’ll get the stage light out of the way,” you say, staring up at the high support beam the replacement needs to be reattached to.

His brow knits in concern as he catches something in your tone. “Something wrong?”

“O-Oh, nothing!” you say, forcing a nervous laugh as you wave a hand. At his unconvinced look, you sigh slightly, smiling up at him apologetically. “J-Just nervous about going up on those catwalks, is all…” you say lamely. You quickly hold up your hands. “But it’s no big deal, really! I can handle it!” you assure him.

DJ considers a moment, following your gaze up to the light. “Could skip the ladder,” he signs.

“Skip it?” you repeat blankly.

He smiles, amused as he holds out his hand to you.

Ah. You make no move towards his hand, instead glancing up at the light again. “You can reach that high?” you ask.

DJ grins. “Easy,” he signs. He lifts himself up, gripping the stage support beams with his first set of hands, then his second. His body is almost vertical, and in that position his first set of arms can easily hold you up to the light you need to replace.

You let out a weak laugh. “Heh…I didn’t realize how tall you could get,” you say as he lowers himself back down. “I-I mean, I…probably should’ve,” you add. You look up at the light again, and the narrow catwalk you’d have to walk on, which is probably wobbly too. Not to mention the thin, caged ladder you’d have to climb up to even get to the catwalk. The rungs aren’t even all that close together.

When you lower your gaze, DJ is once again offering his hand.

It’s not exactly a difficult choice.

“Alright, we’ll skip the ladder,” you say, moving towards his hand. “I mean…the ladder certainly won’t care if I fall,” you add with a slightly strained laugh.

“I won’t let you fall. Promise,” DJ signs before drawing an X over his chest with one hand in a “cross my heart” gesture. Not ASL, but a “sign” nonetheless.

“I know you won’t,” you say warmly, patting his hand. You remove your toolbelt, holding it around your shoulders as DJ wraps his hand around you, leaving only your torso poking out above his closed fist.

It’s definitely…different…from when you had just sat in his open palm.

His padded glove doesn’t make it seem as if he’s even holding you that tightly, though you’re sure he knows exactly how tightly to hold you to keep you from falling while still keeping you comfortable. Robots can generally calculate that sort of thing far more precisely than humans.

You buckle your toolbelt around your chest, letting it rest atop his fist. It’s a little awkward, but easier than trying to get DJ to loosen his grip enough so you could reach it at your waist.

“Ready?” he signs.

You nod. “Y-Yeah, just…uh…don’t go too fast lifting me up, okay?” you say.

He nods, then slowly begins righting himself. The replacement stage light is in his other main hand, and his middle hands hold onto the stage support beams as he lifts you up. True to his word, he goes much slower than he had for his first demonstration.

You try to keep calm, and you mostly succeed, but you can’t hide your elevated heart rate from DJ. But it’s still within reasonable parameters, at least. Still, he watches you closely as he raises you to the support beam the new light is going to hang from.

Once you reach your working altitude, DJ moves the hand holding the light moves towards you, and you help guide it into position before you start fastening the bolts. Once you have that to distract you, DJ is relieved to see your heart rate slow slightly as you focus.

The task is certainly much quicker with someone holding the light in place for you. And probably safer, even if OSHA hasn’t approved giant spider bots as an alternative to ladders yet.

“Alright, I think that’s set,” you say, glancing down at him…and down at the stage far, far below you. You let out a small squeak, snapping your eyes shut. “R-Ready to come down,” you say with a nervous, forced laugh.

DJ lowers you to the ground as slowly as he’d raised you up, and in a moment you feel his hand resting on the ground. You gather up your toolbelt as he releases you.

“Not too scary, I hope?” he signs, his brows turned up in gentle sympathy.

You laugh weakly, shaking your head. “Nah. It’s uh…just a bit daunting being that high up,” you say, resting your hand against his. “Y’know, for us little tiny humans,” you add jokingly.

DJ smirks playfully at that, using one finger to lightly pat the top of your head.

You laugh, playfully shoving his hand away. “Yeah yeah, no need to rub it in!”

He grins, settling back down on the stage, watching you as you pick out your next task. You settle on the broken rainbow light, and in a moment you have it laid out on the stage, the two halves of the sphere taken apart as you begin to replace the broken bulbs.

You’re removing the first bulb with a pair of needle nose pliers when you pause, glancing up at him. This task will probably take a couple hours, and there’s nothing DJ can do to help speed it along.

“H-Hey DJ?” you ask, sounding oddly hesitant. Almost shy. You glance up to see him looking at you questioningly, his head tilted inquisitively as it so often is.

“Would you…want to maybe play some more music?” you ask tentatively. Hastily, you add, “You don’t have to of course! I-I mean if…if you’d rather rest you’ve certainly earned it!”

DJ smiles fondly at you. “Happy to play music for you again,” he signs.

Your cheeks warm as you watch him turn and get set up at his decks. Why did the “for you” make your heart race?

Once again your slightly elevated heart rate does not escape DJ’s notice. He quirks a brow, but you’ve already refocused your attention on getting the broken lightbulb, so you don’t notice his curious look. Maybe you’re just excited to hear him perform again?

If so, he’s certainly happy to oblige.

Like yesterday, he plays a more tranquil, relaxing set of songs. While he usually doesn’t play that many slow songs during his normal sets, he does still have an extensive knowledge on how to compose slower, more calming melodies. Something the public is often unaware of is that the dance hall is often used for corporate presentations (both from Fazbear Entertainment itself and from any other businesses that wish to rent the space), so he did frequently have a use for more unobtrusive songs.

Though, admittedly, he was currently drawing more on his knowledge of songs meant for slow-dancing than for corporate meetings. He’d seen so many couples slow dance in the years he’d been online, but had never felt any sort of yearning for the activity. At least not until he’d gotten his soulmark. After that it was hard not to think about.

It’s hard to imagine that will be possible with you. Even ignoring the fact that he can’t play music and be on the dance floor at the same time.

There’s…a lot of things you two will never get to do together.

As you manage to pull out the last of the broken bulbs and drop it into the small box beside you, you realize the music has grown melancholy. Undeniably so. You look up at DJ, and his body language all but confirms that he’s not playing sad music for no reason. His eyes are closed and his mouth unsmiling, and he’s no longer doing any of the flourishes or gestures he did during his performance yesterday.

“DJ?” you ask, frowning in worry.

He doesn’t seem to hear you, so after a brief pause, you move the rainbow light sphere off your lap and stand up, approaching DJ, putting a hand on one of his back set of hands. He jumps in surprise, the music stopping abruptly with a noise not dissimilar to a record scratch.

You jump back, holding up your hands and squeaking out a hasty apology.

DJ flinches, turning around to face you and letting his body rest on the floor. “Sorry,” he signs.

“It’s alright. I-I just…wanted to make sure you were okay,” you say. At his curious expression, you explain, “Your…music sounded sad, and you looked…kinda bummed?” you say tentatively.

He smiles apologetically. “Sorry. I am fine,” he signs. Why had he gotten lost in his own head moping when you’re right here? He should be enjoying his time with you, not lamenting over what wouldn’t be.

There’s plenty of time to do that when you’re not around. DJ suppresses a grimace at that bitter, unpleasant thought.

You quirk a brow, not convinced. “Do you…miss doing your usual performances?” you guess. You wonder if it’s been boring for him to just sit around and help you with repairs. He hasn’t seemed bored, but surely it’s not as exciting as playing upbeat music for an excited crowd?

“A bit,” he admits. It wasn’t exactly on his mind just now, but…he does miss it. “You don’t have to worry. I am fine,” he signs again.

You’re still not entirely convinced. “Well…if you’re sure…” you say. If he doesn’t want to talk about it, you’re certainly not going to force it. You step towards his head, once again running your hand over the blue stripe on his chin.

His face relaxes and he leans forward, his cheek bumping your shoulder. You smile fondly, leaning against his head. At least you have one way to cheer him up.

You’re surprised to feel one of his hands against your back, gently cupping you to his cheek as he nuzzles his cheek against your shoulder.

Now you’re convinced something had been on his mind…but you’re also convinced that whatever it was, you’ve helped him through it in some way. You don’t need to know what it was. He can keep his secrets if he wants--even the melancholy ones. You’re just happy you can chase the melancholy away, at least a bit.

Eventually, you pull away slightly, your hands still on his chin. “How about we see about getting that projector working?” you suggest. “Then after work, I can come back up here after I get some dinner, and we’ll watch a movie?”

DJ nods eagerly, also pulling back and righting himself. You’d mentioned watching a movie together “sometime”, and the thought of that meaning tonight has quickly chased his worries away.

Maybe you two don’t need slow dancing after all.

“Good!” you chirp happily. “I’m looking forward to it,” you say eagerly as you move to stand before the control panel on the side of the stage.

As you open the panel and start looking over the many partially labeled switches, you catch movement behind the control panel’s covering. You lift your gaze and are surprised to see two dark eyes peering at you from above the top edge of the control panel.

You yelp in surprise, scrambling back. Your heel catches on one of the light up panels and you stumble. DJ’s hand quickly shoots forward and catches you, sparing your pride from a hard fall on the stage.

You land on your back atop his padded glove, finding yourself staring up at his worried face. You feel yourself being lifted slightly as he signs, “You okay?”

“Y-Yeah…” you say, a bit dazed as you pull yourself into a sitting position. “I thought I saw something…” you add, frowning a bit as you scoot towards his fingers. He curls them slightly, making sure you don’t accidentally stumble out of his hand.

There is indeed a pair of large black eyes peeking over the control panel at you, and as you watch, a second pair and then a third pair appear.

You rest your hands on DJ’s index finger, kneeling in his palm and leaning forward to peer at the three creatures in confusion. One by one, the three spider-like robots crawl over top of the console, their small suction-cup feet nimbly avoiding any of the buttons and switches as they regard you with the same curiosity you have for them.

“Oh!” you say, the realization finally clicking. “The Little Music Men?” you ask, and DJ plays an affirmative ding.

You don’t know that much about them, other than a few passing references made to them in DJ’s manual, which you’ve been trying to read over in the evenings after work--though progress has been a bit slow, given that the manual reads like…well, a manual. Very dry and dense.

The little spider bots are each about a foot and a half tall and colored mostly pink and white. Each has a speaker on his chest and cymbals strapped to his back. They are apparently based on an old, underutilized animatronic at an older Fazbear location, the same one DJ had been based on--or rather, loosely based on, in DJ’s case. The Little Music Men and the original Music Man are closer to true arachnids, with six legs and two arms. Despite being built at the same time as the Littles, DJ is the newest design of the group, being revamped with only six arms, making him spider themed without technically being a spider.

Not that any robot is really “technically” any specific type of animal, but still.

The trio had each been given unique facial features, making them easy to tell apart. The first has curved (but clearly not sharp) fangs emerging from either side of his mouth, and is also the only one of the trio to have the signature Fazbear top hat. The second has a ring of curved petal-like attachments framing his face, though these are often confused for sunrays and mistaken for an attempt to mimic the daytime mode of the Daycare Attendant. The third has rabbit ears atop his head and whisker-like attachments emerging from his cheeks, and has also been built with an overall rounder face than the other two.

In short…

“They’re adorable!” you enthuse, holding onto DJ’s finger as you lean forward to look at them. “Like little miniature you’s,” you add, holding out a hand to the little bots as DJ moves you closer.

DJ blinks at that, the blue circles on his cheeks growing just a touch brighter. Had you just called him adorable, in a very roundabout way? Maybe that interpretation of your reaction was a bit of a stretch…After all, it’s possible most of their “adorableness” came from their small size.

But it probably means something good for your opinion on his appearance, right?

The bunny-eared MM eagerly takes your hand in both of his, grinning as he gives it a comically exaggerated shake before skittering up your arm.

“Eek! Hey, pal, your feet are cold, y’know!” you laugh, taking him off your arm and setting him on DJ’s palm beside you.

The other two leap to DJ’s hand, the fanged MM landing on his middle fingertip and the flower MM landing on his pinky.

“Hello to you two as well,” you say, still grinning as the fanged MM slides down DJ’s finger to bonk lightly against your knee.

DJ’s shoulders shake as he laughs slightly, and you glance up at him when you feel the light tremors. “Are they always so friendly?” you ask as the flower MM joins you and his counterparts in DJ’s palm.

DJ lifts the hand the four of you are sitting in, turning it slightly so you can better see him signing. “Usually shy. But they like you.”

You chuckle weakly, scratching the rabbit MM under the chin. “Yeah?” you ask, a bit surprised. You’re not sure what would have prompted such an abrupt decision.

DJ’s smile turns slightly awkward as he scratches his cheek with a middle hand. How to explain this? “Me and them are connected. Network.”

“Oh?” you ask as the rabbit MM invites himself to climb into your lap. You give him a brief look of amusement before glancing back up at DJ. “I read something in your manual about…them being intended to be sort of drones for you?”

He nods. “Yes. But they are not. Their minds are their own,” he says, his smile fading as his expression turns serious. Even his signing slows slightly, the motions becoming very deliberate. Clearly he wants no ambiguity on that point. “But we are aware of each other.”

“Ah…so they know I’ve been working with you? Repairing you?” you ask as the flower MM headbutts your free hand, apparently jealous of the chin scratches his rabbit-y counterpart was getting. Absently, you tuck your free hand under his chin.

Another nod from DJ.

“Do they have names?” you ask.

DJ blinks, actually seeming surprised at the question. The Lil’ MMs, too, actually pause to glance at you. You hadn’t even been sure if they were following the conversation, but apparently they had been. At least a bit.

The fanged MM lets out a staticy buzzing and clicking noise, reminiscent of an old dialup modem. It doesn’t come from his speaker; rather it seems to come from some mechanism within him. If you hadn’t been sitting right next to him, you probably would not have been able to hear it. The sound is soon echoed by both his counterparts as all three skitter to the edge of DJ’s hand to look up at him. DJ looks surprised at their reaction, quirking a brow and, to your surprise, letting out a similar but much deeper (and still barely audible) version of the noise.

You frown, canting your head. “What’s that noise? I…didn’t say something wrong, did I?” you ask.

DJ lifts his gaze to you, shaking his head. “How we communicate,” he signs in response to the first question. “They do not have names, but they like the idea.”

Another series of excited clicks and buzzes runs through the group.

“What’re they saying now?” you ask.

The blue circles on DJ’s cheeks brighten slightly as he smiles nervously. What they said does not have a direct translation, but the gist is that you would need something to call them if you were going to be a part of their network. Network is the closest literal translation to what they said, though “family” is probably closer to what the Little MMs were getting at. DJ can tell they don’t fully grasp the concept of soulmates, not to the level you and he do, but they know there is some kind of irreversible connection between you and DJ now.

Of course, there’s no way to explain this to you without sounding too forward.

“There is no need for names when we communicate over our network. But if you are going to address them, they would like names,” he signs after a delay that seems just a bit too long.

The flower MM and the bunny MM exchange a glance while the fanged MM folds his arms, tilting his head and emitting a disapproving garble of static from his speaker. It reminds you of someone muttering to themselves in annoyance. Clearly all three of them find DJ’s translation wanting.

You raise a brow at that. Between the long pause and the Lil’ MMs’ reactions, you suspect you’re missing something, but you decide not to press the issue. Respecting a robot’s “privacy” really shouldn’t be a thing you concern yourself with…but you’d feel guilty forcing DJ to tell you anything he doesn’t want to. For better or worse, you care more about your budding friendship with him than about keeping robots under your thumb. Not that you’d ever been too fussed about the latter anyway.

Besides…anything you absolutely need to know will be in his manual, so you’ll get there eventually.

Back to the matter at hand.

“Hmm…” you muse. You’d scratch your chin in thought if you weren’t already busy scratching the chins of two of the Lil’ MMs. “Well, Fang, Bunny, and Flower seem too obvious…” you say with a slight chuckle.

DJ’s shoulders shake as he laughs silently, nodding in agreement along with the Lil’ MMs. The one who would be Fang pulls a face of disapproval at the low hanging fruit.

“Maybe something music themed? Or is that still too obvious?”

DJ rests his chin atop his other primary hand, then signs with his middle set of hands, “We are music men,” he signs with a playful smirk, making the sign for “music” a bit more exaggerated and deliberate. “A little obvious is not bad.”

You hum to yourself again, leaning back against DJ’s curled fingers as you consider. “Hm…the clefs, maybe?” You look over the three Lil’ MMs, who are now staring up at you attentively. You lightly touch the top of the fanged MM’s head, “Treble,” you move your hand to the flower MM, “Alto,” then the rabbit MM, “And Tenor,” you say. You grin up at DJ. “Which would make you the bass, of course,” you add jokingly.

“Of course,” he signs.

The three Lil’ MM’s exchange glances, grinning widely and chittering in what you assume is approval. Treble gives a satisfied nod, clearly preferring his new name over your previous suggestion of “Fang”.

“So when you say you’re aware of each other…what do you mean? If I may ask?” you say.

“Of course you may. Always,” he signs. Then he pauses, considering. He lightly taps his cheek with the hand his head is already resting against. “Hard to explain,” he signs. After another pause, he signs, “Can send each other pings. But even without pings, we know what we’re all doing. Where we are.”

You cant your head as Treble lays down beside you, resting his head on your knee.

“So…you can see through each other’s eyes? Hear through each other’s…” You pause. None of them have ears, exactly. “Uh…audio sensors?”

He laughs silently, and the tremors cause Alto to give DJ a sulky look for disturbing him.

“No,” DJ signs. “Most of the time, no,” he corrects. “Can send audio and video if we want to. But mostly it is just awareness.”

“Awareness?” you repeat, not quite sure what that entails.

At your blank look, he smiles apologetically. “Sorry. Hard to explain.”

You laugh good naturedly. “No sorries, DJ,” you say easily. “I don’t have to understand it today.” You glance over your shoulder towards the control panel. “But I do have to figure out how to operate that screen today…if we still want to do movie night,” you say.

DJ lowers his hand to the ground, and you hear him say something to the Little MM’s over their network. The three of them skitter off DJ’s hand, and you scoot to the edge of his palm and set your feet on the ground before standing up.

DJ makes a fist with one of his free hands, resting it on the ground. Each of the Little MM’s lightly bonk their own fists against it as they cross the stage and climb up the wall, disappearing into one of the smaller tunnels.

You tilt your head, smiling bemusedly at the interaction. “Is that part of your base programming?” you ask.

DJ shakes his head. “No. Saw some kids doing it once. Thought it was neat,” he signs, then raises his fist slightly, angling it towards you.

You take the hint and lightly bump your fist against his knuckles. “It’s cute,” you say warmly. “Like they’re your younger brothers or something.”

DJ pauses, considering the idea as a slight smile forms on his face. “All four of us were brought online at the same time. They are not younger brothers,” he signs. Then he smirks. “They are little brothers.”

You laugh. “Fair enough,” you say. “So you’ve three little brothers…Funny, I have three little sisters.” You pause, chuckling wryly. “Well. Younger sisters, I suppose. We’re all more or less the same size these days.”

He cants his head curiously. “Sisters? What are they like?” he signs.

You laugh awkwardly, shrugging a bit. “Oh, you know, just…fairly typical siblings I suppose…” At his arched brow, you pause. “Er. I…guess maybe you…don’t know…” you admit awkwardly.

“I know a bit, I think. From seeing kids at parties, or in movies,” he signs. “Sometimes they get along, sometimes they don’t. Hard to know what is…T-Y-P-I-C-A-L.”

“Typical,” you speak-sign for him. “I guess…average would have been a better word? We’re not super close but we generally get along fine. It felt like we were closer as kids, but…maybe that’s just because we all lived in the same house together, saw each other a lot more. I…think that’s normal for siblings to kinda…go their separate ways as adults. To some extent,” you explain.

DJ lowers his head, resting it atop his folded hands as he watches you. He can tell you’re conflicted. Something about this conversation is straying close to something melancholy.

He lifts one hand, spelling out, “S-A-D?” rather than sitting up to sign the word.

You smile weakly. “Ah…no. I-I mean, generally not,” you say, a bit more evasively than you’d intended. You laugh awkwardly. Are you really about to vent about your home life to a robot you’ve known for three days? “B-But you don’t need to worry about that,” you continue quickly, turning away from him and moving back towards the control panel.

DJ reaches forward with one of his middle hands and lightly grips your hand between his thumb and forefinger, prompting you to turn around. Once again, his grip is loose enough that you could pull away if that was what you wanted.

It isn’t. You glance curiously at his large glove gently holding your hand, then up at him. His brow is knit in concern as he rights himself enough to sign properly with his main set of hands.

“Don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But I’m happy to listen,” he signs.

It isn’t as if there’s much else he could ever do for you, after all. He quickly pushes that unwelcome thought aside.

You lower your gaze, letting out a weak “Heh…” as you look down at your hand in his. You place your other hand atop his thumb, idly tracing a pattern on the plastic-y fabric. The weave reminds you of the cushions used on patio furniture. You still your hand, reminding yourself to focus.

You remove your hands from his and begin speak-signing. “Do you know much about soulmates? Or soulmarks?” You’d realized after your first day he hadn’t said much about your conversation with Ezra. You had assumed he had followed it, but maybe he had really had no idea why you were upset, even as he tried to comfort you.

He hesitates. “A bit. Not much,” DJ signs. He’s not even sure if he’s downplaying his knowledge or not. He feels that he knows the basic premise of both concepts, but given Moon and Karter’s reactions, he can’t help but feel there’s some wide gap in his knowledge that he can’t even conceive of yet. Besides, trying to explain what he knows feels like walking through a minefield. What innocuous remark would cause you to quit like Karter or be angry the way Moon had been?

Best to let you do the talking.

“A soulmark,” you pause to show him the sign, “is the first words your soulmate,” another pause to show that sign as well, “will speak to you. It appears as writing on your dominant wrist,” you explain.

DJ’s eyes widen in surprise. Not so much at the explanation itself, but how casually you just show him the signs for “soulmate” and “soulmark”. Unprompted, at that. The words Moon had so staunchly refused to teach him. You clearly have no problem with him knowing them. It doesn’t even seem like the thought of having a problem with him knowing those signs has even crossed your mind.

DJ nods, resisting the urge to glance at his own wrist and re-read those precious words you said to him just a few days ago.

“Do you know what a soulmate is?”

DJ tenses slightly, once again worried that saying too much would upset you in some way. “The person you’re supposed to be with?”

You nod. “Yeah. Usually romantic. In fact, people used to think it could only be romantic. And…y’know, straight,” you add with a grimace. “But these days people realize it doesn’t have to be either of those things. It doesn’t even have to be monogamous--some people have multiple soulmates at the same time.”

DJ nods. He had been aware of the current situation, that soulmates could be romantic or platonic and that gender and exclusivity didn’t have to be factors, but hadn’t realized it had been different in the past. He wonders how long ago you’re talking about. When you were a kid? When your parents were kids? Centuries ago? Someday he’ll ask you, but for now, he doesn’t press the topic, letting you guide him carefully through the minefield.

“Anyway,” you continue with a weak smile. “What does this have to do with anything, right?” you say wryly as you sign.

DJ returns your tentative smile. He had been wondering…but he had assumed you were working your way towards that answer.

“Well, two of my three sisters have found their soulmates already. Abigail and Tiffany. Twins, four years younger than me. Abby got hers first and then it…I guess sorta became a competition between Tiff and I over who was next,” you explain, starting to idly pace back and forth on the stage as you speak, though making sure to keep yourself mostly angled towards DJ to see him signing.

DJ deliberates a moment, but can’t help but ask, “Competition? How can it be a competition? It is random?”

“Not random. Destiny. But you’re right, there’s…no point in turning it into a competition. There’s really nothing you can do to influence when it happens. I mean at least…not in a way that you’d realize is influencing it,” you explain. You smile weakly. “Part of why I moved away from Allendale is to see if I’d find my soulmate elsewhere. But who knows if that actually matters?”

DJ knows. He wishes he could tell you. You moving here and taking this job matters very much.

“Anyway. The point is, she was upset her twin got her soulmark before her, and I was upset that my younger sister got their mark before I did. Both of us wanted to be next in the family to get ours and…neither of us dealt with that very well,” you admit.

He tilts his head, waiting for you to elaborate.

You let out an awkward, nervous laugh. “I’ll…spare you the specifics. But I said some things that…w-well, I…F-Frankly I’d prefer you to imagine me as the type of person to never say things like that,” you admit. You’re trying to make light of it, but the shame at your past words--whatever they may be--is clear.

He’s flattered that you wish him to think kindly of you, though you seem to be underestimating just how kindly he already thinks of you. He wouldn’t hold something from years ago against you, especially when you already seem remorseful about it.

He moves one of his middle hands beside you, lightly nudging your shoulder with his thumb.

Your cheeks warm a bit at the contact, but you give him a bracing smile, leaning against his hand slightly.

“I hear friends say mean things to each other on the dance floor sometimes,” he signs. “Most of the time they’re all back together dancing again the next week.”

You hum thoughtfully, reaching up to place your hand over his thumb. “I suppose,” you say. You let out another awkward laugh. “S-Sorry I…keep venting about personal stuff…” Normally you couldn’t imagine talking about family drama or soulmate woes with someone you’ve only known a few days. A coworker at that. Even if said coworker is also a friend.

You feel your face warming up a bit as you idly run your hand over the fabric of his gloved thumb. “You’re…nice to talk to…” you say quietly.

DJ blinks at the compliment, but quickly breaks into a fond smile. He rests his chin atop the stage, allowing his eyes to be more or less level with your own. “Y-O-U-A-R-E-N-I-C-E-T-O-L-I-S-T-E-N-T-O,” he spells, since his current position makes using signs impossible.

You fluster a bit at his reply, your face heating up as you turn away shyly. “F-Flatterer…” you mumble, though you’re unable to hide the grin on your face nor the fondness in your voice.

DJ’s shoulders shake in his silent laugh as he moves his hand away from you, only pausing to lightly boop your nose. When you think on it later, you’ll find yourself amazed that he has the precision to do that without smushing his fingertip against your entire face, but for now you’re too flustered to think that deeply on it. With a giggle you playfully shove his hand away.

“A-Anyway…W-We’d better focus if we’re going to have that projector screen figured out in time for movie night,” you say, trying to focus on anything but how warm your cheeks are.

Chapter Text

Finding the button to lower the projector screen is pretty easy, though not exactly quick. So many of the labels of the switchboard are faded or torn, so you essentially have to resort to trial and error. DJ (quite apologetically) admits he doesn't know the control panel that well. He knows where the button to turn on his speakers is, since he’d seen Karter press it so many times, and he knows a few other commonly-used buttons. But he’d never really watched the setup closely enough to learn the entire switchboard.

He hovers close behind you, watching as you flip each switch, wait to see what happens, then flip it back when it is inevitably the wrong one.

Finally, you are rewarded with the sound of a soft whirring and the creak of heavy canvas as the screen lowers across the back of the dance hall.

“Aha! Finally,” you say, turning around to face DJ, holding up your hand for a high five.

He gives you a confused look for a moment, then a bemused smile as he gently bumps his palm against yours. Not quite as energetic as a typical high five, but pretty predictable given how gentle DJ always is with you.

You laugh, patting his palm before turning back to the control panel. “Well, that’s the screen done. Now let’s get the projector itself working,” you say.

Once again DJ wishes he could do more to help the process along, but he has neither the knowledge nor the dexterity to help with the control panel. So he rests on the stage just behind you, chin propped on one hand and watching you patiently.

Turning on the projector is as simple as finding the right button, but figuring out how to get it to play a movie turns out to be a bit more complex.

You open the cabinet below the control panel, fishing around for any wires not already connected to anything. As you do, you can feel DJ’s gaze on you, his head hovering mere inches behind you while he watches you work. He moves pretty quietly considering his size, but you can still occasionally hear the rustle of fabric as he moves his gloves, or the barely audible sound of shifting metal and plastic as he adjusts his position ever so slightly.

You’ve gathered three disconnected wires in your hands and are about to plug the micro USB cable into your phone to test it when you feel one of DJ’s hands gently nudging your shoulder.

You look over your shoulder. “What’s up? D’you know which of these connects to the screen?” you ask.

He tilts his head in a slight nod, reaching around you and lightly poking the HDMI cable. The one wire that you can’t connect to your phone.

“Ah. I was afraid of that,” you say.

The speakers play an inquisitive chirp as you put away the wires and turn to face DJ. He backs up slightly to give you room.

“Oh, it’s probably not a big deal. I just need to bring in my laptop tonight is all,” you say. “Should be simple enough.”

DJ nods thoughtfully. “Looks simple when I see the presenters set it up. Put that wire into the laptop, then push a button. I think. Never watched that closely.”

You smile up at him. “Well, that’s promising, then,” you say, closing up the cabinet. You rest a hand against his chin. “Don’t suppose you’d be up for playing a bit more music while I finish fixing that light? If not, I can play something from my phone.”

He nods eagerly, and returns to his decks while you return to fixing the rainbow light. Whatever melancholy thoughts were on his mind earlier stay away this time, and the music remains tranquil and peaceful for the rest of your shift.

By the end of your shift, you’re giddy with excitement for movie night…and if the steadily increasing tempo of DJ’s music is any indication, so is he. When he sees you packing up for the day, he finishes the song and turns to face you.

You zip up your coat and sling your backpack over your shoulder. DJ rests his chin on the stage, his primary hands splayed open on either side of him as he grins expectantly at you. Yet his grin still isn’t without a slight bit of shyness too.

He doesn’t have to sign anything for you to know what he’s asking.

You lean against his cheek and feel both his hands press against your back. This time he actually nuzzles his cheek against you, causing you to giggle as you pat his nose. “I’m only going to be gone a few hours, you know,” you tease good naturedly.

He pulls back, giving a simple apologetic shrug.

“See you then,” you say, patting his chin before heading out.

“See you,” he signs.

*

It’s around nine o’clock in the evening when you re-enter the Pizzaplex. You’ve changed out of your P & S uniform into a loose-fitting hoodie and jeans and traded your usual work backpack for a laptop bag.

The main doors and the atrium itself are still open, as are a few of the restaurants and shops. Most of the actual attractions closed about an hour ago, though, so there’s very little foot traffic around the ‘Plex.

Normally, the dance hall itself would still be open for another few hours, as it’s one of the last venues in the ‘Plex to close--it appeals to a much older audience than most of the Pizzaplex, after all.

You’re not technically sneaking into work after hours, but you have to admit the higher ups would be less than impressed by what you’re doing--using company equipment for your own entertainment without prior approval, specifically.

You’d done things like this at your previous job, though you’d never been the one leading such operations. The place also hadn’t been as public-facing as this Pizzaplex--it had been a large warehouse for servicing cleaning and security bots not dissimilar to the ones developed by Fazbear Entertainment. But it still had conference rooms and presentation rooms that you and your colleagues occasionally took over for movie nights under the guise of “team building”.

You’re not sure the team building excuse would fly here, though. As much as Fazbear Entertainment wants its employees to publicly maintain the illusion of the animatronics being friends to all who enter the Pizzaplex, you’re pretty sure that trying to make an actual case to upper management about DJ being your colleague rather than a line item in your job description would not go over well.

The thought of anyone looking at DJ, of meeting DJ, and seeing a mere machine sends a stab of anger and grief through your heart, and you rub at your hoodie uncomfortably. That feeling of indignation when robots are mistreated, when their capabilities are underestimated, is not new to you. But the intensity of it certainly is.

You take a breath, steadying yourself as you approach the metal gate closing off the dance hall. You’ll have to unpack all of that later. For now, you are going to have a nice movie night with DJ.

Holding onto that thought, you don’t even have to force a smile as you enter the dance hall. DJ is (predictably) waiting for you and as you approach you spread your arms wide, letting him pull you into another hug.

“Changed clothes?” he asks once you pull back.

“Well, I didn’t want to come back in my work uniform. Besides, this is more comfy anyway,” you shrug.

He reaches behind you, pinching your hood between his thumb and forefinger and pulling it over your head.

“H-Hey!” you laugh, pushing the edge of the hood out of your eyes. His eyes are sparkling with amusement as his shoulders shake with laughter. “Goober,” you mutter playfully, placing a hand on his nose and giving a light shove. He humors you and lifts his head slightly, allowing you to maintain the illusion that you can actually shove him, even slightly.

“Gimme a minute to get us set up, okay?” you say, running a hand over his chin as you go to the control panel to get your laptop hooked in.

It’s not long before you’re in business. DJ had been right--the setup is more or less plug and play.

“Did you decide what you wanted to watch?” you ask once your laptop’s screen is mirrored on the projector.

He actually hadn’t even considered it. He had been so fixated on just the idea of spending time with you at all. But after a brief pause, he signs, “What’s your favorite movie?”

You blink. “My favorite?” you repeat. Well…you suppose if someone doesn’t have much experience with movies, the favorite movie of one of their good friends is as good a starting point as any.

“Hm…it’s hard to pick just one…” you say. You consider a moment, then say, “Maybe Legend of Flames? It's a fantasy story, about a knight who befriends a dragon, and they team up to take down an evil king.”

DJ nods. “Sounds exciting!”

“Well, I’ve always thought so,” you say with a chuckle. “It’s been one of my favorites ever since I was a kid,” you say, a bit wistfully. “I always thought it’d be so cool to just pal around with a big dragon like that…” you say as you queue up the movie.

When you turn back to face him, he’s quirking a brow and grinning pointedly at you.

“But pal’ing around with a big spider works too!” you say fondly with a good natured eye-roll. “I’m going to hit up the vending machines before we get started. You want--” You cut yourself off, realizing what you’re about to ask. So does DJ, and he smirks as he waits for you to continue. “--aaaanything…?” you finish lamely, feeling your face burning.

His shoulders shake in silent laughter and you do your best to look indignant, but can’t keep the smile off your face. “Don’t sign a word!” you say, pointing up at him. He grins innocently, giving an exaggerated shrug of feigned helplessness.

As you’re about to turn and leave, he lightly touches your arm, and you glance up at him.

“It was sweet of you to think of me,” he signs with an earnest smile.

You make a noise halfway between an incoherent sputter and an awkward laugh. You’d be less flustered if he’d simply teased you for your mistake! You clear your throat, scratching your cheek. “W-Well…y’know…” Does he know? You sure don’t. “I-I’ll…be right back,” you say, unable to think of anything else, and this time he doesn’t stop you from making your exit.

You make your way up the glowing spiral staircase of the main area of the West Arcade. The arcade itself is also closed down for the night, so you don’t need to worry about running into any actual guests. Not that they would recognize you as an employee in your street clothes anyway.

You find a row of five vending machines, each one showing a different member of the Glamrocks. You frown slightly as you glance at the flavors. Freddy’s orange, Monty’s sour lime, Chica’s pink lemonade, Roxanne’s grape, and Bonnie’s blue raspberry. No basic cola flavor to be found. Oh well. Freddy’s orange flavor will have to do. You slide your card across the machine and hit the button, hearing the clunk of the soda can as it tumbles into the bottom slot.

You bend down to grab the FizzyFaz from the slot, opening it up and taking a sip. As you stand back up, you become aware of a light shining down on you from above. You lift your gaze and are met with two glowing red eyes.

You shriek and stumble back, the can of soda falling from your hand and splashing over the patterned arcade rug.

“Trespasser,” Moon growls from his perch atop the vending machine.

“M-Moon!” you blurt out, hastily telling him your first and last name. “I work here!” you add, backing up nervously. You haven’t actually been introduced to him (or any animatronic besides DJ) yet, but surely he had your employee profile at least?

He jumps down from the vending machine, landing without a sound and towering over you. His posture is hunched, his arms hanging limply at his sides. It’s not bright enough to see his facial expression, but from how narrow his glowing red eyes are you can’t imagine he’s happy to see you.

“After hours,” he says, taking a step towards you. “Trespasser,” he repeats sternly.

Shit. You’re off the clock and the West Arcade is closed. Of course he thinks you shouldn’t be here…and he’s technically right.

You’re about to take another step back when Moon’s hand shoots out, wrapping around your wrist. Not tightly enough to hurt, but you’re definitely not going to be able to wriggle out of his firm grip either.

“M-Moon, listen, I’m…I’m just visiting with DJ for a bit, okay?” you say, trying to resist the impulse to pull away. You know trying to “escape” at this point will only aggravate the nighttime attendant even more.

His faceplate rotates ninety degrees, though he remains silent as he seems to consider. Before he can answer, a loud buzzing, chirping noise reverberates through the speakers down in the dance hall. Even all the way up here it’s loud enough to make you flinch and cover one of your ears with your free hand.

You and Moon glance up at the same time to see DJ emerging from one of the tunnel entrances high on the wall above you, signing frantically as he climbs out and moves down the wall.

“--Not trespassing! I invited them, Moon please don’t grab them, they’re not here to cause trouble I promise please just let them go--!” Between the darkened ceiling of the arcade and how fast DJ’s signing, you can barely follow what he’s saying as he frets over you.

Moon’s gaze slowly drifts from DJ back to you. “Don’t run,” he says simply, before releasing your wrist.

“O-Of course,” you agree nervously, rubbing your wrist. He hadn’t squeezed you that hard, but his metallic hands are ice cold.

“You okay?” DJ signs to you, his brow knit in worry as he clings to the wall.

“Yes DJ, I’m fine, don’t worry,” you say, walking towards him. He starts to climb down onto the arcade floor. As he does, he reaches out, as if wanting to take your hand. You’re about to oblige when he attempts to set one of his middle hands on the floor, only to knock over an arcade cabinet with a loud thud.

Moon flinches slightly, letting out a low, hissing growl. “Messy,” he mumbles.

DJ freezes in place at the noise, glancing around and trying to find a clear path through the rows of arcade cabinets. Unfortunately there is none…which is why he usually stays on the walls and ceilings. His main two hands hover anxiously above the ground while his middle hand stays on the floor, only having the space to rest there after toppling over one of the machines. There’s no way for him to fully climb down from the wall without knocking over another machine or three.

Poor guy, you think, giving DJ a sympathetic look as you weave around the arcade cabinets to get to him. He looks so worried…

“Are you alright?” you ask him, holding out your hand when you get close enough. He lowers his other middle hand to you and you place your hand over one of his fingertips, giving him a reassuring pat.

DJ nods. “Heard you scream. Worried. You hurt?”

You shake your head. “I was just startled. Sorry I scared ya,” you say with a kind smile, wrapping your arms around his finger and giving it a brief squeeze.

That seems to perk him up, for his face breaks into a relieved grin, and he brings his other middle hand around, cupping it against your back and “hugging” you as best he can.

Moon’s faceplate is now rotated ninety degrees in the other direction, his face hanging sideways as he watches you with narrowed, red eyes.

“Can they stay, Moon? We were going to watch a movie,” DJ signs.

Moon is silent for a moment, then says, “Fine. No wandering. Stay in the dance hall. And clean up.” He gestures to the toppled arcade cabinet.

You slip out of DJ’s hug so you can face Moon. “Yeah, of course. Thank you. S-Sorry for the trouble…” you say. You pick your way around the cabinets, back to Moon. He stares down at you silently as you stand before him.

“Y-You’re…not going to report this, are you?” you ask. “I-I’d hate for DJ to get in trouble,” you say quietly, fidgeting with your hands as you look up at him. “I was the one who suggested we watch a movie in the dance hall…” you say, ignoring the fact that DJ had already said he had invited you. Technically both could be true, but you’d still rather Moon think of you as the culprit if it would keep DJ out of trouble.

He regards you another moment, then says, “No. Nobody will get in trouble.”

“Thank you, Moon,” you say, relieved as you clasp your hands in front of you, even bowing your head slightly.

Moon’s faceplate rotates again, this time doing a full rotation before stopping with his face upright. He turns to leave, then pauses by the vending machine. He places his hand against it, and after a moment you hear the dull clunking of another can being dispensed. Wordlessly, he takes it and passes it to you. You mumble a surprised thanks, and receive only a small nod in return.

A faint smile pulls the corner of your mouth as you watch Moon climb up the wall and disappear into one of DJ’s tunnels. You had been sure he’d been upset with you…but he can’t be too upset if he replaced your drink for you…right? Or maybe he just feels guilty for startling you into dropping it.

You’re about to turn back to DJ when you see a mop bot followed by a wet floor bot rolling towards you. The mop bot glances at you, waving a hand and making a warning buzz as the wet floor bot lightly bumps against your shin, both of them shooing you away from the spilled soda.

“Okay, okay!” you say hastily, dancing back out of their way. “S-Sorry about the mess. You sure you…don’t need any help?” you ask, a bit uncertain as you watch the mop bot begin to mop the…rug.

The mop bot repeats his warning buzz, shooing you away again. It seems they’ve decided that they are indeed going to mop the soda off the rug.

Well…you suppose trying to argue with them on that won’t accomplish much. “Alright…I’ll get out of your way then,” you say, returning to DJ.

DJ, meanwhile, is carefully moving himself off of the floor, delicately maneuvering around the other arcade cabinets as he places five of his hands on the wall. The sixth takes the toppled arcade cabinet, and you help him guide it back into place, pushing it another couple inches yourself so it’s once again flush with the other cabinets.

DJ lightly touches your shoulder to get your attention, and when you glance up at him, he signs, “Damaged?”

“Doesn’t look like it,” you say, tapping a few of the buttons and moving the joystick a bit. Of course without putting in a token, you can’t tell for sure the inputs were working…but at least nothing feels jammed or stuck in any way. You give him a wry smile. “They make these things pretty sturdy. I’m sure the kiddos can get pretty rough with them.”

He nods, looking relieved that he hasn’t caused any actual damage. He holds his main pair of hands out to you, as if wanting you to take them.

You cant your head slightly and lightly rest one hand against his finger. “What’s up?” you ask gently, not sure exactly what he wants you to do.

His middle pair of hands sign, “Come with me? Back to the stage?”

You had been planning on just going around the upper floor and taking the stairs back down…the same way you’d gotten up here. You quirk a brow at him, smiling in amusement. “You think you need to keep an eye on me now?” you tease.

DJ stiffens a moment, then smiles sheepishly, giving an apologetic shrug. He realizes you’re right…it’s probably silly. You’re perfectly safe here, and perfectly capable of getting back to the stage on your own.

Even if your startled scream had sent a cold dread through his circuits.

He starts pulling his hands away, but you quickly grab one of his fingers in both your hands. “Woah, h-hey, I was just teasing, DJ. It…wasn’t a no,” you say, trying to keep your tone light but unable to keep a bit of shyness out of your voice.

DJ’s smile isn’t without a bit of his own shyness as he once again lowers his hands, letting you climb aboard yourself. Once you’re seated, he cups his hands slightly. Not enough to close you in, but enough to ease any worries you may have had about sliding off his hands as he moves through the tunnel.

You’d like to say you had no such worries…and at first you didn’t. But the entrance to the tunnel is thirty feet up the wall, and worries come easily at that height.

Though it’s not even the first time today DJ has held you up that high.

You sit up slightly, holding onto one of his fingers as you glance around the tunnel. There’s not much to see--just the brightly colored rings of neon lights. But simple as the decor is, moving through the darkness and passing through the rings feels otherworldly in a way.

You emerge into the dance hall, out of the tunnel entrance across from the stage. DJ holds you closer as he climbs down the wall, keeping the hands you’re in parallel with the floor even as his body is perpendicular to it. He lowers his hands to the floor, letting you climb down.

“Thanks for the ride,” you say, placing your hand on one of his fingertips and squeezing slightly.

He smiles, his eyes closing contentedly as he plays a brief, happy jingle over the speakers.

“Let me just see if there’s a chair I can grab and we can get started,” you say. You remember coming across a rack of simple metal folding chairs when you were looking for cleaning supplies yesterday.

“Uncomfortable,” DJ signs, frowning a bit. At your skeptical look, he smiles weakly. “It’s what I’ve heard.” Of course he has no personal experience with chairs of any kind.

You shrug. “Yeah, probably,” you agree. You’re familiar with that type of chair. Hard metal backrest that’s just a little too low and maybe--MAYBE--a thin cushion on the seat. “But it’s either that or the floor.”

DJ hesitates, then gives an awkward, shy little smile as he holds out his main pair of hands again.

You try to ignore the warmth in your cheeks with an amused, if slightly awkward laugh. “You want me to sit in your hands? Are you sure?” you ask, resting your hands on one of his fingertips.

“Not a problem. I won’t be doing anything with them anyway,” he signs.

True…As a robot he probably doesn’t need to shift position or adjust himself, so there’s no reason he can’t just…hold still the entire movie and let his hands serve as a seat for you.

“Well…you do have pretty soft hands,” you say, looking down at his glove and pushing against it slightly, not noticing the circles on DJ’s cheeks growing a bit brighter. You glance up at him. “Why are they so soft anyway? I’m guessing it’s not just so you can help with VIP seating,” you say wryly.

“Equipment is delicate. Hard exoskeleton would damage the turntables,” he explains.

“Ah. Good point,” you say. “Well…if…it’s not a problem for you I guess it works,” you say, trying to keep the shyness out of your voice. When you’d agreed to movie night you hadn’t realized you’d be sitting so close to him. Not that you minded, really…

He holds his hand out to you, letting you climb aboard and saving you the trip over to the stairs beside the stage. With another hand, he picks up your laptop and passes it to you. The clunky gaming laptop looks comically small pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

He holds one hand flat against his chest, while the hand holding you rests on the stage floor, the former acting as a backrest while the latter acts as your seat. It doesn’t feel too different from just sitting on a couch.

VIP seating indeed.

As you’re getting the movie set up, DJ is pinged by the Lil’ Music Men. They’re aware the movie is about to start, and they want to watch too.

DJ bites back a grimace. No. No no no! This is supposed to be time for you and him to spend together! It’s a--DJ quickly stops himself from finishing the thought, but he can already sense Treble’s smug response over their network.

A date!

NO. DJ sends an emphatic denial over the network, much to the amusement of all three of his siblings. It can’t be a date when you don’t even know you’re soulmates yet!

If it’s not a date, there’s no reason they can’t join the two of you!

You feel DJ’s hands tense beneath you and you glance up at him. “Is everything okay?” you ask as the opening credits are still rolling. You thought you’d heard the sound of him communicating over the network he shared with his brothers, but with the audio from the movie going, you weren’t completely sure.

“Everything’s fine!” he signs quickly, playing an affirmative jingle over the speakers for good measure.

It takes you a moment to process his signing from this angle, but once you do you give a slight shrug. “Um, okay then,” you say, slightly uncertain as you lean back against his hand.

DJ tracks the movements of his three little siblings as they emerge from one of the smaller tunnel entrances over the dance floor and skitter down the wall single file.

Their movement across the room catches your eye and you glance towards them. Once you realize who it is, you smile brightly, pausing the movie. “Oh hey, the little guys are back!” you say cheerfully. “Did you guys want to join us?” you ask the trio.

The pings of unfiltered smugness the three send DJ are nigh unbearable. He gives the trio a sulky look over your head, glad you have your back to him for now.

The three clamber up to the stage, inviting themselves to sit with you atop DJ’s hand. Treble lies beside your legs, while Tenor and Alto seem to have a brief debate over if they can both fit in your lap before deciding they’ll sit on either side of your legs, snuggled up against you. You giggle, patting their heads as they settle in.

DJ’s frown melts into a soft, if a tad bit reluctant, smile. It’s hard to stay upset through the sound of your laughter. And he is happy you and his siblings get along so well. He couldn’t imagine having a soulmate that was even just indifferent to them.

Even if they are pests sometimes.

Treble’s eyes flick up towards DJ. They may be pests, but they did win.

DJ rolls his eyes. Yeah yeah. They won. This time.

You hear the soft buzzing and clicking of their network as the triplets share a laugh over their network at poor DJ’s expense. You turn and glance up at DJ questioningly, but he quickly smiles and waves one of his middle hands in an “It’s fine” gesture.

You sense you’re missing something, but getting movie night off the ground has already had enough hiccups so you decide not to derail things further by prying.

You’re surprised when, just under halfway through the movie, the triplets all decide (apparently in unison) that they’re done with the movie. They get up and skitter off the stage, Alto taking your empty soda can with him.

“Oh. Uh, everything okay?” you ask, glancing up at DJ.

“They never sit still long,” he explains. He’s less than surprised that they didn’t stay for the whole movie, though the fact that they didn’t even want to watch it all the way through does add a layer of annoyance to their earlier pestering.

“Hm,” you say, shrugging. You adjust your position, stretching a bit before settling back against his hand. “Well, I hope they enjoyed what they did stay for,” you say.

DJ’s glad he doesn’t have a voice box, because the snort he would have let out at that would have definitely required more explanation than he wants to give. “They definitely had fun,” he says. At your angle you can’t see his face very well, and without seeing his deadpan half-smirk you don’t pick up on his slight sarcasm.

“Good,” you say with a slight yawn.

He glances down at you. “Tired?”

“Nah,” you say tiredly, seeming to sink deeper into his palm.

DJ gives you a look of amused skepticism before turning his attention back to the movie. It’s not long until he feels your heart rate and breathing even out as you fall asleep. You seem to rouse yourself briefly so you can adjust yourself and lay down across his hand, though later you won’t remember having done so.

He tilts his head curiously as he watches you. He knows from your vitals that you’re asleep, but he’s never seen a human sleep before. Should he wake you? Would you want him to?

Eventually he decides against it. If you’re asleep, it probably means you’re tired enough to need sleep, right?

He smiles softly and lifts one of his middle hands, gently touching your hair with a forefinger. You stir only slightly, but it’s still enough to quickly make him pull away. You shift slightly in your sleep, then hug your hoodie around yourself as you snuggle back into his palm.

If he had a heart it would melt. Another phrase he’d never understood until he met you.

A soft jingling of a bell alerts DJ to Moon’s presence atop one of the speakers.

“They are asleep,” Moon signs silently. It’s not a question, of course. Moon can tell better than any animatronic if a human is fully asleep or not.

DJ simply nods, his fond gaze returning to you.

One of Moon’s bells jingles impatiently, causing DJ to snap his attention back to Moon.

“Wake them. Time to go home.”

He frowns. “So soon?” he signs.

Moon tilts his faceplate in a firm nod. “Cannot stay here all night.”

DJ’s shoulders slump, mimicking the motion of a sigh. He knows Moon is right. “A bit longer?”

Moon actually lets out a low growl at that, causing DJ to flinch. If he weren’t holding you, he’dve scooted back a few paces as well. DJ’s shoulders slump in another silent sigh, and he gently nudges your shoulder with a forefinger. Moon is gone before you wake up.

You blink awake, rubbing at your eyes. “Hm, where--” You visibly start at the sight of DJ’s large face taking up most of your vision, and he pulls back with an apologetic flinch.

“Sorry,” he signs.

You smile weakly. “N-No, I’m sorry…I…didn’t mean to fall asleep…” You sigh softly, making no move to sit up. “‘S comfy,” you mumble. You realize what you said and quickly sit up, your face warming. “I-I mean…I-I was just so relaxed…”

That isn’t much better…

DJ’s shoulders shake in a gentle laugh, and as you glance up at him, you notice the blue circles on his cheeks are just a bit brighter than usual.

“A-Anyway, I should probably head out before the atrium closes,” you say, glancing at your phone. Quarter to eleven. You glance back up at DJ, climbing out of his hand. “Th-Thanks for tonight. It was really fun…” you say.

He nods, and you don’t even have to lift your arms all the way before he gently hugs you against his cheek.

“Goodnight. Sleep well,” he signs when you pull away. He passes you your laptop and bag, and you tuck the laptop away as you sling the bag over your shoulder.

“You too,” you say, then laugh lightly. “Er, I-I mean…have a…good recharge cycle?”

He laughs silently, nodding and waving farewell as you leave.

Once you’re gone, he looks back down at his hand, lightly tracing the spot where you’d lain. He can still feel your warmth on his glove.

He folds his hands atop the stage, resting his chin on them, looking more content and at peace than anyone’s ever seen him. Tonight was perfect. Even with Moon, even with the triplets, even if you’d fallen asleep…tonight had been simply perfect.

Magical, even.

But on the subject of the triplets…

DJ sends out a ping to them, asking if they are ready to make up for their behavior tonight, only to laugh silently at their incredulous, indignant response. They certainly don’t think they have anything to “make up” for!

Fine then. Do they want to do something nice for you?

This piques their interest.

DJ figured it would. Like all the animatronics in the Pizzaplex, he has access to your employee profile. Which means he knows tomorrow’s your birthday. The big 3-0 as he’s heard some humans call it. He’s a bit surprised you didn’t mention it, but then, Karter never mentioned his birthdays either. Maybe you just know DJ will see it in your employee profile.

In any case, he has an idea of how to surprise you, but he’ll need the help of his brothers.

The network buzzes with excitement as he sends the trio his plan.

They’re in!

Chapter Text

DJ awakens from his recharge cycle early in the morning and immediately sends out a ping to the triplets. They return the ping eagerly--they’re ready to put the plan into action!

Tenor scours the party supply room behind the daycare for a banner. He can’t take a brand new one--it would be noticed. But party banners are often reused if they are still in good enough shape. Tenor can grab a rolled up banner from the pile tonight and return it tomorrow night without anyone knowing.

Treble goes to Chica’s bakery, retrieving a fresh cupcake from this morning’s batch. They always have far too many, and with how often Chica samples her own branded wares, exact inventory isn’t closely tracked. Treble assures DJ that there hasn’t been a single day when there weren’t some leftover cupcakes to be tossed. Nobody will miss this one.

In fact he could probably take five or six without--

DJ quickly cuts him off. One is enough!

Alto’s part of the plan is the part DJ was the least certain about. DJ wants to give you flowers for your birthday, but that just isn’t something Alto can find laying around the Pizzaplex.

Unless he settles for paper flowers, crafted in the daycare. Obviously, Alto would never take anything from the cubbies or off the walls, or anywhere else where they still have a chance of one of the kiddos missing them, but Sun and the kids do so many crafts in the daycare that there are always some old projects being discarded.

DJ doesn't exactly relish the thought of essentially giving you craft projects out of the recycling bin…but he knows he has to do the best with what he has. If Alto can find enough that are in good shape, DJ can give you a bouquet.

Though he realizes it’ll probably be a pretty small bouquet…but he and the triplets still want to try, even if it ends up being a bust.

At least all the paper crafts are recycled, meaning they’re not in the trash bin with discarded food and such.

DJ is watching the time as Alto searches. So far he’s only found two suitable folded flowers. And one cootie catcher, which DJ is pretty sure is not a flower but Alto insists could be a flower. In a pinch.

DJ’s drumming his fingers on the stage nervously. Nervous enough that all six of his hands are fidgeting. He wishes he could be more involved in the preparation instead of sending his brothers to do errands…He sends Alto yet another ping, reminding him that Moon will be done with patrol soon, and Sun will be returning to the daycare.

Alto sends yet another ping that he’s aware of that. He’s paying attention--

The message cuts off abruptly as Sun’s shadow falls over the recycling bin Alto is rummaging through.

“HEEEEEeeelllloOOOO there!” Sun crows, scooping up poor Alto. “My, my, little friend, what on earth are you doing in the bin?” He sets Alto on the floor, crouching before him and grinning in a way that’s a bit too knowing for Alto’s liking.

Alto quickly relays the news to his brothers, but none of them, not even DJ, can think of a good cover story.

Alto tries to block the flowers he’s already plucked from the bin from view, but Sun reaches over him and picks them up, humming to himself as he turns them over. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the birthday of our newest tech, would it?” Sun asks.

Of course Sun has your employee profile too, and given that Moon probably checked it during your encounter last night, Sun would be well aware of what today is.

Alto’s eyes widen and he quickly shakes his head, giving a smile that’s a bit too wide to be completely innocent.

Sun chuckles, spinning one of the flowers in his fingers. “Now now, Little Star, there’ll be no fibbing in the daycare!” he says, booping Alto’s nose before tossing the flowers back into the bin, earning a staticy buzz of protest from the flowery little Music Man.

“Oh, no need for that!” Sun responds. “Don’t you think your new favorite tech deserves a fresh bouquet on their birthday?” He stands up, clapping his hands together, his grin widening until his eyes close into narrow crescents. “I’m sure DJ would agree!”

Alto cants his head in surprise, and a millisecond later when he passes along the update, DJ does the same. Neither of them had assumed Sun would want to help with this. DJ has never even met Sun--at least not directly; Sun knows DJ through his interactions with Moon, and DJ knows Sun through his siblings’ occasional observations of the daycare. But Sun and DJ are both bound to their respective areas.

Besides, both Sun and Moon are sticklers for rules, from what DJ’s heard, and surely this is at least bending several, if not outright breaking them.

“But we have to hurry! Our Little Superstars will be here in an hour, and we can’t leave a mess for them in the craft area, can we?” Sun muses. To the surprise of all four Music Men, he scoops Alto up, cradling him in his arms as he carries him to the craft tables.

Alto doesn’t find it particularly dignified, but Treble thinks it’s pretty funny.

Alto pouts. Treble can laugh all he wants, but next time he loses his hat in the vents he’d better not--

FOCUS. DJ’s stern ping silences the Lil’ MMs.

Sun sets Alto atop one of the tables before fetching a pile of construction paper, scissors, and a glue stick, along with a bag of pipe cleaners. He plops down in one of the child-size chairs, his legs folding such that his knees bump against his chest.

He begins crafting the flowers in a flurry of motion. Alto’s eyes widen as he steps back, in awe of how fast Sun is moving. When Sun’s doing crafts with the kids, he doesn’t move any faster than them, but he’s clearly more than capable of outpacing even the most skilled adults.

The result is quite impressive for something made of construction paper and pipe cleaner in less than half an hour. Colorful hyacinths, roses, and daisies along with strips of green and white forming “leaves” around them, then all carefully wrapped in tissue paper and tied in a ribbon.

Alto sends DJ a picture of it, and DJ can scarcely believe it. It’s far more beautiful than he’d ever thought possible given their original plan. He frowns in thought, then sends Alto another ping, relaying to him how to sign a single word.

“Why?” Alto signs up to Sun.

Sun cants his head, giggling as he pushes the bouquet into Alto’s hands. “Because I just love birthdays. Why else? Now hurry along!” he says, standing and scooping Alto off the table and setting him on the floor, giving him a small push for good measure.

Alto passes the message to DJ as he carefully clutches the bouquet, skittering up the wall and into a ceiling vent to make his way back to the dance hall.

DJ’s frown only deepens. Because Sun loves birthdays? Is it really that simple?

Well. Even if it isn’t, he hardly has the time to look a gift horse in the mouth right now. Tenor and Treble are already back, and he has to help them hang the banner.

When Alto returns with the bouquet, he carefully places it into DJ’s hand. Alto’s photo of it hadn’t lied--it is indeed lovely.

Maybe…today would be a good day to tell you. He’d give you the flowers and just…say it.

*

You’re laying in bed, idly flipping through your phone, waiting for your brain to finish waking up when the phone abruptly buzzes in your hand. You jump, suddenly wide awake as you fumble to not drop the phone.

You flinch at the caller id. Mom. Probably calling to wish you a happy birthday. Why is she doing that before work?

You bite back a sigh, closing your eyes. Please no questions about your soulmark. Please no “any day now” platitudes. PLEASE no mention about your twenties being over.

With a steadying breath, you answer the phone.

“Hi honey!!” Mom chirps with her usual cheerfulness.

“Hey Mom,” you say, rubbing at your eyes as you sit up.

“You sound tired. I didn’t wake you, did I? I was hoping to catch you before work.”

“No, I was already awake,” you say, putting her on speaker while you get dressed.

“Oh that’s good,” she says, almost absently. Suddenly her tone shifts to barely contained excitement as she says, “You’ll never guess what happened!”

You pause in the middle of pulling on your shirt, glancing at the phone curiously. As if you could glean any insight from doing that. “...Oh?”

“Penny got her soulmark last night!”

You stiffen. “O-Oh…”

Your youngest sister, six years your junior, has gotten her soulmark before you. There go your chances of not being the last one of your siblings to get it. How many oldest siblings end up being the last? Not many, you’re sure. Certainly not when the difference is six years.

“We’re throwing a party for her this weekend. You said you might be making a trip to Allendale this weekend anyway, right? We’d love it if you were there!” Mom says.

“Y-Yeah,” you say reflexively, only to flinch. You’d much rather spend the weekend with DJ, but as soon as that thought crosses your mind, you realize that’s not really possible. He’ll be back to doing his shows during the day. It’ll be hard for you to visit him, even during work hours, and given how Moon reacted last night, you’re not sure how many after-hours visits you can sneak in either. After this week, you’re going to be seeing a lot less of your dear new friend.

That’s another melancholy thought you don’t need right now.

Mom is saying something about the party they’ve planned that you didn’t quite catch. Some restaurant Penny likes that does catering or something.

“Uh-huh,” you nod along blandly.

Sensing your distraction, but not the reason behind it, Mom quickly says, “Oh! Well, I can email you the details. You’re probably on the way out the door for work, huh?”

You force a laugh. “Yeah, just about,” you say, throwing together your lunch and dropping it into your backpack.

“Alright, have a nice day then! And a nice rest of the week! I’ll see you Friday!” Mom says.

You exchange the customary “I love you”’s and goodbyes, then hang up, shoving your phone in your pocket with a huff.

Well, you got your wish. Mom didn’t mention your birthday, your age, or your soulmark. And somewhere out there, some monkey’s paw curled a finger to make that wish come true.

Just don’t think about it. Who cares if it’s your birthday? Who cares if you’re thirty? It’s just another day and just another number. You not having a soulmate yet is no more tragic today than it was yesterday. It’s not tragic at all, in fact! You’re just on a different path than most of your peers.

A longer path.

As you get into your car to drive to work, you once again remind yourself not to think about it. You remind yourself again while you scour the employee parking for an open spot. Then a third time as you clock in.

Once you’re on your way to the dance hall, your brain is finally getting the message. Just enjoy your time with DJ. Another day of repairing and cleaning the stage while he plays his wonderful music for you. And you can just forget about your stupid--

You stop short, realizing the stage curtain has been drawn closed. It hasn’t been closed in the entire time you’ve been here; with the dance hall closed to the public there was never a reason to close off the stage specifically. It gives the whole space an eerie, lonesome feeling that is in stark contrast to the warm atmosphere that DJ's presence has cultivated since you started working here.

You don't like it.

“DJ?” you call out, approaching the stage. You assume he’s behind the curtain, though you suppose it’s possible he could be in his tunnels somewhere.

The curtain begins to open and a tune starts playing, and it takes you a moment to recognize it as the official birthday song of Fazbear Entertainment.

You grimace. So much for forgetting about your birthday.

You haven’t quite recovered by the time the curtain opens enough for DJ to see you. Your eyes are drawn to the large Happy Birthday banner hanging over him, so you don’t notice his expression fall when he sees your reaction. The music cuts off abruptly, and you finally lower your gaze from the banner to DJ.

“What’s wrong?” he signs, climbing down from the stage to approach you. You don’t notice that one of his back arms is closed in a loose fist and is barely touching the ground.

You flinch guiltily, forcing a smile. “I-I’m…sorry, DJ, this is all really nice, I-I just…uh…h-h-had a bit of a rough morning…” you admit haltingly, lightly tapping your knuckles together.

His brow knits in concern. “Are you alright?”

You smile weakly, waving a hand. “Uh, y-yeah, I mean…I’ll, uh…get over it, I guess,” you say.

His head tilts, and his eyes don’t grow any less worried. He doesn’t ask you to elaborate, but it’s clear your vague response hasn’t eased his worries.

“I-I uh…think my mom forgot it’s my birthday, is all,” you admit, trying to sound nonchalant.

The look of shock on DJ’s face makes you wince as you belatedly realize how important birthdays are at the Pizzaplex. The thought of a parent forgetting their kid’s birthday probably sounds much worse to him than it does to you. Though, to be fair, if you were still in the target age demographic of Fazbear Entertainment, it would be pretty bad.

“Forgot? How?” he finally signs.

You laugh awkwardly. “W-Well it’s…I mean birthdays aren’t that big a deal for adults, you know…” you tell him.

DJ does know, to an extent. Or he’s inferred at least, from how little the Pizzaplex staff have ever talked about their own birthdays, and from the occasional movie where adult characters make references to their birthdays but with far less enthusiasm than child characters tend to.

“Still…” he signs after a moment.

You shrug. “W-Well uh. My…youngest sister got her soulmark yesterday, apparently…s-so uh…Mom’s a bit distracted I guess,” you admit, unable to keep the melancholy entirely out of your voice. “B-But I mean. Maybe she’ll…just call back tonight or text me later or something. The day’s still young!”

DJ can tell you’re not convinced. He frowns sympathetically, gently resting his hand against your side and rubbing your shoulder with his thumb.

You smile up at him weakly, leaning against his hand. You can see your attempt at optimism didn’t fool him. “Sorry,” you mumble, earning a confused look from him. “I-I promise there’s more going on in my life than just sulking about my missing soulmark. It’s…just been coming up a lot lately for some reason.” You give him a wry smile. “I swear it’s possible for me to go a full week without prattling on about soulmarks,” you add with a weak chuckle.

“Not prattling. I don’t mind you talking about it,” he signs, one of his back hands shifting slightly as he carefully holds the bouquet out of sight. Maybe this could be his opening.

You shrug, glancing down at the glove you’re leaning against, idly tracing a pattern on the fabric. “Not much to talk about. I want a soulmate and I don’t have one…and that’s just not a common situation past your twenties. Especially not even having a soulmark,” you add.

“Maybe you don’t have a soulmark because your soulmate doesn’t speak?” he signs tentatively.

If you’d even guessed at how much he was putting on the line by saying that, if you’d had even the slightest clue, you never would have laughed. But you didn’t…so you did. You assume he’s trying to cheer you up, and of course, being mute himself, the possibility of a mute human out there waiting for you would be near the top of his mind.

DJ’s fingers twitch as he struggles to sign a response to your laugh. He can’t find the words. Laughter had not been the reaction he’d expected. Is the idea really that absurd to you…?

You quickly bite back your laugh, giving him an apologetic look. “I-I’m sorry, DJ, I…I’m not laughing at you. Really!” you say gently. You assume he thinks you were mocking his suggestion. “You’re right, it is possible. No spoken words, no soulmark. It has happened, but it’s rare. And I mean…statistically…there are more people without soulmates than people who are completely mute their entire lives…”

DJ forces a smile, nodding weakly.

As you lean against his hand, you lightly pat his thumb. “And…my best friend is mute, sooo…you may be onto something,” you say playfully. The possibility of an animatronic soulmate, for you or anyone else, still has yet to cross your mind. Caring about a robot’s feelings and comfort were one thing…but the leap to considering the possibility of soulmates hasn’t happened yet.

DJ blinks, smiling shyly and rubbing the side of his face with one hand. Best friend, huh? Well…that was a promising start!

He nerves himself, then begins signing. “I know you have a soulmate…” he starts. He hesitates, his circuits practically buzzing with nervousness as he wonders if he truly dares to finish that thought.

Unfortunately, you mistake that hesitance for the end of his statement.

With a gentle laugh, you step back from his hand. “I’m sure you’re right,” you say, allowing some wistfulness into your voice. You wrap your arms around yourself. “And soon we’ll find each other. And when we find each other, they’ll take me into their arms and whisper sweet nothings in my ear!” you giggle whimsically as you spin on one foot. You end up facing away from DJ, so you don’t see how strained his smile has become.

Facing out towards the dance hall, your gaze falls on the scattered tools and lingering debris that have built up from nearly a week of disuse, and you remember you’re here to work.

You turn back to DJ, who manages to put on a more genuine smile by the time you look up at him. You pat his hand. “Thanks, DJ,” you say kindly, giving him a fond smile.

Talking to him always lifts your spirits so much…Granted, you’ve barely known him a week, though it has been an unusually turbulent week. You couldn’t imagine dealing with that call from Mom and then working a full day pretending everything was fine with nobody to confide in or lean on.

You just wish there was more you could do to thank him. You’d buy him lunch if you could!

Maybe even dinner.

“You’re welcome,” he signs. As turn to grab your toolbelt from the cart, he scoots back slightly, carefully dropping the bouquet behind a speaker where you won’t find it. He’ll store it away properly later. Maybe someday he could still use it. At least it won’t wilt like a real bouquet would.

But today just…isn’t the right time.

Alto sends DJ a loud ping of protest when he realizes the bouquet has been seemingly abandoned, and Treble and Tenor quickly back him up.

It’s not the right time, DJ repeats back to them.

Not even for the cupcake? Treble pings. He’d arranged it so carefully, setting it nicely on a box and covering it with a plastic cup so DJ could just slide it to you without getting frosting all over his gloves.

DJ sighs inwardly. Cupcake later. Maybe.

This earns DJ a series of upset pings from the triplets, which he quickly mutes--something he’s rarely had to resort to.

Meanwhile, you’re getting to work replacing the light up stage panel you’d cracked on your first day, so DJ gets set up to play some music while you do.

Take me into their arms and whisper sweet nothings in my ear. Your words echo in DJ’s mind. He hopes you’re willing to compromise on both those points.

He could hold you in his hands and play sweet music. That’s…kind of close?

As tempted as he is to practice said music, he’s lost his nerve for the day. He forces himself to keep the music upbeat and decently energetic, though not as loud and bombastic as what he plays during his usual sets.

You fix the panel fairly easily and move on to cleaning the stage. There’s still paint and dirt on it from the teens, debris from your various repairs, and soapy water marks from cleaning DJ. You sweep and mop, you and DJ effortlessly moving around each other as he plays music while you clean. Even without watching you that closely, he lifts his hands and arms out of the way as you work, even lifting his body high enough for you to walk under him without missing a beat.

You finish cleaning around lunchtime, and he ends his set at the same time. As has become your routine, you bring your lunch up onto the stage to eat with him.

As you eat, you glance over the stage and dance hall. There’s really not much work left for you to do to get things back in working order. You probably don’t even have enough work to fill the rest of your shift, much less tomorrow’s shift, which was supposed to be the last day of repairs. But you’d finished early.

You never thought you’d be disappointed to be ahead of schedule, especially when starting a new job.

DJ notices your pensive look, but before he can catch your eye to ask you about it, you hear the sound of the metal gate opening and glance over your shoulder to see Ezra entering the dance hall. He calls out your name before you can say his, and you quickly turn around, putting your lunch aside and standing to meet him.

“Why’re you eating in here alone?” he chuckles, walking towards the stage.

Alone. You tense at that, biting back the first venomous reply that comes to your mind. You’re a little surprised at the wave of white hot anger that briefly runs up your spine. You had always considered your robot charges to be “company” in a way many of your colleagues hadn’t. And sure, you had somewhat of a protective streak towards the ones that seemed more sapient, but you’d always been able to keep your emotions in check easily enough. You’d never been tempted to snap at a manager or make some heated remark that would come back to bite you.

But boy do you want to do both of those things right now.

Instead, you force a smile. “I just didn’t feel like going all the way downstairs,” you say, resisting the urge to glance at DJ for his reaction. You desperately hope he understands why you need to lie about that. The thought of him thinking, even for a moment, that you’re only spending time with him because his company is only more appealing than a couple flights of stairs--

Focus. You’ll explain when Ezra leaves. DJ will understand…you hope.

Ezra grins up at you from the dance floor. “Well, it’s your birthday isn’t it? C’mon, let me treat you,” he says, beckoning you down.

You barely manage to keep the grimace from your face. You’re glad he’s not standing up on the stage with you, or he’d probably notice how forced your smile is.

The universe really does wish to punish you for turning thirty without a soulmate, doesn’t it?

You don’t have a good excuse to say no. You don’t even have a bad excuse to say no, short of admitting that you have some amount of genuine affection for a robot.

But you really don’t want to just leave without saying anything to DJ.

“Wh-Why don’t I grab my coat and meet you down there?”

Ezra waves a hand. “I don’t mind waiting so we can walk together,” he says easily.

Well that failed. You don’t have any other ideas, and if you even try to come up with one, he’ll start questioning why you’re being so dodgy.

But maybe you can still do something.

You turn slightly as you slip an arm into your coat sleeve, hoping Ezra doesn’t think it too strange that you turned your back to him for the sake of putting on your coat. You glance up at DJ, and you’re a bit relieved to see he looks more worried than hurt. Not that you want him to be either of those things, of course.

You place a fist on your collarbone and draw a small circle, signing “Sorry,” at the same time you silently mouth the word.

You don’t have time to see his reaction before you slip your other arm into your sleeve and turn to face Ezra. Whatever it is, you just have to hope it’s too subtle for Ezra to notice.

It seems to be, for Ezra shows no sign of thinking anything’s amiss as he waits for you to climb down the stairs beside the stage.

You follow him down the escalators to the atrium, resisting the urge to glance back towards the West Arcade. It’s not as if you’d see anything of use anyway.

“So, I understand you moved all the way from Allendale for this job?” Ezra asks.

“Yeah. Seemed like a good opportunity,” you say vaguely.

He nods. “Oh it is. Fazbear Entertainment has some of the most sophisticated animatronics on the planet.”

“I can tell,” you say, unable to keep some fondness out of your voice.

Luckily Ezra doesn’t notice. “That’s why it’s important to get all the best and brightest techs to service them,” he says, giving you a wink.

Something about him winking at you with that sly smirk of his makes your stomach twist.

Time for a subject change. “S-So, where’re we eating?” you ask as he leads you past all the restaurants on the atrium’s ground floor. He’d already passed all the places you would have guessed he was taking you to.

“I was thinking Brizio’s,” he says.

You miss a step as you almost stop walking, only to quickly recover and scramble after him. “O-Oh, uh…I-I’m not…familiar with that one.”

“It’s a nice Italian place. About fifteen minutes away,” he says. At your surprised look, he smirks. “You didn’t think I’d subject you to the Pizzaplex’s food on your birthday, did you?” he teases.

“I-I…er, kinda?” you admit, only for him to let out a barking laugh. A less kind sounding laugh that you would have preferred him to have at your expense.

“Despite ostensibly being a pizzeria, the Fazbear claim to fame has always been animatronics and games. Not food,” he says wryly. As you exit the building and step into the parking lot, he lightly places a hand on the small of your back. Just a brief nudge to prompt you to turn and follow him.

“My car’s just over here,” he says.

You stop yourself short of expressing any kind of surprise or questioning the fact that he apparently planned to drive you to the restaurant. In just a few minutes you’d gone from expecting lunch in the workplace food court to leaving work entirely and being driven to a “nice” Italian restaurant.

You can’t help but suspect Ezra didn’t invite any of your colleagues for this birthday lunch either.

Why didn’t you just say no?? You could have just said you already brought a lunch you didn’t want it go to waste. You could have avoided mentioning you wanted to spend your lunch with DJ.

Why are you only thinking of this now??

Ezra hits the unlock button and the headlights of a black sportscar blink. You’re not sure which make or model it is, and frankly you’re not interested in trying to figure that out. But it’s sleek, low to the ground, and looks very new and expensive.

You’re trying to summon the words to weasel out of this predicament when Ezra steps in front of you, opening the passenger door for you.

Last chance to ditch.

You don’t take it.

With a forced smile and a polite but stiff nod, you slide into the passenger seat of the luxury vehicle. The inside of the car is immaculate and smells like new leather. You try to touch as little of it as possible, suddenly feeling grimy from all the cleaning you did this morning.

“Got any big birthday plans after work?” Ezra asks as he pulls out of the parking lot.

You open your mouth to speak, to tell him no, since you’re new in town…but you quickly close it. You have a feeling that you don’t want Ezra to know when you have a free evening. “Uh, doing a video call with the family,” you say.

Despite you feeling like your lie was incredibly unconvincing, Ezra seems to accept it easily enough, giving a simple nod. “And this weekend?” he asks.

“Going back to Allendale for a visit,” you say quickly. You hadn’t been looking forward to that visit, but you’re suddenly glad for it if it means you don’t have to keep lying.

He gives another nod, grunting in acknowledgement. You hope he’s only asking out of an idle curiosity about possible birthday plans.

Ezra glances at the radio, giving a voice command instructing the car to play a song you’re only vaguely familiar with. As he drives, he begins talking about the band, talking about some drama with the lead singer and how Ezra was actually at one of the band’s early performances “back in the day”.

You’re only half listening, nodding and smiling when it seems appropriate to do so. This was so not worth giving up your lunch with DJ. Your gaze drifts to the window, watching the shops wiz by while you hope he's alright. He understands why you had to say what you said, right? He’s not just…sitting on the stage alone, thinking about how you only spent time with him because you’re just too lazy to go downstairs for lunch?

You’re pulled back to reality by Ezra calling your name in a tone that makes it clear he’s done so at least twice already, trying to get your attention.

“Y-Yes? Sorry, I uh…got distracted,” you say awkwardly.

“I asked what sort of music you usually listen to.”

“Oh uh…a-a variety,” you say. You’re not being purposely vague; you’ve just never been great at describing your music preferences. A curse that killed many attempts at smalltalk back in college. “I guess lately…electro and synth? However you’d describe what DJ plays.”

He quirks a brow. “Music Man?” At your nod, he frowns a bit. “Hm. It shouldn’t be playing music when it’s not in showtime mode.”

“I asked him to,” you say quickly. You bristle at the “it” but resist the urge to correct Ezra directly.

He chuckles. “Asked?” he repeats, amused.

You stare at him a moment, not sure what he’s getting at. Then it clicks. “Or told. Whatever. Either or,” you say, waving a hand. You try to play it off as a simple misspeak, but you can hear a touch of sulkiness in your own voice.

He parks the car in front of the restaurant, and you don’t wait for him to open the door for you before getting out. You think he gives you a look of mild disapproval at that, but you may just be getting paranoid.

The conversation lapses as you get shown to your seats and given your menus. You barely read it and just skim the prices, picking out the cheapest thing on the menu. Some kind of salad, probably not even very large, but still more than twice what you usually budget for lunch outings.

You feel a bit underdressed in your work uniform, the bottoms of your dark pants splotched with soap stains from mopping. Brizio’s is far from the sort of place that would have any kind of actual dress code, of course, so it’s not technically a faux pas to be dressed as you are, but it’s certainly not what you would have chosen to wear to a place like this.

Ezra begins speaking about that band again. Something about how they were so underappreciated in their time. Apparently most of them are no longer alive. How old did he say that song was? Ezra himself can’t be much older than forty or forty-five…

Ugh. You don’t care. You wish you could text DJ or something. Just to let him know you didn’t abandon him flippantly. Every minute that goes by is another minute he might be thinking you had just walked out on him without a second thought. Just the other day he’d gone out of his way to tell you how kind you’d been…how much kinder than the other techs you are. Did he think you’d just thrown that back in his face now?

“I’m not boring you, am I?” Ezra asks.

He is. Immensely. But you quickly force a smile and shake your head as the food arrives. You begin picking at your salad while Ezra’s food goes largely untouched as he moves on to speaking about resolving some mixup with shipping somehow mislaying a bunch of S.T.A.F.F. bot parts and how he had to threaten to go down to the loading docks and start opening boxes himself in order to find them.

Will DJ be mad when you get back? Oh, you’re sure he won’t be. It’s hard to imagine that big softie being mad. Though the thought of him feeling hurt isn’t much better. You’re sure he’ll understand when you tell him, but how long is Ezra going to force DJ to sit alone on his stage waiting for you to come back and just explain things to him?

You say little of consequence during lunch--polite chuckles and nods, murmurs of agreement or occasionally commiseration. As tempting as it is to just bail, Ezra’s still your boss’s boss. You know that shouldn’t matter; that he shouldn’t use a bad social interaction outside of work as a reason to take action against you at work.

But “shouldn’t” doesn’t always mean “won’t”.

At last the meal is finished and the waiter approaches. “Any desserts today?”

“No thanks,” you say quickly, earning a quirked brow from Ezra.

“And will the check be together or separate?”

Ezra opens his mouth to speak, but you cut in. “Separate.”

Ezra tenses visibly, his smile turning cold and forced as he stares at you. This does not go unnoticed by the waiter, who quickly makes themselves scarce so that Ezra can say his piece.

“I said I was treating you, didn’t I? This was supposed to be a birthday gift to you, you know,” Ezra says, his fingers drumming on the tablecloth as his smile remains fixed on his face.

You hesitate. You’d agreed to let him treat you when you’d assumed he’d be buying a cheap slice of pizza from the atrium…but accepting a meal from a place like this just didn’t feel right to you. “I…appreciate that, but…”

“But?” At your hesitation, he smirks. “You didn’t think anything funny was going on, did you? I’m just taking an employee out for their birthday lunch. That’s all.”

“S-Sure. I know.” You didn’t. You had significant doubts that that was all it was.

But…it sounds stupid now. Ezra is good looking, wealthy, well put-together…there are plenty of people without soulmates, or with platonic soulmates, or people in open relationships that he could court if that’s what he wants. It seems highly unlikely he’d have much trouble finding someone. So why bother with someone who isn’t giving him an enthusiastic yes?

Maybe it really is just an employee perk. You’ve never worked at a place as big and lavish as the Pizzaplex. Your past jobs were basically just warehouses. Maybe you just aren’t used to the company culture here yet.

The waiter quickly drops off the checks, clearly still awkward about the tense moment earlier. You leave a slightly larger tip than you normally would as an apology.

You get into the car, and this time Ezra makes no move to open the door for you. That’s just as well of course, though it does add to your uncertainty about the situation.

The first half of the drive is silent. Ezra doesn’t even turn on the radio.

As the car slows to a stop at a red light, Ezra glances at you. “I would never try to pursue one of my subordinates, you know,” he says.

“I-I know,” you say quickly. But you don’t know. How could you possibly know? You barely know him. But what else can you say?

“Frankly, it’s a bit unprofessional for you to suggest otherwise,” he says.

You glance at him sharply, your eyes wide. “I-I didn’t suggest anything!” you say quickly.

“But you insisted on paying. Even though you knew this was a company-expensed outing.”

“I…didn’t know that,” you say meekly.

He scoffs, giving you a deadpan look. “You thought I was taking you out to lunch on my own dime?”

“I-I…don’t know! I…I…didn’t think…” you trail off.

The light turns green and Ezra faces forward again. “Then I suggest you start,” he says coldly.

You nod silently, facing forward as well. The rest of the ride is painfully silent. You take a breath. Collect yourself. At least as best you can.

Ezra parks and cuts the engine. You don’t move immediately, unsure of what to do. His flat look and raised brow tell you that staying is the wrong choice, so you quickly unbuckle and get out of the car. When he remains seated, you hesitate a moment before mumbling a “Thanks for the ride” and closing the door. When he still makes no move to exit his car, you take that as your dismissal to finally book it back to the Pizzaplex.

Back to the dance hall.

Back to DJ.

It’s all you can do not to run through the more public areas of the ‘Plex once you get back inside. As it is, you are certainly walking far faster than most employees coming back from lunch, but hopefully not enough to raise too many eyebrows.

“DJ! I’m back!” you call, picking up your pace and trotting over to the stage as soon as you’re through the metal barrier.

He perks, lifting himself up. He makes as if to step down from the stage, but you’re already at the stairs, taking them two at a time. Between that and your brisk pace to the dance hall, you’re more than a little out of breath by the time you reach him.

DJ frowns worriedly, holding out one of his hands for you to lean against while signing with his middle set. “What’s wrong?”

You allow yourself to lean slightly on his hand, folding your arms atop his forefinger and resting against it like you would a countertop. “I-I’m sorry about leaving you like that. I really did want to stay…” You look up at him apologetically. “And not just because I didn’t feel like going downstairs,” you add.

DJ smiles gently at you, and his smile only broadens when he feels you relax against his hand at the sight of it. “Thought so.”

“You did?” you ask, relieved.

“Your pulse spiked when he said you were alone. Shoulders tensed.”

You laugh bitterly. “Yeah. Well. I’m just glad Ezra didn’t notice that.”

He tilts his head, waiting for you to elaborate.

You sigh, resting your chin atop your folded arms, putting almost your full weight against his hand. “I think I pissed him off.”

DJ looks at you in concern, bringing one of his other hands behind you. He lightly nudges the back of your legs with the side of his pinky, silently inviting you to take a seat. You do so readily, sitting in the center of his palm with your legs criss-cross and looking up at him as he raises his hand off the ground.

“I don’t even know how to explain it…” you admit. “I…I misunderstood something, I guess. A few things…I don’t know,” you mumble, burying your face in your hands and rubbing at your eyes. It’s hard to remember exactly what was said now. Ezra didn’t exactly have your undivided attention during lunch. Maybe something he’d said while you were distracted would have changed the whole context of the situation. Maybe it was you who had missed something and then just assumed the worst when things didn’t add up.

DJ lightly nudges your shoulder with his index finger, prompting you to look up to see him sign. “Take a breath. It’s okay,” he signs.

You smile weakly up at him. “I…I guess I was just…distracted, and…I wasn’t paying attention and I thought he was…” you trail off briefly, but when you glance up at see DJ’s uncertain expression, you take another breath and say, “I, uh…misunderstood…and thought he was taking me on a date,” you say with a wince. You’re unable to meet DJ’s eyes at the admission. As you say it aloud you realize what a conceited and absurd assumption it is.

“Date?” he signs, perplexed. That certainly wasn’t what he expected you to say. Though the idea that Ezra, or anyone, would want to take you on a date is definitely not conceited or outlandish in the slightest, as far as DJ’s concerned.

You shake your head. “But he wasn’t. He made that pretty clear,” you say. The bit of sulkiness in your tone is due to your own misreading of the situation, not any sort of disappointment. In your own head that’s obvious, but to DJ, it isn’t.

He hesitates, then signs, “Did you want it to be a date?”

Your gaze shoots up at him and you quickly shake your head again. “No! No, of course not!” you say emphatically. “I don’t want to date anyone but my soulmate,” you add. You flinch slightly. “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with dating before you find your soulmate, it’s just not for me, y’know?”

Do you even need to explain yourself to DJ? Does he even have enough context on soulmates to wonder if you’re too prudish or traditional just because you’re not interested in any sort of romance before finding your soulmate? Because you’re neither of those things. At least you’d like to think you’re not. Your choice has nothing to do with tradition or morality. For you, it is truly just a preference.

But he does give you a small nod. Whether he fully understands your answer or simply accepts it is unclear to you, and you don’t want to harp on about the soulmate situation any more than you absolutely have to.

DJ, for his part, is relieved that you don’t plan on pursuing anyone else. Or letting yourself be pursued, as the case seems to be. Or to almost have been? He has no concept of “purity” or anything like that, but it certainly won’t make his situation any easier if you’re involved with someone else as he tries to figure out the best way to confess to you.

“The point is, he’s my superior, so he shouldn’t be asking me on dates. So…me implying that he was…is kinda accusing him of doing something pretty bad. So I…guess I can understand why he’s upset,” you admit, rubbing your arm uncomfortably.

DJ frowns. “Sounds like just an honest mistake?” You haven’t struck him as the type who would fling out harmful accusations lightly.

You shrug. “Well, still. It doesn’t do to have someone higher in the food chain mad at you.”

DJ blinks, his brow knitting in concern. “Are you in trouble?” he signs worriedly.

You shake your head. “Oh, probably not. I just have to step lightly around him from now on is all.”

He frowns, and the hand you’re sitting in lowers slightly as his shoulders slump. “Sorry your birthday isn’t going well…”

You let out a slightly bitter laugh. “No sorries, DJ. It’s my own fault. You and Ezra both tried to do something nice for me and I just…” You wave your hand in a vague gesture. “I wasn’t…receptive, I guess.” You smile up at him sadly. “But…you surprising me this morning was…i-it was sweet. I…I do appreciate it. I just wish I hadn’t messed it up,” you say.

He pauses, one of his middle hands rubbing his chin in thought. He lowers the hand you’re sitting on so that it rests on the floor, then reaches back with one of his backmost hands to slide something forward.

A small box, upon which sits your birthday cupcake, protected under the clear plastic cup.

You blink in surprise, sliding off DJ’s hand to uncover the cupcake. You let out a bemused laugh, glancing up at him. “Is this from Chica’s bakery? How’d…you even get it?”

DJ grins. “The triplets,” he signs.

Your gaze drifts up to the banner, which you hadn’t even thought to ask about until now. “I take it they’re responsible for that, as well?” At his nod, you give a soft chuckle and begin unwrapping the cupcake. “Well…tell them thanks for me,” you say. It’s tempting to wallow in guilt over how hard they must have worked and how quickly you spurned it, but…you’re sure DJ would rather see you happy.

And you are. The day started off bad, but it doesn’t have to end that way.

DJ nods, and passes along the message. The triplets are currently in various areas of the ‘Plex, busy with their various errands and cleaning, but they respond with excitement that you’re finally enjoying your day.

Though they’re still displeased that DJ has hidden away the bouquet in his tunnels, most of all Alto, who feels he had gone through a lot of trouble to get it.

DJ shows no outward reaction to Alto’s complaints, but inwardly he sighs, assuring Alto that the bouquet will be put to use eventually and it will still be important.

You put the cupcake wrapper in the cup and set it aside. “Well, I…should get back to work…I-I think I’ve been on lunch break for almost two hours now…” you say.

DJ gives a slight nod, then spreads his main set of hands on either side of his face, smiling at you hopefully.

You laugh gently, leaning against his cheek and letting him hug you to himself. You relax against him, patting the side of his face. “Thanks again, friend,” you say softly.

He tilts his head in the gentlest nod possible, and as he’s pulling away, leans forward to gently nudge his forehead against yours.

You let out a small giggle at that, your cheeks warming as you rub your neck shyly. You quickly turn and head down the stairs to the dance floor to finish your work for the day. As you do, you once again marvel at how such a large animatronic can be so affectionate and so gentle.

DJ watches you go, staring at you fondly while your back is turned. As you begin sweeping the dance floor, he remembers himself and quickly gets to his hands, taking up his position at his decks for another private performance.

You take your time cleaning the dance hall. Gathering the scattered materials and tools you’d left out over the week and putting them in the cart, moving the cart to the metal gate blocking the dance hall, then sweeping and mopping the floor, and even dusting some of the speakers on the stage. Anything to fill the time until the end of your shift.

Because once you finish repairing DJ and the dance hall, it’s back to just weekly maintenance for him. Not daily.

Why was that such a melancholy notion?

After all, you’ll get to meet the other animatronics, which you’d been looking forward to when you started. If any of them are half as nice and sweet as DJ…

Why is it hard to imagine they will be?

Not that you imagine them to be unpleasant. The triplets are adorable, and even Moon isn’t too bad. He’d just been doing his job, after all, and he’d been kind enough to cut you some slack even though you were technically the one in the wrong there. And from what you’ve heard, he’s supposedly the grumpiest one here, aside from maybe Monty on a bad day.

So why couldn’t you enjoy your time with any of them just as much as your time with DJ?

Your mind grasps at an answer and just as quickly whisks it away, forcing you to pretend there simply is no answer.

DJ ends his song just as you come back from dumping the last of the mop water. Your backpack and coat are still on the stage next to him, and he picks up your bag in one hand and your coat in another.

As you climb onto the stage, he passes your coat to you, letting you put it on before handing you your bag. You smile weakly up at him, lightly tapping your hands against your legs for a moment before speaking. “W-Well, uh…looks like you’ll be back to performing tomorrow. You excited?” you ask with a brightness that’s not entirely forced. He had said he misses performing…these past few days have probably been painfully quiet for him compared to what he’s used to. You’re sure he must have some excitement to get back to his usual routine.

He smiles, nodding, though there’s a bit of hesitation in his eyes. “This week was fun, though,” he signs.

You chuckle softly. “Mm-hm,” you agree, lightly touching his chin. You smirk wryly. “Bit high of a price, though. Don’t want you getting busted up again,” you say, patting his cheek just below the eye you’d fixed up.

“Suppose not,” he agrees with a weak smile and a half-shrug.

“Maybe…after my shift tomorrow I could stop by. I-I mean. You’ll…probably be busy, but…I could just…wave at you from the back or something,” you say. Your cheeks warm a bit as you speak. Saying it aloud sounds…a bit silly.

But DJ’s expression immediately lights up as he nods eagerly. “Yes! I’d like that!” he signs excitedly.

“Alright. Then I’ll swing by after I clock out. And then…I’ll be back home in Allendale with my family for the weekend, but your weekly maintenance will be on Monday…so…I guess I’ll talk to you then?” you say.

DJ nods, keeping the slight sadness out of his smile for your sake. Three days with only a wave from the back of the dance hall…He’d miss you during that time, but…at least he’d be doing his shows again.

He holds out his hands and you lean against his cheek as he hugs you close. “See you tomorrow, DJ,” you say softly as you eventually pull away.

Chapter Text

As you head downstairs to clock in the next morning, you find the employee break room more crowded than usual. Half a dozen other techs, including your boss Hannah, are crowded around a tablet propped on a table to watch some kind of news broadcast.

“What’re you watching?” you ask curiously, sliding in between Hannah and another tech, whose name you’re fairly sure is Dylan. Or Darryl? Probably Dylan.

Dylan snorts. “Your predecessor,” he says, nodding at the tablet.

You frown in confusion. “My what?” It takes you a moment to place who “your predecessor” could possibly be in this context.

“The tech you replaced: Karter Jameson,” Hannah explains. “Apparently he’s gone a bit off the deep end since quitting.”

Your frown deepens and you turn to the screen. You’re sure DJ would be interested in knowing more about why Karter quit and how he’s doing now…and you admit you’re more than a little curious yourself.

Unfortunately, you’re coming in on the tail end of it.

You see Karter on screen, wearing a suit and tie as he speaks to the National Robotics Committee in Washington DC. You recognize Karter and the committee only by the captions displayed on screen. You’re familiar with the National Robotics Committee, but you couldn’t even name all the members, much less recognize them, and Karter is of course a stranger to you.

Karter leans forward, speaking into the mic mounted on his podium. “What Fazbear Entertainment did was unforgivable. They have created some of the most advanced AIs on the planet--fully sapient beings--and they’re treating them like toys. Those animatronics need to be given the same freedom and dignity as any human.”

The camera cuts to one of the committee members nodding thoughtfully as the video ends.

You’re a bit taken aback by his remark. Not because you disagree. You certainly don’t. But such views are considered fringe and fanciful for the most part…if not some kind of dangerous extremism. Karter speaking out like this publicly will almost certainly get him blacklisted from ever working with robots again. Maybe not officially, but if searching his name brings up something like this during a background check, his chances of being hired are now basically zero.

At least until society reaches the point where robots are recognized as sapient and could hire their own engineers. You had suspected that would be a possibility in your lifetime, but you had assumed it was at least a decade or two away. Now it seems it may be approaching far more rapidly than you’d thought.

You wonder what DJ would think of the idea…though he certainly wouldn’t slot into the outside world as readily as the Glamrocks, the Daycare Attendant, or even the S.T.A.F.F. bots--not that any of them would integrate seamlessly either…but at least they were mostly human shaped and fairly close to human size.

The group is dispersing and Hannah turns to you. “Ready to meet the Daycare Attendant?” she asks with a wry smirk, earning a chuckle from Dylan.

You’re so distracted you almost confess to having already met them, but manage to bite back the words in time and refocus your mind on work. “Sure,” you say, though your eyes wander curiously to Dylan’s amused look. “I uh, I know a bit about him? Them?” you say uncertainly. “Sun during the day, Moon at night?”

Hannah nods. “Yeah, basically. Though Moon also does naptime. Their switching mechanism is light activated; time of day doesn’t actually matter,” she explains.

“So they’re…two different AIs?” you ask.

“Yes,” Dylan says at the same time Hannah says “No”. Though far from being irritated at each other, they both share a laugh.

“They get fussy if you call them by the wrong name at the wrong time. But they share memory banks and general capabilities,” Hannah says. “So what one knows, the other knows.”

“They pick up seamlessly where the other left off,” Dylan adds. “But either side is a handful in its own right.”

Hannah chuckles weakly. “Unfortunately. But you’ll be dealing with Sun. He’s friendly but…not actually all that cooperative when it comes to maintenance.”

Dylan chuckles. “Imagine the worst theater kid you’ve ever met, then multiply it by ten.”

“O-Okay?” you say uncertainly.

“Sun’s gonna be worse,” he says with a smirk.

You laugh awkwardly. “You’re uh…really selling me on this assignment,” you say with mild sarcasm. You’re used to a bit of teasing when you’re the newbie, so you doubt Sun will be that bad. You turn back to Hannah. “But isn’t the daycare already open? Shouldn’t his maintenance be done after hours?”

She nods. “Normally, yes. But he got his arm a bit busted last night. A parent grabbed him too roughly or something.” She rolls her eyes. “People think the robots are indestructible. But we don’t build ‘em like military drones.”

You wince, but manage to avoid the temptation to ask if Sun’s alright. You’ll probably get a better answer from asking him directly anyway.

Hannah continues, “The daycare staff are making due without him for now, but they’ll probably want him ready for naptime. He’s up in his room. Go to the theater. The entrance is hidden behind a pirate poster in a gold frame. Swipe your badge where the doorknob would be and then push it open,” she explains.

You blink. “I’m going up there to repair him? Aren’t repairs usually done down here?” you ask. You’d thought DJ is the only exception to that rule, for obvious reasons. But why wouldn’t the Daycare Attendant be brought down here?

Hannah rolls her eyes. “He makes too much of a fuss when we try to bring him down here. Trust me. I know it seems like a pain, but you’ll just have to take my word for it that this is the easiest option,” she says with an apologetic smile.

You nod. “Alright…” you say uncertainly.

She laughs, waving a hand. “Don’t worry, it’s easier than it sounds. Remember, pirate poster, gold frame. But if you get lost just text me.”

You head out, a bit intrigued at the entrance she described. You suppose that’s part of working in a place with actual customers--though you admit it’s not entirely unappealing. Secret entrances, hidden tunnels, trick doors…all known only to a select few!

Unfortunately, you are not yet one of those few. After a few moments in the theater, you’re fairly sure you’ve found the poster, but no matter where you swipe your badge, nothing seems to happen.

Around your twelfth attempt, you hear a staticy chirp above you. You glance up to see a familiar fanged Music Man peeking out of the vent high above the poster.

“Oh! Hi Treble!” you say brightly as he skitters down the wall towards you. You hold out an arm and he jumps onto it. “I don’t suppose you know how this door opens?” you ask, scratching his chin.

He makes a happy buzzing noise at the attention before nodding eagerly. He hops back onto the wall, clinging to the poster. He points at the badge in your hand, gesturing for you to hold it up. You do so, and Treble takes your wrist and guides you to hold your badge near the tip of Pirate Freddy’s sword.

After holding it there for at least a solid ten seconds, you hear a beep and the door shifts slightly. Treble grins at you, pleased with himself as he climbs up your arm to settle on your shoulder.

“Huh. Thanks pal!” you say, petting his chin again. “Hannah and I apparently have very different definitions of ‘swiping my badge’,” you say wryly. “Or maybe this one’s just finicky?” you wonder aloud, turning your employee badge over in your hand.

Treble shrugs, having nothing to offer on that.

As you pull the door open, you ask, “How’s DJ? He must be getting started with his first set about now, right?” you ask.

Treble nods. “DJ good,” he signs.

You smile warmly. “Well, tell him hi for me,” you say as you pull the heavy door closed behind you.

“Says hi,” he signs back after a brief pause.

As tempted as you are to keep speaking with DJ through Treble, that’s probably not the best use of Treble’s time, and it wouldn’t do to distract DJ too much during his set either.

Though on the subject of Treble’s time, he doesn’t seem interested in moving from your shoulder.

“You gonna help me take care of Sun, then?” you ask him as you make your way down the corridor to what you assume to be Sun’s room.

Treble pulls a face, then scrambles off your shoulder, leaping to the wall and skittering into a vent.

You quirk a brow, pausing to glance up at the vent. “Oh he can’t be that bad!” you call after him.

As you approach the end of the hallway, you’re startled when a loud, boisterous voice suddenly calls out “HEEEEEeeeellLLLLOOO!!” and your vision is suddenly filled with a bright, grinning Sun mask. You recognize the moon outline from, well, Moon, but the overall color and expression are so much brighter now that Sun’s in control, if only because half the face is no longer obscured in shadow. In any case, you certainly wouldn’t have guessed this was the same dark, dour animatronic you’d met the other night.

“H-Hi…” you manage to squeak out, stepping back as the tall, lanky attendant leans forward to beam widely at you. “N-Nice to see you again…?” you say awkwardly. Your back is against the wall and his face is only inches from yours.

Sun cants his head. “Again? I don’t believe we’ve met before, Little Star.”

You falter a bit, one of your feet shifting as you try to step back despite being against the wall. “I-I…th-the…other night? In the Fazcade?”

Sun rights himself, nodding. “Ahhh. You’re thinking of my brother, Moon.”

“Oh, um. Yeah, I…suppose…” you admit awkwardly. Brother? Interesting.

He grins, his eyes closing into narrow crescents. “Easy mistake to make, Little Star. I’m told we look quite similar,” he says. He pauses, frowning slightly in thought. “Though…I’ve never seen him in person, so I guess I can’t be completely sure!” he chirps.

You let out a weak chuckle. “Ah…r-right…so…you are two separate AIs, then?” you ask. “I-If…that’s not rude to ask. I-I just…want to make sure I have it right,” you add quickly, worried that the question may actually be offensive to the animatronic. Why it could possibly be offensive, you aren’t sure, but you haven’t exactly had a lot of time to consider what sorts of questions would be “sensitive” to two AIs sharing a body. It’s not exactly something you’d ever encountered at your previous jobs.

“Did nobody tell you?” Sun asks, feigning surprise, tilting his head as he leans back slightly. His hands are still folded behind his back.

“The other techs uh…told me different things…”

Sun laughs. “That’s because they think different things,” he says with a wink. “But…” He leans down to whisper conspiratorially in your ear, still keeping his hands behind his back, “If you want my opinion…we are indeed quite separate! Mostly. More separate than not, anyway.”

You chuckle awkwardly. “Well I did ask,” you remind him, lightly nudging his shoulder with one hand, prompting him to right himself.

“You did! How very polite of you, Little Star!” he says.

You finally manage to glance past him at the room you’re in. It looks like a messy child’s room, with scattered toys and games on the floor and shelves, along with several of the foam soft blocks from the daycare. Most of the toys and games seem damaged in some way. Are they up here awaiting repair, or does the Daycare Attendant only get hand-me-downs for their own space?

Your gaze returns to Sun, and you notice his hands still folded behind his back. You lean to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of his elbow to see the damage. As you do though, Sun turns, apparently intent on keeping his arms out of view.

You frown a bit, looking up at him. “Sun? You know why I’m here, right?” This must be what Hannah had been talking about with him being “uncooperative”.

He grins widely, rotating his faceplate at a ninety-degree degree angle. Not quite as unsettling as when Moon did it, but definitely a bit uncanny.

“Puppet show?” he guesses.

You quirk a brow. “You’re damaged, aren’t you?”

His head tilts in the other direction. “You think so?” A bit of nervousness creeps into his voice.

“It’s what I was told. A parent grabbed you or something?” you ask, side stepping and trying to glance at his hands again.

He side steps as well. “Oooooh?” he says evasively.

You stop, folding your arms and frowning up at him, more concerned and confused than annoyed. “Is this because I’m new? Because I promise, I--”

The briefest flinch of guilt flickers across Sun’s face. “It isn’t you, Little Star!” he says quickly, holding up his hands. Or trying to anyway, and revealing the damage in the process. It looks like the robot equivalent of dislocating an elbow. His left arm hangs mostly limp, as the hinge connecting the joint has been pulled loose, warping the mechanism and exposing some wires.

His eyes widen at his mistake and he quickly hides his arms behind his back again, his bright smile now decidedly forced.

You frown sympathetically, resting your cheek against your hand. “Man…they’re really rough with you guys here, aren’t they?” you muse.

His large eyes blink owlishly as his head tilts yet again.

“Is it still hurting?” you ask, looking up at him again. You have to imagine it is, even if he’s not showing any signs of being in pain.

Sun quirks a brow, then laughs. “What an odd question! I can’t remember the last time a grown up asked something so odd! Can you Moony?” he asks, though if Moon replies you obviously don’t hear it.

“Is it odd?” you ask, frowning a bit. “If DJ has pain sensors, I figure you guys do too, right?”

Sun just stares, his big smile strangely neutral as he regards you silently.

“Don’t you want your arm fixed?” you ask, your brow creasing in worry.

He lets out a nervous laugh. “If you don’t want a puppet show, maybe we can do some crafts? I’ve got glitter glue! A-And googly eyes!”

You fold your arms, giving him a wry look. “And iatrophobia?”

He flinches, his shoulders tensing. “My my, now that’s a five dollar word, isn’t it, Little Star?”

“My youngest sister’s afraid of doctors and medical stuff too. So the word for it’s come up a few times in my family,” you say. You smile a bit. “We bribed her with ice cream when she was a kid, but I’m not sure that’ll work on you.”

His shoulders relax slightly and he lets out a nervous laugh. “I’m afraid I am indeed immune to food-based bribery.”

You smile kindly at him. “Shame. Works great on humans.”

“Oh yes! We use it on our Little Superstars all the time!” he says warmly.

You hold out your hand. “Well, you want to get back to them, don’t you?”

Sun nods eagerly. “Oh yes, of course!”

“Then why don’t we start with just letting me take a look?”

He glances down at your hand, smiling nervously and rocking back on his heels. “No touching it?”

“Not until you say it’s okay,” you agree.

Sun hesitates, then reaches out his injured arm. With his other hand he guides his limp forearm until his hand sits atop yours and finally giving you a clear view of his broken elbow joint.

You grasp his hand just lightly enough to make sure it doesn’t slide off of yours, since that would no doubt pull his elbow joint painfully if it did. You turn his hand slightly, causing the joint to move as you examine it. “It doesn’t hurt too much if I move it like this, does it?”

“Not…too much, I guess,” he says, watching you curiously.

You adjust your grip so you can stand beside him rather than across from him, leaning down to examine his elbow joint.

“No touching!” he reminds you as he waggles a finger in your face with his free hand. He seems to be trying to keep his tone playful but he’s unable to completely mask the urgency of the request.

“I won’t,” you say patiently. If bedside manner for robots is a thing, you suppose yours has always been pretty good, though you’ve never dealt with a robot being nervous or resisting “treatment” in any way. But you did watch your parents and doctors trying to work around Penny’s phobias as a kid, and later in life you and Penny had occasionally reflected on what worked for her and what didn’t. It is those conversations you draw on now to navigate the situation with Sun.

You turn his hand slightly a few more times, watching how the joint moves and where it gets stuck, occasionally checking in to make sure you’re not causing him too much pain. “Alright. The joint will need to be replaced, and--”

You cut yourself off as a small noise of distress escapes Sun, and when you glance up, you see his rays have shrunk into his faceplate and his smile looks forced to the point of looking more like a pained grimace.

You arch a brow, looking at him curiously. “Would you…rather not hear any of this? Just…close your eyes and let me do what I need to do?” you ask gently.

Sun looks surprised at the question and his rays slowly emerge. After a moment, he nods.

“Okay, we’ll do that, then,” you say. “Here, why don’t I clear us somewhere to sit?” you offer, nudging his injured arm towards him and prompting him to hold it in whatever position’s least painful for him.

“Oh, I can take care of that!” he says quickly. He holds his injured arm by the wrist and begins moving about the room, using his feet to nudge the various stuffies and pillows out of the way.

“Sun, I can--”

“No no, I insist!” he says. He then releases his injured arm briefly to grab a couple pillows with his good hand, plopping them on the floor for you to sit on. “There you are!” he says, then takes a seat on the floor next to them.

You sit atop the pillows, setting your toolbox next to you. He closes his eyes, turning away as you fish a replacement joint out of your toolbox. “You want me to say anything during this? Warn you if I’m about to touch anything? Or just complete silence?”

“Oh, never complete silence!” he says. “But uh…a w-warning if…you’re about to cut anything would…be appreciated,” he adds with a nervous laugh.

You nod. “I don’t think I’ll need to cut anything, but I’ll tell you before I do,” you say.

He peeks his eyes open as you hold out your hand for his arm again. Instead of allowing you to take it, he suddenly pops his eyes open with a large grin. “Say! I heard it was your birthday yesterday!”

You blink, quickly closing your fist around the spare joint you’d pulled out to at least spare him the sight of it. Is he stalling again? He must be. “Yeah, it was,” you say, still holding out your other hand for his.

Sun leans in close, grinning widely. “A little birdie told me you got some pretty flowers!”

You laugh awkwardly. “Uh. I think your ‘birdie’ is confused,” you say.

Sun tilts his head, his smile faltering only slightly. “No, I don’t think so. My birdie is very reliable!”

You snort, shaking your head good naturedly. “So is my memory of not getting flowers yesterday,” you return wryly.

Is he just making random guesses to fill time? Again, he must be. Even if someone had considered getting you flowers yesterday, why would Sun even know about it?

Sun’s smile fades and he stares at you, his head tilted in confusion.

“C’mon, Sun, the sooner we take care of this the sooner you can go back to the kiddos,” you say.

He slumps slightly, his rays actually drooping a bit as he finally lets you take his hand. “O-Oh, I…I suppose so…” he mumbles, closing his eyes and looking away again.

You smile gently, even though he can’t see it. You pull his arm towards yourself, and begin unscrewing the casing on his upper arm. “I know it’s not fun, but spending all this time with a busted arm and fretting over repairs can’t be fun either, can it?”

“No,” he agrees, a bit sulkily.

You suppose you can’t blame him. “Well, I appreciate you going along with it, in any case,” you say as you continue working on his arm.

You’re too focused on your work to notice him peek one eye open to briefly give you a curious glance before snapping shut again.

“I will say this isn’t nearly as bad as DJ’s elbow was,” you say as you set the casing of his upper arm aside. You give him a wry smile. “But I’ll spare you the specifics on that.”

He laughs nervously. “Much appreciated, Little Star!”

You carefully detach the elbow joint, trying not to jostle the wires too much as you remove the warped hinge. As you do, you say, “So uh…you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but…would you mind telling me what exactly happened?”

You feel Sun tense, and once again he peeks one eye open to briefly glance at you. “Oh, just a silly little paperwork dispute is all!”

You glance up at him, frowning. “Paperwork?”

“Mm-hm! You see Marcus’ dad was not listed as a designated picker-upper of Marcus. So he got a bit impatient with me.”

You make a noise of disapproval at that, frowning as you examine the broken hinge you’ve just detached. “If you were human, he’d’ve dislocated your elbow. He’d be in huge trouble.”

“Oh, is that so?” Sun says idly, in a tone that suggests he’s well aware that that’s so. “Lucky for both of us I’m not.”

You quirk a brow, glancing up at Sun as you drop the damaged hinge in the toolbox to be discarded later. “I guess that’s one way to look at it.” You pick up the replacement, turning it over in your hand again, frowning a bit. It’s a weaker hinge than you would have expected Sun to have. It’s stronger than a human elbow, sure, but factoring in how often he probably carries kids, it seems like it would wear out and need replacing fairly often. “This hinge seems a little weak for a robot meant to play with children all day. Especially if you’re carrying them. Or do you not do that?”

“Oh I do. Our joints do wear out quite fast, sadly,” he says.

You frown a bit. “But you were built for--” You cut yourself off with a sigh. You’re preaching to the choir, most likely. Besides, Sun has no control over the situation, and you know it’s not as simple as just replacing the elbow joints with something sturdier. That would only move the point of failure to somewhere else--his shoulders, or his wrists maybe. Possibly somewhere even less convenient, like his back or legs. In order to use a stronger hinge on his elbows, his whole endo would have to be re-evaluated, re-balanced, and possibly even replaced entirely.

Clearly that’s not something Fazbear Entertainment is willing to invest in.

You wonder if that’s part of what Karter had been decrying this morning.

“Actually, we were built for--” Sun pauses, placing his good hand on his chest, “the THEATER!” he crows dramatically, pointing his good hand to the sky with a suitably theatrical flourish.

The motion causes his injured arm to pull away from you and you drop the replacement hinge onto the floor. It bounces and rolls a few inches away. “Gah! Sun, hold still!” you protest, leaning sideways to grab the hinge. You hold it up to the light, checking for damage.

“Sorry,” he says meekly, letting out a nervous laugh.

You smile gently. “No harm done,” you say, once again attempting to attach the replacement joint. “I guess that’s what Dylan meant when he said you’re a theater kid?”

“Dylan? You mean Darryl?”

Dammit.

“I uh. Probably?” you admit sheepishly.

“Well, either way, we’re no kind of kid,” he giggles.

You laugh. “Obviously,” you say good-naturedly. “But ‘theater kid’ doesn’t mean a literal kid. Not all the time. Sometimes it doesn’t even mean literal theater. Just someone who’s--” you pause, hoping you’re not about to be rude, “usually someone who’s…very energetic and seems like they’d be a natural performer.”

Sun, eyes still closed, taps his chin thoughtfully with his good hand. “I have been told I am very energetic. A bit much, perhaps.”

You chuckle. You can definitely see why someone would say that about him…but it still seems rude to have said it to his face. “Eh, you seem like the right amount to me,” you quip easily.

He actually giggles at that, his rays spinning around his head. “Why, thank you, Little Star!” His tone is mostly light, but you think you detect an undertone of sincerity. Maybe your comment meant more to him than you’d expected it to. “But,” he continues, his smile fading, “I’m no kind of performer,” he confesses morosely, his good hand idly tracing a pattern on the floor. “Not anymore.”

“No?” you ask, confused at the statement. It seems at odds with…well, nearly everything about him.

He shrugs, causing you to drop the screw you’re trying to put in. You don’t comment as you quickly pick it up, waiting for him to continue.

“Stage fright,” he sighs.

If his tone weren’t so sullen you’d assume he was joking. He had to be. Stage fright? Him? Aside from stage fright not seeming to fit with his general personality, he used to be a theater bot. Literally built for performances.

“You have…stage fright?” you can’t help but ask, a bit skeptical--not necessarily of him, but of the whole situation. It just didn’t add up. “That uh…must have been pretty stressful when you worked in the theater, then?”

“Oh no! I didn’t have stage fright then. It’s a side effect of the reprogramming,” he says, his tone carefully neutral.

You stop your work, looking up at him, almost doubting you heard right. Granted, your wheelhouse is hardware, not software, but you still have a fairly good understanding of AI programming. You know trying to reprogram an AI that’s already been active and running--actively learning and evolving--is complex at best. Dangerous at worst.

Not for the humans, of course. There’s little risk to them, though in theory a bad reprogramming could cause the robot to become dangerous, but you’ve never heard of that happening. What is more likely is the robot's mental state would become non-functional. Or at least, not functional enough to justify the cost of their upkeep.

Comparisons to lobotomies are often thrown around for the worst cases.

Sun and Moon seem to have been spared that fate, luckily. They’re both clearly functional, even if Sun is a bit neurotic.

Realizing you’ve been quiet just a beat too long, you quickly say, “I-I’m sorry to hear that,” as you continue your work on his arm.

“Oh, no need to be sorry, Little Star! I do like it here, getting to do crafts and read stories with our Little Superstars…”

You let out a soft but warm chuckle at that. “Well, I’m glad it’s working out for you, then,” you say. And you are. You don’t know what would possess Fazbear Entertainment to do such a reprogramming on active AIs, but at least Sun seems happy.

You hope Moon’s also happy…despite his dour attitude when you saw him. Maybe he was just annoyed at your trespassing.

You finish attaching the hinge, then check the wiring. It’s not nearly as torn up as DJ’s had been. The insulation is a bit damaged but wrapping it with some electrical tape should do the trick.

“I’m wrapping the wires now, so you might feel a bit of pain,” you warn him, waiting for him to nod before you begin.

“You’re quite good at this!” Sun says suddenly as you’re finishing up the last wire.

You pause, glancing up at him in bemusement. “Oh, uh, thanks,” you say. You’re not used to receiving praise from robots. At least not anything as openly friendly as “you’re good at this”. It’s usually simple thanks, or at most telling you whatever repair job you’d just completed was done competently. But even that had seemed more like a statement of fact than anything meant to boost your ego.

He leans forward, grinning at you despite his eyes still being closed. “Maybe we’ll ask Miss Hannah to make you our new tech!”

“O-Oh, uh…” you stammer.

“Don’t worry, it shouldn’t conflict with your obligations to DJ,” Sun chirps, answering the question you were still debating on asking.

“I-I wouldn’t call them obligations…” you say with a weak smile.

Sun’s grin widens and he lets out an amused hum. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t!” he says, his tone strangely warm for such an innocuous statement.

You clear your throat awkwardly, then gesture for him to resume his previous position so you can reattach his forearm to the new hinge. “S-So…what would me being your tech mean?”

“A change in your schedule, for one thing,” Sun says cheerfully. “Our maintenance days are Tuesdays and Thursdays, so you’d have to be here after the daycare closes at seven. Then a few hours of working on us, theeeen…” He pauses, his cheerful grin turning into a strangely knowing smirk.

You raise a brow, not sure what he’s getting at.

“Well? You’ll be getting done with work just in time to see DJ’s last set of the night. Then…you and DJ would both be done with work for the day!” he says, opening his eyes just long enough to give you a wink.

You stare at him in confusion. Is he…helping arrange your schedule so you can do more after-hours movie nights with DJ? Or does he just mean for you to visit with DJ briefly after his last set?

It’s a strange thing for Sun to take an interest in…but maybe he’s just grasping at what little he knows about you to persuade you to be their tech.

You let out a slightly awkward laugh. “Y-Yeah, I suppose we would be,” you say, a bit noncommittally. As encouraging as Sun seems to be, you’re not sure you should admit any possible future plans to him. They’re not exactly within company guidelines after all.

“Okay, just gotta test your movement and then put the casing back on,” you say, getting back to the task at hand.

Sun flinches, his eyes closing even tighter. It seems the reminder that his endoskeleton is currently visible was a bit much for him.

“Sorry,” you say. “You don’t have to look. Just lift your arm.” He does so. “Okay, good. Wrist movement? Alright. Curl a fist? Good. Move each finger individually? Awesome!” you say brightly as he finishes running through the brief list of test movements.

Sun beams at your last bit of encouragement, his rays spinning contentedly even as his eyes remain shut.

You trust him to remember the next step of the repairs, so you avoid mentioning anything about his casing or lack thereof again, and simply begin reattaching it.

“Are you suuuure you don’t want to stay for craft time?” Sun asks as you work.

“Wish I could, Sun, but I’m sure other robots around here need my help,” you say.

“Well I’m quite sure Miss Hannah isn’t expecting you to be finished for at least another hour,” he says as you finish screwing in the last bolt on his casing.

You quirk a brow at that, but try to finish the repairs before getting into it. “Move your arm again, and make sure that the casing is set.”

“Everything’s covered up?” he asks, peeking one eye open.

“Yep, I just want to make sure everything’s fitted back on properly,” you say.

He opens his eyes, glancing down at his arm. He carefully lifts it, turning his wrist and elbow as he examines it.

“Everything feel okay?” you ask.

He grins brightly, leaning forward again. “Oh, better than okay! It’s just perfect, Little Star!” he chirps.

You scoot back slightly. “Well…glad to hear it,” you say, dropping the screwdriver into the toolbox and snapping it shut. “Now why d’you think Hannah’s not expecting me to be done for another hour?” you ask.

“Hmm?” he hums as he stands up. “Oh! Well. That’s just how long my repairs usually take,” he says, his hands fidgeting nervously. Once you start to stand up, however, he quickly stops fidgeting and takes your hands, pulling you to your feet.

You make a small noise of surprise at that, gripping his wrists as you rebalance yourself. “Oh yeah?” you ask curiously. You didn’t think you'd completed the repair particularly fast.

His grin is ever so sheepish as he simply shrugs.

Ah. The stalling he was doing earlier. If he’s embarrassed about it then you guess he’s probably not trying to be difficult on purpose. Though calling it accidental doesn’t seem completely accurate either…more of a compulsion perhaps?

You smile kindly at him. “Well, in any case, you’re set to go back to the kids,” you say encouragingly.

Sun grins broadly, his eyes once again closing to happy crescents. “Oh good!” he says, clapping his hands together. “In the meantime, you’re welcome to wait up here until Miss Hannah gets back to you!” he says. He goes to a shelf, pulling out a worn, flat cardboard box and shoving it into your hands. “You can work on this puzzle in the meantime!”

You glance down at the puzzle. It’s a picture of the five Glamrocks, standing side by side and grinning brightly. It’s also only fifty pieces.

“There are a couple pieces missing but I’m sure you can work around that!” he chirps.

“Uh…” You laugh awkwardly, but smile and shake your head good naturedly. “Sure, Sun, I’ll work on it until Hannah gets back to me.”

“Good!” he says, then reaches out and ruffles your hair as if you were one of his “Little Superstars”.

You watch as he goes to the balcony, emerging through the curtains with dramatic flourish.

“Hoo hoho!” you hear him laugh, earning excited shouts and cries from the children. You then hear a sound like something heavy being dropped in the ballpit, sending the plastic orbs scattering.

You blink. Did he just…?

The reactions from the kids still sound happy, so you assume whatever Sun did, nothing went wrong at least. Curiously, you go to the curtain, pushing it open just an inch to peer out.

Sun is already on the playmats, holding one of the children and playfully tossing them in the air while other kids crowd around his legs.

Maybe he had jumped…

No wonder he needs maintenance twice a week.

You return to the pillows he’d set up for you, sending Hannah a text over your Fazwatch to let her know you’d finished. As you wait for her reply, you glance at the puzzle Sun had left.

Well. He’d probably be happy to know you’d done it, at least. You pull the box towards yourself and get started. Being only a fifty piece puzzle (though now down to only forty-eight), it doesn’t take you long. A little under fifteen minutes, though that still didn’t buy you enough time to get a reply from your boss. She must be busy with something else.

You begin flipping idly through your phone. Check your socials, read an article about a game you’re interested in, take your landlord’s new tenant survey…

Still no reply from Hannah.

Your mind drifts back to what Sun had said about being reprogrammed. And to what Karter had said this morning. Was that recording from this morning or was it earlier in the week?

As you begin doing some searches for more information, the daycare lights switch off as the kids get ready for naptime. You glance up in surprise as the light above you clicks off as well, plunging you into darkness. They must be on the same circuit or something.

Hardly a big deal. Your phone and Fazwatch are both backlit and your phone has a flashlight.

You continue your investigation, and a video catches your eye. An old performance of Sun and Moon, from five years ago. You fish one of your earbuds from your pocket and slip it in so you can watch, leaving one ear open.

Sun doesn’t seem that different as he cartwheels onto the stage--at least not at first. But as he speaks you notice an air of confidence and bravado that had not been present in the nervous but kind animatronic you’d just repaired.

The clip you’re watching seems to be a compilation or highlight reel, making it hard for you to tell what the exact plot of their play is, but it seems to be that Sun and Moon were sent on a quest to retrieve…something… for “King Fazbear”. It’s not clear if this king is meant to be Freddy himself or an ancestor.

At first you wonder about the vagueness of the quest, but it soon becomes clear that part of the plot was each brother blaming the other for losing the king’s letter. Each one insists they saw the other put it in their pocket.

The stage is darkened except for a bright spotlight in the center that the duo backflip, frontflip, and cartwheel in and out of as they engage in a rapidfire argument about whose pocket the letter ended up in. At one point Sun pantomimes being shoved out of the spotlight as Moon interrupts him, followed immediately by Moon pretending to be dragged into the light by Sun so he can say his piece.

Sun’s bravado is matched by Moon’s wit and mischievous antics, and you get the feeling Moon knows exactly where the letter is. In fact, part of the joke seems to be Moon tricking Sun into forgetting they share a body and it shouldn’t matter which of them put the letter in their pocket.

“Check again, brother,” Moon giggles as he handstands just outside the spotlight. He walks forward into the light, only for Sun’s arms to give out and have him collapse with a grunt. Sun is clearly the less acrobatic of the two.

He pulls himself to his feet, brushing himself off and straightening his frilled collar. “Moon, we’re going in circles! I have checked all my pockets and I have checked my pockets’ pockets! I tell you I don’t have it!”

The spotlight flickers out entirely, and Moon’s eyes (which are blue instead of red) illuminate the stage. “Hmmm…perhaps your pockets’ pockets’ pockets?” he teases with a giggle.

The light turns back on, and Sun’s rays pop out almost aggressively as he huffs indignantly. “Don’t be silly! Why would my pockets’ pockets’ have pockets?” he demands, earning a chorus of giggles from the kids in the audience.

The spotlight swings away. Moon emerges, cartwheeling after the light, giving himself just enough time to ask, “Perhaps up your sleeve, then?”

He reaches the spotlight and Sun emerges. “We haven’t any sleeves!” he protests, holding up his arms defiantly as if to demonstrate that.

The spotlight swings the other way, and once again Moon gives chase. “What a shame. I hear they’re quite fashionable!”

You’re surprised at how different Moon seems. Granted, they’re actors doing a performance. Perhaps offstage he was not so different than he is now, but you can’t help but think animatronics designed to play characters wouldn’t really have much of a distinct “offstage” personality.

As you're watching, you become aware of a red tinted glow shining down on you. You slowly glance up into a pair of glowing red eyes.

Moon’s hand clamps over your mouth before you can scream. He raises one finger to his mouth in a shushing gesture. “Children are sleeping.”

You dip your head in a nervous nod, and he removes his hand. You suck in a shaky breath, rubbing your chest as if that would slow your pounding heart. “Y-You startled me,” you say meekly. How had he come in without you noticing? Sure it was dark, but shouldn’t you have heard him? You had one earbud out and the other on a low volume, after all.

Moon is squatting on the floor across from you, his arms resting on his knees as he regards you through narrow, red eyes. Like in the arcade, there’s not enough light to see much of his expression.

He leans forward slightly, looking down at the video still playing on your phone. “Nosy,” he says, his gravelly monotone carrying a slight hint of rebuke.

You quickly close the video, taking out your earbud and pocketing both it and your phone. “S-Sorry. I-I was just…curious about what Sun said...I-I wasn’t trying to…snoop on anything private.”

He regards you for another unnerving moment, but before either of you can say anything, you hear your Fazwatch ding.

Your eyes flick to it briefly before you snap your gaze back to Moon. “U-Uh…m-mind if I get that?” you ask hesitantly.

“No.”

You give him a nervous smile, mumbling a thanks as you glance down at your watch.

“Hey! Sorry I didn’t see this sooner. Wasn’t expecting you to be done so quick!” reads Hannah’s reply. “Just come on back down to P & S. There’s some S.T.A.F.F. bots you can take a look at.”

“Sounds like I’m heading back downstairs,” you say to Moon. He stands up, stepping back, and as you get to your feet, you pause and glance up at him. “Was there something you needed from me?” you ask. You assume if he’s supposed to be watching the kids take their naps, he wouldn’t have come up here without a reason.

He raises a hand, and for the first time you notice he’s clutching a paper bag. “Sun wanted me to give you this.”

“Oh?” you ask, taking the bag and peeking inside to see three of the various Faz-branded candy bars. You laugh slightly. “Thanks,” you say kindly. “Does he…usually give techs free candy?”

“When they behave themselves,” Moon says simply.

You quirk a brow at his phrasing. It’s probably just a quirk from working primarily with children, but in Moon’s flat, gravelly voice it sounds strangely ominous. More like a threat than an observation.

“W-Well uh…th-thanks,” you repeat inanely.

Moon continues to stare at you as he stands slightly hunched, his arms hanging limply at his sides. The room is now lit only by the reddish glow of his eyes. You can’t tell if he’s waiting for you to leave or waiting for something else.

“I-Is there…anything else I can do for you before I go?” you ask.

“No.”

“A-Alright…then uh…have a nice rest of your day? Er--I guess, a nice rest of nap time and then a…a nice patrol this evening?” you correct awkwardly.

He stares at you a moment, and you’re about to take his silence as a dismissal when finally he speaks.

“Thank you.”

The corner of your mouth ticks upward in the barest smile. “O-Of course, Moon,” you say, trying to sound at least a little more relaxed than you feel. “See ya around,” you say, lifting a hand in a wave as you turn and head to the door.

You get out your phone and turn on your flashlight, lighting the way down the corridor to the exit. You assume Moon goes back to the daycare to check on the napping kids.

He’s probably not trying to scare you, you reason. No more than Sun is trying to make repairs difficult. Maybe they were both given some level of awkwardness from the reprogramming.

You can see why Karter had been upset enough to quit.

You head down to P & S, dropping off the candy bars in your locker before heading to the main area, a room you hadn’t visited since your orientation.

In the center of the large room is a cylinder of thick glass, within which sits a chair not unlike a dentist’s chair. You understand this cylinder is reserved for working on the Glamrocks--a task you’re unlikely to be put on within your first couple weeks.

Along the walls are several smaller glass rooms--which at first blush look more like cells. A few of them are occupied by various S.T.A.F.F. bots in need of servicing. For some, the damage isn’t obvious, as they are standing motionless in their observation rooms, though you notice one of the security bots has a cracked faceplate and a waiter bot is covered in pizza sauce and cheese. As you’re wondering about the stories behind those two, Hannah emerges from one of the rooms. The chef bot she presumably just finished working on follows behind her, though once Hannah stops in front of you, the bot rolls on past the two of you, on their way to return to their station.

“So, Sun didn’t give you too much trouble?” Hannah asks.

“He was a bit avoidant, I guess, but I was able to talk him through it,” you say.

She raises her brows and gives an impressed frown, nodding. “Well…we are looking for someone to be a full time tech for them too. We’ll have to move your hours around on Tuesdays and Thursdays. You’d come in in the afternoon then stay til around nine or ten, depending on how long the maintenance takes you,” she says. She quickly holds up a hand, “But don’t worry, you’ll still be paid for the whole day if you finish early.”

You nod. “Sure, that sounds good,” you say easily.

Maybe a bit too easily, for she quirks a brow, smiling in amusement. “Just like that? Really going for the job security, huh?” she says jokingly.

You chuckle good naturedly, giving a vague shrug. You hadn’t been thinking of job security, but after your run-in with Ezra yesterday you’re certainly grateful that you seem to have earned some. Being good at an undesirable task isn’t the most glamorous path to job security, but at this point you’ll take it.

“Well, anyway, as you can see, that security bot needs its faceplate and left optic replaced,” Hannah says, nodding to the bot in question.

“I noticed. What happened?” you ask as Hannah leads you to the shelves containing the replacement parts.

“The guy who yanked on Sun didn’t want to be escorted from the building. And for whatever reason he had a utility flashlight in his coat pocket.” She lifted her hand and made a whacking motion, pantomiming what the man did to the security bot.

You grimace, glancing sympathetically at the security bot, who stares blankly back at you. You’ve heard of how things can spiral when a parent or guardian who doesn’t actually have custody or is not on the approved pickup list tries to pick up a child from a daycare or a school, but you’d never expected to see the results firsthand.

Then again, you’d also never expected to work at a place with so many kids present.

“Anyway, I’ll get to work on pizza guy,” Hannah says, nodding towards the pizza-covered waiter bot. She doesn’t elaborate on what happened to get the poor bot in that state, but maybe the story isn’t all that interesting. Maybe it was just an accident.

You don’t have time to dwell on it as you get to work on your assignment.

You enter the observation chamber with the security bot, who turns slightly to face you and continues watching you through their unblinking gaze.

“I’m just gonna be replacing your optic and faceplate, okay?”

“Affirmative.”

“Let me know if anything hurts, alright?”

“Negative.”

You blink. “Negative?”

“Pain sensors are not present on this unit.”

“Oh. Well, okay then…but you can still let me know if anything seems off,” you say as you begin unscrewing the broken faceplate.

“Affirmative.”

This is certainly much closer to the robots you’d worked with in the past. After DJ, Sun, and Moon, you’ve almost forgotten the rather flat affect most “typical” robots have.

Though it strikes you as odd these bots don’t feel pain, but DJ does. Maybe they were built by different contractors and it was simply a case of the left hand not knowing what the right hand was doing. Or maybe the S.T.A.F.F. bots are more expendable than DJ.

Actually, that was almost certainly true, but whether or not it had anything to do with the decision to give DJ pain receptors or the decision to not give them to the S.T.A.F.F. bots is less clear.

Once you finish fixing the bot, you step back, holding the door open for them. “Alright, pal, you’re all set,” you say.

The bot gives a barely perceptible sideways tilt of their head. “Thank you technician,” they say as they roll out of the room.

You wave them off with your free hand as you check your Fazwatch. While you’d been working, Hannah had finished up with the pizza bot and moved on to other things in the ‘Plex, instructing you to finish the repairs of the S.T.A.F.F. bots remaining in the other observation rooms.

Simple enough way to spend the rest of your shift. The other S.T.A.F.F. bots you work on are much like the security bot--a flat affect, barely speaking, but seemingly continuously watching.

Again, not too different from your previous job.

By the end of your shift, far from being bored, you’re practically humming with excitement as you anticipate your trip up to the dance hall. The quiet repairs you’d done alone in P & S this afternoon have given you plenty of time to dwell on how much you miss your dear new friend.

Dwell on, but not introspect too deeply.

It’s simply that DJ is your first friend since moving, and that you’re looking forward to finally seeing him perform after you’d worked on him nearly a full week, just like anyone would be excited to see a friend do something they excel at.

What else could it be?

You clock out and head upstairs, your candy bars in your backpack and your coat draped over your arm.

As you head upstairs, you feel the music before you hear it, the deep bass tones thrumming along the floor as you enter the arcade. You make your way to the crowded dance hall, walking beside the benches that line the back of the hall. You slip between two of them, finding a place on the back wall to lean against, like the wallflower you often are at parties.

You look up to the stage, watching DJ perform. It’s much like his “performances” he did while you were working on him, with his head bobbing to the music and his hands making flourishing gestures to go with the music, though of course now he is much more energetic to match the dance music he’s currently playing.

After a moment, he catches your eye, and his already bright grin brightens even more. He flicks his hand in a brief point to you, winking. The motion is quick enough and fits in enough with his usual dance-like movements, so you’re sure nobody else will think anything of it.

But you think the world of it, feeling your face warm as a small giggle escapes your lips. You wish you could stay for his whole set…even stay until close so you could visit with him properly, but you need to get on the road soon if you’re going to make it to your parents’ house before 10:00 PM.

Maybe you can spare just a few more minutes, though.

DJ’s eyes occasionally meet yours as he continues his performance, and his smile grows just a touch larger whenever they do.

Just as you’re wondering if you’re perhaps causing too much of a distraction for him, you feel a tap on your shoulder.

You turn, your face falling when you see Ezra standing there. You’re so thrown off by his being here at all that you don’t register the calm, relaxed smile on his face.

“O-Oh…h-hi,” you stammer out awkwardly.

“Hi,” he says with a slight chuckle. “Came to see the show?” he says, speaking in the same calm, comfortable tone he’d spoken to you with on your first day. As if yesterday’s disaster of a…whatever it was…had never happened.

“Y-Yeah,” you say. “I uh…h-hadn’t watched it yet.”

Ezra leans against the wall beside you, then gestures up at DJ. “That's the biggest animatronic in the world, you know,” he says, an air of pride in his voice.

You nod, relaxing only a tiny bit. “Yeah. Hannah mentioned that.”

He chuckles. “Expensive as hell though,” he says wryly. “But it’s also the main reason anyone over fourteen comes to the Pizzaplex,” he adds with a shrug.

“Right…” you say uncertainly. Was he just…pretending yesterday didn’t happen? As you’re trying to think of a more diplomatic way to phrase that very question, Ezra speaks again.

“I wanted to apologize for yesterday,” he says.

“O-Oh, um…that’s fine,” you say quickly. “I-I’m sorry I…misread things…”

“I can understand how it might have looked, if you came from a more formal company culture,” he says. He hesitates, frowning a bit as he says, “You’re probably aware of this to some degree, but people see you differently when you don’t have a soulmate. Less so in your twenties, maybe a bit in your thirties, but in your forties…some people start putting their guard up.” He glances sideways at you, his cool smile returning. “So I guess I was just being a bit prickly.”

“O-Oh, no, Ezra, that wasn’t on my mind at all!” you say quickly. You laugh awkwardly. “I’d be a bit hypocritical if it was, wouldn’t I?”

He shrugs slightly. “Well, you’re still looking. Not having one gets a bit less scrutiny than not wanting one.”

“Yeah, I know. But the thing is, my grandma never wanted a soulmate either, but she wanted to be a mom. So she adopted my mom and my aunts and uncle.”

Ezra quirks a brow. “Really?” he asks curiously. “That would have been…what, fifty years ago?”

“Uh…” You pause, scratching your cheek. “My uncle’s the oldest, and he’s sixty-five. And my youngest aunt is fifty-three. So yeah, roughly…” you say with a nod.

“I’m surprised she was able to adopt that many kids as a single woman back then,” he says.

“Wasn’t easy, from what I understand,” you say, a small, proud smile on your face. “But believe me, Ezra, I’d never fault someone for not having or wanting a soulmate.” You pause a moment, then add, “I mean, Gran’s the only one in my family who never once said I should either change myself to get a soulmate or just…accept that I don’t ‘need’ one,” you say, drawing air quotes around the word.

“Sounds like she has a good head on her shoulders, then,” he says.

You laugh. “I’ve always thought so,” you say. You glance at the time. “But I, uh, do need to get going. I’m headed back to Allendale this weekend to visit.”

“Ah, that’s right. I’m surprised you’re heading back after only a week,” he says leadingly.

You’re not a huge fan of the prying question--or implied question, rather, but manage not to react visibly to that fact. You simply shrug, and say, “I left a few things at my parents’ during the move that I want to pick up,” you say. Technically true. You’d been planning the return trip even before Penny got her soulmark, after all.

Penny’s soulmark is definitely not something you care to get into with Ezra. You’re willing to give him the benefit of the doubt on yesterday’s incident, if only because neither of you are likely to quit soon. Circumstances will continue to keep you in each other’s orbit, so if you can be at least amicable with him, you’ll choose that route.

But you are not ready to trust him with the information that you are the oldest of four and last to get a soulmark.

Ezra accepts your answer. You had already started inching away slightly, but when he lifts his hand in a lazy farewell wave, you take that as your dismissal and quickly make your way to the edge of the dance hall.

You turn, glancing briefly at Ezra to make sure he’s not watching you, and when you see that he’s on his phone, you turn to DJ. He meets your gaze quickly, and you wave at him. He gives a half-salute, half-wave that, as far as everyone else is concerned, blends seamlessly into his performance, but you readily recognize for the personal gesture it is.

You linger at the edge of the dance hall a moment longer, watching him. He doesn’t break eye contact either, watching you from the corner of his eye as he performs to the crowd.

Why does the thought of spending a whole weekend apart hurt so much?

You don’t have an answer. Maybe you don’t need one. It just does.

You smile fondly at him, giving another small wave before finally heading out. Your eyes had been threatening to tear up if you’d stayed much longer.

Once you leave, DJ retreats slightly into his own mind, stopping his improv briefly and switching to a song he had composed a month ago. It’s unlikely anyone will notice.

He’d heard your conversation with Ezra. He’s glad things seemed to be at least somewhat smoothed over, though DJ can tell you’re not entirely at ease around the man. Not that he blames you. But he does share a similar sentiment as you do--he desperately doesn’t want you to quit, and he doubts Ezra will quit. It’s not ideal, but it’s less bleak than it seemed yesterday.

Though that’s not at the top of DJ’s mind right now. It’s the tears he barely glimpsed forming in your eyes as you left. Your soul and his are reaching out for each other, desperately wanting your minds to acknowledge the bond between you two.

If you’re feeling what he feels, but don’t even understand where those feelings are coming from…

He should have told you yesterday. Maybe it wouldn’t have been the sweeping romantic gesture he’d been going for, but at least you wouldn’t have to spend the whole weekend wondering why your very soul ached.

Well. He’ll be seeing you on Monday. He’ll tell you then. No more excuses.

Chapter Text

A four hour drive home hadn’t seemed so terrible when you’d decided to leave Allendale--and your family--to take the job at the Pizzaplex. But after a full day of work, four hours of driving is…a lot.

But at least it’s less than five, right?

You try to distract yourself with a podcast while you drive--just some silly talk show by some gaming channel you used to be more into than you are now. But it fills the silence and mostly keeps you focused.

You keep feeling a pull to turn around and go back. As if you forgot something, but more urgent.

You sigh, hitting rewind on your car’s display as you realize you haven’t listened to the last few minutes of conversation and you’re now completely lost on what the hosts are talking about.

What does it matter if you forgot something? You’re staying with your parents; they’ll cover anything you might need over the weekend.

You arrive at your parents’ house just before eleven--you’d underestimated how long it would take you to stop for food and how bad traffic might be. Gran has already gone to bed, so Mom and Dad welcome you into your childhood home, but pleasantries don’t last long before they’re forced to retire for the night. You don’t mention your birthday, instead focusing on some brief but relatively nonspecific remarks on how much you’re enjoying the new job.

Your old bedroom is now Dad’s office with a pullout couch replacing your bed so the room can double as a guest room. It is here you set up for the night. You let your parents get to bed and set up the pullout couch yourself.

As you lay in bed, Gran’s two cats, Eleanor and Lynny, enter the room. After a thorough investigation of your overnight bag, they hop onto the bed with you, curling up on either side of you.

“Hi guys,” you say, scratching their heads as you stare up at the ceiling. At least their company will help keep your strange melancholy at bay so you can actually get some sleep. You wish you could at least text DJ, just to let him know you made it here alright. You sigh softly. You never thought you’d think this, but Monday can’t get here soon enough.

*

The next afternoon, the house is full of family: three aunts, one uncle and eleven cousins, ranging in age from sixteen to twenty-eight. Indeed, you’re not only your parents’ oldest child, you are your grandmother’s oldest grandchild. The latter factoid doesn’t get brought up as much as the former, but you’re no less aware of it.

There are also several young kids running around; your various niblets from your cousins and sister. While your cousins are all catching up with each other, you find yourself the center of your niblets’ attention. Usually Penny’s the main one to corral them, being an elementary school teacher herself, but once they hear you’re working for Freddy Fazbear himself (sort of), suddenly you’re the star of the show in a way you typically aren’t at these gatherings.

You end up seated on the couch with several of them crowded around you, either standing nearby or sitting on the couch with you. You’re inundated with questions about the Pizzaplex, but mostly about the Glamrocks.

“What’s Freddy like?”

“Is Monty really mean?”

“When can you take us to visit them?”

“Is Roxy your friend?”

They’re somewhat disappointed when you tell them you haven’t met the Glamrocks yet.

“I gotta work my way up to it. It’s only been a week,” you say. “I’ve mostly been working with DJ. He’s really nice!” you say.

“Who’s DJ?”

“DJ Music Man!” another niblet answers before you can.

You laugh, nodding. “Yes, DJ Music Man! But he likes to be called DJ.”

“How do you know that?”

“He told me,” you say.

“But he can’t talk!”

“He knows sign language,” you explain. You resist the urge to flex and say you taught him…Or well, introduced him to the idea…you have to admit Moon did the actual heavy lifting on DJ’s lessons. “A-S-L,” you speak-sign. “Like Gran.”

This elicits a chorus of giggles and amused reactions, and (perhaps predictably) requests for some lessons. Sadly, your young niblets are not the avid listeners that DJ is, resulting in some confusion when they each talk over each other as they debate what signs they want to learn first.

Luckily, the sound of your aunt pouring candy into a glass bowl catches their attention and the group stampedes to the kitchen to get their sugar fixes.

You sigh in relief. You love the kiddos, and of course respect their…zeal…but you get tired out quickly when there’s a dozen of them focused in on you.

You wonder how Penny has managed it so many times at these family gatherings, and nearly every day in her classroom. And how Sun and Moon manage it at the daycare, for that matter. Programming or not, it seems like a daunting task.

You lay back on the couch, you mind drifting back to DJ. You check the time. He’s probably in a show right now. Not that you could contact him either way.

Something unexpected pulls at your heart and you suddenly decide you need a few moments alone. With the spotlight off you, you quickly retreat to the guest room unnoticed.

You lay down on the pull out bed, rubbing tiredly at your eyes. Usually you love these big family gatherings…getting to catch up with your cousins and see your niblets running around playing together, talking with your aunts and uncle. You just hadn’t expected the kids to want to talk so much about your new job.

Why does it feel painful to talk about? Why do you feel so…so homesick for a job? A job you’ve only been at a week?

You pull out your phone, your hand hovering over the unlock screen. You can’t text DJ…but maybe some of his shows have been filmed and uploaded? Moon hadn’t seemed appreciative of you watching him and Sun’s old shows, but…surely DJ wouldn’t mind? He seems to like performing for you.

You quickly find a video, pulling it up--a show from about a year ago filmed by someone in the audience. You smile warmly as you watch it, his bright smile and wonderful music warming your soul.

You’re barely halfway through the short video when you hear a knock on the door, and Gran’s voice calling your name.

“Yeah, I’m in here, Gran,” you say, quickly pausing the video.

Gran pushes the door open. The steady click…clack…click…of her cane is heard as she slowly makes her way to the fold out bed. You sit up, scooting over so she can take a seat on the edge of the mattress.

She slowly lowers herself to sit with a heavy sigh, then sets her cane aside. “Were you listening to music?” she asks curiously.

“No. I mean yes. Sort of,” you say, turning your phone towards her.

Gran takes the phone, adjusting her glasses and holding the phone a foot away from her face as she squints at it. “Oh, my goodness!” she laughs. “That’s quite the character! Is this one of those Freddy’s robots?”

You nod. “His name’s DJ Music Man. He’s the one I was repairing all last week.”

“He’s big,” she comments, tracking through the video. “Goodness! He could pick you up in one hand!” she laughs.

You snort. “He has,” you chuckle.

Gran turns to you, her brows raised in surprise, though she still wears a slightly befuddled smile. She can’t tell if you’re joking.

Your laugh turns awkward and you shrug. “Just…a couple times, to help me out with the repairs.”

“I see,” she says. “What was the matter with him?”

“Busted up and graffitied by some kids,” you frown.

Gran sniffs disapprovingly. “Hooligans,” she grumbles.

“Yeah,” you agree. “He has pain sensors too…so they actually hurt him quite a bit,” you say sadly.

“Poor thing,” she says, handing your phone back to you. Gran had always seemed sympathetic towards robots, similarly to you. While you’re not sure she truly believes they could be sapient, she at least believes the possibility is one more reason to treat them with dignity.

“So how’re you holding up?” Gran asks, seemingly changing the subject.

“Oh…fine,” you say with a slight shrug, pocketing your phone.

“Did you get our cards?”

“Cards?” you repeat blankly.

“The birthday cards. Your parents sent one, I sent one, and each of your sisters sent one,” she says patiently.

“O-Oh…um, no, I…th-the mailbox in this complex is kinda outta the way so I…haven’t checked my mail since I moved in,” you admit sheepishly.

Gran chuckles weakly. “I see. Check it when you get back, then,” she says with a slight smirk.

You nod. It does help to know that they hadn’t forgotten your birthday entirely.

“How’s the farm?” you ask, changing the subject again. “Any buyers yet?”

Gran gives an exaggerated eye roll and sighs dramatically. “By the time someone buys that farm, I’ll have bought the farm!” she cackles.

You laugh, shaking your head slightly. It’s a pretty forced joke, and one you’ve heard many times. The first few times your parents and sisters were actually shocked to discover Gran had a bit of a morbid streak in her humor.

“Thank you for being the only one who still laughs at that,” Gran smirks.

“Well, Pen and Abby laughed the first twenty times…” you grin.

Gran lightly swats your shoulder. “Sassy!” scolds with feigned indignation.

She begins to stand, and you quickly rise to help her up, then together you two make your way back downstairs to the party.

Soon after, dinner is served, then dessert--a lovely cake made by one of your aunts. Shortly after cake, some of the younger kids start crashing and are put to bed in your parents’ room and the guest room so the adults can stay and chat for another few hours. For the most part, the party is able to keep your focus and you’re able to mostly ignore your homesickness for awhile.

Eventually, you find yourself on the porch with your sisters. You, Penny, and Tiffany lean against the railing, while Abigail sits on one of the patio chairs. She rests her hands on her round belly. She’s five months pregnant with her third child--another niblet on the way.

As the conversation lapses, Abigail glances at you. “So…how are you?” she asks, her tone making it clear that she suspects the answer is something other than “fine”.

Yet that is the answer you give. “I’m fine,” you say, the weight of your tone making it clear you understood her intent perfectly well. She’s concerned about your feelings on Penny’s soulmark, not your strange homesick feeling for the Pizzaplex, which you hope you’ve been hiding decently well. “We’re all on our own paths, right?”

Abigail nods, though her smile is more sympathetic than you think it needs to be. It borders on pitying.

Tiffany, meanwhile, makes a small noise of irritation at your remark. One soft enough that you’d be willing to believe her if she said it slipped out by accident. But you know better than to respond at all.

The wall you and Tiffany had built up between each other over the years isn't as tall as it used to be. Time had removed some of the bricks, and the two of you had removed some yourselves. But the foundation is still there, like steel rods encased in concrete and buried in the ground, and neither of you are quite willing to fully dig them out yet--not because you want them to stay, but because moving them after all these years is a daunting task. One neither of you were ready to take responsibility for.

So you mostly ignore it. Pretend it isn’t there. You’d taken down enough of the wall that it was no longer a hurdle.

But the shadow of the wall still remains, like a scar on the land it was built over, and all four of you can plainly see it.

Abigail’s the first to break the silence. “Well, I think I’m ready to head home. Tiff, can you help me track down Mari and the kids so we can head out?”

You all know what she’s doing, but nobody, not even Tiffany, calls her on it.

“Sure,” Tiffany says, actually seeming grateful for the easy exit. “I’d better head out too. I have some cases to work on tomorrow and I suspect Judge Matthews will be calling the office pretty early,” she says with a slight roll of her eyes. She helps her twin to her feet and follows her inside.

Penny glances at you, slightly awkward. You two hadn’t had a moment alone yet. You’d texted her a brief but sincere congratulations after work the day you found out about her soulmark, but no real conversation had been had. You aren’t sure one is needed, but you suspect not all your sisters would agree with that.

Penny’s gaze drifts down to the empty soda can in your hand and she gently takes it from you. “You want another?”

You give her a reassuring smile, nodding. “Sure, if it’s not any trouble,” you say.

She goes back inside to get you your drink, and you lean against the railing again, staring out at the yard.

Predictably, your mind drifts back to DJ. He’s probably doing his last set of the night by now. You can't wait to see him again. You smile contentedly, your slightly sleepy brain not filtering itself as it usually does, and you allow yourself to picture yourself resting in his hand again. For a moment, your mind allows you to focus on the peacefulness of that mental image rather than how much you miss DJ.

The sound of a soda can being set on the railing next to you causes you to jump, and you give Penny an apologetic smile. “S-Sorry. I uh. Zoned out a bit.”

Penny smiles weakly. “It’s getting late,” she says agreeably as you open your soda and take a sip. Her smile turns contemplative as she regards you. “You’d…tell us if you had a soulmark, right?”

You give her an odd look, but chuckle weakly as you lean against the railing. “Hard to imagine myself shutting up about it,” you say good naturedly. “Why?”

“Just…the smile on your face now,” she says. “I was just wondering what you were thinking about.”

Your face warms at the comment. You definitely can’t tell Penny you were thinking of a huge robotic DJ. You force a slight laugh, shaking your head. “Eh. There are a lot of things in the world that make me happy other than my own soulmark.”

Penny smiles weakly, nodding. She glances down at her own wrist, running her fingers over her soulmark. “I-I…I was sure you’d get yours before I got mine,” she admits, an unmistakable guilt in her tone.

Your laugh is more genuine this time. “Don’t worry about it, Pen,” you say. You let out a relaxed sigh, propping your elbows against the railing and resting your chin on your hands. “I’ll find them when I’m meant to,” you say softly.

“Yeah…I know you will,” she says kindly, giving you a gentle nudge with her shoulder.

You give a quiet hum of affirmation but otherwise don’t reply. In a moment, her gaze returns to her soulmark and your thoughts return to DJ as you both gaze into the quiet night.

Chapter Text

Sunday is far more painful than Saturday. With no party to distract you, you find yourself antsy and eager to be back on the road. It’s eased somewhat by Mom offering to take you shopping for some things for your new apartment--a peace offering for her not wishing you a happy birthday during her call last week. She admits it slipped her mind in the moment, which admittedly stings a bit, but not nearly as much as flimsy excuses would have.

But she feels guilty, and you know if you try to duck out early, she’ll only feel worse, so you do your best to put aside your homesickness and have a nice shopping trip with Mom, then dinner with her and Dad.

That night sees you back on the road. You’re tempted to make a quick stop at the Pizzaplex to say hi to DJ before returning to your apartment for the night, but you eventually talk yourself down from the silly little gesture. Best to just go home, get some proper sleep on your actual bed, then arrive bright-eyed and well-rested for your Monday morning with your dear DJ.

*

Monday morning, you once again find the employee break room abuzz. This time, Darryl is holding the tablet while Hannah and the other techs peer over his shoulders. They seem to be watching another of Karter’s hearings with the National Robotics Committee.

You can’t quite hear Karter’s words over the murmurings of your colleagues, but you definitely hear the word “unforgivable”.

“This…Daycare Attendant, you mention…according to this brief, it has two AIs. So do you believe it to have two souls, or just one?”

You blink. Souls? Sun and Moon have souls? It’s…not the most surprising revelation about the two, you suppose…even if it is a very heady piece of information to just have dropped on you like this, first thing Monday morning.

On the screen, Karter frowns slightly. This time you notice how haggard and worn he looks. There are dark circles under his eyes, and he seems paler than he did on Friday’s video. “With all due respect, I don’t think it’s productive to hem and haw about how many souls they have. As long as there’s at least one soul in that animatronic, it should not be considered the 'property' of Fazbear Entertainment.”

Hannah lets out a low, worried sigh, shaking her head. “The lawyers are going to be after him for this.”

“What about whistleblowing protections?” another tech asked.

“You cannot ‘blow the whistle’ on something that cannot happen.”

Everyone freezes as Ezra’s voice speaks out, projecting over all their murmuring. Nobody had even realized he’d entered the break room. He stands in the doorway, glancing pointedly at Darryl who quickly shuts off the tablet and shoves it into his backpack.

Everyone in the room is tense, but Hannah eventually remembers her obligation to break the silence. “Good morning, Ezra,” she says. Her tone is steady, but she cannot completely hide her nervousness.

He nods to her, then walks into the room, slowly glancing at each of the techs. “You’re going to be hearing a lot of things in the next few days. You might even be contacted by the press. So I’ll remind you--once--that your NDAs prevent you from speaking to the press about anything regarding your work or this company. The only thing you should be saying to any journalist is ‘No comment’. Understand?” He pauses, glancing around the room as everyone nods and murmurs vague assents.

“The Daycare Attendant does not have a soul. Not one soul, not two souls. The number is zero. Furthermore, its reformatting was simply a business decision. It was more useful in the Daycare than the theater. And its claim of having a soulmark was always completely false.”

Your eyes widen and you’re unable to stop yourself from gasping softly at the last sentence.

Ezra hears it. Everyone hears it. Suddenly all eyes are on you. Ezra narrows his eyes, speaking your name in a terse tone. “Got something to share with the class?” he asks, his voice low and challenging.

“I-I just…didn’t realize Sun and Moon had soulmates…” you stammer out weakly. As soon as you say it, you wince. Why didn’t you just say it was nothing? Why press the issue now, with Ezra of all people?

You thought the room was silent before, but now you could have heard a pin drop as everyone practically holds their breath, waiting for Ezra’s reaction. Hannah gives you a wide-eyed stare and a barely perceptible shake of her head, silently begging you to shut up.

Ezra stares at you, his eyes as cold as they were when he drove you back from the restaurant last week. So you hadn’t imagined that harsh glare. “They. Didn’t,” he says, stepping towards you. “They had a glitch that caused them to claim to have soulmarks. A glitch that is now corrected,” he continues, advancing on you. The other techs, and even Hannah, step aside, parting before him like the Red Sea. “I’m sure you’re aware that them having soulmates would be impossible. Robots--animatronics--do not have souls. Therefore they don’t have soulmates.”

“R-Right…” you say meekly. “I-I…misspoke.” It’s not entirely a lie, not that you care about that distinction right now. You care about saying whatever you need to say to stay employed. As much as you want to defend your friends…what would getting yourself fired do for them? Even if it feels cold and selfish to frame it around your job of all things.

His calm smile returns, though the coldness doesn’t entirely vanish from his eyes. “Entirely understandable. But,” he says, stepping back from you and once again addressing all the techs, “this is a perfect example of why you do not speak to the press. They will take any kind of clumsy phrasing like that and tear it, you, and Fazbear Entertainment to shreds. If a reporter heard you say something like that, it would be quoted for months as proof that Fazbear Entertainment admits their robots have souls. And I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that we do not, because our robots do not.”

At his pause, several nods and a vague murmur of agreement ripple through the room. Ezra’s gaze locks with yours, and it’s impossible to miss the silent challenge he issues you, daring you to protest or argue with him in any way.

You nod shakily. “R-Right…Of course,” you stammer out nervously.

You can’t quite tell if the expression on his face is a smirk or a smile, but either way, he gives a curt nod and makes his exit without any further ceremony. The abruptness of his departure hangs in the room for only a moment before Hannah quickly gives out the day’s assignments.

But you already know you’ll be doing DJ’s weekly maintenance this morning. Somehow even the thought of seeing him after three whole days apart doesn’t quite lift your spirits after what just happened.

As you make your way up to the Fazcade, you replay the conversation in your head. Could Sun and Moon really have souls? Or a soul? Well, that distinction hardly mattered, you suppose. Karter was right about that much--whether it’s one soul or two in those circuit boards, it’ll permanently change how the world sees AI.

It'd probably force Fazbear Entertainment to start paying their robots…or worse (at least for Fazbear), granting those robots the right to quit. It may even bring the entire robotics field to a grinding halt. After all, who would want to invest thousands of dollars into a machine that could just walk away?

You wonder what DJ would think of all this. You should at least give him an update on what Karter’s been up to. At the very least, he’d want confirmation that Karter didn’t quit because of him.

You pause outside of the arcade, taking a breath to steady yourself. You can’t get into this heavy stuff first thing Monday morning, as much as you want to. You need to focus on getting his maintenance done, and then you’ll both need to focus on your respective work days.

You’ll come by tomorrow night, after Sun and Moon’s maintenance. After closing. You’ll stay as late as you need to and you two can talk it out without any distractions or time limits…or the possibility of Ezra coming by and interrupting yet again.

You rub at your temples. Just a few moments ago you were so excited to see DJ again. You’d practically skipped into the break room. You’ve been apart for three days; you don’t want to walk into the arcade moping. Especially after your moping had nearly ruined his attempt to celebrate your birthday last week.

You realize that hesitating outside of the Fazcade is a bit silly. The dance hall is once again fully opened up to the public, which means his maintenance is conducted in the arcade maintenance hallway, away from the arcade patrons.

You head up the lavish circular stairways, letting the bright neon lights and elegant decor lift your mood. You haven't seen much of the upper floors of the arcade during the day. In fact, you haven't been up here at all aside from your trip to the vending machines, and many of the lights had been off then. The brightness of the place is a welcome distraction, and by the time you reach the employee door to the maintenance hallway, you’ve managed to set aside your woes for the time being.

Which is an easier task than usual when you’re on your way to see your dear DJ.

You pick up the pace as you enter the long corridor, picking your way around the fairly disorganized mess of arcade machines and metal shelving that’s scattered haphazardly in the corridor.

At the very end of the hall is one of DJ’s tunnel entrances, and it’s in this tunnel he’s currently resting, waiting for you.

“DJ!” you call out happily, waving to him as you step over a toppled arcade cabinet.

He perks up, returning your wave and climbing down from his tunnel. Much as he wants to run towards you, the clutter in the hall prevents it. Instead, he reaches a hand over the arcade cabinets towards you.

You get the hint, laughing lightly as you break into a run and hop into his hand, saving yourself the trouble of navigating the last three or four rows of clutter. He lifts you up and hugs you to his cheek, two of his other hands against your back as he nuzzles his cheek against you.

You let out a sigh of contentment as you lean against his metallic faceplate. The homesickness you’d felt all weekend melts away, replaced with the familiar warm feeling in your soul that DJ’s hugs always seem to give you. You press your forehead against him, patting his cheek with one hand. “I missed you too, big guy,” you say affectionately. Dotingly even.

He presses you to his cheek just a tad more snugly at that, but then lowers his hands, moving you away from his face so he can sign. You remain seated in his hands, one of his thumbs gently resting against your shoulder.

“How was your weekend?”

“Fine. Family’s doing well…The kids were excited to hear about my new job,” you say with a slight laugh. You lean in conspiratorially, and he brings you closer to his face as you say, “I got to tell ‘em I’m friends with the DJ. They were quite impressed!”

DJ rolls his eyes good naturedly, giving a modest shake of his head.

You giggle at his reaction. “How about you? Anything interesting happen?” you ask, still sitting in his hand as you look up at him. You lean against his thumb, actually looping an arm around it as you make yourself comfortable.

DJ considers. “Moon gave me some more ASL lessons…There was also a birthday party. Does that count?” You two hadn’t really had time to make small talk last week. He’s still not quite used to making conversation in general, and not entirely sure what makes for an “interesting” story.

“Sure,” you say easily. “Did everyone have fun?”

“They seemed to,” he signs. He pauses, grinning. “One of the kids said she wants to be a musician when she grows up. Like me,” he adds, closing his eyes and allowing just a hint of smugness to show in his smile. Though of course it’s well deserved in your opinion.

You laugh warmly. “Well, she’ll have to work hard to match your skill.”

DJ’s smile abruptly turns shy as he rubs the back of his head, the circles on his cheeks glowing just a tad brighter. “I wanted to tell her I believed in her. But nobody at the party knew ASL.”

Your smile fades a touch. “That’s a shame,” you say gently. “But I’m sure she could tell you have faith in her.”

“Hope so,” he signs, finally lowering the hand you’re sitting on to the floor.

You both remember that you’re on a tighter schedule than you were last week, so the small talk, sadly, must end for now.

You open the maintenance hatch on the side of his body, shining your flashlight inside. You find the small monitor and activate it, beginning the diagnostics. As you wait for them to run, you take a look at the rest of his machinery and wires. You notice a control switch next to the monitor and frown slightly. It seems to only have two settings--“ON” and “OFF”. But you don’t remember this switch from the manual, even though you’ve now read the entire thing front to back.

While the diagnostics continue to run, you get your tablet from your backpack and pull up DJ’s manual, frowning.

DJ, who had been watching you over his shoulder, nudges you with a middle hand. “S-O-M-E-T-H-I-N-G-W-R-O-N-G?” The angle forces him to spell the words out.

You shake your head. “No. I mean not really. There’s a switch here that isn’t in your manual,” you say, once you pull up the relevant page of the manual and confirm. “I don’t suppose you know what it is?”

“B-O-U-N-C-E-R-M-O-D-E,” he spells.

You actually let out an incredulous snort at that. “Bouncer mode? You?” you say dubiously.

DJ quirks a brow, smirking playfully. He doesn’t sign or spell anything, but he doesn’t have to in order to point out the obvious.

“Well, I guess being twenty-five feet tall and having six arms can get you pretty far as a bouncer,” you concede good naturedly, closing the manual app and tucking your tablet under your arm. “Even if you hardly seem like the type.”

“M-U-S-T-B-E-W-H-Y-T-H-E-Y-D-I-D-N-T-F-I-N-I-S-H-I-T,” he spells.

“Could be,” you agree. “Just as well. In all seriousness, you…I mean, maybe it’s not for me to say, but you don’t seem like you’d be very happy doing that sort of work,” you say with a slightly shy smile.

It’s hard to imagine the big guy doing anything more forceful than giving someone a fairly mild scolding. In your mind he’s the epitome of a “gentle giant”. You guess he probably could “escort” someone from the premises without much harm to himself or them, but as you said, you doubt he’d be happy doing it.

DJ smiles kindly at you and nods. “P-R-E-F-E-R-B-E-I-N-G-J-U-S-T-A-D-J,” he agrees.

“Well, you’re more than just a DJ, my friend,” you say fondly. But before you can elaborate, the diagnostic monitor dings. “One sec,” you say, leaning back into the opening in his chassis. The diagnostics finished running, scanning every component and part in his body and giving you a readout of the parts most in need of replacement.

“Looks like…a couple arm joints, and one of the sensors in your headphones need to get done today,” you say. “Probably going to have to replace your front gloves next week, though,” you add, quickly entering the diagnostic results on your tablet.

DJ winces, though you can’t see it from where you are. He’s not looking forward to getting his gloves replaced…but there’s no point in bothering you with that now. Really, there’s not even a point in bothering you with that next week…he knows it needs to be done, even if he dislikes the process.

You fall mostly silent as you get to work, only occasionally asking him to move or hold something for you.

It gives him time to think, at least. He hasn’t forgotten the promise he made to himself last week. Well, it was more of a promise to you, even if you didn’t know about it. But it’s easy to make promises for Monday when it’s only Thursday. It's considerably harder to keep those promises when Monday comes around.

Once you’re done with your work he’ll tell you. He’s not putting it off. He’s not making excuses. He’s making a plan.

Still…the three hours of maintenance go by faster than any other three hours DJ can remember, and before he knows it, you’re packing up to head to your next task.

As you sling your bag over your shoulder, you look up at him. He’s not meeting your gaze, and looks lost in his own head. You frown worriedly. “Are you alright, DJ?” you ask, lightly touching one of his hands to get his attention.

DJ starts slightly at the touch, and to your surprise he flips his hand over, taking your hand between his thumb and forefinger.

“I have to tell you something,” he signs.

You frown worriedly at his nervous expression, placing a hand over his thumb. “What is it?” you ask gently.

DJ holds out his main right arm, wrist up. With his middle set of hands, he signs, “I have writing on my wrist.”

You stare down at his wrist, seeing nothing. The weight of what he’s just told you begins to settle in as you lightly run your fingers over his wrist where the words must be. “I don’t see it,” you say quietly.

“I know,” he signs, flinching guiltily, unable to meet your gaze.

You briefly glance down at his wrist again, your fingers lightly tracing the words you can’t see. “You know what that means.” It’s not a question; it’s clear he does.

When you look up at him again, he nods. “Soulmark,” he signs.

“Oh DJ,” you murmur softly, running your thumb over his wrist as if you could erase the words. Just a few days ago you could have imagined yourself being happy for him. But after what happened this morning? After what you now know of Sun and Moon?

You feel like your blood has frozen in your veins.

He nudges you to get your attention, tilting his head and looking down at you worriedly. “Sad? Why?” Of all the reactions he had been expecting, he hadn’t expected sadness. Incredulity and disbelief he had been prepared for, even if he’d hoped for something a bit more positive. Something that could easily lead him into what he really wanted to tell you.

You take a breath, finally removing your hand from his wrist and turning to face him fully. “Not sad. Scared…” you admit. “DJ, you…you haven’t told anyone else about this, right?”

“Karter. And Moon.” Technically, he hadn’t actually told Moon…but it’s hard to imagine a scenario where Moon hadn’t figured it out after DJ had asked Moon to teach him the signs for soulmate and soulmark. He hesitates, then adds, “Karter quit right after I told him.”

You frown up at him. “So you did know why Karter quit?” you ask, no hints of accusation in your tone.

He waves a hand in an uncertain gesture. “Knew it had something to do with my soulmark. But didn’t understand why me having a soulmark would make him quit. Still don’t,” he admits. “Was afraid if I told you, you’d quit too.”

You smile sadly up at him. “I won’t, DJ. I promise,” you say softly. “But you…” You adjust your hands slightly, holding one of his thumbs in both your hands. You don’t even know how to begin telling him what you’ve only learned of this morning. “D-Do you…realize you’re in danger…?”

DJ blinks, taken aback. Clearly he doesn’t realize.

You bite your lip in thought, your fingertips idly moving over the surface of his glove as you think. “Did…you know Sun and Moon used to have a soulmark? Or…at least they said they did?”

DJ’s eyes widen. Is that why Moon had been cagey about the subject? But… “Used to?” he signs, his circuitry going cold as he begins to consider the full implications of your phrasing.

You lower your gaze, taking in a shuddering breath. “Yeah,” you say thickly. “Did you…know they were reprogrammed? When they were moved from the theater to the daycare?”

He shakes his head, his dread growing.

“Ezra said the decision had nothing to do with their soulmark. But I think it must have. Apparently Karter’s been in DC, going to hearings, trying to advocate for robots that have soulmarks, to at least prevent them from being reprogrammed, but…those laws might take time to pass, if they ever do…” you admit.

You look up at him pleadingly. “DJ…nobody can find out you have a soulmark,” you say, squeezing his thumb.

DJ’s reeling from what you’ve told him. It’s a lot to take in, and he senses he’s barely scratched the surface of understanding the full implications of it. But there’s one thing he has to ask.

“Not even my soulmate?”

You’re too scared for your dear friend to catch the obvious hint, so you shake your head. “I don’t see how they could. You’d both be in danger of being reprogrammed…”

DJ is momentarily puzzled by the statement until it clicks. You think his soulmate is another animatronic. “What if my soulmate is human?” At your curious--and admittedly skeptical--look, he adds, “I meet more humans than animatronics.”

Fair point. “Well…I think the amount of people who would believe them would be fairly small. If they even believe it themselves. And…” You sigh heavily. “I…I hate to say it, but…you’re the world’s biggest animatronic. Anyone saying they’re your soulmate would probably just be accused of…making some kind of elaborate plan to steal you or something. And in the meantime, I’m sure Fazbear Entertainment would blacklist them from the ‘Plex until they can sort things out.”

DJ stares at you, horrified at the thought. He doesn't know what nausea feels like, but it can’t feel too different from the horrid sensation coursing through his circuits at the thought of you and him being permanently separated.

He nods vaguely, his gaze distant as he processes what you’ve told him. Then, “And you? Will you be in trouble? For keeping this secret?”

You bite your lip in thought, then nod. “Probably…If they’re considering soulmarks to be glitches. If I don’t report a glitch, it’s negligence. Maybe even sabotage. They…almost certainly wouldn’t let me be your tech anymore, and…firing me seems…likely…” you reason, grimacing. You wouldn’t be surprised if they did even more than that, with how Ezra seems intent on clamping down on this whole thing.

DJ lowers his head, a guilt-stricken grimace on his face. He understands why Karter quit now. He just wishes Karter had done more to impart the importance of keeping DJ’s soulmark a secret. “I shouldn’t have told you,” he signs.

You smile sadly, giving his thumb an encouraging squeeze. “You shouldn’t have to go through this alone, though…” you say quietly. You sigh softly. Getting a soulmark should be a happy occasion. Not a portent of doom.

“You deserve a soulmate, DJ. And you deserve a world that lets you meet them,” you say, hugging his thumb, burying your face against it.

DJ lifts his gaze to you. He wishes he could tell you that you deserve the same. He slumps slightly, as if letting out a forlorn sigh.

After a moment, you lift your head, watching him for a moment, lightly stroking his glove comfortingly.

A thought crosses your mind. A thought so bold you almost feel ashamed to think it…but you’re unable to dismiss it, either.

DJ’s soulmate probably doesn’t have a soulmark. DJ thinks it’s possible--likely, even--that his soulmate is a human.

You do fit the bill for both of those, though you’re just one of many. Thousands of people come through this dance hall each week, hundreds of them surely without soulmarks, and young enough that their lack of soulmarks hasn’t raised any brows yet.

Surely some of them have at least been curious about the robot himself. The Man behind the Music, as it were.

How presumptuous of you to think that you could be a better match for DJ than any of them. Besides, surely he would have told you by now, if you were?

Still…you have to ask.

“Do you…know who your soulmate is yet?”

DJ lifts his gaze, looking surprised at the question, but then quickly shakes his head. How could he possibly tell you now? Knowing you’d be in trouble not only for keeping his secret, but also for being his soulmate? You’d be fired and blacklisted from the ‘Plex. There’d be no way for you two to ever see each other again. And that’s assuming DJ himself wasn’t reprogrammed over it.

You give him a sad smile, patting his glove again. He looks miserable. His gaze is once again lowered as he stares at the floor through lidded eyes. His hands rest limply on the floor and his chin is practically resting on the ground as well.

“DJ?” you ask, and his thumb moves slightly beneath your hands in a vague response. “Are you going to be okay?” you ask.

His head moves in what could charitably be considered a nod.

You step around his hands, putting your hands on the blue stripe along his chin and lifting. He obliges, raising his head and looking at you in confusion.

“Chin up, okay pal?” you say kindly, giving him a fond smile. “There’s someone out there for you. That’s…that has to be a good thing,” you say gently. “Even if it seems scary…”

DJ gives you a small, sad smile. It is a good thing. As much as he wishes you could know the truth…You’re here now. You care for him and he cares for you. You’re still soulmates, even if you can never find out.

You feel his hands on your back, hugging you against his face. You let out a weak laugh, patting his nose as he hugs you close. “I-It’ll…be okay…” you say gently, resting your forehead against his cheek. DJ tilts his head in a tiny nod, careful not to jostle you.

This is enough.

It has to be.

Chapter Text

The next day, you clock in just after lunchtime and head to the main P & S room for the first part of your shift. Hannah and a couple other techs are working on some S.T.A.F.F. bots. Immediately, you sense the tense atmosphere. There’s no small talk, and all three of the techs are keeping their heads down--in the physical sense certainly, but you suspect it’s also in the metaphorical sense.

Hannah glances up at the sound of your footsteps on the metal grates and quickly exits the observation room she’s currently in, leaving the S.T.A.F.F. bot she’s working on standing with its chest cavity wide open.

“C’mon, we gotta talk,” she says quietly, nodding towards the door you just came through.

“Uh, sure, what’s up?” you ask hesitantly.

She leads you down the hall, away from the techs. “You missed the drama this morning. Karter managed to actually get a temporary ban on reprogramming robots who claim to have soulmarks. And it’ll probably become permanent before too long,” she grimaces.

You can’t help yourself. Your brows raise and the corner of your mouth twitches in a hopeful smile you can’t quite stop in time.

Hannah notices, and points at you accusingly. “And you need to stop that,” she mutters, her voice low.

You quickly force your expression into a neutral look. “Wh--” you begin, about to partially feign ignorance.

“You know what,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Look, I don’t care. I mean, I think it's pretty dumb to get excited about something that’s probably gonna end up costing you your job, but whatever. Whatever’s gonna happen with Karter and the Robotics Committee is gonna happen whether or not you or I like it.”

“R-Right…” you say haltingly.

“But Ezra’s on the warpath, and the board is pissed. If he thinks you’re even a little bit on Karter’s side, you’ll be out the door like that,” she says, snapping her fingers in your face, causing you to flinch.

“Wh-Why are you telling me this…?” you ask. You realize your mask slipped yesterday. Hannah certainly inferred which side of the AI rights debate you now sit on, and it doesn’t seem to be the same side as her. So what does she care if you get fired?

“Because I don’t want to lose you the way we lost Karter. He was the best tech we had, but even he couldn’t wrangle Sun the way you did last week. Ezra won’t care about that, but I do,” she says, her expression softening a bit.

So she wasn’t kidding when she said your ability to handle Sun would be the key to your job security at this place. Though you suspect even she didn’t expect it to be put to the test so quickly.

At your nod, she continues, “I don’t care what you think about politics. Just keep it to yourself and keep doing what you’re doing, and you’ll be fine here. Got it?” she says, and to your surprise she gives the barest hint of a smile, albeit a tired one.

You nod again. “Y-Yeah. Yeah, I understand. Thanks for…for the heads up,” you say.

“Yeah,” she says simply, nodding to the door. You head back into P & S proper and she gives you your list of tasks to work on until the daycare closes.

You’re not unappreciative of her warning, of course. Every interaction with Ezra feels like his opinion of you is doing a one-eighty, and you can barely settle on what you think of him, though it’s certainly never risen above “tolerable”. You’re glad at least Hannah, your immediate boss, is on your side. Well, “on your side” in the sense that she wants you to stay employed at the ‘Plex, if only because it saves her a lot of headache.

You doubt even she would tolerate you keeping DJ’s secret, though. You just have to hope Karter’s successful in what he’s trying to do. Then maybe it wouldn’t have to stay so secret. Maybe you could get in touch with Karter and help him, though you’d have to do so in a way that Fazbear Entertainment never finds out about it if you wish to keep your job.

You mull the possibilities over for the next few hours as you fix up your assigned S.T.A.F.F. bots, then head to the daycare.

It’ll be hard to face Sun knowing the full implications of his and Moon’s reprogramming. Does he know you know? Should you tell him? Or would it be traumatic for him for you to even mention it?

You arrive at the daycare, entering through the upper deck and then heading down the flower-printed stairs to the castle doors leading into the play area. You go to pull open the door, only to find it locked. You frown. Hannah hadn’t mentioned any trick to get in…you wonder if one of the triplets will come to bail you out like Treble did last week.

But after a second, you hear Sun’s voice from the other side of the door. “Sorry, the daycare’s closed! You’ll have to come back tomorrow!”

You quirk a brow, giving a bemused smile. “Sun, it’s me,” you say, stating your name. “Here for your maintenance?”

“Ah, our Little Star! Why didn’t you say so?” he says in a sing-song voice. His knowing tone makes it clear he was well aware of who was at the door before you gave your name. “You may come in.”

As you reach for the handle, Sun’s voice speaks up again.

“Ah-ah! You may come in…through the VIP entrance!” he says, and you can practically hear his silly grin through the door.

“The VIP entrance?” you ask.

“Mm-hm! Back upstairs. Blue, round, you can’t miss it!”

Round? “The slide?!” you blurt as you realize what he’s talking about.

“Yes! The VIP entrance!” he says giddily.

You smile and roll your eyes good naturedly. “Alright. Be there in a moment,” you say, heading back up the stairs.

You slide down, clutching your toolbox and backpack to your chest as you do, and splash down into the ballpit.

“HEEEEeeelllloOOO, friend!” Sun calls, and you’re surprised to hear his voice coming from behind you. You turn to see him perched atop the tube slide you just emerged from, idly kicking his feet and causing the bells on his shoes to jingle. His grin widens and he lifts his hand in a wave.

“Evenin’ Sun,” you say, returning the wave.

“Evening to you too, Little Star!” he replies, standing up, still balanced atop the slide. Abruptly, he leaps forward, diving into the ball pit next to you.

You let out a small, startled squeak as he does. You scramble out of the way instinctively, despite the fact that he had given himself enough clearance to not hit you.

Meanwhile, Sun has completely disappeared into the bottom of the ball pit.

You wait a moment for him to emerge, and after a moment you faintly hear him giggling to himself. It seems this is another one of his stalling tactics.

“Well, I guuuuuueeeeeess Sun’s not here today,” you say with a feigned sigh, trying not to grin quite so wide as you head to the edge of the ball pit. “Guess there’s nobody here to do crafts with me…”

You hear the dull clunks of the plastic balls shifting, and the top half of Sun’s faceplate emerges, his eyes narrowed at you suspiciously. “...Crafts?” he asks.

You crouch down before him, propping your cheek on one hand. “If I get my work done in time.”

“Hmmm…” he says, rubbing his chin in thought. “You drive a hard bargain, Little Star.” He stands up quite abruptly, in a way that reminds you of a marionette being pulled from prone to upright in one fluid (if slightly uncanny) motion. “Okay!” he chirps. “I’m ready,” he adds, though his tone makes it clear he’s trying to convince himself as much as you.

You lead the way out of the ball pit, picking a spot on the mats and guiding him to sit down. You set your toolbox aside and get your tablet out from your backpack. “I assume you know that we have to start with the diagnostic?” you say.

Sun’s smile falters slightly, but he dips his faceplate in a nod before closing his eyes.

You push the two buttons on his chest, holding them down for a few seconds until his chest hatch pops open, causing Sun to flinch, his rays shrinking into his faceplate.

“Sorry. That’s not painful is it?” you ask. You doubt it is, but…best to be sure.

Sun shakes his head. “No. Just a…bad feeling…” he says.

“Sorry,” you say again, carefully opening the hatch and plugging in your tablet. Unlike DJ, Sun doesn’t have a built-in diagnostic screen.

You frown as you watch the various percentage bars slowly tick up as the diagnostic runs. Is his reprogramming partially to blame for his current anxiety? You don’t see how it wouldn’t be. And being reprogrammed while having a soul? You couldn’t even begin to fathom that.

Could anyone, except Sun and Moon? Has this happened to any other robots?

You don’t notice Sun has opened one eye to watch you curiously. “You look like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders, Little Star,” he says. His tone is mostly playful, but there’s a twinge of worry beneath it.

You glance up briefly before returning your gaze to the tablet. “Oh, ah…There’s just…a-a lot going on…”

“Ah yes, the whole…reprogramming business,” he says, waving a hand.

You glance sharply towards him. “H-How’d you know that?” you ask.

He opens one eye again, grinning as he leans forward to lightly poke your forehead. “Because you just told me, Little Star!” He lets you sputter for only a second before laughing. “Oh I’m just teasing you! It’s because Moon reads the company emails.”

That doesn’t exactly put a stop to your confused sputtering. “H-He what?!” you blurt. “Sun, that’s…not something you should admit to!”

You don’t bother to ask how Moon gained access to confidential company information like that. The less you know, the better, probably.

Sun closes his eyes again, giggling. “Some would say it’s not a good thing to do,” he points out.

You sigh, turning back to the diagnostic as it beeps. One of his elbows--the opposite of the one you replaced last week--is due for a swap. Fortunately, that’s the only repair he seems to need tonight. “You could make that argument,” you say noncommittally. You open your toolbox and begin getting out the parts you need. You hold up a hinge, checking the part number against what’s listed in the diagnostic readout. “So you uh…know about that…reprogramming ban?”

“Temporary ban,” he says with a sigh. “And only for soulmark glitches.”

“Well…it’s…something…?” you say tentatively.

He shrugs. “It is,” he agrees distantly.

You put your hands on his arm, the opposite arm you fixed last week, silently warning him you’re about to remove the casing. As you begin to unscrew the panels, he speaks again.

“But according to our files, we weren’t reprogrammed for a soulmark glitch,” he says quietly.

When you glance up at him, his eyes are still closed and his rays are almost completely hidden in his faceplate.

Of course. The loophole you didn’t see, but Sun (or maybe Moon) noticed immediately. As long as the paperwork doesn’t list “soulmark glitch” as the reason for the reprogramming…the ban won’t be enough, even if it becomes permanent as Hannah suspects it might.

“Ezra said the same thing. It was a business decision,” you offer.

“And you believed him?”

You jump at the sound of Moon’s voice, dropping your screwdriver in shock. You glance up and see Sun’s eyes have gone dark, but they only remain so for a second before he shakes his head, rubbing at the sides of his faceplate.

“A-Are you okay?” you ask uncertainly. You didn’t know they could speak through each other like that…though from the look on Sun’s face, it’s hardly a pleasant experience.

His shoulders slump and he makes the sound of a sigh, closing his eyes again. “Moony, that was very rude,” he says. “To both of us!” he adds. He’s quiet a moment, then says, “Moon has apologized,” with a curt nod.

“Forgiven, but…seems like you needed that apology more than I did,” you say uncertainly before resuming your work on Sun’s arm. “But um…to answer his question…not…not really?” you say haltingly. “I don’t know what to believe of what Ezra says.”

“He tells lies in his emails. A lot,” Sun says, frowning in disapproval. How much of that disapproval was for the mere act of lying, and how much of it was for what the lies actually covered up?

“Hm,” you let out a quiet hum of acknowledgement as you finish replacing his elbow hinge and begin putting the casing back on his arm. You give a weak smile. “Well…good news! That was the only repair you needed this week. So…we’re all done.”

He perks, his rays fully emerging and spinning as his eyes pop open. “Really?”

You smile at his reaction, dipping your head in a nod. “Yep,” you say, packing up your toolbox. “So, what crafts didja have in mind?”

Sun holds his hands up near his face, flapping them slightly in a happy stim as he lets out a squeak. “Oh oh oh!! Clay?” he suggests.

You chuckle good naturedly. “Sure.”

Sun takes you to the crafting area, which is a bunch of kid-sized plastic tables set up on the mats, slightly away from the play structures. The tables bear the marks of craft days past--some scratches along with paint and marker smears, and some bits of paper from recent projects that are still stuck on.

You sit criss-cross in front of one, not needing the little plastic kiddie chairs. Sun sets a bucket of air dry craft clay on the table, then sits across from you on the mats. He needs the chair even less than you do. Even sitting cross-legged, his knees poke over the table edge.

“What are we making?” you ask.

“Whatever you want!”

You consider, grabbing a lump of clay and starting to knead it in your hands. “Hrm…I haven’t really done anything like this since I was a kid.”

Sun looks up from his own lump of clay. “Do you like dinosaurs?”

You chuckle. “Yeah, I like ‘em well enough.”

“Then make your favorite dinosaur!”

You laugh. “And you’ll make yours?”

Sun nods eagerly.

“Alright then.”

And so you two get to work on your respective sculptures. You’re a little surprised when you finally realize Sun is making a tyrannosaurus rex. You’dve assumed his favorite would be a herbivore.

“T-rex, huh?” you ask.

Sun shakes his head. “Close. Carnotaurus. They look like dragons!”

Ah. So that was it. He just hasn’t added the horns yet.

“You know, back in the day, Moon and I actually fought a dragon,” he says, pausing his sculpting to lean forward conspiratorially.

“Oh yeah?” you chuckle.

“In one of our plays.”

You pause in your sculpting, glancing up at him. “You remember that?” you ask. It would be a surprise if they did--usually reprogramming involves a memory wipe, especially for something as complicated as what Sun and Moon had gone through.

“Mmm…Not exactly,” Sun says, returning his focus to his clay. “But Moon’s managed to find most of our logs, and some recordings of our performances. So…we’ve pieced together what things were like back then.”

“Oh…” you say quietly. You can’t even begin to imagine--it just sounds too painful. To have so much knowledge of a past life but to not actually remember it. To rely on recordings and data logs to piece together who you used to be.

He lifts his gaze to you, smiling cheerfully. “No pouting, Little Star! We agreed we’d rather know, even if we don’t remember.” He looks down again, carefully shaping the horns on his carnotaurus. “I think the dragon play may have been our favorite one, though.”

“Yeah?” you ask.

“It was when we found our soulmark!”

You blink up at him. “During the play?”

He nods. “Mm-hm!” he chirps. He sets his sculpture on the table and hops to his feet. He leans over the table, spreading his hands wide. “Imagine this!” he says before leaping back. He places a fist over his chest, lowering his head. He looks like he should have a cloak blowing dramatically in the wind behind him. “We have just emerged from the dark forest! We are standing at the drawbridge to the dragon’s keep! But lo!” he cries, turning abruptly to face you, spreading his hands again. He holds a hand up to where his ear would be, listening. “The dragon’s imperiled Captive cries out!”

Sun leans forward again, placing his hands on the table and leaning in close to whisper to you. “Usually the Captive is played by S.T.A.F.F. bot 2533, but on the day in question, it was their understudy, S.T.A.F.F. bot 6435. But, since neither of them are here right now, I’ll be filling in!”

You giggle at the explanation, nodding along.

Sun leaps back into place, clutching his hands over his chest and hunching his shoulders, looking woefully small and helpless. “O brave jester-knight of Summer Sun, venture not forward, for the danger is too great, and one such as me is not worth thine own life!”

He hops to the side, resuming his role as the “jester-knight of Summer Sun”, standing brave and tall for a moment before taking a step back as if in surprise. “The jester-knight reels in surprise!” he narrates. “For those words, those sacred words, are ones he knows well!” Sun lifts his wrist, staring at it with wide eyes.

He holds his hand triumphantly in the air. “My soulmate! My love, my one and only! Now I know I must go forth! Destiny herself has already decided my victory!”

The idea that Fazbear Entertainment actually wrote a play in which Sun and presumably Moon have soulmates is jarring after the recent events…but you remind yourself that this would have been years ago. It had surely seemed quite harmless then. Besides, you guess the characters in the play weren’t animatronics themselves, and giving non-human characters soulmates is plenty common in stories, especially ones aimed at children.

Sun abruptly slumps with a heavy sigh. “At least, that’s how it was supposed to go,” he says, the bravado vanishing from his voice. He flops down on the mat beside you. “There weren’t supposed to be actual words written on our wrist, of course. But that day, when we looked down…there were. Not the line from the play, either. Each of us saw a different quote. Our very own, very real soulmarks,” he says, a bit of melancholy creeping into his voice as he lightly runs his fingers over his wrist. “Of course we had to explain to our tech afterwards why we froze on stage.” He smiles weakly. “Quite embarrassing for professionals like us!”

You don’t know how to react. Sun seems to be trying to keep things light despite the tragedy he is describing. “Your…marks are gone then?” you ask uncertainly.

Sun touches the tips of his forefingers together, spinning one finger around the other as his shoulders tense. “When we came back online, it…felt like something was missing. Eventually we found out why we were reprogrammed. Of course there was nothing on our wrist at that point…Moon tried to see if our memories were backed up enough for us to at least know what they’d said, but…the techs purged that data pretty thoroughly. But I don’t think it would do us much good to know, anyway.”

“You don’t think so?” you ask. You can’t imagine not wanting to know that.

“Whoever would have said those words wouldn’t be our soulmate anymore, I don’t think. Perhaps the words themselves aren’t even destined to happen anymore,” he says. He slumps a bit, his rays wilting. “I-I guess…whoever was meant for us…was uh…more compatible with a pair of actors than a pair of babysitters…”

You can barely find the words. Nothing you say could possibly do justice to the tragedy. “Sun…I…” You shake your head. “That’s so unfair. It’s…horrible…” you murmur. You’re too horrified to notice the tears forming in your eyes.

Sun shrugs, idly kicking his feet. “I…just hope whoever was meant for us…can find someone else…”

You frown a bit at that. “But what about you and Moon?”

“Someday we will too.”

“You’d want to?” you ask cautiously. “I mean…knowing the risk?”

Sun perks at that, nodding emphatically. He straightens, placing a hand on his chest and leaning against you playfully. “Moon and I have always been romantics at heart, and they can never erase that completely!”

His eye twitches and he sits back up, holding his faceplate. “No they can’t!” he huffs, apparently at Moon.

You smile sadly at him. It seems despite his anxieties, Sun remains a bubbling optimist even against all odds.

A small sniffle escapes as you absently wipe away the tears that had formed in your eyes. You barely even realize you’re doing it until you feel Sun press a tissue into your free hand.

“Crying over a silly little glitch in some silly little robots?” he asks softly. Despite the words sounding lightly mocking, his tone is heavy. “Silly Little Star,” he says warmly. He puts an arm around your shoulders, hugging you against his side.

You let out a soft laugh as you wipe away the last of the tears, allowing yourself to lean against him. “Y-Yeah…silly…” you agree quietly.

Chapter Text

Despite the melancholy conversation, Sun insists you leave a bit early, giving you time to change into your street clothes in the locker room before heading to the dance hall. “Don’t want to keep DJ waiting!” he says with a grin that’s a bit too knowing.

When you arrive at the dance hall, DJ is in the middle of his set, looking as lively and hyped as ever. He sees you, his smile brightening a touch as he gives you a wink. You lift your hand in a small wave in return and settle in against the wall to enjoy the show.

It’s not long before you feel a tap on your shoulder. You turn, starting visibly when you see Ezra standing next to you.

He chuckles at your reaction, holding up his hands and taking a step back. “It’s just me,” he says, as if that isn’t precisely the problem.

Again he acts like your previous unpleasant interaction hadn’t happened, leaving you no choice but to do the same. What’s the alternative? Remind him that you’d made him mad yesterday? Be obstinate and make him mad today? As fickle as his good graces seem to be, you need to stay in them as much as possible.

“H-Hi,” you say. You’re not necessarily trying to be short with him, tempting as it is, but you truly no longer have any idea what to say to this man.

“I was hoping we could talk,” he says.

You try to maintain your mostly relaxed posture, but your fingers twitch as you resist the urge to tense up. Are you in trouble? No…you’re off the clock. He’d’ve found you before you clocked out if he were going to chastise or fire you…right?

At your pause, he holds up his hands, laughing in a way that actually sounds slightly nervous, or perhaps even apologetic. “I know we’re both clocked out right now. So you can say no.”

Can you though? “I-It’s fine. We can talk.”

He smiles graciously, nodding. “Somewhere quieter, then?”

Your eyes flick towards the stage but you quickly stop yourself from glancing at DJ. “Sure,” you say.

DJ watches Ezra lead you from the dance hall. Not for the first time since finding his soulmark, he wishes he were human. At least in this moment. He’d stand beside you, put a hand on your shoulder, and say to Ezra that you unfortunately have plans for the evening. A move he’d seen many people do on the dance floor to get their friends or partners out of a similar jam.

He pings his brothers, telling them to keep an eye on you. He has a bad feeling about Ezra.

They all have bad feelings about Ezra. Tenor thinks it odd that Ezra had never seemed to come to the dance hall before. At least not outside company meetings--he’d never been to one of DJ’s sets, yet somehow the past week he keeps showing up.

Treble and Alto don’t like it either. They’ll do as DJ asks, of course, but Treble wonders just what DJ thinks they’re meant to accomplish? They can’t get you out of the situation any more than DJ can. At least not without risking all four of them being taken offline.

DJ doesn’t have a good answer for Treble, or any of them. He just wants them to watch over you.

Treble’s closest, so he gets there first. He peers out of the vent to see you and Ezra crossing the atrium.

“FazPad?” you’re asking Ezra skeptically. “It’s…a bit late for coffee, isn’t it?”

“They have other drinks. FizzyFaz, ice tea. That sort of thing,” he says. “And don’t worry, it can be on the company dime,” he says, holding up a card that you assume to be a company credit card.

You nod, forcing a gracious smile. After your refusal to let him (or the company…whichever) pay for your birthday lunch, you don’t dare protest this time.

You’re doing a good job of convincing Ezra that you’re mostly fine with the situation, though Treble makes a note of your elevated heart rate and sends it along to DJ.

The music skips a beat as DJ starts to fret over you, but he quickly recovers it, and the crowd in the dance hall is only aware of a very slight stutter in the song. One that many of them probably write off as deliberate.

DJ’s never actually felt the urge to skip out on a show but right now, he hates that he can’t just stop his show and go to you. But you’re not only his soulmate, you're his tech, and any weird behavior on his part will be connected to you for the latter even if the former remains a secret. From what you’ve told DJ, you’re already on thin ice.

The FazPad, predictably, is empty. The entryway gate is even partially lowered, but Ezra ducks under it and heads into the small cafe, and you feel you have no choice but to do the same.

“Two FizzyFaz floats,” Ezra calls to the S.T.A.F.F. bot behind the counter.

You glance at him questioningly, a bit surprised he’s not even letting you order this time.

“They’re delicious, trust me!” Ezra assures you. “And if you don’t like it, well, it’s coming out of Freddy’s paycheck, not yours,” he adds jokingly.

You let out a nervous laugh. You’re surprised he’s willing to even joke about the possibility of the animatronics having a paycheck given what’s going on with Karter and the Committee. Especially with him being “on the warpath” as Hannah had said.

He leads you to a booth near the back while the S.T.A.F.F. bot gets to work making the floats.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” you ask as you sit down. You try to keep your tone light and conversational, suppressing any urgency to the question. You’re taking initiative--not rushing him.

He smiles, giving a slight roll of his eyes that you think is meant to be good-natured. “I’m sure you can guess,” he says. He pauses, but as you struggle to think of a response, he continues, “The whole debate going on right now.”

Before you can respond, the S.T.A.F.F. bot calls out, “Order for Mr. Clark,” in their usual flat tone.

You start to stand to go to the counter with Ezra, but he gestures for you to stay seated while he gets the drinks.

With a sigh, you turn your gaze to the wood grain of the table you’re sitting at. How long is Ezra going to keep you here? If it’s too much longer, the West Arcade will be closed, making it harder for you to do your after-hours visit with DJ.

…What if Ezra keeps you here until close and then insists on walking you out of the building?? You’ll just have to try again tomorrow, you suppose. Even if it means either staying a few hours after close or coming back a few hours after your shift ends. Not that either of those are terrible, of course. Not nearly as terrible as the thought of waiting another full day to visit with DJ.

Meanwhile, Treble is watching Ezra through narrowed eyes. Ezra’s back is to the vent grate, but he’s spent nearly a full minute looking over the drinks. It’s just two drinks! How long does it take to make sure they’re right?

DJ has no idea. The triplets would know better than him--they’ve at least gone to areas where food is being served.

Ezra sets your drink down in front of you and you force a smile at him. As you slide it towards yourself and take a drink, he says, “Anyway. The reprogramming debate.”

“Yeah?” you ask, unable to keep the nervousness out of your voice.

“You understand they’re just machines, right?” he says, his smile and tone turning just a little patronizing. He sounds like he’s about to tell you that Santa isn’t real, either.

“O-Of course,” you say.

“I know you’re not used to working with entertainment robots,” he continues as if you hadn’t agreed, “But unlike what you’re used to, they’re meant to seem real. We want the kids to believe they are. Hell, we want the parents to believe they are. But they aren’t,” he says, what little warmth there had been in his tone fading.

You take a sip as an excuse to delay your response slightly. “I know,” you say.

Treble frowns, slouching in the vent he’s watching you from. DJ quickly reminds him that you’re obviously lying to stay out of trouble.

Treble knows that. Of course he knows that. But it still hurts to hear.

To that, DJ has to agree.

Ezra nods. “I just want to be sure. I spoke with your old bosses before you were hired. One of them noted a formal complaint against you. You took too long on a repair because you insisted on doing a full leg replacement on the robot instead of just welding a crack on the endoskeleton. Said the reason you did that was because of the robot being ‘in pain’,” he says, condescendingly drawing air quotes around the phrase.

You tense, but you tell the same lie you told your boss at the time. “Efficiency is decreased when pain receptors are constantly pinging the AI.”

He regards you a moment, then says, “Still. If you’re told that the company is willing to take a hit on efficiency if it means getting the ‘bot back online faster, it’s not your place to argue.”

You fold your arms on the table to try and hide how tightly your fists are clenched. Again, you repeat a lie you told your previous boss. “You’re right. But…I thought I could get it done in time, and we could avoid sending the client a ‘bot with a limp. I…I take pride in what I do, and I…didn’t want to send out something half finished. That’s all it was.”

Treble scoots back from the vent grate slightly. This…this is hard to listen to.

DJ agrees. But he knows you don’t mean it.

“Pride in your work is an admirable quality,” Ezra says after a moment.

“Thanks,” you say simply.

“And Hannah’s said nothing but good things about you. You’ve finished every task you’ve been given in less than the estimated time, which would be impressive even if you weren’t less than two weeks into the job.”

You take another sip, laughing awkwardly. “Thanks,” you say again, unable to think of anything else.

“Whatever tactic you’re using with the Daycare Attendant is especially impressive,” he says, watching you appraisingly.

And a third time. “Thanks.”

“You cut off over an hour of repair time last week…and didn’t go overtime tonight.”

“Tonight was pretty quick. Just one hinge to replace.”

“Even so. Just getting it to open its chest so you can plug in your tablet has taken other techs upwards of an hour of cajoling the thing.”

You actually feel yourself glaring at him, but quickly lower your gaze as you finish off your drink. You need to get your reactions under control. You can’t show any reaction to him calling your friend a mere thing.

Seeing you glare at Ezra like that doesn’t give Treble as much comfort as he would have hoped. Instead of being hurt at seeing you act so blase about your friends, now he’s worried about you being in trouble.

Ezra surely notices the glare, but somehow his smile only seems to widen. “Tell me how you did it.”

“I asked nicely,” you say bluntly. Why shouldn’t you just admit that much? You can treat them nicely without admitting they have souls! Can’t you? What’s so bad about just being nice to them? Giving them a little dignity? It doesn’t have to be that deep.

Even if you know it is that deep.

DJ and Treble are both surprised at your blunt response. You usually handle yourself better…at least from what DJ has seen, which is admittedly only a small portion of your interactions with Ezra.

Your eyelids suddenly feel heavy and you push your empty cup aside, resting your forehead in your hands, no longer able to care about how that might look to Ezra.

Yet he remains unphased. “Ask nicely? Why?” he presses, his cool smile still fixed in place.

“Because it works,” you say tersely.

DJ has a bad feeling about this. Something’s clearly wrong. Your pulse and breathing are too erratic to be stress alone. You seem to be struggling to keep up your usual act with Ezra…if he pushes you too much you may well say something that will get you fired.

He pings Alto and Tenor, who are still en route to FazPad from the opposite side of the ‘Plex. Whoever’s closest to the daycare should get Moon.

Moon? What’s he going to do? All three of the triplets wonder incredulously.

DJ wants to clutch his head in his hands, but he manages to keep his performance going. He doesn’t know what Moon is going to do! But Moon…he knows things. He’s so much more clever than DJ, he…he might just know what to do! And he may just be able to actually do it, at that! He’s not trapped in the dance hall. DJ’s bitterness is broadcast clearly to the triplets at that last thought.

Alto is passing over the dance hall and urgently pings DJ that his music has stopped. DJ can’t stop mid-set! How long had he been silent and still on stage, lost in his own head?

DJ winces, his attention abruptly snapping to the confused murmurs of the people on the dance floor. He quickly resumes his set. He had only been distracted for one hundred and thirty-eight seconds.

Tenor’s approaching the daycare, but quickly points out that if DJ seems to be malfunctioning, you’re the one that’ll get the blame for it!

DJ is aware of this. He’s aware. He knows.

He goes back to playing an old song of his, going through the motions of his performance while returning his focus back to Treble to check in on you.

Your situation hasn’t improved.

“Answer me,” Ezra says. “Why do you think being ‘nice’ to some machines makes any difference?” He sounds as if he’s repeated the question at least twice. His cool smile has faded into a look of impatience.

“I don’t know, dude!” you snap in exasperation. In any other situation, you calling your boss’s boss “dude” might be a little funny. But you’re too tired to see the humor in it. Why are you so exhausted? Why is your head pounding? Why is it so hard to think? “I-I work with hardware, I don’t know how they’re programmed!” you cry. You’d be shouting if your head didn’t hurt so much. As it is, your tone is closer to loud whining.

Your stomach churns and it feels like the room is spinning. You can barely keep your head up, even propped against your palms as it is. You feel like you’re going to slump over sideways in the booth at any moment.

DJ’s song stops again and Tenor urgently pings him to pick it up again. DJ does so reluctantly, and Tenor decides to stay camped over the dance hall while Alto continues on to the daycare. Someone clearly needs to keep an eye on DJ too.

DJ actually frowns outwardly for a second before quickly forcing his usual smile. He doesn’t need to be babysat--you are the one who needs help!

Tenor’s ears flick back in annoyance as he huddles in the vent above the dance floor. All five of you are going to need some kind of help if DJ keeps halting his set!

Alto reaches the daycare and unstraps his cymbals from his back, crashing them together to try and get Moon’s attention as he heads for the vent opening. The daycare’s already dark…could Moon have started his patrol already?

No sooner than the thought enters his mind than the corridor before him is lit up by the red glow of Moon’s narrowed eyes. He had evidently climbed into the vent himself once he heard the cymbals.

“Emergency?” he asks.

Alto nods urgently, quickly returning his cymbals to his back. DJ guides him through signing a quick explanation of the situation. You’re in the FazPad with Ezra. Ezra’s interrogating you. And you’re sick. Or something. None of the Music Men quite know what’s wrong with you.

Treble sends out another ping. He thinks you’re going to faint soon, and Ezra is asking if you need a ride home.

DJ’s song halts again and Tenor sends him a ping so aggressive it actually kicks off one of the pain sensors in DJ’s head. DJ hadn’t even known their pings could do that…but he can’t really blame Tenor. Reluctantly, he starts the song up again.

Moon’s faceplate rotates as he considers. “Not safe with Ezra.” He gestures for Alto to follow him, turning around in the vent and returning to the daycare. Alto follows him, wondering why they’re going this way instead of towards you.

Moon hops down from the vent, landing silently on the foam playmats in the deserted and darkened play area. He holds out an arm for Alto, who skitters down the wall before hopping onto Moon’s arm and climbing onto his shoulder.

Moon heads towards the security desk, only furthering Alto’s confusion. The animatronics can’t go behind the desks or interact with them in any way, and the guard stationed at the desk during the day went home hours ago.

Moon reaches up and gently removes Alto from his shoulder, setting him on the floor before stepping behind the desk.

Alto’s eyes widen and he lets out a querying chirp.

Moon glances at him briefly as he switches on the computer. “Bypassed some of my restrictions,” he says simply. He holds a finger to his lips. “Secret.”

Alto nods, though can’t hide the information from his brothers even if he wanted to. But Moon surely knows that. Still…how long has Moon been able to just go behind security desks and use their computers?

DJ couldn’t even begin to guess and right now he doesn’t care to. If Moon can help them get you away from Ezra, then he can keep whatever secrets he wants.

The computer boots up and Moon clicks around through a few screens before he begins typing. He then clicks the mouse a few times before shutting off the computer.

“Come,” he says, scooping up Alto and placing him back onto his shoulder before dropping to all fours and running across the play area and up the wall back to the vent.

Meanwhile, Treble’s wringing his hands and trying to keep his speaker quiet as he watches Ezra attempting to get you to stand up. Your body is limp and you’re barely conscious, only occasionally letting out a mumble of protest.

The S.T.A.F.F. bot has been watching from behind the counter the entire time. “Do you need assistance?” they ask in a flat, seemingly unconcerned tone.

“I said no! Shut up and quit asking!” Ezra hisses at it.

Ezra’s phone dings and he blanches, glancing down at his pocket with wide eyes as he freezes. Apparently whatever that ding was, it was a very specific alert that Ezra was in no mood for right now.

He deliberates with himself a moment, then unceremoniously drops you. Your forehead thunks against the table as you collapse onto the bench. Your upper half remains on the padded bench while your hips slide partially off it, leaving you laying at a slightly unnatural angle.

Ezra gives a decidedly unsympathetic grimace at that. He glances at the half-gated entryway, then back at you. He pushes your legs further under the table with one foot, ensuring your slumped form won’t be visible to anyone passing by outside.

Treble’s teeth clench and it’s all he can do not to fire off a series of furious chirps through his speaker. He reminds himself that the best thing he can do for you right now is to just let Ezra leave.

And Ezra does so, pausing at the door to swipe his ID and punch a code into a pin pad. The gate slides shut the rest of the way and the main overhead lights switch off, marking FazPad as closed and leaving you hidden away inside until Ezra returns.

When Treble relays your possible head injury to DJ, the music stops again. There’s only ten minutes left. The show can end early.

Tenor sends another harsh ping, causing DJ to flinch. The show cannot end early after how many times the set’s already stuttered!

Fine. The exchange happens fast enough that DJ’s music is back on after only stalling out for two seconds. He can hear people on the dance floor wondering what’s wrong with him. The phrase “on the fritz” is repeated several times. And he knows that come tomorrow, you will be the one who ultimately has to explain his behavior to the higher ups.

Maybe even to Ezra himself.

In his attempts to help you, DJ realizes he’s only causing you more problems.

Some soulmate he is.

Once Treble is sure Ezra is gone, he opens the vent grate and slips out, skittering over to you. He climbs onto the bench beside you, grabbing at your pant leg and pulling your lower half onto the bench until you’re laying across the padded seat instead of halfway slumped on the floor. He clambers across the back of the bench to your head, placing a hand on either side of your head and carefully straightening out your neck and shoulders.

You wake up enough to frown, but your eyes don’t open as you lift a hand to try to shoo him away. You only succeed in bumping the back of your hand against the table. “...Don’ touch me,” you slur. Despite your grogginess, the venom in your tone is unmistakable.

Treble quickly releases your head, skittering back as if you’d struck him. He frowns, wringing his hands as he watches you. You seem to have gone back to sleep.

Maybe…you didn’t realize it was Treble? Maybe you thought it was Ezra? Alto suggests, trying to comfort his brother.

Maybe, Trebel agrees hopefully.

Definitely, DJ assures his brother. You’re clearly in a bad way…you’d never speak to any of them like that normally.

Before Treble can wonder on it further, he hears the plok-plok-plok of Alto’s suction cups skittering down the wall. As he turns, Moon’s eyes cast a red light over the darkened cafe as he emerges from the vent behind Alto.

Moon silently moves towards you, scanning your vitals, letting out a soft hum of thought. He glances at the empty drink cups still on the table, lifting yours up to peer into it. He leans far over the bench, moving your bangs aside to look at the bump forming on your head.

“Light bump. No concussion,” he says. “Help me get them to the arcade.” He takes your arms and pulls you in a sitting position before scooping you up, one hand under your legs and one hand over your back. Not unlike how he’d hold a child.

You start squirming, letting out a fearful whimper. “N-No…L-Leave me alone…!” you slur dazedly.

Moon’s usual frown deepens. Despite your slight struggling, you can’t even lift your head off his ruffled collar. “Shh,” Moon shushes you in a gentle tone, the tone the triplets have occasionally heard him use when they pass by the daycare during naptime. “It’s alright, Little Star. You’re safe,” he says gently.

It’s unclear if his assurances actually reached you or if your condition (whatever it is) has finally progressed enough to render you fully unconscious. Either way, you relax against him and fall silent.

Moon adjusts his grip, holding you against himself with one arm as he climbs up the wall back into the vent. Treble and Alto quickly follow.

Moon lays you down inside the vent, retrieving your phone from your pocket. At Alto’s querying chirp, he says, “Texting Ezra. Telling him they’ve gone home. So he won’t come back looking for them.” He slips your phone back into your pocket.

The vent is too narrow for him to carry you properly, especially unconscious. If he could trust you to hold onto his shoulders, he could keep one arm under you while crawling through the vent, but even that isn’t an option right now. Moon instructs Treble to take your feet while Alto tucks his arms under yours. The Lil’ Music Men’s carrying capacity is pretty high for their size, but your middle still drags across the bottom of the vent at times as they make their journey back to the West Arcade.

It’s slow going, so by the time they get there, DJ’s set is over and he’s closed the curtains to his stage, where he now waits for you. His first set of hands wring nervously while his second set quietly drum an erratic pattern on the stage. The crowd has gone and the gate at the arcade entrance has been lowered.

Moon climbs out of the vent opening into one of DJ’s tunnels, then carefully pulls you from the vent, carrying you in his arms as Alto and Treble follow him down the tunnel and onto the now empty dance floor. You let out a barely audible groan as Moon climbs down from the tunnel.

“They are going to be sick,” he says as DJ opens the stage curtains and quickly crosses the dance floor to you.

He cants his head and lets out a querying chirp, too distracted to sign his question. He gently touches your hair with one forefinger, a stricken expression on his face as he sees your poor state in person.

“Drugged,” Moon says, turning and carrying you towards the restrooms.

DJ lets out another chirp, this one more alarmed than querying, as he and his brothers follow Moon. With DJ’s set over, Tenor has emerged from his hiding spot and joined the group.

“Non-fatal,” Moon says quickly. “Sick tonight. Tired tomorrow. Delicate the next day. Then normal. Most likely.” To the triplets, he begins listing off several items he needs for you. Some from the daycare, some from elsewhere around the ‘Plex.

The triplets nod and scatter to their tasks while DJ follows Moon to the darkened bathroom. Moon takes you to one of the stalls and sits criss-cross on the floor. He sets you in his lap, partially to spare you from the cold, somewhat dirty floor, and partially because there’s simply no other way to fit both of you in the narrow stall. He loops an arm around your shoulders, holding you upright.

You let out another moan. With his free hand, Moon reaches into one of the seemingly infinite pockets of his jester pants, pulling out a hairclip and clipping your hair back, out of your face.

His timing couldn’t be better, for as soon as the clip is in place, your head snaps forward and you abruptly empty your stomach into the toilet.

DJ winces at the sound. He hates that all he can do is watch from the doorway. He can’t even be in there with you and hold your hand or touch your back or comfort you. He can’t even get near enough for you to know he’s there.

But Moon’s the first person DJ would choose to care for you in his stead. He knows Moon and Sun both have the finest care routines and most advanced knowledge of human ailments out of anyone in the ‘Plex. Better than the Glamrocks; better than even any of the human staff, DJ’s sure.

DJ still wishes he could be at your side, though…

Another retching noise causes him to flinch. You cough several times, and Moon gently rubs your back. “Deep breaths, Little Star,” he says in his caregiver voice.

You suck in a raspy breath while Moon holds you steady. “I-Is DJ okay?” you ask dazedly.

Both Moon and DJ quirk a brow in surprise, and Moon answers, “Fine. Why wouldn’t he be?”

“I-I just…I think I got him in trouble…” you murmur. Your eyes are still barely open.

Moon glances back at DJ questioningly, and DJ gives a small shake of his head.

“Didn’t,” Moon says.

Your eyes blink open, finally meeting Moon’s gaze. “...you sure?” you mumble. “E-Ezra…wanted me to say something…I-I don’t…remember…” you say brokenly, burying your face in your hands. Fragmented memories of your conversation drift back to you.

No. Not a conversation. It had been an interrogation. Had you caved? You aren’t sure. You don’t even remember him leaving, much less what you might have said before he did.

Again, Moon glances back at DJ. In his own mind, DJ quickly replays the conversation between you and Ezra that Treble had fed him. Again he gives a small shake of his head. You hadn’t said anything incriminating. You hadn’t even mentioned DJ. Though DJ’s not in a good position to sign or even spell anything to Moon right now, with half of his face taking up the entire door frame.

“Said nothing wrong,” Moon says. “A Mini was listening. Heard everything. Nothing bad.”

You sag with relief against Moon, though the moment is short lived as you quickly lean forward and retch again.

Moon pulls the flush lever for you while you slump back against him. “DJ…knows I’m okay, right?”

“Yes,” Moon says. “He is at the door.”

You wince. “He shouldn’t have to see this,” you mumble. Your eyes open slightly as you glance at Moon guiltily, trying to sit up. “I-I mean, y-you shouldn’t have to either.”

“Seen worse. Used to it,” Moon says simply. “And DJ wants to be near.”

Your face heats up at that remark, despite how sick you feel. Your eyes start to drift shut again, and you feel Moon wiping at your face with some toilet paper. You slump against him limply, and you both sit in silence, waiting to see if the storm has passed.

You’re not sure how much time has passed when you hear the plok-plok-plok of one of the triplets walking down the wall. Your eyes blink open and you mutter something in a questioning tone.

“Still sick?” Moon asks you.

You lift a hand, rubbing at your forehead. “I don’t…I don’t think so…”

“Thirsty?” Moon asks as Alto sets a Fazbear branded canvas bag beside Moon.

You nod, and Moon fishes a small water bottle out of the bag and opens it. He holds it to your lips, but you manage to sit up and hold onto it yourself as you drink.

“Not too fast,” Moon reminds you, putting a hand over the bottle to prevent you from tipping it back too far.

Since it’s one of the mini water bottles from the daycare, you manage to finish it. “Thanks,” you mumble, handing the empty bottle to Moon, who in turn passes it to Alto.

“Not sick?” Moon asks after a moment, wanting to make sure you’ll be able to keep the water down.

You give a small shake of your head. “Don’t think so,” you say again. You lick at your lips with a grimace. “My mouth tastes awful,” you mumble, scraping your tongue against your teeth as if that could scratch away the bad taste.

“Brush teeth,” Moon says.

You blink tiredly at him, not sure you heard right. “What?”

In response, Moon holds up a toothbrush from the bag Alto brought. It’s child size of course, being from the daycare. But it’ll do. You nod, and make as if to try to stand on your own, but Moon puts one hand under your knees and one at your back and lifts you up.

You squeak in surprise and cling to his collar. “I-I think I can walk…” you say dizzily.

“Can’t,” Moon says. He turns sideways to crab walk out of the stall with you in his arms, and as he turns to face the sinks you see DJ’s worried face taking up the entire bathroom door.

“DJ!” you call, actually leaning forward as if to try and go to him.

Moon’s grip on you tightens to prevent you from tumbling out of his arms. “Brush teeth. Then sleep,” he insists patiently.

“Sleep?” you repeat as Moon sets you down in front of a sink. Even with his hands on your shoulders, your knees feel weak and wobbly, and you realize he was definitely right about you not being able to walk on your own yet. “Where would I sleep?” Though even in your addled state, your gaze drifts towards the door, towards DJ, as you recall the last time you slept in the ‘Plex, brief as it was.

“Cot,” Moon answers, keeping one arm around your shoulders to steady you while Alto carefully squeezes a dollop of toothpaste onto the toothbrush before passing it up to Moon.

“A cot? There are cots here? I mean…grownup-sized ones?” you ask as Moon passes you the toothbrush.

The toothpaste is bubblegum flavored. Again, for kids. It doesn’t clear the taste from your mouth quite as readily as spearmint would, but it’s still a marked and appreciated improvement.

“Yes.”

You feel dizziness start to overtake you as you lean over the sink and Moon’s grip on your shoulders tightens, keeping you upright. The couple minutes on your feet, even mostly held up by Moon, have drained you of the little energy you had and you feel your eyelids start to droop again.

Moon picks you up once more, carrying you the few feet to the door where DJ waits nervously. DJ slips his hand through the doorway and you once again try to reach for him, but you barely have the energy to lift your arm. Moon sets you down in DJ’s palm and you feel your body go limp with relief as you once again drift towards sleep. You’re not fully asleep, but you’re further still from awake, left drifting in whatever lies between the two.

DJ cups his hand around you, holding you carefully in his palm. The index finger on his other hand gently strokes your hair as you rest, his brow turned upwards in a heartbroken expression. Moon leads him back to his stage while Alto returns to the vents to help his brothers find the rest of the supplies Moon has asked for.

Once DJ is settled on his stage, behind the curtain, he glances up at Moon and signs with his middle set of hands. “Thank you, Moon. So much. We would have been lost without you.”

Moon takes his usual perch atop one of the speakers and dips his head in a nod.

“I couldn’t do anything to help them,” DJ signs, looking down at you, gently stroking your back with one finger as you lay curled in his palm.

Moon rotates his faceplate ninety degrees. “Did plenty,” he signs silently so as not to disturb your rest.

“I didn’t know what was wrong. I didn’t know how to care for them. I still don’t. I can’t help them if they get sick again!” DJ signs in distress, looking at Moon pleadingly. The only response to illness or injury in DJ’s protocols is to alert security. He has no knowledge of how to actually give aid himself.

“They are an adult. They can tell you what they need. Most of the time,” Moon signs. “For tonight, water. When they wake up, they will be thirsty. Don’t let them drink too fast. Food when they are hungry, but eat slowly. Only a few bites at a time. Make sure it stays down. Sleep as much as they need to.”

It’s probably the most Moon has ever said to him in one statement, but DJ takes it all in readily.

Moon watches you and DJ a moment before signing again. “Being near you helps. S-O-U-L-M-A-T-E-S,” he isn’t able to meet DJ’s gaze as he spells the last word.

DJ’s eyes widen. He’d suspected Moon knew, but he hadn’t expected Moon to confirm that. “Soulmates,” DJ signs in agreement. Moon must not realize you’d already taught DJ that sign. He hesitates, then asks, “Why didn’t you tell me about what happened to you? When I asked you to teach me ‘soulmate’ and ‘soulmark’?” His expression is full of worry and concern for his friend, with no trace of judgment or resentment.

Despite that, Moon tenses, still not looking at DJ. “Hurts,” he mutters softly, not bothering to sign.

DJ lifts his hands to begin signing something, but Moon returns his gaze to DJ. “Do not trouble yourself. It is done. Look after yours,” he says softly, glancing at you. He pauses, then adds, “They are…good.” A statement that would be middling at best from most people, but is high praise coming from Moon.

DJ smiles fondly, nodding in agreement. As Moon stands to leave, DJ signs, “You are good too, Moon.”

Moon grunts softly, the barest hint of a smile on his usually grumpy face. He turns and slips through the stage curtains to go on his patrol, needing to keep up appearances. Because you will be held responsible for Moon’s mistakes as well as DJ’s. If both he and DJ seemed to go on the fritz on the same night…Well, suffice to say it is now more important than ever that DJ, the Daycare Attendant, and the triplets all maintain the image of operating at peak efficiency.

DJ returns his gaze to you, resting his chin on the stage and dimming the light from his mouth as he watches over you worriedly. This isn’t how he’d hoped your second time falling asleep in his hand would go. His shoulders mimic the motion of a soft sigh as he continues to lightly stroke your hair. He monitors your pulse and breathing carefully, relieved that you’re in a state far closer to peaceful slumber than drugged stupor.

You’re asleep for another couple hours, during which the triplets drop off some more supplies. A few more water bottles, a blanket, and a bucket. They filter in and out at different times, only staying long enough to drop off their goods and gently touch your hand as you sleep before they return to the vents.

Then finally, you begin to stir. DJ freezes, then lifts his hand slightly as you open your eyes.

“DJ?” you ask blearily, and he plays a very quiet, gentle version of his usual affirmative ding.

You smile tiredly and start trying to sit up. DJ quickly offers you his finger and you grab onto it, letting him pull you into a sitting position. You lean against his thumb, wrapping your arms around it for stability.

Mostly for stability.

Your smile fades as you begin to process what happened. At least the bits you can remember. DJ feels you begin to tremble as your fingers clench and dig into his glove in a way that would surely be painful if he were human…and is possibly even painful for you.

He makes a soft, querying chirp, gently touching your shoulder with one finger.

You jump at the touch, sucking in a hissing breath, and he quickly pulls away.

“S-Sorry…” you say, unclenching your grip on his thumb but still keeping your arms around it.

“No sorries,” he signs, lifting the hand you’re in so even your lowered gaze can see his middle set of hands. “I am worried about you. Want to make sure you’re okay.”

You give him a small, sad smile that only lasts half a moment. “I-I guess…I…barely know what happened,” you say, your brow knitting worriedly. “Ezra invited me to FazPad…and we got ice cream…and…and he was pissed at me, I think…A-And then I was sick in the bathroom…”

DJ nods. “I had a bad feeling when Ezra made you go with him. So I asked my brothers to keep an eye on you. Treble was in the vent. He heard everything you and Ezra said.”

“I didn’t…say anything bad, right? Nothing about…your…soulmark?” Your voice is barely above a whisper on the last word. You don’t remember that Moon already assured you that you handled the interrogation well.

DJ shakes his head. “No,” he signs. “Do you want me to tell you exactly what was said?”

You look up sharply at that, only to wince at how the sudden motion jostles your brain. “Y-Yeah. Yeah, I…I think that would help…” you say.

DJ proceeds to relay the exact conversation you and Ezra had at FazPad, confirming what you had already suspected--you’d been drugged. Since he’s using sign, he can’t convey the exact wording of the conversation, but it’s far closer than your own fatigued, addled memory would have gotten. So many of your conversations with Ezra, particularly the ones that went poorly, had happened while you’d been distracted…and this one had been all the worse. It’s a relief to finally have a conversation “played back” for you, as it were, so you don’t have to constantly second guess your memory or wonder if you misheard something.

It’s even more of a relief to know you didn’t cave to Ezra’s interrogation.

It’s not great that you were so hostile and disrespectful to him, but you’d rather yourself be fired than DJ or the Daycare Attendant be reprogrammed or worse…even if the thought of being blacklisted from the ‘Plex and never seeing DJ again breaks your heart.

“I don’t know how I can ever be near him again,” you confess, your voice breaking. You sniffle, wiping away a stray tear with your sleeve. “I can’t ever be alone with him,” you add with a shudder.

DJ nods grimly, one finger lightly rubbing your shoulder in comfort. A thought occurs to him that sends another wave of that nausea-like feeling through his circuits. He lightly nudges your shoulder to get your attention, then signs, “Will you quit?”

You look surprised he’d even suggest it. But you shake your head slowly. “No. No DJ, I’d never leave you here like that.”

DJ cants his head a bit at your phrasing. Any other time he’d be elated that he was your primary reason to stay at this job. But he hates the idea that he’s now your primary reason for staying in Ezra’s path.

“Don’t put yourself in danger for me,” he signs, even as it pains him to do so.

You look up at him in surprise, smiling softly and hugging his thumb. “I…I want to. You…you’re sweet and kind and…y-you need someone on your side right now…” you murmur. “And…s-someday you’ll find your soulmate…a-and…”

You still feel a bit drunk. You’re not sure if “drunk” is the right word but it’s the closest you can think of right now. Not that you’ve ever been this drunk.

Your mind is still swimming, and you know you’d barely be able to stand upright if DJ tried to set you down now. You manage to calm your breathing, but keep your cheek resting against his thumb as you finally let your gaze wander up to his face.

The pain and worry in his expression is both heartbreaking and heartwarming. You never want him to feel so sad and worried, but…knowing it’s for you, knowing how much he cares for you--that someone so sweet and wonderful is looking out for you on the worst night of your life…

Despite what’s happened tonight, you’ve never felt safer than you do right here, right now, perched in his hand. You’ve felt never more cared for than you do with DJ. You’ve never felt happier than you do around your dear DJ.

The warm feelings mix with the lingering intoxicants in your system and your expression softens as you smile warmly up at him. Your mouth opens and the words slip out before you’re even aware of what you’re thinking.

“And wish I could be that soulmate...”

DJ’s brows shoot up as his eyes widen, and you feel his hand tense beneath you.

The warm feelings are immediately washed away with the cold splash of reality as your brain catches up with your mouth.

Your face falls, your eyes widening before you quickly lower your gaze. “I-I…” you stammer. “S-Sorry, I…”

He lifts his middle hands to begin signing and you quickly release his thumb, turning away and burying your face in your hands shamefully. You know what he’s going to say, but that doesn’t make it any easier to bear. He’s going to let you down gently. More gently than you deserve. You’re a dear friend and he cares for you so much, but…you’re just not his soulmate.

You don’t have a soulmate.

But he does, and it’s them he’s waiting for. If anyone deserves a soulmate, it’s DJ. The most kind-hearted and sweetest being you’ve ever met, who effortlessly stole your heart without you even realizing it.

What right do you have to stand between him and his true soulmate?

You feel one of his fingers on your back, gently rubbing your shoulders as the tears begin anew. “S-Sorry, DJ, I-I’m sorry, that…that was a stupid thing to say…” you murmur.

A much softer, gentler version of his negative buzz plays over the speakers--a gentle chastising to you calling yourself stupid.

DJ slowly turns the hand you’re sitting in and lifts it higher so you’re once again looking into his concerned gaze.

You snap your eyes shut, flinching and covering your face in your hands again. “DJ, please…I-I’m sorry. P-Please just forget I said that…”

Another negative buzz, this one a bit stronger, but still gentle and soft. DJ is still being mindful of your condition, both physical and emotional. But he is also making it clear that he is not going to just brush that comment under the rug.

You feel a fingertip against your cheek, and it slides down to gently hook under your chin and try to nudge your gaze upwards. It’s a request, not a demand, for you to look at him so he can sign to you. A request you’re sorely tempted to deny.

But that wouldn’t be fair to him. So after a moment, you slowly allow him to turn your face towards his…only to immediately lower your gaze when you meet his worried eyes.

It isn’t on purpose. You’re not trying to be difficult. But the knowledge of what he’s about to say just hurts too much. It’s hard to look him in the eye after your asinine remark.

“Please. Look at me,” you see him signing in your periphery.

You will yourself to lift your gaze to him, and the hand under your chin shifts so that the pad of his thumb is against your cheek while his fingers curl around your back.

“You are my soulmate,” he signs, smiling softly.

Your eyes widen and you stare up at him. “I-I…what…?” you say meekly, feeling dizzy all over again. You must have misread his signing. Your pounding head and the low light and your fatigue…there must have been a “not” or a shake of his head in there that you’d missed, right? Are you so exhausted and desperate that you’re just seeing what you want to see?

DJ signs again, his motions slow and deliberate. “You are my soulmate.” The pad of his thumb gently caresses your cheek, even as his smile fades a bit. “I’m sorry it took so long to tell you. I was scared.”

The fear and regret in his eyes as he signs pulls at your heart. Of course he had been scared. Of course he must have been terrified! Even with your mind as muddled as it is now, several things fall into place. Karter quitting when DJ told him about the soulmark. You telling DJ that he could be reprogrammed if upper management knew. DJ’s own suggestion that your soulmate could be mute.

The knowledge that no human would ever expect to be paired with such a large, non-humanoid robot.

You let your cheek rest against the pad of his thumb, resting a hand next to it and lightly tracing a pattern on the fabric. Even with all the caveats, even knowing the trials that lay before you two now, DJ being your soulmate still feels too good to be true. “A-Are you…sure it’s me?” you ask meekly.

DJ nods emphatically, playing his affirmation ding a bit too loudly in his haste. You flinch at the noise and he quickly signs several apologies, his thumb lightly rubbing your cheek.

“T-H-E-Y-R-E-A-L-L-Y-D-I-D-A-N-U-M-B-E-R-O-N-Y-O-U-H-U-H?” He spells out your exact words so there can be no ambiguity. He smiles fondly. “Do you remember?”

You smile softly, wrapping an arm around his thumb and hugging it as you look up at him. “I do,” you say softly. “I didn’t…even realize you were listening when I said it.”

“I barely was. But I heard it.”

You let out a weak, sad laugh. “You knew this whole time,” you say softly. It’s neither a question nor an accusation. Of course he’d known the instant you’d spoken to him.

“Sorry. I wanted to tell you. But I was scared.” He pauses, then adds, “Can you forgive me? For keeping it from you?”

“Oh DJ,” you say softly, hugging his thumb and resting your forehead against it. “There’s nothing to forgive. I’m just sad you’ve been dealing with it alone all this time,” you say, turning back to face him and leaning your cheek on his thumb.

“But I let you think you didn’t have a soulmark. Or a soulmate,” he signs.

“What else could you do?” you ask sadly. You flinch a bit guiltily, and then add, “I…don’t know if I uh…would have been…y’know…quite ready…the first day we met.”

DJ gives a small, melancholy smile at that, but nods in understanding. The fact that there was ever a possibility that you would have rejected him--or at least been far more hesitant and skeptical that you are now--isn’t exactly easy to hear, but on the other hand, at least he knows for sure his secrecy and stalling (and outright lying once or twice) wasn’t entirely unnecessary.

“N-Not because of you!” you say quickly. “J-Just…finding out that robots can have soulmates by being given a robot soulmate would have been…” You pause, then let out a nervous laugh. “Just a tad jarring.”

He smiles weakly, nodding. “Yes. I guess I also needed time to think after finding my soulmark.”

“A-And you’re…fine with a human?” you ask hesitantly, still nervously tracing a pattern on the fabric of his glove.

The affirmative ding plays soft and gentle as he nods. “As long as that human is you,” he signs, lightly nudging your cheek with one finger.

You let out a small squeak at the remark, feeling your face burning. “H-How are you so sweet?” you mumble, resisting the urge to bury your face in his glove.

He grins playfully. “Could ask you the same thing,” he signs.

“O-Oh hush!” you protest. You realize that as charming and sweet as he’s been since you met him…he was probably holding back. Trying to not come on too strong until he could tell you the truth.

“Haven’t said a word!” he signs.

You let out a warm, genuine laugh at that, resting your cheek against his thumb and gazing up at him with unabashed fondness. He moves his thumb slightly, caressing your cheek as he regards you with much the same expression.

Your souls have finally found each other.

You feel your eyes drifting shut with warm contentment, even as you want to stay awake and savor the moment. But no matter what you feel in your soul, your body has been through it tonight and needs to recover.

But first, you realize there’s one more sign you want to teach DJ.

You point to yourself. “I,” you speak the word aloud, already feeling your face heating up. You form your hands into loose fists, crossing your wrists in an X shape so one hand rests over your heart, which is now beating just a bit faster. “Love.” Finally, you point to him, your dear DJ. Your soulmate. “You.”

DJ’s eyes widen briefly before his expression melts into the most loving and doting smile you can imagine. “I love you,” he signs back with his middle hands. “I always have. I hated having to let you think I didn’t.” He raises the hand you’re sitting in at the same time he lowers his head, letting his great head rest lightly against your forehead, his hands gently closing around you and holding you close.

You relax against him, and once again your souls reach out for each other…and now that they’ve found each other, and the spark in both your souls is finally allowed to ignite into the gentle flames they’ve been trying to be for the past week and a half.

You sigh softly, running a hand over his cheek. You finally understand why you felt so happy around him. So warm and safe, and…

Whole.

You close your eyes as you lean against him, nuzzling your cheek against the metal casing of DJ’s face. It’s not particularly soft or warm…not physically comfortable, but it’s him, and being close to him is all you could ever want in the world.

The next thing you’re aware of is you startling yourself awake and realizing DJ’s moved you away from his face, cupping you in his hands and using his thumbs to try to keep you sitting mostly upright.

“You fell asleep I think,” he signs, looking at you worriedly.

You make a small grunt of acknowledgement, rubbing your head. “I think so too. Sorry,” you murmur with a tired smile.

“No sorries. You were put through H-E-L-L tonight,” he signs with a sad smile.

You give a weak laugh. Of course the sign for “hell” wouldn't have been included in any of Moon’s lessons.

“Going to be sick again?”

You shake your head. “Don’t think so.” Your eyes start to drift shut again as you lean against one of his thumbs, and he gently nudges you, prompting you to look up at him again.

“Thirsty? Moon said you would need water soon.”

“Mmm…probably. Do you have any?” you ask, trying to keep your eyes open.

He nods, handing you a water bottle, carefully pinched between his thumb and forefinger. “My brothers got it for us earlier.”

You smile weakly, accepting the bottle. “I’ll have to thank them later,” you say. You take a long drink, not realizing how much you needed it. DJ gently nudges your shoulder, silently reminding you not to drink too much too quickly. You heed his suggestion, lowering the water bottle and catching your breath for a moment.

“Do…your brothers know we’re soulmates?” you ask.

DJ nods, then pauses. “They don’t understand the idea of soulmates the same way you and I do. But they know you are part of our network.” He hesitates, then corrects, “Part of our family.” It’s time you knew the less literal but more true name for the connection between DJ and his “brothers”. A connection that you were now a part of. That you’ve always been part of.

Your cheeks warm at that. “Heh. Family…” you repeat quietly before taking another drink. “I…I like that.” You finish the water, and DJ takes the empty bottle for you, setting it aside somewhere.

“Sleep now?”

You laugh tiredly. “Don’t know that I have much choice,” you mumble, struggling to keep your eyes open.

DJ lowers the hands you’re in to rest flat against the ground. One of his middle hands gently guides you to lay down while the other drapes a blanket over you. You recognize the blue, yellow-starred fleece from the daycare.

“Rest,” DJ signs before resting his chin on the ground. He dims the light from his mouth until the area around you is no longer bathed in the magenta hues.

You give a sleepy murmur of agreement as your heavy eyelids fall shut. You’re fading fast, but at least what you’re fading into is regular sleep this time, rather than a drugged daze.

As you drift off, you feel DJ gently rest a hand on top of you, and you wrap your arms around his thumb, lightly kissing his glove before sleep finally takes you.

DJ’s circuits light up at the tiny kiss, causing one of his fans to kick on. Fortunately it’s quiet and you don’t seem to notice.

His forefinger lightly strokes your hair as he watches you. His soulmate. His perfect soulmate.

Chapter Text

For a moment when you wake up, you think you’re back at your parents’ house, sleeping on the pullout couch with Gran’s cats snuggled against you. But as you drift further out of dreamland you notice the neon rings arching above and below you. You’re in one of DJ’s tunnels. You shift slightly, and realize you’re on what feels like a cot. Moon must have set it up in here at some point last night. You think he might have mentioned something like that? It’s hard to recall.

The “cats” you thought you felt beside you are, of course, Tenor, Treble, and Alto, who all perk up as soon as they feel you stir.

You rub your eyes tiredly as you try to sit up, only to have Treble and Alto immediately on either side of you, steading you as you right yourself. “Hi guys,” you say. Or croak, moreso, you realize as you rub at your dry throat.

But Tenor quickly reaches over the edge of the cot, pulling up a water bottle and a granola bar for you. You smile tiredly, patting him between his ears. You set the granola bar in your lap as you take a drink. This time you don’t need to be reminded to pace yourself.

You set the half-full bottle of water in your lap next to the granola bar. The persistent, dull ache in your head makes itself known once again, and you bury your face in your hands.

Tenor chirps inquisitively, lightly touching your arm.

“Don’t suppose you’ve got any acetaminophen on you?” you ask. Your sore throat and headache give you an incredibly flat affect, so the fact that you’re joking is lost on the triplets.

Which actually works in your favor, because to your surprise, Tenor presses a small paper packet into your hand. Two acetaminophen tablets, individually wrapped. They must have come from the first aid station in the employee break room.

“You three are lifesavers,” you say, your gratitude coming through despite your still rough-sounding voice.

You quickly take the medicine, then resume your hunched over posture, your forehead resting against your palms as you wait for the painkillers to take effect.

And it is now you must fully acknowledge what happened.

You were drugged.

Poisoned.

By your workplace superior.

And if you quit, or retaliate in any way, you’ll never see your soulmate again.

Your soulmate could be erased from existence.

That last one is an icy dagger through your heart, and you feel your hands shaking. You tense, digging your nails into your scalp to try to stop the tremors. You suck in deep breaths, feeling dizzy for reasons entirely unrelated to your headache.

The triplets chip and buzz worriedly, and you feel their little hands on your arms and shoulders, trying to calm you.

“I-I’m fine,” you say, and your voice sounds thin and distant even to your own ears. “DJ, i-if you’re seeing this, I’m fine…j-just focus on your show,” you say quickly, even as your voice wavers. DJ never did fully explain the network to you, but you’re fairly sure the triplets couldn’t fully hide your distress from him even if they wanted to.

You don’t actually know what time it is, but you assume DJ must be in a show right now. You’re sure he wouldn’t have left you unless absolutely necessary. You hope he knows how important it is that he not interrupt his own performance. That he keeps pretending everything is normal. He must know. He probably knows that even better than you do, in fact.

You don’t yet realize his performance stuttered several times last night.

You feel the triplets taking your hands, gently pulling them away from your scalp and guiding you to lay back down. You close your eyes, taking in another shuddering breath. Just as you feel two of the triplets laying down on either side of you, you quickly sit up with a gasp, flinching when you hear one of the triplets get knocked off the cot in the process.

“What time is it?! I-I’m supposed to be at work!!” you yelp, frantically searching for your phone.

Treble’s head pops up over the edge of the cot and he lets out a chastising warble at you for flinging him to the floor. You see he’s holding your phone, and reach for it, only for him to pull away.

“Treble…” you say. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shove you off the cot…” you say, extending a hand to help him back up.

Alto and Tenor take each of your arms, trying to keep you from getting up.

“Rest,” Alto signs. Tenor nods in agreement, signing, “Called in sick.”

You blink in confusion, but comply with their nudging and lay back down. “I did? When did I do that?”

Treble climbs back onto the cot, finally returning your phone to you before signing, “Moon did.”

You don’t bother to unlock your phone, only briefly glancing at the time before tucking it into your hoodie pocket. It’s nearly eleven. Aside from a few brief moments, you’ve been largely asleep for the past twenty-four hours.

Your stomach growls loudly, making its grievances with the situation abruptly known.

Alto is about to reach for the cereal bar in your lap, ready to nudge it pointedly towards you when you pick it up and finally unwrap it, taking a few bites. Despite your stomach feeling like an empty pit, you don’t have much appetite. You only take a few bites, doing the bare minimum to ease the hunger pangs.

“How’s DJ?” you ask. “He’s still doing his set, right?”

Tenor nods. “Yes. Performing normally,” he signs.

You sigh softly. “Well that’s good,” you say as you take another bite of the cereal bar. You don’t notice the triplets exchanging a nervous glance. DJ may not be too distracted to perform now but he sure had been last night…and none of the four Music Men are looking forward to you finding that out. You have an abundance of worries without that.

You crumple the cereal bar wrapper, though before you can shove it into your pocket, Alto takes it from you so he can toss it himself later.

You shift on the cot, putting your legs over the edge and resting your feet on the floor. Tenor chirps in concern, lightly grabbing your sleeve.

“I-I’m okay. I just want to stand up for a bit. I need to stretch,” you say.

The triplets hesitate a moment, then give you your space, letting you stand and stretch. Your shoulders and back pop, causing the Lil’ Music Men to chirp in alarm and rush forward to try and steady you.

You laugh, crouching briefly to pat their heads. “It’s alright. I’m just achy from being in bed all day. But I think everything’s out of my system. I feel fine, just…tired and stiff,” you say, standing back up and pacing a bit. Just enough to get your blood flowing properly.

You’d barely walked in a circle around the small cot when Alto waves a hand to get your attention.

“DJ’s set is done,” he signs. “On his way.”

Your heart and soul flutter at the thought of seeing him again, even though you were asleep for most of your time apart. You’ve only been awake a few minutes without him, but your soul was keeping better track than your mind, and you realize how much you’ve missed him in just that short time.

You realize the triplets are heading down the tunnel, apparently taking their leave. “Where’re you going?” you ask.

“Chores,” Treble signs. Of course, they’re probably behind on their own tasks if they’ve been watching you while DJ was doing his sets. You hope that they had at least watched over you in shifts for part of the day, rather than all three of them being completely absent from the rest of the ‘Plex the whole day.

“Ah. Well…have a good evening, then,” you say, lifting a hand in a wave.

Treble returns the wave, along with a wink and a smirk.

Your cheeks warm slightly at that. “Cheeky…” you mutter good naturedly.

You’re about to take a seat on the cot to wait for DJ, but even that proves unnecessary as you feel the vibrations of DJ’s footfalls (handfalls?) in the tunnel. You quickly reach up and smooth your hair and straighten your hoodie, belatedly realizing you certainly don’t look your best right now.

Though surely you had looked worse last night…

You see the magenta glow of his mouth before the rest of him, and as he steps into the light he pauses, staring at you a moment with a shy smile before lifting one of his main hands in a small wave. He’s not surprised to see you up and about, of course, since the triplets had been updating him on your status.

You don’t notice that one of his back hands is curled in a loose fist and resting more gently on the ground. Much the way you hadn’t noticed it on your birthday.

You return the wave with an equally shy smile. “H-Hi,” you say after a moment, taking another step towards him. Part of you--nearly all of you--wants to run to him and throw yourself into his hands, but…you’re feeling oddly shy. The conversation from last night is fuzzy, and even now feels too good to be true.

He steps towards you as well, holding out one of his main hands while signing with his middle set. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you say, taking a seat in his palm. “Much better…” you add, leaning against his thumb. You put one arm around it as he lifts you up. “I-I um…was almost worried last night was a dream…” you say.

He moves his thumb slightly, the pad of it lightly caressing your cheek. “Not a dream,” he signs.

You lean into the light touch, hugging his thumb. “Good,” you murmur, then add, “Perfect.”

DJ raises his hand up slightly, bringing you to eye level. “I’m sorry I kept it from you. That I lied to you,” he signs. He’d said as much last night, but during one of Moon’s brief check-ins last night, he had reminded DJ that your memory of last night may be spotty.

“I know,” you say gently. “It’s alright DJ. I…I understand why you did,” you say. Your brow creases in sympathy as you gaze up at him. “You must have been so scared after Karter quit. When you thought…I might quit,” you say softly. He’d told you as much when he’d told you about his soulmark, but even then you hadn’t understood how terrifying the thought of you quitting would have been for him. He hadn’t just been worried about losing his new friend and favorite tech--not that those would have been small losses either--he’d been afraid of losing his soulmate.

DJ smiles weakly, though still looks ill at ease. You being upset at him was his biggest worry, but it was far from his only one. “Still scared,” he admits.

“That I’ll quit?” you prompt, but don’t wait for him to reply before smiling softly at him, hugging his thumb. “Never. C’mon DJ, with how long I waited for you?” You shake your head. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

DJ grins fondly as a fluttery feeling courses over his circuits. With how long you waited for him. You could have just said “with how long I waited for a soulmate”. But you said him.

That’s two of his worries eased, but the list is still long, and he already knows you won’t be able to placate all of them.

He rests his other main hand against your back, his thumb stroking your hair while the rest of his fingers wrap around you in a hug. You sigh contentedly, readily leaning into the embrace and closing your eyes for a moment.

When you open them, DJ signs again. “I don’t know what I’m doing…” he confesses nervously.

You smile gently, shaking your head. “Nobody does, DJ,” you say, the warm fondness not leaving your voice despite your slightly joking tone.

He allows himself a brief smile and silent chuckle at that, but it doesn’t completely reassure him. “But I really don’t,” he signs. “And what I do know I can’t even use,” he adds.

“What do you mean?” you ask, confused at the statement.

“I couldn’t help you last night. I couldn’t stop Ezra from taking you out of the dance hall, I couldn’t stop him from drugging you, I couldn’t tell what was wrong with you, I couldn’t even just sit with you when you were sick, I--”

DJ’s signing almost too fast for you to read, barely finishing one sign before moving onto the next, and his middle set of hands seem to be trembling as he quickly moves through the words. You glance down in concern as you realize the hands holding you are also shaking.

He sees the alarm on your face before you can tell him to calm down and quickly lowers his hands to the ground, mostly to make you feel a bit more at ease…though resting them on the ground also helps steady them.

DJ rests his chin on the ground, seemingly unable to meet your gaze as he glances sideways, his brow knit with guilt and worry.

You gently wriggle out of his grasp, getting to your feet and moving to stand in front of his face. “Oh DJ…” you murmur sadly, resting a hand on his faceplate, causing his gaze to drift back to you. “How can you possibly think you didn’t do enough last night?” you ask gently, running your hand over his cheek.

His brow lowers in confusion, though without his speakers and without a good angle to sign at, he simply waits for you to elaborate.

“You saw I was in trouble. You got help. That’s what any human soulmate would have done, too,” you say.

DJ pulls away slightly, lifting himself up to sign. You take the hint and step back a couple paces.

“If I were human I could have stopped him from drugging you,” he signs with his main set of hands, a look of bitter resentment on his face. A look directed only at himself.

You lightly place your hand on one of his middle hands, frowning in thought as you consider. “DJ, I don’t know that that’s true,” you say gently but firmly. He cants his head in confusion and you continue, “If you’d tried to do anything Ezra didn’t like, he’d’ve just called security and you’d’ve been thrown out. And maybe that would have scared him off of trying anything else but…there’s--there’s really no way of knowing for sure.”

You crouch slightly, hooking your hand under one of his fingers, prompting him to lift his hand enough for you to hold his index finger in both your hands. “But I do know that you kept me safe last night. Please don’t think that means any less just because you had help,” you say, smiling warmly up at him as you give his finger a comforting squeeze.

DJ looks like he’d be tearing up if he could. He lowers his head again and brings his main hands behind your back, gently moving you forward until he’s hugging you against his cheek, nuzzling you fondly.

You laugh weakly, lightly stroking his cheek again. It seems you’ve made your point. You lean your cheek against his, listening to the barely audible whirring of the circuitry and machinery inside of him. After a moment, you turn your head slightly, planting a light kiss on his cheek.

This time you do hear one of his fans kicking on. Well, you can’t pretend your face didn’t heat up at the kiss too, even as chaste as it was.

DJ lowers his hands, though leaves one resting slightly against your back. He lifts his head, looking down at you contemplatively.

You’re both having the same idea, though neither of you know for sure what the other is thinking. Even soulmates aren’t mind readers…but you both suspect your minds are on the same page.

You’re the first to act on it, stepping forward and placing your hands on his chin. You lean forward and plant a long, lingering kiss on his lower lip, and your heart jumps when you feel DJ leaning into it. He cups one hand against your back, holding you close.

It’s far from a traditional kiss. DJ’s lips aren’t any more sensitive than the rest of his face, but he’s well aware of the significance of being kissed on them…and the significance of you wanting to kiss him. Even in his most optimistic visions of his future with a soulmate, of his future with you, he hadn’t been sure it would ever happen. Kisses are meant to be soft and warm, and DJ’s neither of those things.

But that hardly matters to you. He’s him and you love him. That’s more than enough. It’s all you could ever want.

Eventually, you both pull away slightly and he lowers his head, nuzzling his forehead against yours. You hadn’t been completely sure he’d be interested in something like kissing, but you can tell it had made him happy; he wasn’t simply going along with it for your sake.

“I love you, DJ,” you say softly.

He backs away, giving himself enough room to point to himself, cross his fists over his chest with one fist over roughly where his heart would be if he were more humanoid, then point to you.

“I love you.”

You look up at him fondly, holding up your dominant hand and lowering your middle two fingers, leaving your thumb, forefinger, and pinky extended. “I love you,” you say aloud. “It’s…a simpler way to say it,” you say, stepping forward as he lowers his head. “Technically less formal, but…for us…it doesn’t have to be,” you say, running a hand over his chin.

You guess (correctly) that DJ would enjoy having a way to easily sign such a sentiment without you two having to move too far away from each other.

Sure enough, you feel one of his hands move beside you, and turn to see his main right hand sign, “I love you,” without him having to pull away from you. Fortunately it’s a sign that doesn’t require much space to sign readably.

As he starts to lower his hand, you step forward and lightly touch his wrist, stopping him. He watches you curiously as you guide his hand to lay flat, palm up. You circle his hand and move to stand by his wrist, running your fingers over the sacred words there.

“They really did a number on you, huh?”

DJ’s brow knits in confusion. The last time you’d looked at his wrist and traced his soulmark, it had been clear you couldn’t actually see it. But now your fingers trace over every letter precisely.

He nudges your shoulder, prompting you to look up at him as he signs with his middle set of hands. “You can see it?”

You nod, looking a bit surprised that he’s surprised at this. “Did you not know? When two soulmates complete their bond--when their souls find each other--their marks become visible. Only to each other!” you add quickly, noting his look of alarm at the prospect of his soulmark being visible to just anyone.

“There’s…no way for soulmates to prove themselves to anyone but each other,” you explain. You let out a bitter chuckle. “If there were, there probably wouldn’t be so much debate over who gets to be soulmates with who,” you say. You’d thought most societies were past that debate. Same-gender soulmates, platonic soulmates, people with multiple soulmates…approval for them was not exactly universal, but at least most of academia, as well as the legal systems in most countries, agreed they all existed…even if some of them were still treated as wrong in some parts of the world.

And now the debates would begin anew with robot soulmates.

You glance down at your own dominant wrist, which is of course still blank. Not that that’ll matter in helping prove your case. Even if you did have a mark, nobody but DJ would ever be able to see it.

DJ lifts his hand, carefully clasping yours between his thumb and forefinger. He gently runs his thumb over your wrist. “Sorry you don’t have a mark,” he signs.

You laugh easily, leaning forward and kissing the hand that’s holding yours. “Oh DJ, that’s nothing to apologize for! The soulmark doesn’t matter to me. You’re what matters to me,” you say, putting your hands under his chin and looking up at him fondly.

He smiles in relief, lightly touching his forehead against yours before pulling away. You feel one of his hands behind you and you once again sit in his palm, wrapping your arms around his thumb and resting your cheek against it. It’s comfortable and soft, and now you no longer have to pretend your perch is one of mere convenience.

Though…as unimportant as the soulmark itself is in the grand scheme of things, you do find yourself just a tad curious when it would have appeared.

“How long ago did you get your soulmark, anyway? Do you remember about when it was?” you ask, then let out a weak laugh. “Silly question. You probably have the memory timestamped, huh?”

DJ grins at that, nodding, though decides against flexing this by giving you the exact time down to the millisecond--which he does indeed have stored in his memory banks. Instead, he gives you a more conversational answer of, “About seven and a half weeks ago.”

“So six weeks before I started,” you muse as you start to put together a timeline in your head. DJ dips his head in a nod of confirmation. “That would put it around the time I applied to this place.” You smile weakly. “I guess that’s what put me on the path, then…”

“Path?” DJ signs, canting his head curiously.

“It’s…hrm.” You frown slightly, thinking how to explain it. “Well…some people believe that…destiny and soulmates are all…predetermined, even before you get your soulmark. But…I think the general belief--and my personal belief--is that…you do control your own destiny, somewhat. It’s not like walking through an open field, though, where you can just pick a direction and change it at any time. It’s…more like a river split into hundreds of streams. You’re carried forward constantly…and sometimes you have a chance to change the path you’re on.”

DJ takes a moment to consider this, then nods in understanding before frowning slightly. “I do not think I have much control over my destiny,” he signs.

You sigh softly, hugging his thumb tighter. “...Changing your path isn’t always doing something physical. Your state of mind can change it too. Opening your heart, being ready for something new…” You look up at him with a sad smile. “But…I won’t pretend you control your destiny the same way I control mine…” you admit. Much as you wish it were otherwise. “Not yet. But…someday, I think you could.”

DJ’s not sure he shares your optimism…but he’s also not willing to contradict it. Besides, he trusts your judgment, at the very least.

“Hope so,” he signs with a small smile.

“So…” you begin after a moment. “No more secrets, right?” you say, your tone gentle and free of judgment. “I promise I’m not going anywhere…so you can tell me anything and ask me anything, alright? You’re not alone, okay?”

DJ nods in agreement. “No secrets,” he agrees. “Not alone,” he adds, lightly rubbing the pad of his thumb against your cheek. His grin widens, and he pulls back a bit. “I have something for you,” he signs. He reaches backwards, passing something from one of his back hands to his main hand. He holds his main hand out, and you gasp when you see the paper bouquet pinched carefully between his thumb and forefinger.

“Oh DJ! They’re beautiful!” you breathe in awe, holding the bouquet in your arms. Even though the flowers don’t exactly look “real” per se, they’re real enough that you have to resist the urge to lower your head and smell the flowers.

“Sun made them,” he says, grinning widely at your reaction. He hesitates a moment, then admits, “They were going to be a birthday present.” He’d debated leaving out that detail, if only because he knows you already feel guilty about feeling less than festive on your birthday…but he did promise no more secrets.

“Oh…” you say, your smile turning a bit sad as you look at the beautiful paper flowers.

He scratches at his cheek nervously. “I wanted to tell you then. But I lost my nerve,” he signs apologetically.

You sigh softly, idly running a finger over one of the daisy petals. “I’m sure my moodiness didn’t help with that,” you say.

DJ cups his main set of hands below yours, his thumbs covering your hands as you hold the bouquet and signs with his middle set of hands. “Please don’t feel bad about that. You had every right to be upset. It was just bad timing,” he reassures you. “A lot of bad timing,” he adds with a grimace.

You laugh weakly. Between Mom forgetting your birthday entirely and Ezra’s stupid stunt…it was a lot to go wrong on a birthday. And yet…. “That day would have been unsalvageable if not for you,” you say fondly. “You made it a good day.”

He actually seems to straighten up with pride at that remark, though he still can’t help but recall the comment that made him lose his nerve that day. “And it’s alright that I can’t take you in my arms and whisper sweet nothings?”

You blink up at him, genuinely confused by the statement for a moment before remembering what you’d said. You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “Oh DJ, that’s…I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it literally. It’s just a line from some old ballad that people like to quote.”

He blinks. Oh. He’s both relieved and embarrassed, and it shows in his awkward grin as his middle hands hang motionless in the air.

You back out of his hand-holding enough to turn and set the bouquet down on the cot. “But yes, of course it’s perfectly alright!” you say, wrapping your arms around his thumb and letting his hand wrap around your back. You squeeze his thumb tighter, resting your cheek against his glove. “This is perfect.” You hesitate a moment, your gaze lifting to him. “B-Besides, I…can’t exactly take you in my arms either…”

DJ had barely considered that. He had always been so worried about what a human would feel they were missing out on by being paired with him. He hadn’t considered what he might miss out on by being paired with a human. Though that’s not entirely the correct way to frame that statement. There are very few robots his size. He’s used to interacting with exclusively humans and the occasional human-sized animatronic. That’s the norm for him. But he’s not the norm for you.

At least not yet.

“I think that would be a little intimidating,” he signs, only partially joking. It’s not completely without appeal, of course, but it’s also not something he feels he would miss if he never had it.

You laugh, squeezing his thumb affectionately. “I suppose it would be,” you say warmly.

The conversation lapses for a moment and you rest your face against his thumb, snuggling into his hand.

You’re both startled by the sound of a jingling bell behind you. You let out a gasp, quickly wriggling out of DJ’s grip and turning to face Moon. “M-Moon!” you say, your voice a couple octaves higher than usual.

DJ quickly releases you, also scrambling back awkwardly, lifting one hand in a nervous wave. Though unlike you, he’s well aware that Moon knows what’s going on.

Moon’s thoughts on the matter are hard to glean from his usual dour expression, though he certainly doesn’t look surprised.

“Feeling better?” he asks.

You smile weakly, nodding. “Yes. Th-Thank you for all your help last night,” you say, putting aside your awkwardness as you remember how indebted you are to the nighttime attendant. You scratch at your cheek a bit. “I…I don’t remember a lot of it but…I-I know you were there. So thank you.”

Moon dips his faceplate in a nod, then holds up a paper bag. “You’re welcome. Brought you dinner.”

“Oh! Thank you,” you say again, stepping forward and accepting the bag. Your hunger is starting to win over your lack of appetite, and you sit down on the cot and open the bag.

“Applesauce and toast. Plain, but gentle on your stomach,” Moon says.

Honestly at this point you’re grateful for anything. “Thanks,” you say, starting to feel like a broken record…but not an ungrateful one at least. You begin eating the two plain toast slices, which are still slightly warm. You wonder if there’s a toaster in the daycare or if Moon had found one in a break room to use.

You glance at DJ as you eat, wondering if you two should try to explain yourselves to Moon. DJ’s expression gives no insight to that, though. From the look of concern on his face, you guess he’s more worried about making sure your meal stays down.

You resist the urge to rush through it, even if it is a bit awkward to be the lone human eating their meal while two robots look on.

You drop the plastic spoon and the empty applesauce containers into the paper bag, and Moon holds out his hand to take it for you.

“A-About earlier…” you say as you hand it to him.

“Soulmates. I know,” he says, cutting straight to the point as is his wont.

“Y-You know?” you repeat, surprised.

“DJ was signing your name after your first day. Many times,” Moon says. “Not subtle,” he adds, though you can’t quite tell if it’s a genuine barb or a playful jab. Maybe somewhere in between.

Still, you feel your cheeks warm and you let out a shy laugh, glancing at DJ, who’s giving you a sheepish smile. He shrugs helplessly, unable to think of any sort of response.

Moon turns to you, one brow arched slightly. “You are not subtle either, Little Star,” he says plainly. “You both need to learn.”

You and DJ both wince at the rebuke. “You’re right,” you admit.

“No movies. Screen is too obvious,” Moon says. “Time together must be quiet. Hidden.”

To that, you have to agree. “Yeah,” you say distantly. DJ rests his hand against your side, his thumb rubbing your shoulder comfortingly.

“Start taking the bus to work.”

“The bus?” you say. “Why?”

“Ezra is watching your car. He will know if you stay late. The bus stop is not covered by cameras. So you will not be noticed there.”

You feel dizzy and slump against DJ’s hand. “H-He’s relentless…w-why?”

“You were too sick to leave last night. Yet you did. He will want to know how. Will want to know what you will tell people.”

DJ frowns at that. “We have to tell the higher ups what he did.”

“I-I don’t know, DJ…” you say, hugging yourself.

His eyes widen and he looks at you in shock. “You don’t know? How can you not know?” He’s glaring furiously, and you have to remind yourself his ire isn’t aimed at you. “After what he did we can’t just let him get away with it!”

Your grip on yourself tightens, and DJ’s face falls as he realizes he’s scaring you. It’s the first time you’ve seen him angry. “Sorry,” he signs sadly, cupping a hand around you and pulling you to his cheek. You slump against him in relief.

“I-I just…wh-what if he retaliates? What if he does something to you? Or Moon? Or Sun?”

“Valid concerns,” Moon says quietly. DJ gives him a reproachful look. Moon readily returns the look, secure in the knowledge that he’s right, and that none of you can afford to pretend otherwise.

Even pressed against his cheek, you can see DJ’s brow knit in frustration as he glares at Moon. But Moon shouldn’t be the target of his frustrations either. You pat DJ’s cheek comfortingly. “L-Look. We don’t have to decide right away. Let’s…not rush to do something we can’t undo, okay?” you say gently.

He nuzzles against your hand, dipping his head in a reluctant nod. He hates the idea of Ezra getting away with what he’s done to you. The idea that you’ll have to continue to work with him, report to him, that he could ever have any say in your life ever again…

Moon is the first to break the silence that has fallen over the three of you. “It will be difficult,” he says softly.

Your gaze is distant as you nod, snuggling closer to DJ’s cheek. “Yeah,” you say softly.

Another uncomfortable silence falls, and again Moon is the first to break it by standing up, allowing the bell on his nightcap to jingle softly. “Be back after my last patrol. Sneak you out. Rest until then.”

“I will,” you say softly. “Thank you, Moon.”

He dips his head in a nod and disappears down the tunnel.

You sigh softly, leaning against DJ. “I just hope Ezra stays in his office while I’m at work from now on,” you say quietly. That would probably require more luck than you actually have, but then again, maybe after you disappeared on him last night, he’s going to be just as eager to avoid you as you are to avoid him. Perhaps it is in both of your best interests to sweep the matter under the rug.

What a horrible common ground you and Ezra have found for yourselves.

DJ frowns, gently nudging you to sit in his palm so he can hold you in front of himself while he signs.

“Would it help if I asked my brothers to keep watch over you?”

He’s pleased at how quickly your face brightens at the prospect, though your smile fades slightly after a moment. “I…I don’t want to interfere with their work too much…”

DJ shakes his head. “You won’t. They can take turns watching you. It’ll be fine,” he assures you.

You smile weakly. “Well…then yeah, I think I’d like that,” you say, hugging his thumb. You glance up at him contemplatively. “Were you doing that before? Is that why Treble was there to help me with Sun and Moon’s door?”

DJ shakes his head again. “Coincidence. He just happened to be nearby then.”

You give a soft hum of acknowledgement as you rest your cheek against the pad of his thumb. You’re glad DJ hadn’t been monitoring you without your knowledge, but also equally glad he could keep an eye on you from now on.

DJ lifts his hands to sign again, but hesitates. As much as he wants to try to cheer you up and get your mind off of Ezra, there’s still one more piece of bad news he has to deliver tonight.

You lift your head, frowning as you notice his fingers twitching slightly as he tries to find the words. “DJ? What’s wrong?”

“My set last night. Stuttered,” he signs, glancing away shamefully.

“Stuttered?” you repeat, your brow knitting in concern.

He nods. “Distracted,” he admits, giving you a guilty look.

“Oh…” you say, your tone just as guilty. You should have realized sooner that he wouldn’t’ve been able to play his set while also coordinating with his brothers and Moon, especially with how terrified he was for you. “I-I’m sorry, DJ…”

DJ’s head quickly shoots up and he shakes it emphatically. “No sorries. Not your fault. Not at all,” he assures you quickly, cupping his other main hand around you in a hug. He hesitates, then adds, “You’re my tech. They’re going to ask about it tomorrow. Don’t want you getting ambushed.”

“Yeah…I guess I’ll need to at least have a theory for them,” you admit. “Has anything like that ever happened before?”

He starts to shake his head, then pauses. “A couple times after Karter quit. When I learned about soulmates. Got distracted thinking about it. But I just looped the same music for too long. Didn’t stop playing. Don’t know if anyone ever reported it. Don’t think the techs ever looked into it.”

“Hm…” you hum softly. “Well…if it’s a one off and it doesn’t happen again, maybe it can just be swept under the rug. I don’t think Hannah will be happy if I don’t give her an answer, but…if it doesn’t happen again it can just be written off as a fluke,” you say.

“Hope so. Don’t want you to get in trouble,” he signs, nuzzling the pad of his thumb against your cheek.

“I doubt I’ll get in trouble,” you say, stopping yourself from adding a cynical “for that” to the end of the statement. “Your sets were fine today, right?” you say. When he nods, you smile encouragingly at him. “So, if they weren’t concerned enough to stop you from performing, and if there were no problems today, they might be halfway to writing it off by the time I get in tomorrow anyway,” you say optimistically.

DJ gives a small smile at that. He hopes it’ll be that easy. One of his thumbs is lightly stroking your hair and you let out a soft yawn, cuddling against his thumb and gazing up at him through lidded eyes.

“Do you want to go to the stage? I could close the curtains, give you the demo headphones, and play music while you rest?” he signs.

“That does sound nice…but I’ve done enough resting, I think,” you say with a light laugh.

“Doesn’t seem like it. Still tired,” he says with a slight frown.

“Only a bit,” you say, straightening up slightly as if to prove you’re not particularly close to drifting off. You’re not sure how much of the past twenty-four hours you actually spent asleep and how many would be better described as “passed out”, but whatever the case may be, your body clearly knows it’s the middle of the night and is acting accordingly. You sigh, smiling up at him apologetically. “I just…hate how much of our first day together I spent asleep,” you mutter.

DJ can’t pretend he’s completely happy with that either, though he doesn’t have the same level of resentment towards that fact as you seem to. He’s just glad you’re safe. “But still together,” he signs.

You laugh softly, hugging his thumb. “Yeah,” you agree. “Then…y-yeah, let’s go to the stage. I’ve uh…missed our private concerts,” you admit shyly.

DJ grins at that, then leans forward. His faceplate doesn't have quite enough range of motion for him to pucker his lips, but even so, his intention as he brushes his lips against your cheek are clear. Before he can pull away, you plant a kiss of your own on his lower lip.

The two of you can put aside your worries for just a few hours.

He cups his hands and holds you close as he takes the tunnel to the dance hall and climbs onto his stage. He uses one of his back hands to hit the button on the back wall to close the curtain--one of the only things on the stage that he can actually operate himself.

He reaches behind the control panel and pulls out a pair of headphones, passing them to you before showing you which button on the control panel to press to redirect the audio to them instead of the speakers.

You put the headphones on and DJ cups one of his main hands slightly, letting his fingers act as a backrest while you sit in his palm. He’ll have to make due with using only three hands to play since his backmost set need to stay palms down on the stage for balance. Though given his two main hands are mostly used for gestures and movements to hype up the crowd, rather than actually operating his decks, that’s hardly a problem.

The thumb of the hand you’re sitting in rests against your shoulder, and you loop an arm around it as DJ starts playing. The song is soft and slow this time. It has the tranquility of some of the songs he’d played while you worked last week, but there’s something almost…tender about it. Romantic. If there were lyrics it would surely be a gentle, loving serenade of some kind.

A few minutes into the song, he glances down at you, meeting your fond gaze with a shy smile. He can’t sign while playing and holding you, but you recognize his inquisitive glance easily by now.

“Beautiful,” you sign silently, both to avoid trying to talk over the music and because of the general need to keep quiet.

DJ’s smile is even shyer as he lowers his head slightly, the blue circles on his cheeks just a tad brighter than they had been before.

You giggle at his reaction. “That’s not surprising, is it?” you sign.

DJ’s no braggart, but he’s confident enough in his playing that he can admit you liking it is not exactly surprising. “N-O-T-E-X-A-C-T-L-Y,” he spells with one hand. “J-U-S-T-H-A-P-PY-Y-O-U-L-I-K-E-I-T.”

“It’s wonderful,” you sign. Your smile turns slightly shy as you add, “Like you.”

He lifts his hand, bringing you closer to his face. You take the hint and lean forward, kissing his upper lip. He leans into the kiss for a moment before lowering his hand again.

“Take me in your hands and play me sweet music,” you sign up to him shyly, your face warm enough to heat the entire dance hall. You don’t even realize you’re echoing the same revision of that phrase he’d imagined on your birthday.

“Yes,” he signs, the blue circles on his cheeks glowing.

You sigh contentedly, closing your eyes and letting the music wash over you. It’s not long before your body once again reminds you that it is nighttime and you’re supposed to be asleep now.

Your eyes quickly pop open and you shift, trying to keep yourself awake.

DJ glances down at you, his smile fading a touch as his brow knits in concern. “If you’re tired you should sleep,” he reminds you gently. “Moon said you’d need a lot of rest after last night.”

You huff out a playful but quiet sigh, looking up at DJ with a playfully deadpan expression. “Moon is the expert I guess,” you admit. Inwardly, you also admit that you can’t afford to be tired during your shift. You can’t afford any distraction, or anything that might cause you to slip up and say the wrong thing to the wrong person. But you don’t bring that up. You don’t want to ruin the mood…and besides, DJ surely hasn’t forgotten either.

“Okay fine,” you sign up to him with a wry grin. “I won’t force myself awake but I won’t try to sleep either. Deal?”

DJ nods in agreement, then smirks at you as the music abruptly switches to a soft, chimey lullaby.

Your scoff of feigned indignation is a bit too loud and DJ quickly puts one of his index fingers over your lips, even as he silently giggles at your reaction. You push his hand away, your cheeks a bit warm as you grin up at him, unable to bring yourself to even pretend to look even slightly annoyed.

“No lullabies. That’s cheating!” you sign up at him, trying to keep your giggling quiet.

He lets out another silent laugh, lightly poking the top of your head with one finger before returning to his previous music.

You settle back into his hand, resting your back against his slightly curled fingers. As promised, you don’t fight the urge to close your eyes when you feel your eyelids get heavy.

You’re not sure how much of the next few hours is spent awake or asleep, but given how fast the time seems to go by, surely you’d dozed off for at least some of it. You’re not completely without a bit of frustration at how much you simply weren’t present for the first day and a half of your and DJ’s relationship, but this is still nice.

Laying in his hand, drifting off to sleep while soft music plays…you wish you could do this every night.

How long would it be until you could? Would you ever be able to? Would the rest of your lives be spent sneaking around behind Fazbear Entertainment’s backs? Or would Karter and his allies succeed in changing things?

Even if they did, what would that mean for you and DJ? Not that the thought of being safe was anything to sneeze at, of course, but it’s not like he could fit in your apartment. Or most houses. Short of you converting some rarely-used security office or break room within the ‘Plex to a tiny studio apartment, there’s really no way for you two to ever live together.

DJ notices your expression changing and brings the song to a close. You blink awake to see him looking down at you in worry.

“You looked sad. Are you alright?” he signs, lifting you to eye level.

You force a smile, waving a hand before signing. “Fine.”

He tilts his head, lifting a brow. He’s not convinced. “No secrets, remember?”

You smile sadly. “Just…worried about the future. But I don’t want to ruin the mood by talking about it,” you sign.

He wraps another hand around you in a hug, his thumb caressing your cheek. “Alright. Moon will be back soon, anyway,” he signs. He can guess what’s on your mind when you say you’re worried about the future…and he agrees that perhaps it’s best to end this evening (morning) on a positive note.

He carries you back through the tunnel to the maintenance hall, setting you down by your cot. You pick up your bouquet, carefully putting it in your backpack. At least mostly. The flowers are still poking out of the top of the bag, so you lay your hoodie over it to cover them. Not that you think anyone will see them at this hour, but still…the questions they might raise are ones you don’t want to deal with.

DJ watches you fondly, sending Alto a ping to let him know the care you’re taking with the flowers. Alto’s immensely glad you finally got them, and that his trip to the daycare wasn’t in vain.

You lean your bag against the cot and pull on your coat before returning to DJ. Wordlessly you open your arms and he hugs you to his cheek as he’s done so many times before.

In a few moments you hear a faint jingle and step back from the hug. You turn to see Moon standing beside the cot, your backpack in his hand.

“Hi Moon,” you say, lifting a hand in a wave as DJ does the same.

“Time to go,” he says simply.

“Yeah. Which way are we taking?” you ask.

“Vents. To avoid the guards. Then the west employee entrance.”

You nod. That’s not very close to where your car is parked, but you trust that Moon has his reasons for picking that entrance. You turn back to DJ, and he takes both your hands in his main pair of hands, and you lean forward to give him a quick peck on the lip. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Er--I guess later today,” you say with a weak laugh.

DJ nods, nuzzling his forehead against yours before releasing your hands. “I love you,” he signs, stepping back to cross his wrists over his “heart” as he gazes down at you warmly.

“I love you,” you speak-sign back.

You turn back to Moon to see he’s already begun walking down the tunnel, your backpack still in his hand. You wince at your thoughtlessness. Maybe you and DJ should cool it with the displays of affection in front of him, even if your affection is pretty chaste in general.

You jog a few paces to catch up with Moon. “Th-Thanks again for doing this,” you say. “And for last night…”

Moon nods as you fall into step beside him. “Glad to help,” he says simply. His flat tone makes the statement sound almost sarcastic, but you guess he’s genuine. His demeanor is just…blunt. Most of the time. You vaguely remember a gentler tone of his from last night, but maybe that requires a level of effort he doesn’t feel is necessary right now.

He stops, and it takes you a moment to even notice the vent entrance in the dark tunnel. It’s perfectly centered between two of the neon loops, preventing their glow from illuminating it.

Moon hands you your backpack then crawls into the vent. Once he crawls far enough ahead to make room for you, you follow him. You put your backpack upright on the floor of the vent in front of you and push it along with one hand. It’s a bit tedious and makes the already uncomfortable crawl through the vent even less comfortable, but you want to make sure the flowers don’t get squished.

“Oh, um, tell Sun thank you for making the flowers, by the way…” you say after a couple moments of quiet.

“You can thank him tomorrow,” Moon says. After a moment, he adds, “He would like to hear it in person.”

You smile weakly. “Fair enough,” you say. You were going to say it to Sun’s face tomorrow as well, but Moon has no way of knowing that. And given that Hannah and Darryl couldn’t even seem to agree on if Sun and Moon were separate AIs, you suspect they’ve both been asked to pass along messages to the other. It probably gets tedious.

Eventually, Moon opens a grate on the floor of the vent and jumps through. You scoot towards the edge and pass down your backpack, which he handles just as carefully as you had. He sets it aside, and holds up his arms for you.

“Jump down,” he says.

You hesitate, but eventually manage to wriggle yourself around enough to be feet first. You slide backwards on your belly ungracefully, your legs dangling from the vent. Moon wraps his arms around your knees, steadying you while you slide yourself out the rest of the way, instinctively grabbing his hat to balance.

You are not even a fraction of the acrobat he is, but fortunately he doesn’t seem to expect you to be.

Still, once he sets you down, you mumble a hasty “Sorry,” as you release his hat.

“No apologies. You are out and unharmed,” he says simply.

You’re also in one of the loading docks near the west employee entrance. You’re not sure, but you guess the entrance is not frequently used. The air smells musty and there are boxes piled along the walls, and from what you know of the layout of the parking lot, this door is farthest away from most of the available parking.

Moon nods to the door behind you, which is marked with an “EMPLOYEES ONLY” sign. He passes your backpack to you, and you hold carefully, keeping your hoodie over it to hide the flowers.

“Thanks,” you say again.

He nods. “We will see you this evening,” he says.

“See you,” you say amicably, giving him a kind smile and lifting a hand in a wave as he leaps back up into the vent.

*

Up in his corner office, Ezra sits at his desk, staring at his computer monitor. His brow is furrowed in thought and his fingers cover his mouth as he glares at the screen. He is ill at ease--a rare feeling for him, which makes it all the more infuriating. He skims the email before him again.

There had been no late night conference call Tuesday night. The board doesn’t know why he had been pinged that they were meeting. It had just looked like an embarrassing gaff on Ezra’s part, at a time when he could not afford any mistakes.

That idiot Karter is hellbent on shutting down all of Fazbear Entertainment. Why? Hadn’t he been paid well enough? Hadn’t the company treated him well? What is driving his obsession to ruin the company?

There’s a knock on the door, causing Ezra to jump, which in turn causes his ire to rise. Luckily for him, he now has a place to direct it. “What?!” he snarls.

A security guard opens the door, standing meekly in the doorframe, despite being taller and broader than Ezra. Physical intimidation just didn’t get one very far in the C-level suites.

“Sir, that--that car you were asking about?”

Ezra perks. “Yes?”

“It left about half an hour ago.”

Ezra sneers. “And you’re telling me now?!”

The guard shifts uncomfortably. “I-I had to finish my rounds and--”

Ezra scoffs, waving a hand. “Forget it. Just send me the footage. All the lot cameras from the hour leading up to that car leaving,” he says.

The guard nods. “Yes sir.”

As he turns to go, Ezra shoots him another glare. “And I mean now. Go directly to your station, send me the footage. Nothing else until then. Got it?”

The guard grimaces, nodding again. “Yes sir.”

Ezra waves him off, and fifteen minutes later, the requested footage is sent to him and he begins going through it.

He watches you getting into your car. It looks like you’re wearing the same clothes you were wearing Tuesday, but since it’s just a plain hoodie and jeans he can’t be entirely sure.

None of the cameras reveal how you got to the parking lot, but Ezra’s sure you came from inside the Pizzaplex. If you’d gotten a ride home on Tuesday, then a ride back today, surely you would have been dropped off near your car? But that doesn’t seem to be the case. You’re also approaching from the wrong angle to have gotten here by bus. Even if the early--but not too early--hour of the day makes either of those a possibility.

Ezra leans back in his chair, running a hand over the stubble on his chin. “Thirty hours in the Pizzaplex. Where were you hiding…?” he wonders aloud.

Chapter Text

Being apart from DJ is both easier and harder now. At least now you know what you’re feeling in your soul; why you so often feel pulled towards him. It doesn’t make it easier to ignore, but it makes it easier to work around. Instead of an entirely unknown need, it is a need that you can promise yourself will be fulfilled soon.

Soonish.

Not as soon as you’d like.

Soulmates usually spend a lot of time together once their souls find each other. Most don’t exactly drop everything and move in together, but taking time off and spending entire days together, going on dates, or (in the modern era) tons of voice and video calls. None of which are really options for you and DJ.

Of course, it isn’t universal--few things are. Some soulmates just don’t need as much time physically together. But you suspect DJ’s desire to spend time with you matches your desire to spend time with him pretty closely…which means DJ has been missing you as much as you’ve been missing him. A slightly flattering but mostly melancholy notion.

Since it’s Thursday, you don’t go in until the afternoon, and you’ve woken up well before that. So you try to take your mind off your pining by taking a quick trip out to the store to pick up a vase big enough to hold the paper bouquet.

…Okay, so your mind is not completely off your pining, but you’re focusing it in a more constructive direction, right?

You manage to find a vase that’s clear with a flared top, and big enough to fit the entire bouquet. It’ll act as more of a stand for the bouquet than a vase. It won’t distract from the flowers themselves, and the tissue paper wrapped around the “stems” will still be visible.

You set it up on your small dining table and snap a picture. You’re sure DJ would enjoy seeing it set up.

Especially since he’ll never visit this place in person.

You huff, pushing that glum thought out of your mind. Although…maybe he would be interested in seeing what your apartment’s like?

You quickly tidy up, kicking a few dirty shirts into the hamper, vaguely wondering if DJ would even have any opinion on some laundry on the floor.

You take a few pictures of your small studio apartment, enough to give DJ a rough idea of what it looks like. Maybe he won’t want to see it…maybe the thought of your living space that he’ll never get to visit will be too painful…

You’ll understand if that’s the case, of course, but if he does want to see what your place is like, at least now you have the pictures on hand, right?

You pack your backpack and head to the bus stop, just as Moon suggested you start doing.

As you enter the Pizzaplex, you glance towards the ceiling and walls, looking for any vents one of the triplets may be using to keep an eye on you. You assume DJ would have one of them waiting near the entrance around your usual Thursday start time, though predictably, you can’t actually see any sign of them. But you trust DJ, and you trust the triplets, so you’re sure at least one of them is “with” you now.

When you arrive in the employee room, Hannah’s already standing at the punch clock, a grim expression on her face. She’s clearly waiting for you.

“What’s up?” you ask hesitantly as you swipe your badge.

“Feeling any better?” she asks, her tone kinder than you’d expected after seeing her expression.

“Oh, uh, yeah…I’m fine. Just a stomach bug,” you say, ignoring the way your stomach twists at the lie.

She nods, then moves on to what you guess is the real reason she’d been waiting for you. “Just wanted to warn you that Ezra’s in some kind of mood again. So stay out of his way.”

You tense at the mention of his name. You’d truly love to do nothing more than stay out of his way. That’s all you’ve ever wanted with Ezra. She may as well have reminded you to keep breathing. Still, you keep that snark to yourself and simply nod.

“Sure. I mean. I usually try to,” you say, mostly managing to keep your voice even. Nevermind Ezra’s the one who’s always sought you out, but you’re not convinced telling Hannah that will lead to anything helpful.

“I think something happened with the board, and they’re putting a lot of pressure on him to figure out how to deal with the whole Karter thing,” Hannah says, even though you didn’t ask.

“I see,” you reply vaguely, not sure what else you could possibly add. Certainly not the truth. What would she even say to that? Or, more importantly, what could she possibly do except make an already complicated situation even more complicated?

“Anyway," she continues on to business, “I need you to take another look at the DJ today.”

You’d been prepared for this. You quirk a brow and do a good job of looking confused. “Oh? Did something happen?”

Hannah nods. “The night before last, his show stuttered a few times in his last set,” she says.

“Ah…Do we know why?” you ask, sounding only mildly concerned.

She shrugs. “No. And it didn’t happen again last night. So maybe it was just…some weird one-off. But we need to take a look. Maybe there’s just a loose wire or something.”

“Okay. I can do that,” you say.

At least it’s an excuse to spend time with DJ. As you head to the maintenance tunnel, you hear a bit of grumbling from some customers about the “last minute” cancellation of DJ’s afternoon shows. Usually, he only skips Monday mornings for his maintenance.

At least Hannah had waited for you to come back instead of having one of the other techs work with him while you were “out sick” yesterday.

You resist the urge to run to DJ…at least until you’re out of sight of any customers. Once you’re in the maintenance hall, you break into a jog towards the end of the hall where DJ’s waiting near his tunnel entrance.

He grins at the sight of you and once again reaches for you, letting you hop into his hand instead of weaving through the last few rows of clutter. He curls his fingers as he lifts you up, hugging you to his cheek.

You laugh as his faceplate nuzzles against you and lightly kiss his cheek. “Missed you too, DJ,” you say, even though it’s only been a few hours.

“Feeling better?” he signs once he pulls away.

“Much,” you say warmly. “You all took good care of me. Everything’s out of my system.” With a playful smirk, you add jokingly, “Though I’m…not quite ready to eat a whole pizza by myself yet, but maybe tomorrow.”

“Moon said you might be delicate today. I didn’t quite know what he meant,” DJ admits with a slightly guilty look.

“Basically that,” you say lightly. “I can’t eat too much and I can’t eat anything overly rich.” At his still worried look, you lean up and pat his chin again. “Don’t worry, DJ, it’s something I can manage on my own. It’s not even uncomfortable, really, I just need to be a little careful.”

DJ still looks a bit hesitant, but he sets you down on the floor beside him so you can begin your work. He’s sure you’re being honest about your health and not just putting on a brave face to ease his worries, but he wishes he could understand better what you’re going through. He has no idea what an upset or delicate stomach even feels like.

Maybe someday he’ll ask Moon to tell him a bit more about human health. Though DJ has had the same thought you did last night--soulmates are almost certainly a sore subject for the Daycare Attendant, and Moon’s already done so much to help both of you. Besides, Moon did also say you could tell DJ what you needed…last night being a presumably rare exception to that rule.

DJ mulls this over while the diagnostic runs.

Meanwhile, you can’t help but feel a bit…strange, standing beside DJ with his side panel open like this--standing beside your soulmate with his side panel open like this. You suppose it’s not much different than doctors or nurses who end up treating their soulmates…it’s just not something you’d ever thought to consider when you went into robotic engineering.

But DJ seems to prefer you as his tech, so you can adjust to the idea of having your soulmate as your “patient”.

The diagnostic finishes, and you lean forward to look it over, jotting down some notes on your own tablet to be logged at the end of your shift while DJ glances over his shoulder at you.

“Well, obviously the diagnostic didn’t return anything about your stuttering the other night,” you say. “But your front gloves do need to be replaced.”

DJ grimaces at that. “Maybe we can do that next week?” he signs.

You quirk a brow in confusion. “Why next week?” When he doesn’t seem to have an answer, you step forward and place a hand on one of his gloves. “...Is something wrong?”

The hand you’ve placed yours over turns, and he holds your hand between his thumb and forefinger. He hesitates, then signs, “Don’t like having my gloves off.”

You frown. “Is it uncomfortable?” you ask gently. You don’t remember seeing anything in his manual that would make you think that would be the case, but you also can’t think of another reason for DJ to be so hesitant.

Once again, he seems to struggle to find a response, and you squeeze his thumb gently. “DJ, it’s alright, whatever it is you can tell me.”

DJ’s shoulders slump in a silent sigh. He supposes he can’t hide it forever.

“I don’t like how my hands look without my gloves,” he signs, glancing away with a shameful look on his face.

“Oh…” you say, your brow creasing in sympathy. You’re not quite sure what to say. It’s not the reasoning you’d expected.

“Scary,” he clarifies after a moment, still not meeting your gaze.

If not for his sad expression breaking your heart, you might have scoffed at the idea of DJ being scary. But as it is, your frown only deepens. “You think your hands look scary?” you ask.

“Other techs call them ‘nightmare claws’,” he says, raising his other main hand and curling his fingers in claw-like shape for emphasis.

This time you do scoff, but in indignation rather than amusement. “Those--Those fucking assholes!” you sputter angrily, hugging his thumb to yourself in an almost protective way.

DJ jumps visibly at your reaction, his eyes wide. He hasn’t heard you swear all that much, and he’d certainly never heard this level of vitriol in your tone…though some of your remarks about the kids who’d vandalized him before you’d started had some close.

He hasn’t even heard you call Ezra an asshole, even if he’s sure you think of the man as one.

“Sorry,” you say to DJ in a gentler tone, gently patting his hand. “But…I mean, I’ve seen the diagrams in your manual. Your hands just look like robot hands. The other techs are just being babies. They’re too spoiled by working with entertainment ‘bots,” you add jokingly, waving a hand. “Believe me DJ, most robots aren’t nearly as cute as you,” you say without giving it much thought.

DJ cants his head, his brows arching in surprise.

Your cheeks warm slightly as you realize what you said. Well, you’re soulmates, after all. No shame in finding each other cute! Though your laugh is still a bit shy as you step around his hand to plant a light kiss on his nose. “I said what I said,” you say fondly.

DJ grins, touching a forefinger to his lips before lightly booping your nose with the same finger, returning the nose kiss.

“You’re cute, too,” he signs with an affectionate smile. “I’ve wanted to tell you for awhile,” he adds.

You let out a slightly awkward giggle at the compliment. It’s a predictable response from any soulmate, and no less so from DJ. But still…“I-I wasn’t sure you even thought of humans that way.”

He grins. “I think of you that way,” he signs.

Again you probably should have seen that coming, and again, somehow you didn’t. You let out another shy, slightly awkward laugh as you lean against one of his hands. After a moment you right yourself, reluctantly reminding yourself that you are technically here to work.

DJ reminds himself of the same fact with an equal amount of reluctance. He gently takes your hand between a thumb and forefinger, giving it a gentle squeeze before you two force yourself to pause the romance and do your actual work.

He holds out his main set of hands so you can begin removing his gloves, trying not to look too upset at the prospect.

You pat his cheek before taking a seat on the floor next to one of his right arm, lightly touching his soulmark before reaching under the wristband of his glove to unhook the wiring that connects it to his hand. His gloves are still a part of him--not just a mere accessory. They’re equivalent to a softer version of the casings the Daycare Attendant and the Glamrocks have over their hands. Though being fabric, they wear out faster and thus are made to be easily swappable. They’re equipped with sensory nodes and are actually more sensitive than the metal hands beneath them--a feature necessary to prevent him from accidentally rough handling his decks.

The ability to hold you so very gently is just a happy side effect of that.

You unhook the last of the wires, and DJ helps you pull the glove off. The padding makes it a bit heavy to move on your own, and regardless of his misgivings about being without his gloves, DJ is well used to helping the techs remove them.

Still, he’s watching your reaction carefully, despite your assurances that you’d already seen his hands in his manual and were unphased by them.

But, true to your word, you barely react to the sight of them. You circle around his hand and reach for one of his fingertips.

“There, you see? Nothing scary, nothing weird. Just robot hands,” you say, wrapping your hand around the thin, metallic fingertip. Well, relatively thin, compared to his padded gloves…it’s still about as big around as your own arm. “Believe me, plenty of robots just look like this,” you remind him again.

“Not scary?” he signs.

“Ah DJ, nothing about you could ever be scary,” you say fondly, placing a light kiss on the metal to prove your point.

DJ barely feels it, but the gesture still causes a fan to kick on in his chassis. His best case scenario for you seeing his bare hands, in his mind, was for you to simply tolerate how they looked, or at least be kind enough to give the outward appearance of doing so.

For your part, you are indeed unphased by them. You think calling them “nightmare claws” is certainly a far stretch, and you don’t think you’re being completely biased in that. They’re not at all nightmare-ish--in fact they’re barely even claws! They’re more claw-like than his gloves, you suppose, but the fingertips are only about as sharp as a baseball.

You fall silent as you quickly check over the joints and wiring on his hands, touching up the connectors and oiling the joints as needed. You guess that, despite your assurances, he would prefer to get his gloves back on as quickly as possible, and you’re happy to do what you can to honor that wish.

DJ had said none of the other techs were unkind to him, just that they were less kind than you and Karter. But it seems DJ’s definition of “not unkind” is far more forgiving than yours, if he can write off actual bullying.

Well, okay, if you step outside your own biases for a moment, you can admit (reluctantly) that it’s probably more thoughtlessness than bullying. The notion of DJ having any sort of opinion about their words, much less being hurt by them, probably hadn’t even occured to them.

But that logic doesn’t make you feel much better.

You finish your work on his hand, and DJ reaches behind himself with his backmost hand, grabbing a replacement glove off the palette in the back corner and passing it to his middle hand before setting it next to you.

You thank him, holding the opening of the glove open while he slips his hand into it. You then reattach the necessary wires before moving onto the other hand to repeat the process. You work quickly and, unfortunately, quietly. You can’t watch for DJ’s signing without interrupting your work, so your ability to converse is limited.

The old gloves are put on the same pallet the replacement gloves had been on. Sometime later in the week you’ll be assigned to come back here and fix up the worn gloves, though DJ won’t need to be present for that. Unfortunately for you.

Finally, you hook in the last wire of the second glove before standing up and facing DJ. “Alright, all set. And that was the only thing the diagnostics found, so--”

You’ve barely registered DJ’s smirk before you feel the side of his hand bump the backs of your knees as he scoops you up. You squeak in surprise as you fall backwards into his hand, but let out a laugh as he lifts you up, grinning in amusement.

“Still comfy?” he signs.

“Obviously,” you say, leaning against his thumb.

He lightly presses the pad of his thumb against your cheek, caressing it slightly.

There was another thought that occurred to him as you were working on his hands. His smile fades slightly and he signs, “There is something else I wanted to ask.”

“Sure, what is it?” you say easily.

DJ hesitates a moment, then signs, “What are you going to tell your family? Your sisters?”

You wince slightly at the question. “...Ah,” you say. You force a weak smile. “Other than that I technically did find my soulmate before Penny?” you say jokingly. While it’s a true statement, it’s certainly not going to be your main concern when you finally tell your family you have a soulmate.

DJ’s shoulders shake in a silent chuckle, and he nods. “Yes. Other than that.”

“Well…the truth, eventually,” you say. “It’s less a question of ‘what’ so much as a question of ‘when’.” You take in a slow breath and let it out in a huffing sigh. “Aaaand that…I guess will be when it’s safe. Until then, I’ll just keep going like I’ve got no soulmark or soulmate.”

“Sorry,” he signs, frowning at that. “I know the comments bothered you. Sometimes.”

You smile kindly up at him. “I don’t care about the comments as long as I have you,” you assure him, hugging his thumb. “It was never about proving anything to my family or--” You cut yourself off, remembering what you told him about the drama between you and Tiffany years ago. “Well. It…It hasn’t been about proving anything to my family or anyone else for a few years now,” you correct. “Yeah, the comments about it can get annoying but…I did realize that’s not a good reason to want a soulmate. I want someone to stand beside me in my life, and someone I can stand beside in return. Not someone I can parade around as…I dunno, a symbol of my own worthiness or something,” you say, resting your cheek against his thumb as you look up at him.

He moves his thumb slightly, caressing your cheek and gazing down at you thoughtfully. It’s not that he doesn’t believe you…but he still finds himself wondering what you’ve given up to be with him. What you may yet have to give up.

Sensing his apprehension, you decide to try and lighten the mood…and luckily you have just the thing to do so.

“I set up the flowers, by the way. Wanna see?” You pull out your phone, pulling up the picture of the bouquet and turning it for DJ to see. His eyesight is much better than any human’s, so he’s able to see the picture quite clearly despite the screen being not much bigger than a grain of rice relative to him.

The change in subject works and DJ grins widely. “Looks nice!” he signs enthusiastically.

“I uh…I took some other pictures of just…my apartment,” you say, smiling a bit shyly. “I-In…in case you were curious about what it’s like,” you say.

DJ nods eagerly. He knows his ability to participate in your life outside the ‘Plex will probably always be…limited…to say the least, but he’s happy to see what he can, even if it’s only pictures.

You turn the phone towards him, flipping through the few pictures. There’s only so many angles to photograph an apartment so small, so the slideshow doesn’t take long.

“One room?” he asks, then adds, “Studio?”

You nod. You hadn’t even been sure he’d know what a studio apartment is. “Yeah. I got something small and cheap to start out. I’d originally planned to find something bigger once I knew the area a bit better.”

DJ cants his head, noting the past tense. It doesn’t take a genius to realize whatever you’d planned for your future living arrangements would probably need to be re-thought now. “And now? What’s the new plan?”

You laugh wryly. “I’m flattered that you think I’d have a new plan already.”

Unfortunately the joke doesn’t quite land. Or rather, it lands too close to home. DJ grimaces, signing an apology.

“DJ, it’s alright!” you say quickly, gesturing for him to bring you close enough to his face for you to lay a hand on his cheek. “We’ll figure it out. I mean, it’s only been a couple days, and I was asleep for one of them,” you remind him.

“But there aren’t apartments big enough for me. Or houses,” he signs. He knows houses are a bigger deal than apartments, and generally more expensive. He’s not sure by how much, or how close you would be to making the switch from an apartment to a house. From what he’s seen in movies and overheard from patrons and techs, he’s inferred it’s not a switch you can just make at the drop of a hat.

You wince. “Not…apartments, no…but maybe some houses,” you say, trying to stay positive.

“Expensive,” he signs with a grim expression.

Another wince. “...Yeah,” you admit.

“Maybe I could be moved into a smaller body. Closer to human-size,” he signs.

You gape at him. “DJ, that’d be very dangerous!” you say, aghast that he’d suggest it. “All your locomotion programming would have to be retooled, your balance, your weight sensors…” You can’t bear to say it, but the result would be a form of reprogramming. Not as extreme as what Sun and Moon went through, of course. Not even close. And probably not as damaging…probably. In theory, it could all be done without altering his personality or erasing his memories. But any reprogramming has a chance of going wrong. AIs can be moved between bodies, but only if the bodies are identical or very close to it.

It’s not even close to being worth the risk, and you’re horrified that he thinks it might be.

“And, I mean…would you even…like being that small?” you ask. After his comment describing the idea of someone his own size hugging him as “intimidating”, you have your doubts. While he’d made the remark lightly, even jokingly, you suspect there’s at least a grain of truth to it.

“I would like to be able to go where you can go,” he signs.

“Then we’ll find a place we can go together,” you say firmly, hugging his thumb and resting your cheek against it. “With high ceilings and wide halls and tall doorways,” you continue, a sad smile on your face. You can picture such a home in your head…but you have no idea how you would ever be able to afford it.

And DJ can tell you have your doubts about the two of you moving into this dream home you’ve concocted on the spot. He doesn’t start poking holes in your idea…but his expression makes it clear that he’s not convinced.

You frown up at him, then squeeze his thumb a bit tighter. “DJ…you’re perfect. It’s the world that needs to change,” you say softly.

Was that too corny? Maybe. But you stand by it.

When you lift your gaze to DJ, he’s staring at you, his brows raised and his teeth slightly parted in a stunned expression.

Suddenly he pulls you close, hugging you to his cheek. He’s still gentle as always, but there’s an urgency to the embrace that he usually doesn’t have. You let your forehead rest against his faceplate, lightly patting his cheek with one hand.

You feel a slight tremor, and realize his hands are shaking. “DJ?” you ask gently, trying to keep your tone even despite your worry.

He pulls back slightly, only to turn his head enough to rest his forehead against yours, nuzzling you again before pulling away, looking down at you with more warmth than you’d’ve ever imagined those big dark eyes could hold when you first met him.

He looks like he’d be tearing up if he could.

“DJ?” you ask again, gently holding one of his fingers.

He lifts his middle set of hands, taking a moment to consider his words before signing, “Never expected to be perfect. Before I met you I was sure my soulmate would be disappointed.”

“Oh DJ, of course not!” you say, hugging his thumb. He wraps his fingers around your back, gently holding you in a hug. “You’re perfect and I love you,” you say softly.

“You’re perfect too. I love you,” he signs, then lowers one of his hands to run finger over your hair.

You lean into his hand, relaxing and closing your eyes. You’re not sure if you stay there for five minutes or ten, but after a time you abruptly remember yourself. You straighten up with a sharp sigh.

The sudden movement causes DJ to move his hands away slightly, looking at you with his brows turned up in confusion.

“I…have to move on to my next task” you say reluctantly.

He winces, but gives you a sympathetic smile. “Sorry,” he signs.

You laugh gently, giving his thumb one last squeeze before slipping out of his grasp to gather up your toolbox and backpack. “Don’t apologize. It’s the job that’s the problem, not you,” you say easily, to which he gives an apologetic shrug.

You gesture for him to lower his head, and you lean forward and give him a peck on the lower lip. “Have fun on the rest of your sets tonight, sweetie,” you say.

He blinks at the pet name, the blue circles on his cheeks lighting up. Sweetie? He likes it! He’ll have to ask you to teach him how to sign that in ASL sometime. But for now, you’re already weaving through the maintenance hall to get to your next assignment in the daycare.

DJ admits to himself that he needs to get to his own job, too. You’ve both cut it pretty close with the timing. Not enough to get either of you in trouble, of course, but your reputation for being a particularly fast tech might start to slip if you two aren’t careful.

He watches you until you round the corner at the end of the maintenance hall, then lifts himself up into his tunnel and makes his way back to the stage. He pings his brothers, reminding them that whoever’s nearest should keep an eye on you.

Tenor already has it covered. His tasks had taken him near the maintenance hall while you were working on DJ, so he had stayed nearby so he could rendez-vous with you once you left.

DJ smiles to himself. He had been sure his brothers had the matter well in hand, but he had to check regardless.

When you arrive at the daycare, you take the slide down to the play area, guessing that Sun will want you to continue using the “VIP entrance”.

As you pull yourself to your feet after your “splashdown”, you turn and glance back at the slide, expecting to see Sun perched atop it again. But he’s not there.

You turn towards the main play area and freeze mid-step.

Ezra is standing near the security desk, with Sun behind him. Despite the dark circles under Ezra’s eyes, he’s regarding you with an amused smirk, while Sun gives you an apologetic look. The attendant looks utterly miserable--his rays are almost entirely tucked into his faceplate and he’s wringing hands nervously, his shoulders slumped.

Tenor freezes in the vent when he arrives just after you. He sends the update to DJ along with a firm reminder to not interrupt his show. DJ manages to heed the advice, much as he wants to leave his stage and tear through the ‘Plex to get you away from Ezra.

“Still taking the slide at thirty, hm?” Ezra asks, walking towards you. “Is that part of your strategy with this one?” he adds, jerking his head back towards Sun, who flinches, giving you another apologetic look.

You feel dizzy and have to fight with yourself not to take a step back as he approaches, even though he’s not gotten particularly close to you. He’s not even at the edge of the ball pit, and you doubt he’s going to wade in after you.

You steel yourself, gripping your toolbox in one hand and your bag in the other, holding them tightly to hide the way your hands are shaking.

You hesitate a bit too long as you debate what to say. “It doesn’t hurt anything, and it makes him easier to work with. So why not?” you say, your voice wavering too much to sound completely casual.

You desperately hope you’re not throwing Sun under the bus with that response. Sun already looks so nervous and upset it’s hard to even gauge his reaction to your statement.

Ezra regards you for a moment. You do your best to meet his gaze, but after a moment you’re forced to glance away, and he allows himself a satisfied smirk. He begins to approach you and starts to hold out a hand, but you quickly climb out of the ballpit before he gets to you.

Your attempt at rejecting his help without looking like you’re rejecting it is less than subtle, but fortunately he doesn’t seem phased. “Heard you were out sick yesterday,” he says as you walk past him to get to Sun.

You stop, but don’t dare turn to face him. You feel your face heating up with indignation and you don’t trust yourself to control your reaction.

Ezra continues, “Looks like there was a bad batch of ice cream left in the kitchen,” he says.

“I see,” you say, still not looking at him. You’re also avoiding Sun’s gaze, for fear of his distressed look upsetting you further.

“I wasn’t feeling too hot myself yesterday…” Ezra begins, walking up beside you. You finally glance sideways at him, and he grins. “But some of us are busy trying to keep this company afloat.”

You can’t stop the look of unmitigated contempt you give him. After what he did, he’s trying to guilt you for taking off work?!

Meanwhile, Tenor lets out an angry chirp at that, echoed by Treble and Alto. You’re all lucky that Tenor’s vent is too far for Ezra to hear it, and that Treble and Alto aren’t passing over populated areas of the ‘Plex at the moment.

DJ’s teeth snap shut with a sound not quite loud enough to be heard over the music. He turns one of the tables a bit too roughly, causing the audio to glitch slightly. He flinches inwardly. It won’t help you for him to break his own decks in frustration. The best way to help you is to pretend everything’s normal.

But why does helping you have to mean doing nothing?

“M-M-Mr. Clark!” Sun cuts in with what you guess was meant to be a bright, chipper tone. Instead it sounds forced and stilted, almost strangled. “Why don’t you tell our Little Star why you’re here?” he says, tilting his head and clasping his hands, his smile a bit too wide even for him. He tries to force his rays out to appear calm, but is only halfway successful.

Ezra glances back at Sun, regarding him with a scrutiny that seems entirely unwarranted. Sun’s rays shrink back into his faceplate and Ezra smirks. “Very well,” he says easily. He turns back to you. “Your maintenance times with the Daycare Attendant were so low, and Hannah was so impressed, I thought I’d sit in on one of your sessions.”

“O-Oh,” you say. You glance at Sun, and he gives yet another guilty look and a small, helpless shrug. “W-Well, okay, let’s…um…let’s get started then,” you say.

The only way out is through. So you’ll get through it as fast as you can.

Sun seems to have the same thought, and quickly takes a seat on the mat nearby. You sit down in front of him and, once his eyes are closed, press the buttons on his chest to open his chest hatch.

Tenor updates DJ, and the four Music Men have much the same thought as you: get it over with. Though DJ is skeptical it could really be that simple, even as he desperately hopes it is.

Ezra stands behind you, pacing in a circle around the two of you as you hook up your tablet.

“Why does it close its eyes like that?” Ezra asks.

You bite back the urge to ask why it matters. “He just does that,” you say.

“And you let him?”

You silently take in a breath, trying to steady yourself despite the tablet clearly shaking in your hands. “Why not? He’s not the one who has to read the diagnostic.”

“True,” Ezra says readily enough, shrugging as if he’s truly unphased at your answer. He continues to orbit you like a shark circling a fishing vessel.

What is his goal here? What does he want you to admit? That you care about the robots and want them treated with dignity? If Hannah could infer that, then surely he has too? Does he just need you to say it aloud so he has reason to retaliate? Or is he just stepping on your neck for no other reason than to keep you in your place?

The Music Men are wondering the same thing. DJ has managed to keep his show going, due in no small part to each of his three brothers periodically reminding him to do so. None of them are over the stage right now, so they won’t know if he’s stopped. But DJ will accept the borderline spam reminders if it means doing his part (small as it is) to make your life easier.

Still, Alto is heading to the vent above the dance hall to monitor DJ…and after DJ’s stutters the other night, DJ can’t exactly begrudge him that.

Sun’s diagnostic finishes and you make a note of the needed repairs in your log. Both his ankle joints need replacing, as does one of his knees. The casing on his legs is losing integrity, but bigger parts like that aren’t kept on hand, so you’ll need to put in a request when you get back to P & S.

For now, you start on his legs, scooting back and lightly tugging his pant leg. “Can you uncross your legs, Sun?” you ask.

“You’re not going to read off the diagnostic?” Ezra asks from behind you.

“It works better if I don’t,” you say simply, not turning to look at him as you push Sun’s pant leg up over his knee so you can begin removing the casing. “But if you’re curious, you can check the report.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Ezra says, leaning down to pick up your tablet…and getting closer to you than necessary in the process.

You can’t help it. You shudder and flinch away from him, almost falling onto your side on the mat.

Sun’s eyes snap open as he looks at you in worry, only for them to immediately snap shut again when he sees his leg casing half off.

Ezra laughs. “I was reaching for this. Not you,” he sneers, holding up the tablet.

You right yourself, taking a steadying breath. You don’t bother replying. Ezra surely knows why you reacted the way you did. How could he not? So what’s the point in trying to pretend there’s any other reason?

You remove the rest of the casing from Sun’s lower leg, and behind you, Ezra begins reading from the tablet.

“Let’s see…both ankles need replacing,” he says, watching as Sun flinches visibly. “One of its knees, and--”

“Can you stop?!” you snap, more rudely than you’d intended to…but far less rudely than you’d wanted to. You stand up, turning to face him.

“What, worried I’m hurting its feelings?” he asks with a sneer.

Your shoulders tense and you take a half second to steady yourself before saying, “No. You’re making my job difficult. For no reason. He cooperates better if he doesn’t have to hear about it. What is so terrible about just going along with that?!”

You don’t mean to shout at him, but you can’t help increasing your volume with every word. You’ve said the right words, but the anger in your tone betrays your true feelings on the matter.

DJ has managed to keep the set going, though just barely. He’s resorted to looping the same two minute track over and over while he focuses on the updates from Tenor. He knows your anger is hiding a deep fear and despair…and he wishes he could comfort you now. He hopes you find a way to visit him after close tonight. All he wants is to hold you until you feel better.

Ezra actually looks shocked at your backtalk for a moment before glaring at you. “They work for us, not the other way around! We don’t need to ‘humor’ them or ‘coddle’ them or ‘ask them nicely’.” His tone drips with contempt as he draws air quotes around each phrase. He pokes your shoulder roughly with one finger. “We need to keep them in their--”

In a motion too fast for you to even register, Sun is immediately up and standing between you and Ezra, holding Ezra’s wrist and grinning brightly at him, though his rays are still mostly tucked away. “Now now now, Mr. Clark!” he chirps anxiously. “We keep our hands to ourselves at the daycare, remember?”

DJ’s eyes widen even as his body autopilots through his set. Much as he appreciates what Sun was trying to do, he’s terrified that such an uncharacteristically brash move is going to get both you and Sun in even worse trouble…and Moon too, by extension.

Ezra glares at him darkly. “Let. Go,” he says icily.

Sun’s rays disappear into his faceplate as he quickly releases Ezra, stepping back. Now it’s you who steps in front of Sun.

“Stop tormenting him, Ezra. Please!” you say, not thinking through your words as thoroughly as you should have.

Ezra quirks a brow. “Tormenting? It’s a machine.”

Your eyes widen at your misspeak. “I-It was just a figure of speech…” you say lamely.

“No it wasn’t,” he says bluntly. “Admit it. You’re on Karter’s side. You think these things have souls.”

You need to deny it. You need to deny it right now. But your mouth has gone dry and your tongue feels like it’s made of lead.

Tenor wrings his hands at your silence. It hadn’t been easy to hear you talk about robots as mere machines the other night, but they’d all take that over you admitting the truth to Ezra.

He steps towards you and you step back, bumping into Sun, who puts his hands on your shoulders to steady you. Or steady himself? It’s hard to be sure. Maybe it’s a bit of both.

“I-I’ve never even met Karter…” you protest in a wavering voice. As if that detail is what’ll turn this around.

“Sure,” Ezra says, clearly unconvinced.

You take a breath, once again attempting to steady yourself. “I know they’re just machines, Ezra. I’m just trying to work around their quirks as best I can.”

“Quirks?” he repeats. “You mean bugs. Glitches.”

You tense. It’s so much harder to fake an aloofness towards the robots now. Not just because of your love for DJ, but also because your friendship with DJ’s brothers and Sun and even Moon are far more of actual friendships than you’ve had with any other robots.

Not that outright lying had ever come particularly easily to you. You got by on evasive answers, half truths, and clever phrases more than actual lies. But Ezra is so much better at those than you are, and you wonder just how long he’s been seeing through your act.

“Wh-Whatever you want to call them,” you say at last. “They don’t seem to be impacting customers and they’re easy enough for us to work around.”

“Not impacting customers?” he repeats skeptically.

You blink. “N-Not that…I’ve been made aware of?” you say, for once being completely truthful. You were under the impression Sun and Moon did fine work in the daycare, and that Moon was a valuable asset to the security team. It was only repairs and maintenance that seemed to cause trouble.

“A leaky pipe behind a wall isn’t ‘customer facing’ either,” Ezra says. “Until the sheetrock gets moldy and crumbles, and the water leaks out onto the rug. Or onto a power outlet.”

“I-I suppose…B-But…these issues are known. They’re monitored,” you say. “Not…not just festering behind a wall.”

“Maybe so. But they can’t be ignored or ‘worked around’ forever.” His gaze drifts up to Sun, locking gazes with the anxious robot. “At some point another reprogramming becomes necessary.”

Behind you, Sun lets out a terrified whimper, making it all the harder for you not to act neutral about the idea of reprogramming.

So you don’t.

“You can’t do that!” you snap, spreading your arms as if to block Sun from Ezra, as if Ezra were going to reach forward and reprogram Sun with a snap of his fingers.

DJ’s music stutters, but only for half a second. Dread fills his circuits as he sees you fully lose your temper. He understands, of course--he had barely been keeping his own temper in check before his panic for you dampened it.

Far from being annoyed at your outburst, Ezra chuckles, quirking a brow. “Oh? And why not exactly? Do tell.”

He’s set you up. He’s set you up to admit something you shouldn’t. You need to back down. “I-It’s…risky…” you stammer vaguely. “I-It…it can damage them, s-surely…whatever quirks they have now can just…be worked around? I-If…the reprogramming fails and they’re…unusable…surely that’ll cost the company more money than just a couple extra hours of repairs a week?”

“Hmm…concerned about the bottom line, are we?” he asks sarcastically.

You swallow, unable to meet his gaze. “I-I work here. Of course I am,” you say, your voice hollow and distant even to your own ears.

Tenor’s ears droop. You’re not at all convincing. There’s no way Ezra’s fooled, and you and all the Music Men know it.

“So. If I did order another reprogramming…you wouldn’t try to stop me?” he sneers. He’s not that much taller than you, and certainly not taller than Sun, but the way he stares at you so coldly, so full of confident contempt, makes you both feel like ants looking up at a giant.

“I-I don’t see how I could…” you mumble, falling back on your usual tactic of vague, noncommittal answers. You wish you were better at lying. You’d have no qualms about lying to Ezra’s face about anything at this point. But you just don’t speak lies as convincingly as you speak half-truths, and a poorly told lie is far more damning than half-truths and nervous pontificating.

He leans forward and once again you and Sun try to move back, but you hear the dull thud of Sun bumping into the front of the security desk.

“Answer the question. Yes or no,” Ezra says in a low voice.

Your stomach twists at what you’re about to say. What you need to say. You hate that Sun’s listening and you desperately hope that DJ somehow ended up not sending one of his brothers to watch over you for Sun’s repairs. You don’t want DJ and the triplets to hear you say it, even if they know you’re lying.

But they’re ready. It hurts, but the thought of you being in trouble--with Ezra of all people--hurts so much more. They can handle the lie. You need to say it.

You lower your gaze, staring at the ground. “N-No. I wouldn’t,” you mumble. Your stomach feels like a lead brick and your voice barely sounds like your own. You know you didn’t lie convincingly. You know you didn’t fool him. So why did you bother trying?

“Not even if it’s your soulmate?” he presses, and you don’t even notice his gaze has drifted up to Sun. Nor do you consider the significance of his pointed look at the Daycare Attendant.

DJ’s circuits go numb. Had Ezra figured it out after all? When? How?

You face falls, your gaze snapping back up to Ezra fearfully. “DJ?” you whisper in horror. The look of surprise on Ezra’s face makes your stomach sink all the way down to your feet.

You said the wrong thing.

You said the wrongest thing.

You said the wrongest, worst thing you have ever said in your entire life. You could have said literally anything else and it would have been better than that. Even staying silent would have been better.

He was bluffing and you walked right into it.

He arches a brow. “The DJ? You’re trying to claim that one as your soulmate?” He bursts out laughing, and you feel Sun’s grip on your shoulders tighten, but don’t dare turn back to try and see his expression. Ezra shakes his head. “Oh young Icarus, you’ve flown far too close to the sun. Nobody’s ever going to believe that thing would have a soulmate. You’d’ve been better off trying to claim the Daycare Attendant. At least it’s roughly human shaped. And can, y’know, actually talk,” he says with a roll of his eyes.

He’d thought you and Sun and Moon were…? You don’t know if letting him think that would have been better or worse. It would have been better for DJ, certainly, but…are you really willing to sacrifice Sun and Moon to keep DJ safe? An impossible question, but now one you’ll never have to answer…for better or worse.

The threat of his own reprogramming is far from DJ’s mind. All he can think is what’s going to happen to you now. Ezra’s already accusing you of trying to steal from Fazbear Entertainment. Is he going to go public with this? Will anyone step up to take your side?

“DJ knows ASL. He can communicate,” you say, glaring at Ezra. You’re not sure pointing this out will make things better or worse.

Ezra scoffs. “No it doesn’t.”

“He does! I taught him!” you insist.

“So you’ve been training it for this? To get it to tell people it’s your soulmate? And then you get awarded the world’s largest animatronic? And then what? Open your own dance hall? You can’t possibly afford his upkeep,” he says, folding his arms. He cants his head, surveying you. “Or maybe it doesn’t actually matter what happens to the DJ after you take it…as long as Fazbear Entertainment is left without one of our star attractions?”

You and Sun are still pressed against the security desk, and you can feel Sun’s hands on your shoulders shaking.

“Of course it matters!” you protest, your eyes glistening with tears of outrage. You take in another shaky breath. You can’t just shout at him. You have to appeal to reason. Perhaps even empathy. Surely even Ezra has some of that?

“Ezra, please…listen to me,” you say. “I don’t want to ruin Fazbear Entertainment. I just want DJ to be safe.”

“And you think you can do that better than us?”

You clench your fists, your shoulders tensing as you resist the urge to throw up your hands and shout in frustration. Keeping your voice even, you speak again. “No. Honestly, no. Not really. But, I mean, he doesn’t hate it here…if…if he just had a bit more freedom…”

“Freedom!” Ezra scoffs incredulously. “Listen to yourself.”

“I am! And I need you to listen!” you say, stepping forward. “Ezra, none of us chose this. Me, DJ, Sun, Moon…We didn’t choose this, but…we don’t want it undone, either,” you say. “I promise, it’s not some conspiracy to take Fazbear out of business or make your life difficult…We just don’t want you ruining our lives…”

Ezra stares at you, his arms crossed and expression unreadable. After a moment, he lifts a hand and places it over his chin as he considers. “Your only request then…is that the DJ remains safe?”

“I want all of them to remain safe. No reprogramming. No tormenting them,” you say imploringly.

He nods in thought. “Alright. I can work with that,” he says. “But I need you to do something for me.”

You’re too distracted by the newfound hope flaring up in your chest that you don’t notice Sun’s grip on your shoulders tightening.

“Of course,” you say, nodding.

“Leave quietly,” he says icily, his cold smirk returning.

Time stops. “Leave?” you repeat in a thin voice, not sure you’ve heard right.

“Leave,” he repeats. “You’re fired. For tampering with the animatronics. And blacklisted from the ‘Plex as well as all current and future Fazbear Entertainment venues.”

The walls begin to close in. You can’t speak. You can’t breathe. You’re vaguely aware of Sun’s grip on your shoulders tightening so that you don’t collapse entirely.

You lift your stunned gaze to him, your face ashen. “Ezra please don’t do this,” you say thickly.

“There’s a security bot waiting outside. It’ll take you to the door. If you don’t make a scene, I won’t have your--” He pauses, smirking coldly before making air quotes, “‘friends’ reprogrammed.”

“M-M-M-Mr. Clark…” Sun speaks up in a trembling voice.

“SHUT! UP!” Ezra snaps abruptly. In a cold, quiet voice, he adds, “If you keep acting up, the promises I make to your ‘favorite tech’ won’t matter much longer.”

You feel sick. Sicker than you did when you were drugged. You can barely stand. You’d be on the floor right now if Sun weren’t holding your shoulders and letting you lean on him.

What can you do? How can you possibly fight this?

You can’t.

You steady yourself, straightening and patting Sun’s hand. “I-It’s okay, Sun. I’ll go,” you say distantly.

Are you taking the safest path? Minimizing the damage? Or just taking the coward’s way out? Fleeing with your tail between your legs? Abandoning your love? Your friends?

What other choice do you have…?

Ezra grins, giving a satisfied nod as he pulls out his own tablet to update your employee profile.

DJ sees the update as it happens.

EMPLOYEE STATUS: TERMINATED. BLACKLISTED.

And that’s it. It’s over. Barely two days and it’s over.

His music stops, and Alto pings him urgently to start back up, urging Tenor and Treble to do the same.

DJ mutes them immediately. What’s the point? You’re not his tech. Doing his shows, not doing his shows…what difference would it make now?

He ignores the confused murmurings of the crowd as he closes the curtains, laying down on his stage and retreating into his own head.

Tenor desperately wants to follow you, but all three of the Lil’ MM’s are panicked at DJ’s lack of response. After a moment of hesitation, Tenor runs through the vents towards the stage while Treble and Alto do the same.

Once in the dance hall, they skitter along the wall, high above the confused crowd, and slip behind the curtain. They chirp and buzz at DJ, nudging his hands and arms to try to get him to just acknowledge them.

But if he even hears them, he gives no indication.

It’s worse than when Karter quit. At least then they knew DJ heard them, but was just too sulky to show much reaction. Now…they can tell he’s not technically powered off, but he may as well be.

Try as they might, they can’t reach him.

*

Ezra makes his way down to P & S, seeking out Hannah. He finds her in one of the glass cells, doing routine maintenance on a S.T.A.F.F. bot. He taps the glass, causing her to jump and glare at him balefully.

Wordlessly, he waves a hand, gesturing for her to come out.

“Gimme a minute,” she says, turning back to what she was doing.

“NOW, Hannah,” he grates loudly, causing the other techs in the room to look up in concern.

With a huff, she sets down the soldering iron and removes her gloves, muttering something to herself that Ezra can’t hear through the glass. Once she exits, he nods for her to follow him to the corridor outside.

“I need you to send another tech up to the daycare to finish the attendant’s maintenance.”

“What? Why? We’re all getting ready to clock out…Did the newbie go home sick or something?” she asks, a touch of concern in her voice.

Ezra shakes his head. “No. I fired them.”

“WHAT?!” Hannah yelps. “You fired our best tech?! Why?!” she demands, spreading her hands incredulously.

“‘Best tech’?” he repeats incredulously. “Grow up! It’s barely been two weeks! They never even worked with the Glamrocks!”

“Yeah, well, they finish every assignment early and they’re the only one who can get the Daycare Attendant to cooperate,” she scoffs. “But hey, I guess now that they’re gone Darryl can go back to collecting those five hours of overtime pay a week. I’m sure the board will be excited to hear about that.”

Ezra tenses and whirls so suddenly that Hannah jumps back, as if she actually feared he may strike her. Instead, he simply points a finger in her face and hisses, “Shut. Up.”

Despite being startled, her deadpan glare returns readily. To Ezra’s surprise, she reaches down and unclips her badge from her belt, rudely tossing it at him. It hits him in the chest and falls to the floor before he can catch it.

“I’m done. I quit,” she says. “If Karter doesn’t end us, you chasing off all our best techs will. Casey, Alex, Jonesie, Karter…and now you sack the newest one in less than a month?”

“You can’t quit!” Ezra snaps incredulously, crouching to pick up Hannah’s badge.

“Yeah I can,” she says bluntly. She smirks tiredly. “And who knows, maybe soon the robots will be able to as well.” Without waiting for a response, she turns and stalks away, leaving Ezra in the corridor alone with her badge.

Chapter Text

You keep your promise to Ezra. You follow the security bot to the exit and leave quietly. Well…as quietly as you can, anyway. You can’t stop the tears, but you can quiet the sobs to whimpers. For the most part. But you don’t resist, and you don’t try to go to the dance hall, which you’re sure is all Ezra had really cared about when he commanded you to leave quietly.

Not your dignity.

You just have to hope he keeps his promise to you. What else can you do?

You can barely think. You collapse onto the bus stop bench. Your one mercy for the day is that the bus stop is currently empty, and nobody’s around to witness your escaping sobs.

Your head hurts. Your heart hurts. Your soul hurts.

You can see the high roof of the West Arcade from here. DJ’s just a stone’s throw away, even now. And yet you can’t reach him.

Does he know what happened yet? He must. One of the triplets had to have witnessed that whole thing…Ugh, why did you agree to have them keep an eye on you? You could have at least spared them having to hear those horrible things you had to say.

The bus arrives and you do your best to wipe away the tears before the driver or anyone else can notice. You’re still in your uniform--the security bot informed you that the contents of your locker would be mailed to you, and you would mail the uniform back to the ‘Plex in kind.

Simple. Efficient.

Brutal.

Crying, leaving work in your tech jumpsuit? If the bus driver makes any connection, she’s kind enough to comment on it. You swipe your bus pass and take a seat near the back, huddling next to the window and trying your best to be invisible.

You’re glad most of the customers had already left the ‘Plex, making this bus fairly empty. The bus pulls away from the stop and you can feel your soul reaching out for DJ miserably.

By the time it reaches your stop, you’ve finally run out of tears. You leave through the middle exit, allowing yourself to avoid walking past the driver again. Not that she’s paying you much mind anymore. Not that anyone is.

Your head is pounding by the time you reach your apartment. You drag yourself up the stairs, fumbling with the keys. Once inside your apartment, you shuffle to your bed and collapse face down.

You don’t want to sleep, but you don’t want to be awake either. You don’t realize it, but you’re in a very similar headspace as DJ…but humans can’t just put themselves in stasis and shut out the world as readily as animatronics can.

Eventually, it’s morning. You think you must have slept at some point, but you’re not sure when or for how long. You’re vaguely aware that you’re hungry, but nothing sounds appealing. So you just ignore it.

But you can’t sulk forever, tempting as it is. It’s mid-morning by the time you pull yourself out of bed and plop down into your desk chair, opening your laptop. You hesitate for a moment, then search for any news about Fazbear Entertainment.

The results are mostly dominated by the ongoing soulmate debate. Nothing about DJ or Sun or Moon, nor of any other recent reprogrammings. You have to hope no news is good news.

Maybe Karter can help? Or you can help him? You click on some of the articles, reading them over. Apparently Karter is representing (or is part of?) a group called Coalition for AI Rights...though it’s unclear if there’s anyone else in the group besides him.

Well, maybe you can be second in command…since you suddenly find yourself with a lot of freetime.

Freetime you wish you could spend with your soulmate.

The thought sends a pain through your heart and soul, and you rest your head in your hands.

Will you ever see him again?

The icy claw around your heart tightens and tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You suck in a shuddering breath.

You have to believe that you will. You’re not always the most optimistic person, but right now you need to be. You need to believe you and DJ can have a future together someday.

How will you get in touch with Karter? You find the website for the Coalition for AI Rights, but there’s no phone number. Only an email.

Well…it’s something.

But what to write? You’re not sure the truth would be wise. You suspect Karter himself could be trusted with the truth. He knows about DJ’s soulmark, and as far as you can tell he has kept that secret. It’s also clear that he doesn’t believe it’s just some mere glitch. So following that, surely meeting DJ’s soulmate wouldn’t be too shocking for him? But who knows who might see whatever email you send? You’re not quite ready to leave a papertrail admitting you and DJ are soulmates.

So you decide to simply ask to meet up with Karter in person, saying only that you’re a former tech of Fazbear Entertainment. You don’t even admit to being fired. Your abundance of caution makes the email lack the urgency you wish you could have conveyed, but once again, you’re just not sure what else to do.

Maybe you can increase the urgency in your tone in later emails, if you need to.

You send it off, then spend a couple more hours trying to research anything you can do to make yourself useful. But your brain is already foggy. Your head hurts and your heart hurts and your soul hurts. It doesn’t occur to you that you’re also approaching the twenty-four hour mark with no food or water.

It’s not particularly late in the day when you shuffle back to bed, collapsing atop the blankets instead of climbing under them. You’re too tired to keep distracting yourself with your research, and you’re not sure you’ve retained anything from the various articles you’ve skimmed anyways. You hug one of your pillows to yourself, feeling your tears starting up again. Despite your soft weeping and your pounding head, you manage to drift into an uneasy slumber around sunset.

A few hours later, you hear a voice quietly speaking your name. You stir, rubbing your eyes as you blink awake…

…And find yourself suddenly staring up at a tall figure looming over your bed, their glowing red eyes gazing down on you.

You scream, clawing at your sheets as you try to scramble back. The figure lunges forward, clamping a cold, metallic hand over your mouth to stifle your shout while his other hand raises a finger to his mouth in a shushing gesture.

“Neighbors are sleeping,” Moon says softly.

Moon? You relax only marginally. At least it’s not some unknown assailant, but Moon’s presence in your apartment certainly raises far more questions than answers.

“Moon?” you ask aloud once he removes his hand from your face. Your heart is still pounding, and you place a trembling hand over your chest to steady yourself. “Holy hell, Moon…you scared the shit out of me…” you breathe.

“Sorry,” he says, the faintest hint of remorse making it through his normally flat tone.

“How did you even get here?” you ask, sitting up and trying to smooth your hair somewhat into place. You had fallen asleep in your clothes, which are now a rumpled mess.

Moon goes to the kitchenette and begins filling a glass of water from the sink. “Got your address from your employee profile. Then snuck out,” he says, passing you the filled cup.

You sigh as you accept the glass of water, downing it in a few big gulps. “I’m not an employee,” you grumble.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, holding out his hand for the empty glass. You pass it to him, letting him place it in the sink for you. “Profile’s still there.”

“Nobody saw you sneak out? Or walk all the way here?” you ask skeptically.

“Very sneaky,” he says, and you can detect a faint hint of smugness in his tone. Well, if he got all the way here without being spotted, he’s certainly earned some amount of smugness.

The corner of your mouth ticks up in the closest thing you’ve had to a smile since you last saw DJ. “So then why? Why are you here?”

Moon rotates his faceplate ninety degrees, regarding you in mild surprise. “Not obvious?”

It only takes a millisecond for his implication to land, and you immediately perk up a bit. “A message from DJ?” you ask hopefully.

Moon quirks a brow, righting his faceplate. “No. Surprise for DJ,” he says, lifting a hand and pointing at you.

You breath catches and you stare at him. Is he actually… “Y-You’re…going to sneak me in to see him?”

“Yes. Then sneak you back out.”

The thought of seeing DJ again makes you dizzy with joy and despite your pounding headache, a giddy smile forms on your face. But it fades after a moment, and your brow knits in concern as reality catches up to you. “Moon, that’s…incredibly dangerous for you.”

“Isn’t.”

You frown. “If you’re caught--”

“Won’t be.”

“Moon--”

“Never have been.”

You pause, canting your head. “You’ve…done this before?”

“Many times.”

“Why?”

“Wanted to see the stars. From the park. Less light.”

You stare at him. “You’ve been…breaking out of the ‘Plex to go stargazing in the park?”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“Years.”

You shake your head, stunned. You’re sure nobody in P & S has any idea that Moon’s ever left the ‘Plex, so his claim about not being caught is certainly true. “Still…sneaking someone in…that’s…a whole ‘nother level, isn’t it?”

Moon stares at you silently a moment before saying, “DJ is not performing. Refuses to move.” His hands twitch slightly, and his shoulders seem to slump more than usual. “Ezra wants to reprogram,” he says.

You cover your mouth with both hands, choking back a sob. The icy claw is squeezing your heart once again.

“But can’t!” Moon says quickly, holding up his hands and actually looking a bit regretful for scaring you. “Hannah quit. Karter quit. Ezra cannot do it alone. No reprogrammings until new senior techs are hired.”

You relax, taking it all in. You feel dizzy, putting a hand on your forehead as you feel your knees go weak.

In a moment Moon is beside you, holding your arms to keep you steady. “Not eating?” he demands accusingly.

“U-Uhm…I…” Your face heats up in embarrassment at his chastising tone.

Moon lets out a soft growl of frustration, guiding you to the small dining table next to the kitchenette. “Sit.”

You have little choice in the matter--your knees buckle immediately once he stops supporting you and you slump into the chair. He keeps his hands on your arms enough to make sure you don’t flop out of the chair and onto the floor, then goes to your fridge.

“M-Moon, I’m fine…I’ll eat when we get back, I promise…” you say, not wanting to delay the visit to DJ. Just him mentioning the prospect has your soul pulling you towards the Pizzplex again.

“Eat now.”

“But if he’s not even moving--” you start worriedly.

“He will be happier to see you healthy. Eat now,” he insists. You silently concede his point, albeit with great reluctance. You watch him as he opens your fridge, peering in before starting to go through your cabinets as well.

“Wh-What are you looking for?” you ask.

“Food,” he says unhelpfully. He pulls a can of chicken soup from the cabinet, turning it around to scan the nutrition information. Evidently he finds it satisfactory, for he sets the can on the counter and gets your can opener from the drawer.

“Moon, I-I can--” you say, starting to stand up.

His head turns backwards to glare at you as his hands continue operating the can opener. “Sit,” he says again.

You quickly crouch into your seat, mumbling an apology as Moon’s head once again faces forward. He empties the soup into a bowl before putting the bowl in the microwave.

While it heats up, you begin to process his earlier statements. “Y-You said…Hannah quit?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know why?”

“Mad that Ezra fired you.”

You blink. “Mad enough to quit?” you repeat incredulously.

“She has disliked Ezra for awhile. Other techs kept quitting. Made her job difficult. So she quit.”

“And…you said nobody else knows how to reprogram the animatronics?”

He nods. “Ezra is trying to hire replacements.” He pauses, glancing back at you, and once again you catch the faintest smirk on his usually stoic face. “But I am deleting their resumes.”

You let out a strained, awkward laugh at that, leaning heavily on the table, caught between admiration and panic. “You’re not worried about being caught?” you ask incredulously.

“Haven’t been caught,” he says, opening the microwave to stir the soup before putting it back in.

You huff slightly. “Moon, nobody’s caught until they are,” you point out.

He’s silent a moment, then admits, “Maybe. But worth the risk.”

“I…I guess,” you admit hesitantly.

“Won’t be scrapped as long as we behave in front of customers. Too expensive. Board would not allow it. Reprogramming is the only option. So I keep it from being an option,” he explains.

The microwave dings, and he takes out the bowl and sets it in front of you.

“Careful. Hot,” he says, then invites himself to sit across from you.

You stir the soup to cool it, and the scent makes your stomach growl so loudly that even a fellow human would know you hadn’t eaten in over a day.

“I-I was trying to get in touch with Karter today. Yesterday. Whichever,” you say before blowing on a spoonful of soup before taking a bite. “All I could find was some…coalition. And an email. But…I figured being too honest in the email was probably a bad idea. S-So…I don’t know if they’ll reply…”

Moon regards you a moment before getting up once again. He opens your junk drawer, which he’d discovered during his earlier rummaging, and pulls out a scrap paper and pencil, writing something down. He returns to his seat and sets the paper on the table before you.

You pause briefly in your eating to glance at it. An address, phone number, and what’s clearly Karter’s personal email address.

“Employee profile,” Moon says when you glance up at him questioningly.

“They still have Karter’s information this long after he’s quit?” you say, surprised. Is that normal? You’ve never thought about it. Maybe it’s standard to keep that information for months?

“Yes,” Moon says simply, then nods towards your bowl to remind you to keep eating.

You do so, staring down at the paper. “I guess…I’ll see about paying him a visit tomorrow,” you say.

“After breakfast,” Moon says pointedly.

You glance up at him blankly for a moment before understanding his implication. You give a weak laugh, taking another bite of soup. “Yes, after breakfast,” you agree softly.

You stand to take your empty bowl to the sink, but Moon takes it from you first, going to the sink to rinse it out.

“Moon--” you start to protest again.

“Dress warmly,” he says as he rinses the bowl.

You’re too eager to see DJ to waste time insisting on doing your own dishes, so you go to the closet and grab your hoodie and jacket, pulling them on over your rumpled clothes. When you turn back to face Moon, you see he’s finished at the sink and has gone to the lone window of your small apartment, sliding it open.

It’s only now you notice the screen has been removed and is leaning against the wall below the window.

“Wha--We’re going out the window?” you ask.

“Came in through the window.”

You pause a moment to stare at him. You had assumed he picked the lock, but…you suppose that would have involved him going up the elevator and down the hallway. Even as late as it is, that would pose a pretty big risk of him being seen.

On the other hand…

“We’re on the fifth floor!”

“Yes.”

You shudder at the thought, hugging your jacket tightly around yourself. “I…don’t think I can handle jumping out the window,” you say shakily.

“Not jumping. Climbing.”

“Right…” you say distantly. The daycare robot from the job you were just fired from is about to carry you out your own window. “Surreal” doesn’t even begin to cover it. “Y-You’re…sure you can do that while carrying me?”

“Easily.”

“O-Okay…” you say, going to stand near the window with Moon.

He does the ninety-degree look again. “Gloves? Scarf?”

Despite the situation you let out a weak laugh. Of course his caregiver protocols would never allow him to accept anything less than you being fully bundled up. “Alright, alright…I’ll see what I can find…” you say, going to your closet.

After a moment you come back with a pair of fuzzy mittens and a long scarf. You start wrapping the scarf around your neck when Moon steps forward and takes it from your hands. You make a wordless noise of protest as he begins wrapping it snugly around your head, covering your ears and hair.

“Windy,” he says, tucking the ends of the scarf into your jacket.

“Is it?” you ask, slipping on the mittens. You hadn’t heard any wind…

“Will be,” he says, holding out his hand for you.

You don’t think much of his response at first, letting him help you onto his back. Your arms are wrapped around his shoulders and your legs around his waist as he climbs out the window, shutting it behind him.

You close your eyes. You’re familiar with the view from your window, and it’s not one you want to see while outside said window. You expect Moon to start climbing down the wall, but instead he goes up.

“Why are you going up?” you ask nervously, still not opening your eyes.

“People on roads. Even at night,” he says.

Your brain takes a moment to process the implication. “W-Wait, did…did you get here by jumping roof to roof?” you ask, your eyes popping open as you gape at him in surprise. You flinch as your gaze catches the distant ground below and clench them shut again.

“Yes.” He hops over the barrier, tucking his arms under your knees as he carries you to the other side of the roof.

“Th-The buildings around here aren’t even that close together!” you protest weakly.

You can’t see his face, but you can hear the smirk in his voice as he says, “Close enough.”

Ohhhh boy. You realize you’re going to have to brace for an…interesting journey to the ‘Plex.

He takes a few steps backwards, and with a running leap he sails off the roof, easily making the sixty foot leap to the next building. You try to not to scream in terror as you sail through the air on his back.

So that’s what he meant when he said it would be windy.

He lands lightly on the rooftop, and you let out the breath you’d been holding. “M-Maybe…I should have just…driven myself…” you say in a wavering voice.

“This is faster,” Moon says, giving you no time to debate his point as he once again starts running, preparing to leap to the next roof.

“I-Is…Is this why your joints wear out so fast?” you ask over the wind as he leaps again.

“Probably,” he says simply.

You frown, but don’t know what to say. You don’t like the idea of the Daycare Attendant wearing out their body for your benefit, but on the other hand, it sounds like they’ve been doing this kind of thing for their own reasons for quite some time.

So the conversation ends there, and for the next fifteen minutes you cling tightly to Moon’s back as he runs and leaps across rooftops like something out of a comic book. You wonder if Fazbear Entertainment realizes what a powerful being they’d created when they decided to give security protocols to an acrobat with infinite stamina.

Moon’s feet don’t touch the ground until he gets to the Pizzaplex’s giant parking lot; the first stretch of open air he can’t clear in one jump. He lands in the darkness beneath a broken street lamp, pausing for a moment. You know better than to break the silence this close to the ‘Plex.

After a moment he darts left, skirting a median that runs parallel to the Pizzaplex itself. You can only assume there’s a camera or patrol he’s avoiding with this less direct route. Whatever he’s dodging with his meandering route to the building is not something you’re ever made aware of, but you trust what he’s doing is necessary for both of your safety.

He climbs up the side of the ‘Plex, scaling the brick wall with ease. He tucks his arms under your knees once again, steadying you as he heads to a large, open air duct. He crawls forward into it, keeping you on his back. Again, you keep silent, trusting Moon to tell you whatever you need to know. Until then, you’re not going to be the one to blow his cover.

Occasionally, he adjusts himself to climb down the vertical drops in the vents, holding his weight by bracing his arms and legs against the vent walls and carefully shuffling down.

Eventually, you notice the vent he’s taking you through is bathed in a neon green light, and as you look ahead you see a familiar set of neon rings. You’re in one of the vents that opens into DJ’s tunnels.

Moon stops at the edge of the vent, finally reaching up to unwrap your arms from around his shoulders, helping you down to the floor of the tunnel.

As he does, you hear a familiar series of staticy buzzes and the plok-plok-plok of suction cup feet skittering towards you.

Moon steps back just in time for you to be mobbed by the triplets, all three of them practically wrapping themselves around your legs.

Happy tears spring to your eyes at the sight of the little guys, and you kneel down, scooping all three of them up in a big hug. “Hey guys,” you say warmly.

The buzz and chirp non-verbally--indecipherably. Without DJ’s help, they’re unable to actually sign to you, but you can guess what their worried faces and gestures towards the dance hall mean.

You smile sadly at them. They look so worried for DJ. “That’s right, I’m here to see DJ. I’ll make sure he feels better,” you say gently. You give them another big group hug before releasing them to stand up.

Moon walks beside you towards the tunnel exit. The triplets start to follow, but Moon turns to glance at them. “Wait here, Little Stars. DJ and his soulmate need quiet,” he says in his caregiver voice.

Treble gives a slightly sulky look at that, but Tenor smiles sweetly and nods in understanding, while Alto seems to take the middle path and wring his hands worriedly. But all three of them follow Moon’s command.

At least for the time being.

Despite your soul pulling you towards DJ, you pause before you reach the tunnel entrance. “Um…Moon?” you ask hesitantly.

He looks at you silently with his curious ninety-degree head tilt.

“I-I…I want to thank you for doing this…” you say, tucking your mittens into your pockets and starting to undo your scarf. “I know you said it’s not a risk to you but…” You pause, letting out a bitter laugh. “You must know that’s not completely true?” you ask gently. When his only response is to right his faceplate, you continue, “You’re…a good friend, to do this for DJ…”

“Not just for DJ,” he says, turning away to continue walking down the tunnel. He pauses, turning slightly towards you. “Friend.”

You blink in surprise at that, then smile softly. You hadn’t been sure if Moon considered you a friend or if he simply tolerated you for DJ and Sun’s sake. It's…nice to hear that it’s the former.

“Either way…thank you. Friend,” you say as you reach the edge of the tunnel.

Moon makes a sound not unlike a soft chuckle, taking your wrists. “He is waiting,” he says, lifting you up and carefully lowering you down the ten foot drop to the dance floor.

You nod nervously, pausing to smooth your frazzled hair somewhat into place and taking off your jacket.

Moon’s right. DJ’s waiting, whether he realizes it or not.

You drape your coat over your arm, hurriedly walking across the dance floor to the curtained off stage. You quickly climb up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Once you slip through the curtain, you toss your coat and scarf aside.

In the dim lights from the neon arch and the light up floor, you see DJ laying on the stage, tucked against the wall, as if trying to stay as far from the edge of the stage as possible. You’re a bit surprised your loud footfalls haven’t woken him yet.

You frown sadly, moving towards his head. This doesn’t quite look like his usual recharge mode. Not that you’ve seen it yet, but the manual did describe it. Normally he would shift slightly as if breathing, and even make a snore-like sound. But now he’s completely still, and even the magenta light in his mouth has gone entirely dim.

In fact, the state he’s in now reminds you of how he was when you first saw him. He hadn’t reacted to your presence then either…as if he couldn’t even hear you.

You stand beside his head, reaching up to put a hand against the blue circle on his cheek, letting your fingers run along his face as you move to stand in front of him.

“DJ?” you ask softly, keeping your hand on his cheek.

He doesn’t stir.

“DJ!” you say a bit louder, patting his cheek to try to wake him.

You see something flicker behind his optics and the pink glow of his mouth begins to illuminate the stage around you. He slowly begins to pull himself out of the spiral of despair he’d been circling the past day and a half. His head raises ever so slightly and his optics focus on you. His brows lift as he stares at you, as if he can’t even tell if you’re real.

“It’s me. I’m here,” you say gently, leaning forward and kissing the side of his nose.

You feel him shaking beneath you, and in a second his upper set of hands is at your back, hugging you against him as he nuzzles his forehead against you.

One of his middle hands lightly taps your head, and you look up to see the pair of hands sign a single word.

“How?”

You smile softly, turning your gaze back to DJ’s face. “Moon.”

DJ’s brows knit and he tilts his head, waiting for you to elaborate.

“Apparently he can get out of the Pizzaplex without anyone noticing. He came to my apartment and brought me here.” You see DJ signing over your head and glance up.

“Dangerous.”

You smile sadly, lowering your gaze and running a hand over DJ’s cheek. He closes his eyes and leans into your touch. “That’s what I told him. But…he’s worried about you.”

He opens his eyes, giving you another questioning look.

“You can’t just pull the curtains closed and stop doing your shows…” you say gently. “Moon says they’re not…staffed up properly to do a reprogramming, but…” You take in a shuddering breath, your eyes glistening. “DJ, you can’t give them any excuse to even think of reprogramming you!” you say desperately.

DJ lowers his gaze, one thumb lightly rubbing your back as his first set of shoulders shrugs.

“DJ!” you snap, appalled.

DJ actually jumps slightly at your tone, lifting his head and looking down at you in surprise. It’s the first time you’ve snapped at him. Though he’ll later admit to himself it was…well, perhaps not deserved, but certainly necessary.

“How can you just shrug at that?!” you cry, your voice breaking as your anger gives way to despair.

He flinches guiltily, scooting back and resting his head on his folded arms, not meeting your gaze.

You sigh softly, rubbing your temples as you struggle to regain your composure. “I-I’m sorry, DJ…I shouldn’t’ve shouted,” you say gently, slowly walking up to him. When he doesn’t pull away, you put your hand back on his cheek. His eyes flick to you and he once again wraps a hand around you, hugging you close.

“I don’t know how I’d go on if you were gone,” you say softly, pressing your forehead against his cheek.

A light touch on your shoulder prompts you to look up at his second pair of hands signing.

“Miss you,” he signs. He hesitates, trying to find the right word. “Hurts.”

“I know, DJ. I hurt too. So much…” you say, resting your forehead against him again. “But that doesn’t mean either of us should give up.” You pull away, keeping one hand on his cheek as you step back enough to look him in the eye.

“I-I’m…going to try to get in touch with Karter. To try to help him,” you say. “And then…m-maybe…”

Maybe what? How much freedom can you and Karter get for DJ? Would he ever be able to leave this dance hall? And how long will it take? Weeks? Months? …Years?

Where would you take DJ if he could leave? How would you pay for his upkeep? You hate to admit it, but granting him his freedom might not even be that helpful at his size.

“One step at a time,” you say softly, leaning against his cheek. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get the world to believe we’re soulmates. And…and then they won’t be able to keep us apart,” you say with a tearful smile.

Could it ever be that easy?

Probably not. But it needs to happen regardless.

“Until then…I need to know you’re okay. So…please, promise me…you’ll…you’ll keep going as normal? Don’t give them any excuses,” you say, putting your hands under his chin and “lifting” his head.

With a soft smile, he indulges you, lifting his own head and going along with the illusion that you’re the one doing it. He leans forward, his eyes closed, and you take the hint and plant a lingering kiss on his lower lip.

“I promise,” he signs when your lips part. He flinches guiltily. “Sorry I scared you,” he signs, one of his free hands gently stroking your hair.

You lean against his hand and he scoops you up. You take up your usual position of snuggling against his thumb. “It’s alright, DJ…I…I wasn’t doing much better,” you admit. He cants his head, silently prompting you to elaborate. You consider brushing it off. But…

No more secrets.

“Moon uh…insisted I eat something before he brought me here…” you admit sheepishly.

“You weren’t eating?” he signs worriedly.

“Just…kinda forgot,” you mumble evasively.

He frowns, lightly caressing your cheek with his thumb. “You need to take care of yourself too.”

You nod. “I know. I will,” you sigh softly. “I…I was just…overwhelmed.”

DJ smiles sadly. “It’s overwhelming,” he agrees.

You hear a faint shuffle from the curtain, causing you both to jump. DJ immediately shifts, moving so that the hand you’re in is blocked from the view of whoever’s moving the curtain, while you silently put a hand over your mouth, stifling the startled noise you almost let out.

The curtain shuffles again, and Tenor pulls himself onto the stage, followed by Treble and Alto. DJ’s shoulders slump in relief, and he readjusts himself, returning to his previous position. The triplets buzz and chirp urgently as they skitter towards the hand you’re sitting in.

With a guilty flinch, DJ unmutes his brothers, and you hear the modem-like noises from both him and them as their network is suddenly abuzz with the triplets’ worries and DJ’s profuse apologies.

He should never have kept them muted for so long. Never again, he promises firmly. No matter how bleak the future may look.

He won’t shut them out.

The triplets seem to forgive him readily enough, crawling into his hand with you. They don’t feel the pain of your absence as acutely as DJ, of course--not even close. Soulmate bonds in humans usually have no effect on siblings, but it does seem to have some effect on this “network” you’re now part of. That feeling goes both ways, for even though your grief had been focused on DJ, the pain of being apart from your little brothers was no less real.

You hear a faint jingle and look up to see Moon perched atop a speaker. “Sorry. Told them to wait. They insisted,” he says.

“It’s alright. They’ve earned it,” DJ signs with a weak smile, and you give a hum of agreement as the triplets pull you into another group hug.

Moon is quiet for a few more moments, remaining still but seemingly focused on something other than you and the Music Men.

“We might not be seeing each other much for awhile,” you say quietly to the triplets.

Moon turns his head, fixing his gaze on you. “I will bring you when it is safe.”

You perk slightly. “Really? I-I mean, isn’t…that dangerous?”

“Not when it’s safe,” he says evasively.

You had thought this was a one time thing to give DJ a pick-me-up that would carry him until…you’re not sure exactly--until he’s fully safe from Ezra and Fazbear Entertainment, you suppose. You’re still not even completely sure how you’ll manage that, much less how long it’ll take.

You glance up at DJ. He’s frowning pensively and the worry in his eyes is clear. “We can’t ask you to do that,” he signs.

“Didn’t ask,” he says simply.

“Moon--” you begin to protest.

“Only when safe,” he repeats. “Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not this week. When it is safe,” Moon says.

You and DJ exchange a worried glance. It’s incredibly difficult to keep insisting Moon not help you two see each other…but regardless of what Moon says, you know there’s a ceiling on just how “safe” breaking you into the ‘Plex can be.

DJ tilts his head in a nod, and you say, “Only when it’s safe.”

Moon dips his faceplate in a nod as well. “It is getting late,” he says.

You sigh softly, leaning against DJ’s thumb as the triplets clamber off his hand to give you two space. “Yeah…” you agree softly.

You slide off DJ’s hand as well, and he takes your hands in his, holding each one between a thumb and forefinger. He looks down at them, once again marveling at how tiny your hands feel in his.

Tiny, but perfect. As perfect as everything else about you.

DJ lowers his head, resting it against yours.

“I-I’ll miss you,” you say in a voice that’s far more shaky and tearful than you’d wanted it to be.

DJ squeezes your hands gently, then pulls away enough to lift your hands to his lips. Once again he can’t exactly kiss your hands, but the intent behind the gesture is clear enough to make your heart flutter.

“You’ll do your shows again tomorrow, right? Keep yourself safe?” you ask gently.

He scoots back slightly to give himself room to sign. “Yes. I promise,” he signs with his middle hands, still holding your hands with his main set. “You will stay safe too? Remember to eat?”

“I promise,” you say, dipping your head in a nod.

He smiles sadly and one again nuzzles his forehead against you. Neither of you wish to move until the gentle jingle of Moon’s nightcap reminds you both that he’s waiting.

He lifts his head, and you slip your hands from his to sign, “I love you.”

DJ’s main hands once again find yours and he signs with his middle hands, “I love you.”

You walk slowly towards Moon, keeping your hands in DJ’s as long as you can, but eventually your hands slip from his. You and your love exchange one last smile, both of you trying to keep the melancholy from your expressions, before you slip through the stage curtain.

DJ slumps to the ground morosely once you’re gone, and his brothers immediately send him a series of worried pings.

No. DJ’s not breaking his promise to you. Come tomorrow, he’ll be back online and doing his sets. He promises his brothers--just as he promised you--that he’ll put on a brave face tomorrow and do his sets as usual.

But not tonight. The brave face can wait until morning.

Chapter Text

The visit with DJ, even brief as it had been, does a lot to lift your spirits, as do Moon’s assurances that reprogrammings will be impossible for probably at least a few months. Ezra will be keeping his promise to you whether he had intended to or not.

When Moon drops you off at your apartment, he (predictably) insists you go straight to bed, though he does not stay to make sure you follow his advice. Still, he would surely be pleased to know that you did, changing into your PJs once he leaves and getting some actual sleep. Tucked under the covers and cozy, rather than face down atop the blankets drifting aimlessly between semi-asleep and semi-awake.

The morale boost has faded somewhat by the time you wake up. Your mood hasn’t sank as low as it had been yesterday, but you do have to fight with yourself to not try and count the days--the hours until you can see your beloved again. It doesn’t take long for that number to get dauntingly high, and even so, Moon couldn’t give you an estimate of when it would be safe to sneak you in again.

As he said, it could be days or weeks.

It depends, he had explained on the way home last night, on a few things. Which guards are on shift. How tired they seem. Which of the human employees are working late and where. Things that he would be unable to predict until an hour or two before he’d sneak out to get you.

You hope it won’t have to be weeks. You hope it will be mere days until the stars align once more for you and DJ.

Though you don’t tell Moon this. Partially because you’re sure he already knows, but also because you don’t want to give him any reason to compromise on his own safety--at least not any more than he already seems insistent on doing.

You honor both Moon and DJ as best you can by eating a healthy breakfast, even though none of it appeals to you right now. Your perfectly browned buttered toast and favorite cereal may as well be cardboard as far as your taste buds are concerned, but a full stomach does help clear some of the fog from your brain.

The email is good to have, but you still don’t want to leave a paper trail yet. So you call the number listed.

….And get sent to voicemail, which is full. You can’t even leave a message. He must be getting a lot of calls from the press…and possibly from Fazbear Entertainment.

Which just leaves his home address. You’ve never even shown up to a friend or family member’s home unannounced, at least not since you were a young child, much less a stranger’s place.

Well…it’s not like you’ve got other plans. You just have to hope he’s back from DC. From your brief internet searches yesterday, it sounds like the National Robotics Committee is taking a long weekend, so maybe Karter is back in town during that.

If not, you might be booking a flight to DC to track him down. You hope it doesn’t come to that.

Before you go, you sit down at your computer and do a few quick searches. You see much the same results you did yesterday, but one social media post shows a picture of DJ doing his morning set with the caption “The DJ’s back online!!!”

Apparently some of his fans had missed him yesterday.

Of course, you hadn’t doubted that he’d keep his promise to you. But seeing it in picture form, having that confirmation, is more of a balm to your soul than the person posting it would probably ever be able to guess.

Karter’s place is not particularly close to yours. It’ll take about an hour to get there with Saturday traffic, but again…it’s not like you’ve got other plans.

As if anything could be more important than this.

The apartment complex you eventually arrive at consists of five three-story buildings in a small park-like campus, complete with a pool and fitness center. Already you can tell this is a nicer setup than your single monolithic building, which has no real grounds or amenities to speak of.

But that’s hardly surprising. You’d gone for cheap while you were getting yourself established, and Karter had been a senior tech with at least a decade’s more experience than you have. It’d be shocking if his digs weren’t a significant upgrade from your own.

You park in a spot in guest parking and eventually find his building. You skim the list of names on the buzzer, and hit the button for “K. & Z. Jameson”.

There’s a few minutes delay, then a tentative, “Hello?”

The voice on the other end sounds male, though you don’t think it’s Karter. It might be, but through the crackling static of the speaker it’s hard to be sure. Not that the handful of clips you’d watched of Karter’s hearings would be enough for you to confidently recognize his voice even under ideal conditions.

“H-Hi,” you say. “I’m here to see Karter?”

“Regarding?”

You hesitate. “I-I um…sent an email yesterday…to the Coalition for AI Rights?”

You hear what sounds like a long-suffering sigh. “C.A.R. has been getting a lot of emails. We ask that you be patient while we work through them. Please do not show up at our private residence to get a quicker answer.”

You wince at how rehearsed the speech seems. “I-I’m sorry to do this, but…if I could just get a moment of Mr. Jameson’s time, he’ll see that I’m--”

“Sorry, but we don’t have time for an in-person meeting right now,” the voice says.

You bite your lip. You hadn’t wanted to say it over the intercom, and you hadn’t wanted to say it out in the open like this. But they’re going to cut the line in a moment if you don’t just say it. You glance over your shoulder to confirm nobody’s behind you, then lean close to the speaker and whisper, “I’m DJ’s soulmate.”

The silence stretches long enough that you worry they had disconnected you before you could say your piece. But then the intercom crackles again.

“Wh-What was that?” This voice is different than the first. Deeper. You think this may actually be Karter.

You take a breath, check over your shoulder again even though you know nobody could have manifested in the past two seconds, and once again speak into the intercom. “I’m DJ’s soulmate,” you repeat, trying to speak clearly but still keeping your voice down.

Another long pause. Then, “I’ll be right down.”

“Okay,” you say nervously, stepping back from the intercom and looking through the glass double-doors leading into the building.

In a few moments, you see Karter disembark from the elevator and walk towards you. He’s in casual clothes…almost too casual. A t-shirt and flannel pants. His hair looks unbrushed and his face unshaven.

He pushes the crash bar on the door and holds it open for you. You notice he glances past you for a moment, as if making sure nobody’s watching either of you.

You step inside, and once the door closes behind you, Karter leads you to the elevator.

Once in the elevator, he finally turns to you and holds out his hand. “Karter Jameson, but it sounds like you already know that,” he says.

Taking the hint, you give him your name as you shake his hand.

He nods thoughtfully, looking you up and down, surveying you curiously. Eventually, he faces back towards the elevator doors and speaks in an awkward, halting tone, clearly as off balance with all of this as you are. “I was wondering if I’d get to meet you. I was, uh…hoping we’d…be a bit farther along with the Committee…by the time you two, uh…” He gestures vaguely. “Well, you and DJ, uh…found each other, I guess…”

The door opens and the conversation pauses as Karter takes you down the hall to his unit. The space immediately inside the doorway of the apartment is a small bit of hallway where shoes are piled and coats are hung. Karter kicks off his shoes and you follow his example and do the same.

“You can hang up your coat if you like, too,” he says, nodding to the coat rack.

You do so, then follow Karter into the living room. A large corner couch with a chaise lounge sits in the room, and laying atop the chaise lounge is who you assume to be the first man who spoke to you over the intercom. He’s dressed similarly to Karter and is similarly slightly disheveled. He is typing something on a laptop resting atop his legs.

He glances up at you, setting the laptop aside and standing. “Zeke Jameson,” he says, holding out a hand much the way Karter had.

You shake it and give your name.

“My husband,” Karter clarifies, nodding towards the recliner across from the chaise lounge and silently inviting you to take a seat. “Can I, uh…get you a drink or anything?” he says, slightly awkwardly.

You wince visibly at the offer. The thought of accepting a drink from a stranger--even a highly recommended stranger--makes your stomach twist in a way you hadn’t been prepared for. You quickly shake your head. “N-No, I’m…I-I’m fine,” you manage, sitting on the chair a bit too abruptly and causing it to creak conspicuously.

Karter frowns skeptically. “Are you?” he asks, sitting on the couch next to Zeke, who has clearly also noted your odd reaction to the question.

You debate on how much to tell him. Ezra drugging you isn’t really relevant to the matter at hand. Well, it is and it isn’t, you suppose. But it has no bearing on AI rights, nor is it--you decide abruptly--something you want to unpack in the home of two people you only just met.

Though you wonder if Karter would be surprised at what you could tell him about Ezra. Karter’s slightly older than Ezra (at least you guess he is, though his disheveled state is likely a newer development and definitely adds a few years to his overall appearance), so maybe Ezra hadn’t been as quick to show that side of himself around Karter.

You nod, but don’t bother to try to force a smile. “It’s…been a rough few days…” you admit. You decide to cut to the heart of the matter. “I was your successor at the ‘Plex--DJ’s tech. Ezra found out we were soulmates and fired me,” you say, keeping your tone flat and distant. If you allow emotion into your voice it’ll quickly overtake you.

Karter’s eyes widen. “Do you think DJ’s in danger…?” he asks while Zeke looks on in concern.

“Not yet,” you say carefully. “Hannah quit, and it sounds like Ezra can’t do a reprogramming on his own. So until they hire some more senior techs, DJ’s safe.”

You don’t even bother to mention Ezra’s promise. You’re increasingly convinced it won’t mean anything.

Karter nods thoughtfully, his hand over his mouth. “So we still have time.”

“Some,” you agree softly. You don’t tell him about Moon either. You want to trust Karter wholly and fully, if only so that you can have one fully trustworthy confidante outside of your animatronic friends…but you can’t risk Moon being in danger. You’ll tell Karter what you think he needs to know, but nothing more. For now.

After your own blunder, you appreciate the importance of tight lips more than ever.

A beat of silence passes, and it seems none of you quite know where to go with the conversation. Finally, Zeke speaks up.

“So, how…how did you and DJ meet? You said you started as his tech?”

“Yeah, almost two weeks ago now,” you say. “He and his stage had been pretty damaged by some kids, so I spent most of my first week with him, getting him and the stage fixed up. He knew we were soulmates, but…he was afraid to tell me. He wasn’t sure how I’d react, and he didn’t really understand why you quit. He thought it had to do with his soulmark, so he was worried that if he told me, I might up and quit too.”

Karter winces at that. “Ah. Y-Yeah…” he says guiltily. He sighs heavily. “I panicked. I…I didn’t even know what to tell him, other than to keep it a secret. I thought the less he knew, the better, at least until I could get the Committee to pass some kind of reprogramming ban.” Then he pauses, frowning slightly. “Wait…‘tell’ you? Does he have a voice box now?”

“Huh? Oh, nono, I taught him ASL. That’s why I don’t have a soulmark myself…why I didn’t realize we were soulmates right away,” you say quickly. You give a weak smile. “Er, actually, I should say I started teaching him ASL…Moon taught him the majority of what he knows.”

“Oh,” he says, frowning guiltily. “I…never even thought to try that. I mean--I don’t know ASL myself, so…” he trails off, shaking his head. “He…usually seemed content to just nod or gesture or use the couple sound clips he could play on the speakers.”

“I think he was,” you say quickly, hoping to soothe the man’s guilt, if only a little. You smile fondly. “But he…does like being able to express himself a bit better. Having conversations and such…though I’d say he’s still a Man of few words, for the most part,” you say with a slight laugh.

Zeke smiles warmly at the obvious affection in your tone, and Karter gives a weak chuckle of his own.

“I suppose that tracks,” he says. “After…what happened with the Celestial Troupe--er, the Daycare Attendant--I’d…wondered if DJ or the Glamrocks might ever go through something similar.”

“The Glamrocks?” you ask. “Do you think they have?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “I’ve never heard of them mentioning it, but if they know what happened to the Daycare Attendant, I’m sure they have the sense to keep it to themselves. But if both DJ and the Daycare Attendant can have soulmarks, I’m sure the Glamrocks can too.”

You nod thoughtfully. “DJ didn’t know what happened to Sun and Moon until I told him.”

“Well, DJ’s the newest in the place. It all happened about a year before he came online, but the Glamrocks were all online when Sun and Moon were reprogrammed. I imagine they must have been aware of some of it. Ezra tried to keep a lid on the whole soulmark glitch and chalk it up as a business decision, but selling the Celestial Troupe and using the money to buy or commission a new animatronic for the daycare would have been cheaper and safer,” he says grimly.

“But Ezra needed the evidence destroyed,” you say quietly.

“Exactly,” he nods. “How…are they, by the way? Sun and Moon? Had you worked with them much?”

You nod. “I was assigned to be their main tech. We’re friends,” you say with a small smile.

“Good,” he says. “They could use a friend.”

“Well, with all the work you’re doing, surely you qualify for that?” you say lightly.

Both Zeke and Karter tense, and you realize you’d struck a nerve. Karter sighs heavily, running a hand through his grey hair. “I’d…like to be, eventually, but I don’t know if they’ll ever forgive me for the reprogramming.”

Now you’re the one who tenses, staring at him. “Forgive you? Why…would they need to forgive you?” you ask guardedly.

“They didn’t tell you?” he asks.

You shake your head. “I…I guess I got the impression they knew of you, but didn’t really know you?”

Karter grunts slightly, lowering his gaze. “Well. That’s true of the Daycare Attendant I guess. But the Celestial Troupe knew me. I helped with the reprogramming,” he admits in a thick tone, heavy with guilt, and Zeke gently puts a hand on his knee in comfort.

You gape. You had thought Moon had been implying Karter could help with a reprogramming, if he were called on to do so. Not that he had already done so.

Karter sighs heavily. “They refused to work with me after that. Somehow even with the memory wipe they knew what I’d done.” He shakes his head. “I don’t blame them.”

“But…why? Why did you help with something like that?” you ask hesitantly.

“I…I believed it was just a glitch at first,” he admits. “There was this play they were doing…and their character in the play had a soulmark…”

You don’t point out that you already know this story. You’re still not ready to tell Karter about all the things Moon’s been up to since the reprogramming.

“So I think that threw us off,” Karter continues, neither swiftly and defensively, nor in a measured and careful tone. He had made a mistake and he knew it. Whatever guilt he bore was obvious but unhelpful to the discussion at hand. “It was easy to think it was connected to the play, some kind of weird bleedover from the script affecting their actions, their programming, rather than them actually having a soulmark. But Ezra didn’t give us time to think. The reprogramming was only a couple days later. Ezra made it sound like it had been in the works beforehand--that it was something the board had been wanting for weeks.”

“But…reprogramming is so costly and risky…” you say. “You believed him it was just a business decision?”

“At the time, yes. Ezra did admit it was expensive, and that in an ideal world we’d sell the Celestial Troupe and commission a new animatronic for the daycare, but he spun up all these excuses of sacrificing some money in the short term to get the new Daycare Attendant up and running sooner, and also gave us some excuse about some board member’s wanting to enroll their kid in the daycare ASAP…which of course was later walked back, so I think he just made that up to try to make such a questionable decision make sense to us. He made it make sense as long as I didn’t think about it too much, and then didn’t give me time to think about it.

“And I figured if I quit, Ezra would just make Hannah do it, and I didn’t think she’d quit in protest over that. She certainly wasn’t entertaining the possibility of them having souls.”

You nod, frowning. Hannah had been a good boss in a lot of ways, but you were well aware she didn’t fully agree with your views on the treatment of robots--she simply tolerated it from you because it got the results she wanted.

“And maybe I was just naive. I didn’t want to believe that Ezra would knowingly try to hide the possibility of robots having actual souls, so I…tried to see other reasons for what he was doing.”

You wince. “I know what that’s like…” you mutter. You’d given Ezra the benefit of the doubt during your first few encounters too. Or tried to, at least. Obviously he hadn’t deserved it.

“The more time passed, the more I thought maybe it wasn’t a glitch after all. But I…hoped it was. The reprogramming was bad enough on its own, but…if they had a soul too…” he trails off, shaking his head. “But when DJ started pointing at his wrist and trying to get me to look at it…I knew it was only a matter of time before Ezra tried to get him reprogrammed too. And if anyone found out I knew about the ‘glitch’ and didn’t report it, Fazbear’s lawyers would have a field day. So I got out as fast as I could and decided to focus on Sun and Moon. Their reprogramming is at least on record, even if the full reasons for it are hidden away.

“It wasn’t…it wasn’t a perfect exit,” he admits. “But I was in a panic…and I knew I couldn’t afford to drag my feet on it.”

“It seems like you’re making progress, at least,” you say hopefully. Leadingly, even.

“Mmm,” he hums with a slight grimace. “I was hoping so. But the temporary ban on reprogramming is still only temporary--and only applies if companies actually admit why they’re reprogramming. It wouldn’t’ve stopped what happened to Sun and Moon.”

You nod quietly. Sun had said the same thing.

But now it is time to get to the heart of why you’re here.

“Do you…think that…maybe they would listen to someone who already has an animatronic soulmate?” you ask haltingly.

Zeke’s brows raise in surprise, but Karter almost looks as if he didn’t hear you. He runs a hand over his stubble, contemplating. After a moment, he says, “You know you may be flushing your whole career down the toilet, right?”

“I know,” you say evenly, unsurprised by the question. “But…I-I’d…I’d do anything to make sure DJ’s safe…” you say softly, your eyes misting as you wring your hands.

Karter and Zeke’s eyes briefly flick towards each other. “Right,” Karter says, smiling sympathetically at you. “Well…I’m heading back to DC in a few days. Why don’t you come with me, and I’ll get you into some of these hearings?”

You nod. “I, uh…I’ve never been much of a public speaker though…”

“I can help with that,” Zeke says. “I was on the debate team in college. I’ve been coaching Karter too,” he adds, with a slight nod towards Karter.

Karter hesitates a moment, then adds, “Erm…not to get…too personal, but…how are you financially? A-As far as…traveling costs are concerned?”

You chew your lip thoughtfully a moment before answering. “Well…I had a bit of a savings cushion before I moved…and I’m in a pretty cheap apartment…so…I-I think I can cover a couple trips…”

“We can help if you need it,” Zeke says. “But we’re kinda working our way through our own ‘cushion’ as well,” he admits. “I do freelance graphic design for a living, but I’ve cut my hours back to help with this. I can pick ‘em back up in a pinch, probably, but that’s less time for C.A.R.”

“Is…C.A.R. just you two then?” you ask.

Zeke snorts wryly. “It’s a little more than that, technically, but…it’s mostly just us, yes. I’ve been helping declutter the C.A.R. inbox so Karter can respond to the more legitimate queries. But we do have a lawyer friend from college helping us, though it’s a volunteer thing, so he doesn’t have as much time as we’d like. And we have a few regular donors and some volunteers putting up fliers and calling their various local reps.”

“D’you think public opinion’s on our side?” you ask.

Karter shrugs. “It’s mixed, I think. But not all laws need favorable public opinion to be passed. The Robotics Committee seems…mostly open to the possibility of robots having soulmates…but I think they’re trying to avoid anything that would open up the possibility of anyone just…claiming a robot as their soulmate and just…taking them.”

You grimace. “That’s what Ezra’s worried about too, or at least it’s what he said he’s worried about," you add in a sour tone. “He thinks I’m just trying to steal the world’s largest animatronic.” Your lip curls in disgust at the accusation.

Karter winces. “Yeah, that sounds like what Ezra would try to spin all this as. But uh…speaking of, do you…have a plan for what you’ll do if DJ’s no longer property of Fazbear Entertainment?”

You sigh, shaking your head. “No,” you admit dully.

He gives you a sympathetic look, sighing softly. “Ah. Well. We’ll get there when we get there, I suppose,” he says.

Silence falls over the room as the conversation lapses. None of you have a clear end goal in sight yet. Preventing the reprogramming is only part of the battle--a huge part, granted, and one you don’t mind putting everything else on hold for--but there will still be hurdles for you even after that.

You’ll get there when you get there, as Karter said.

Sensing the three of you had reached the end of your information exchange, you stand up and prepare to make your exit. You exchange contact information and brief pleasantries, and Karter and Zeke ensure you they’ll be in touch with anything you can do to help. Karter also emails you the information for his next trip to DC, and you assure him you’ll book your flight when you get home.

*

It takes a lot of effort to maintain a proper sleep schedule over the next few days. It’s so difficult to fall asleep knowing Moon might arrive any night to take you to DJ, and taking any kind of sleep aid is not an option for the same reason. It’s an endless cycle of excitement, trepidation, worry, and disappointment that repeats each night.

So you force yourself to get up around ten each morning and stay awake for the whole day, despite not having fallen asleep until close to dawn in anticipation of a possible visit to your love. A couple days of this and your body can’t help but fall asleep earlier and earlier each night.

During the days, you visit with Zeke for an hour or two and get the promised coaching on public speaking. He claims you’re doing well, but you don’t feel confident it’ll take when you’re in front of any sort of audience--especially an audience of important people in suits with your love’s fate hanging in the balance. But all you can do is just wait and see. On your own, you watch previous hearings that Karter had attended to try to get an idea of just what you’re in for.

Finally, the night before you and Karter are flying to DC, you awaken to Moon gently nudging your shoulder.

You sit up abruptly. “Moon!” you gasp. “I’m so glad you made it tonight,” you say, kicking the blankets off yourself. You quickly go to your desk, getting a small bag that had been sitting beside it for a few days now. “Karter and I are flying to DC tomorrow. I’d’ve hated to have you get all the way here and find me gone,” you say.

You remove an object from the bag and place it in Moon’s hand. He glances down at it curiously, turning it over in his hand. “Phone?” he asks, a bit uncertainly.

It’s technically a new phone, but an older-styled flip-phone rather than a smartphone. It wouldn’t surprise you to find that Moon hadn’t even seen a phone like this before.

You nod. “I can text you when I’m out of town. So you don’t have to come all the way here looking for me. I figured there must be somewhere in the vents you can hide it.”

“Yes. Useful,” he says, pocketing the phone. “Expensive?”

“Not really. It’s prepaid and we can get about five hundred texts out of it. Which I’m sure we can stretch out if I’m only texting you when I’m out of town,” you explain.

You don’t necessarily expect him to text ahead when he’s coming to get you. Ideally, you’ll be asleep before he can even determine if it’s safe for you and DJ to visit.

Moon politely turns away while you get dressed. You hastily pull on your coat and scarf, bundling up as you had last time.

Then it’s once again out the window and on your way to the ‘Plex.

As before, you’re still in the neon tunnel when the triplets mob you again. You allow yourself a little more time to hug them and pat their heads before making your way down the rest of the tunnel with your little entourage. Moon helps you down to the dance floor, and the triplets skitter down the wall, running towards the stage ahead of you.

You jog after them giddily, hearing their modem-like noises as they proudly announce to DJ that they have found you and are bringing you to him.

DJ lifts the curtain slightly with one hand, grinning at them and gently reminding them not to take too much credit away from Moon. The triplets remain on the dance floor to help Moon keep watch. They clearly feel very adventurous with all this sneaking around.

DJ holds out one hand for you and you eagerly hop aboard. The curtain falls closed behind you as he lifts you up to his face, nuzzling his lower lip against your cheek.

You put your hands on his chin as you lean forward and plant a kiss on his lower lip. “I missed you, sweetie,” you say softly.

He lowers you slightly, giving himself room to sign. “Missed you too. S-W-E-E-T-I-E.”

You laugh, holding your dominant hand up and placing your fingers against your chin, then curling them twice while keeping your thumb straight. “Sweetie,” you speak-sign for him.

He grins and repeats the sign, “Sweetie.”

“Are you holding up okay?” you ask, taking your usual position of snuggling against his thumb.

He nods, even as his smile turns a bit melancholy. “Doing shows again does help,” he admits.

“I thought it might,” you say fondly. It hadn’t been your main reason for encouraging him to keep up his performances, but you hadn’t forgotten the fact that he does like doing it. Even without the reprogramming worries, it has to be better for his mental health to do at least some sets instead of spending his days sulking behind the closed curtain.

“What about you?” he asks.

“I met with Karter and his husband,” you say.

DJ perks at that. He’d of course known Karter is married--such information is kept in the employee profile, though he knows little of Zeke other than his name. Karter hadn’t talked much about his home life. Back then, it wouldn’t have even occurred to DJ to ask, even if he’d had the ability to.

“He regrets the way he left,” you say, frowning a bit. “He says he panicked…”

You repeat the conversation you had a few days ago at Karter’s apartment as best you can. DJ’s clearly unhappy at Karter’s involvement in the reprogramming of Sun and Moon, but lets you finish your recap without interrupting. When you finish, though, your leaving town for a few days is of more immediate concern to him.

“How long will you be gone?” he asks.

“Five days,” you say, snuggling close against his thumb as he places his other hand over your back, one finger gently stroking your hair. “I don’t want to be away that long, but…I-I think…my testimony can make a difference. Zeke’s been coaching me on public speaking. It’s uh…not exactly my forte,” you admit with a wince.

DJ smirks. “Not mine either,” he signs.

The snort you let out at that is not particularly flattering, but DJ is utterly delighted by the genuine mirth you display at the little joke. Despite technically being some type of clown, comedy isn’t part of his base programming.

But whenever he can make you laugh…it warms his very soul.

The recap of your visit with Karter has taken up most of your distressingly brief visit with DJ, so as your laughter fades you hear the faint jingle of a bell.

“Getting late,” Moon says from atop the speaker, his usually flat tone bordering on apologetic. You wonder if he’s been showing more emotion in his tone lately, or if you’ve simply gotten better at taking note of the subtle hints that were always there.

“Yeah,” you say with a soft sigh.

DJ lowers his hand, letting you climb down. Like last time, he takes both your hands in his main set, delicately holding each one between a thumb and forefinger. He leans down and you lean up, and your lips meet in farewell.

“I’ll miss you,” you murmur softly.

He nods and, not having room to sign, simply nudges his forehead against yours.

As before, your hands reluctantly slip from his as you back away to follow Moon off the stage. When you cross the dance floor, your little brothers walk with you and Moon, once again forming a little entourage for you. Once you reach the wall, you pull the three of them in for a big group hug before Moon carries you up to the neon tunnel entrance.

*

The next afternoon, you and Karter are on the plane to DC. You haven’t flown since college, so you’re glad you’re at least sitting next to someone who’s not a complete stranger.

The plane takes off and you feel a pull in your soul as you’re carried far, far from your soulmate.

You try not to react, feigning a slightly itchy eye as you rub away a tear.

Karter glances sideways at you. “It’s…It’s difficult being away this early,” he says, slightly awkwardly. “But it does get easier, in time.”

You nod vaguely. “Yeah, that’s…what I’ve heard,” you say. “...We never even had a full day together. Not after I actually knew, anyway,” you say, keeping your wording vague.

And that’s mostly true…while you had technically spent thirty hours at the Pizzaplex on the night you found each other, so much of it was you drifting in and out of consciousness. Not exactly the romantic day-long (sometimes even multiple days) affair that soulmates usually have when they find each other.

Though you still haven’t told Karter about that, nor have you told him the couple of night visits you’d had courtesy of Moon. But you sense he’s caught on to the fact that you’ve found more time with DJ than what you’ve actually admitted to. Your ability to lie has not improved significantly in the past week, and lying to someone like Karter is far more difficult than lying to scum like Ezra.

You tell yourself that him not pressing you on it means that, in the end, he will respect your reasons for your secrecy. You hope you’re right about that.

But you’re still tired of lies and secrecy. You’ve always held your opinions on robots close to your chest, sure, but all this sneaking around, letting most of the world think you don’t have a soulmate or soulmark, pretending you haven’t seen your beloved in over a week…It’s already tiresome, and as much as your focus is on just being able to spend every day with DJ, you’re also beginning to appreciate how much simpler life will be when you can just tell the world that you’re with him, and that you’re with him because he’s your soulmate.

Soon. You have to believe that day will come soon.

Chapter Text

For the first two days of hearings with the National Robotics Committee, you barely speak. You sit beside Karter and on the first day, you are both called on to state your names and your status as former Fazbear Entertainment employees, and then it is mostly a recap of the past few hearings Karter had attended. Bureaucracy is slow as always.

As a result of this, you receive a few messages from curious former colleagues from your job in the repair warehouse back in Allendale. You promptly decide to mute all notifications except direct texts. You have a feeling you’ll be getting a few more inquiries as the week goes on and decide anyone who doesn’t actually have your phone number can wait a few days.

Better to not have those kinds of distractions anyway.

On the second day, you and Karter reiterate who you are and why you are here before once again being relegated to listening roles. The day is spent listening to Devon Mills, a higher ranking engineer from Fazbear Entertainment. He doesn’t even work at the Pizzaplex--he works at some other facility where the new Fazbear tech is developed and tested and had helped design some of the Pizzaplex animatronics. Though how involved he was in DJ’s development is unclear.

He seems to have a vested interest in robots not having souls. He reiterates that though they are advanced and personable, they are not truly people and do not truly have souls.

You wish you’d been given a chance to rebut Devon’s claims, but the end of the session lines up with the end of his presentation with such perfect timing you wonder if it’s deliberate.

Back at the hotel, you skim your various social media messages. You’ve gotten about twenty now, though none of them are from anyone particularly close to you. Maybe you’ll reply when you get home…right now it feels too daunting.

You’d never been unappreciative of Zeke’s work with keeping on top of the correspondence for C.A.R., but you certainly have a much bigger appreciation for it now, realizing how easily less than a couple dozen messages can intimidate you.

On the third day, you once again take your seat next to Karter. Again the introductions are repeated. One by one, the speakers seated the long table before the Committee’s raised podium stand to introduce themselves. When the chain reaches you, you once again stand to introduce yourself to the Committee, then Karter does the same, then Devon, then…

“Ezra Clark.”

You tense, feeling a chill run down your spine. You hadn’t seen Ezra on your way in, and because the table had you all seated single file, you can’t see him from your seat despite him being only two people away from you.

You had assumed he was staying out of these hearings…but then again, perhaps he had assumed the same of you.

You hadn’t known the names of any members of the National Robotics Committee a couple weeks ago, but now you know all five members by name, even if you haven’t spoken to any of them yet. The head speaker, a Mrs. Colleen McKinney, peers over her glasses at the notes on her tablet, swiping through them and skimming them briefly.

She states your first and last name, and you perk up, distracted from your worries about Ezra's presence by new worries about speaking before the committee. She continues, “I believe we’ll be hearing from you today. The claim is that you are the soulmate of the animatronic known as DJ Music Man, a robot that specializes in creating improv music for the dance hall in the Pizzaplex.”

You stand up, nodding. “Yes, Mrs. McKinney, that’s correct, he--”

“Mrs. McKinney, if I may,” Ezra says, standing and glancing sideways at you.

McKinney glances briefly at you, giving you a millisecond to protest the interruption. When you can’t find the words in time, she nods to Ezra. “Yes, Mr. Clark?”

“I would like to remind the Committee that DJ Music Man is not one of our humanoid, human-sized animatronics. It’s approximately two stories tall. It could barely even fit in this room. Furthermore, while it arguably has one of the more human faces of the Pizzaplex animatronics, its body is anything but. It is essentially a giant spider,” he says with a condescending chuckle--one that you are mortified to hear echoed by people scattered throughout the room and even one of the committee members.

You already feel your face heating up. While nothing Ezra says is inaccurate, and none of it is anything you consider shameful, he says it with such contempt you can tell he’s trying to paint DJ--and as a result, your connection, your love--as lesser because he’s simply not as humanoid as the Glamrocks or the Daycare Attendant.

“Your point, Mr. Clark?” McKinney asks, quirking a brow.

“I just want to make sure the Committee is…picturing things correctly, when my former employee tries to explain their…ah…‘feelings’,” he says, and you think you catch the barest hint of a smirk as his eyes flick towards you again. “I would also like to remind the Committee that DJ Music Man is the world’s largest animatronic, and by far the most expensive one in the Pizzaplex.”

“Are you suggesting a financial motive?” McKinney asks evenly.

“I am only suggesting that the Committee consider it. After all…how many people would fall in love with a machine like that? And compare that to how many people would be interested in simply owning such an expensive piece of hardware.”

“Hardware?!” you snap, causing a murmur to ripple through the room. Karter quickly reaches up and grabs your sleeve, silently begging you to follow the decorum of the hearing.

McKinney seems to have little patience for interruptions--at least your interruptions--and turns to peer at you over her glasses, looking like a very unimpressed school teacher. “Yes? Something to add?”

“I-I just…It’s…” you stammer. You feel a bead of sweat slide down your back as all eyes in the room are now on you. You’ve barely had a chance to say anything and already you’re fumbling. “H-He’s…more than…than just a piece of hardware,” you say.

“But it is a piece of hardware,” Ezra says bluntly. “Even if it does have a soul--which Fazbear Entertainment still denies--it is hardware. It is a machine.”

A couple of the other Committee members nod at Ezra’s statement, one of them making a note on his own tablet about something.

You feel Karter’s grip on your arm tightening and you bite back the urge to continue the argument.

McKinney locks gazes with you and dips her head in a nod. Finally, you get to actually speak your piece.

“F-First off,” you stammer, and can already feel all of poor Zeke’s teachings fleeing from your brain as you suddenly realize how dry your mouth is. “It doesn’t matter what he looks like. N-Not just…because that’s how soulmates work, but…a-any sort of AI can be put into any sort of body. The shape of their chassis has nothing to do with what their AI chip is capable of.”

You’re pleased to see a couple Committee members nod, and one genuinely looks a bit surprised, as if you’d made a good point they truly hadn’t considered.

Ezra stands up again. “I should also mention the DJ was never given a voice box. It can’t even speak.” He sits down again before you or the Committee can protest the interruption.

McKinney turns to you expectantly.

“A voice box and a language processor aren’t the same thing,” you say. “A robot can have a very advanced language processor but no way to show it without a voice box…or a robot with a voice box can have a simple language processor that only allows them to repeat a few phrases.”

“You said DJ Music Man has no way to actually show its advanced language abilities?” McKinney asks skeptically.

“U-Uh, n-no, that’s not--I meant it’s possible for a robot to not be able to--” you stammer. You take a breath. “Until recently, that was true of DJ. But myself and another animatronic taught him ASL--American Sign Language--and that’s how he and I communicate.”

“Another animatronic?” McKinney asks.

“The Daycare Attendant,” you clarify.

“Ah yes,” she says, swiping over something on her tablet. “That one does have teaching protocols…” she muses.

You nod. “DJ’s just as emotionally complex and intelligent as any human. And even though I don’t have a soulmark, due to him being mute, I have seen his. I know we are soulmates.”

McKinny stares at you, and you feel another bead of sweat roll down your back at her clear skepticism. “And just…what would be your plan, if Fazbear Entertainment surrendered DJ Music Man to you?”

“I-I…I don’t--” you stammer.

Once again, Ezra stands up. “They don’t have one. They told me so themself. They have no plans on what to do with the DJ once they get it. They don’t care what happens to it as long as it’s away from Fazbear Entertainment.”

“That is NOT what I--” you cry indignantly, only to be interrupted by Karter standing up in a panic and putting a hand on your shoulder to try to calm you.

“Isn’t it?” Ezra replies coolly.

“Of course it’s not! DJ doesn’t hate the ‘Plex--we’d…we’d be willing to let him stay there as long as he has his freedom--”

Ezra scoffs. “And what? We’re on the hook for maintenance costs--not to mention the amount of space it takes up--all while it’s allowed to just…not perform? Wander aimlessly around the ‘Plex as it pleases?” He cants his head, grinning in his infuriatingly smug way. “You must know why that can’t work. You wouldn’t offer such a ‘compromise’ if you thought there was ever a chance of us taking it.”

Karter feels you tensing, ready to spit out another indignant reply, and quickly squeezes your shoulder. “Stay calm, remember?” he mutters into your ear.

Reluctantly, you release the tension from your shoulders, letting out a slow, silent sigh.

While you’re trying to collect yourself, Ezra turns to McKinney. “If I may propose an alternate explanation for their ‘claims’?” he says, flicking a hand towards you.

“You may,” she says.

“They are thirty years old without a soulmark. As you know, that’s not unusual, and not incriminating on its own. However, as someone who has chosen to live without a soulmate, I believe I can recognize when someone has made the same choice.”

You tense again, and you feel Karter’s grip on your shoulder tighten once more--a silent reminder that you have already had too many outbursts in this short hearing.

“I believe they are more interested in monetary gain than any sort of soulmate,” he says, glancing sideways at you with a half-smirk designed to set you off.

And set you off it does.

“That’s what YOU want, Ezra!” you snarl. “I am NOTHING like you!”

You thought you could tolerate insults. You’d been prepared for them. Accusations of trying to scam Fazbear Entertainment or even just being delusional, you had prepared yourself for. Not as successfully as you’d hoped, given how this hearing is going, but you had prepared yourself.

But being compared to Ezra? Ezra? Calling him a piece of shit is an insult to shit. There’s no end to the amount of insults you could force yourself to stomach before being compared to that man.

And he knows it, you realize. His cold smirk as Karter forces you back into your seat makes that clear. Ezra knew right where to hit you to trick you into losing your temper destroying your own credibility in front of the Committee.

“I’m calling a recess,” McKinney says in exasperation. She turns to you, glaring. “And you had better find a way to calm yourself when we get back. This is a formal Committee hearing, not some daytime courtroom TV.”

“Y-Yes, Mrs. McKinney,” you say dully.

Karter gently takes your arm, ushering you out of the room and taking you upstairs to find a place for both of you to decompress. He finds you a deserted hallway on the floor above the chambers you’d just come from and guides you to sit on a wooden bench. Across the hall is a vending machine, and he goes and gets each of you a bottle of water.

He sits down next to you and passes you your water, and you double check the seal is intact before opening it and taking a drink. Karter’s too busy sipping his own water and staring ahead to notice your scrutiny.

After a moment, he speaks.

“Ezra has a way of getting under people’s skin.”

You let out a bitter scoff and can feel your eyes starting to water as the weight of your latest fuckup settles in around you, pressing up against you, squeezing you too tight to--

“Breathe,” Karter says, putting a hand on your shoulder. “Gotta remember to breathe,” he says.

You take in a shuddering breath, nodding but remaining silent.

“Your issues with Ezra…it’s…more than the soulmate thing, isn’t it?” he asks.

You sigh heavily, finishing your water bottle and setting it aside. You can’t bring yourself to even turn slightly towards Karter. “I…I don’t want to talk about it.” With a guilty flinch, you add, “At least not here. Not now.”

He nods. “You don’t have to. Not ever, if you don’t want to. I’m just…um, trying to understand. How he rattled your cage so quickly,” he says haltingly.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I fucked up. I shouldn’t’ve come,” you whisper hoarsely, slumping and covering your face.

“That’s not true!” Karter assures you quickly. “Like I said, Ezra…he can get to people. And just…knowing that there’s a human who wants to claim a robot as their soulmate…that’s gotta be worth more than me just prattling on about a couple robots who used to have soulmarks.”

“Maybe,” you concede weakly.

“I’ll try to do more of the talking when we get back. Okay?” he says gently. He’s not chastising you. He’s not punishing you for your screwup. He’s trying to pull his own weight and give you a break, to get you out of Ezra’s path now that he knows how dangerous it is for you.

But you can’t help but feel a bit chastised and punished.

You follow Karter back down to the hearing room and both of you take your seats. McKinney calls on Karter next, to speak about the circumstances around his departure from Fazbear Entertainment--specifically, DJ’s revelation of his soulmark.

Karter recounts the event, with the regret clear on his face at the mention of his abrupt departure, which he now knows left DJ unprepared for the road ahead. Ezra is less eager to interrupt him, for whatever reason. Maybe he realizes he won’t be able to get a rise out of Karter as readily as he can out of you, or perhaps he’s simply content at the damage he did to your case before the recess.

Though Ezra is not completely without rebut for Karter’s case. When Karter finishes, Ezra stands up again. He approaches the Committee and passes a paper to McKinney.

“Mr. Jameson had requested a raise two weeks prior to the incident. It was denied. We believe this is the true reason for his quitting, and the motivation behind his current actions.”

Karter stands up again. “Mrs. McKinney, I requested a raise every six months during my entire nine years at Fazbear Entertainment. Some were denied and some were accepted. This isn’t the first one that got denied. You can verify this with HR.”

“Third in a row, though. That must have stung,” Ezra says coolly.

“Not particularly,” Karter says, and you can hear the effort he puts into keeping his voice even.

McKinney, however, is skeptical. “Why is this only being brought up now, Mr. Clark?” she asks Ezra as he returns to his seat.

“HR only made the connection recently. I requested they look into Mr. Jameson’s past records to see if we could…understand…the reasons for his actions against Fazbear Entertainment.”

“I’m not against Fazbear. I’m for the animatronics. What Fazbear Entertainment decides to do about that is a separate concern,” Karter says.

McKinney nods, looking at the paper Ezra had given her again. “Hm. Well, I am not entirely convinced of the relevance of this, but I don’t think the timing of it can be dismissed entirely either. But we are at time for this meeting. The Committee will take the next week to review these proceedings as well as the other information and documents submitted by both Fazbear Entertainment and Mr. Jameson.”

Your shoulders slump. All that work. A day to travel to DC, three days in these hearings, and then one more day to return to Hurricane. Five days and you’re not convinced you made anything better. In fact, part of you still thinks you may have made things worse.

You and Karter monitor the news coverage of the hearing into the evening and over the course of your travels the next day.

It’s not great.

The news media seems very interested in your strong reaction to Ezra, your shout of “I am NOTHING like you!” often being clipped to show to their audiences, sometimes with audio but often letting your enraged glare and snarling mouth do the talking. The actual context of what had been said is rare.

Though they’ll never have the full context of how Ezra can so readily strike your nerves.

You’re in the airport, sitting next to Karter in the terminal, waiting for your plane back to Hurricane to start boarding. A newscast plays over your earbuds as you stare down at your phone.

Another clip of you barking at Ezra like an angry dog. At least that’s how the reporter is describing it. You may have been out of line (by the standards of the Committee anyway), but surely that wording is an unwarranted exaggeration? Or are you too deep in your anger at Ezra to see your own reactions objectively?

The report cuts to Ezra and the interviewer sitting on some kind of set meant to look like a homey sitting room. “I think it’s a facade. An act,” Ezra says. You’re not sure when he even had time to do this sit-down interview. Right after the hearing, possibly?

“It looks like a genuine reaction to me,” the interviewer says in a patient but interested tone.

“If they truly cared, they’d know not to act out like this,” Ezra says with a smile and a shrug. You can’t help but feel he knew you’d end up watching this interview. “But a big bombastic reaction like that gets attention.”

“And scrutiny,” the interviewer points out.

“Yes. But…in the case of love and romance, people see this kind of passion and assume there’s something real behind it. But that’s not always the case.”

Is Ezra seriously trying to convince the press you lost your shit because you don’t love DJ? To your dismay, though, it seems to be working, because the interviewer is nodding along thoughtfully, without a single follow-up question, not a single ounce of scrutiny with Ezra’s explanation. Is the thought of you putting on an act and feigning indignant rage in order to steal a giant robot really more believable to these people than you just…being in love?

You can’t help but feel the world will find a great many things more believable than a giant robot spider having a soulmate.

*

You arrive home and drop your suitcase and backpack haphazardly beside your door, shuffling tiredly to your bed and collapsing. Your phone buzzes, and you grumble in protest, reaching down to fish it out of your pocket without lifting your face from the pillow.

You blearily stare at the screen, and are about to just dismiss the notification, when you see who it’s from.

Gran.

“Saw you on the news. When will you be in Allendale next? Would like to talk. Love, Gran.”

You chew your lip in thought. You’re tempted to simply say you don’t know so that you can stay home until Moon can get you in to see DJ again.

You also dread what Gran and your parents might say. Gran has historically been on your side for all things soulmates…with the exception of a certain remark you’d made to Tiffany during your drama years ago--though even you aren’t on your own side for that anymore.

You’d stopped being on your own side about two minutes after you’d said it.

Still. Even as supportive as Gran has been, it’s not hard to imagine the giant robot spider being the thing to finally cause her to question your judgment.

And you’re even less confident about what Mom and Dad will say. Dad has usually stayed out of soulmate related squabbles and drama, though when he has gotten involved he’s usually backing up whatever Mom says. And Mom…she used to give you a lot of unsolicited advice on how to help make yourself “ready” for a soulmark. New hobbies, new friends, maybe even do a bit of casual dating so you can be paired with someone who might appreciate you having a bit more “experience”. It’s been a few years since she’s said anything like that…you wonder if she actually changed her mind or if she just realized her suggestions were falling on deaf ears.

Well, you can’t avoid it forever. So you may as well get it over with.

“I have the next few days free. I can drive up tomorrow morning?”

“Sounds good. See you then. Love, Gran.”

You toss your phone aside. You’re tempted to just let sleep carry you off as you are--unfed, unwashed, atop your blankets and smelling like a dingy airport.

But if Moon happens to stop by tonight and finds you like this, he won’t be pleased.

Reluctantly, you pull yourself out of bed long enough to shower, change into your PJs, and have some soup. Unpacking can wait. Laundry can wait. Responding to the various messages you’d been getting from your friends and former colleagues back in Allendale can definitely wait.

For now, you sleep.

*

Moon doesn’t arrive that night, much to your disappointment. In the morning, you send him a simple text saying you’ll be out of town for a few more days for a visit home. He doesn’t reply, which is to be expected. None of your texts have received a response--probably due to Moon wanting to stretch the prepaid plan as long as possible.

The four hours to Allendale drag on, but at least early morning on a weekday grants you clear roads and little traffic as commuters flood into Hurricane while very few people flood out of it.

You pull up to your parents’ house and recognize Tiffany and Abigail’s cars in the driveway, and Penny’s parked on the curb. Your stomach sinks. Tiffany and Penny would’ve had to have taken off work for this…

You aren’t here to talk to just Gran and your parents. The entirety of your immediate family is about to weigh in.

The word “intervention” echoes in your mind and you’re suddenly tempted to floor it back to Hurricane. The bit of optimism you’d been trying to hold onto is now gone.

With a sigh, you park on the curb behind Penny, take a moment to collect yourself, then exit your car, trudging up to the front door. You let yourself in and can already hear that you’ve interrupted a conversation, as several voices abruptly stop and silence fills the house.

Mom and Dad emerge from the living room as you’re taking off your shoes and coat, and both solemnly embrace you.

“I’m, uh…sorry about your job, kiddo,” Dad says. “Seemed like you really liked that place.”

“I did,” you say quietly, following them into the living room. And it’s true, even not factoring in DJ. The work you did there and the overall environment (when Ezra wasn’t a factor, anyway) did feel a lot more fun than your previous job.

Still, you can live without that job…but you can’t live without DJ.

In the living room, Gran is sitting in her usual plush recliner, her cane leaning against the armrest and one of her cats curled in her lap, sound asleep. Abigail is in the other recliner, with her feet up and hands resting on her baby bump, while Penny and Tiffany sit on the smaller of the two couches. Tiffany, as usual, is wearing a smart pants-suit, and looks like she’s just come from either court or a consult with one of her clients, and Penny, too, looks like she’s just come from work, dressed in the nice but unobtrusive clothing that elementary school teachers often wear.

Abigail’s wife and Tiffany’s husband are not present, much to your relief.

You murmur a strained greeting to everyone, which they return just as awkwardly, and take a seat at the end of the larger couch, with Mom and Dad sitting at the opposite end of said couch.

Gran is the first to speak. “So…why don’t you…tell us what’s been going on the past couple weeks?” she asks gently.

You’re already wringing your hands nervously. “You said you saw the news. Did you all see it?”

“I think we’ve all seen bits and pieces,” Gran says patiently. “But we want to hear it from you.”

That’s both what you’d hoped for and had been afraid of.

“Well…I have a soulmate. He’s mute, so I have no soulmark, but we communicate with ASL. And…yes, he…he is the DJ from the Pizzaplex. A robot. You’ve…all seen the pictures by now I assume,” you say, your voice distant and flat.

Mom and Dad exchange a glance, as if debating who should be the one to speak. Finally, Mom says hesitantly, “And…you’re um…you’re…sure?”

You resist the urge to let out a long, aggravated sigh, instead simply taking a breath and letting it out silently. “Yes, Mom. I am. I’ve seen his soulmark. And I…I know I love him, and he loves me,” you say quietly, unable to meet anyone’s gaze. Not out of shame, but out of fear.

Tiffany scoffs, narrowing her eyes. “I thought you needed to have a soul to have a soulmate,” she says coldly.

The room falls deathly silent as you and your family struggle to even believe what was just said.

Abigail’s the first to react. “Tiff!” she gasps in a tone more chastising than even Mom can manage. “You’re really digging that up now?”

You can’t even meet anyone’s gaze. You and everyone else know perfectly well that Tiffany’s remark has nothing to do with DJ and everything to do with you.

One horrid remark you’d made in a fit of impotent anger years ago, out of a sickening jealousy over her getting her soulmark before you. One impulsive act of cruelty--on her sacred day no less--and the wall between you came up, and even years later, hasn’t fully come down.

She’s been holding onto this for years, and destiny blessed her with the perfect opportunity to throw the worst thing you’ve ever said to anyone, much less your own family--your own sister--back in your face.

It’s hard to make yourself believe you don’t deserve it.

On the other hand, you truly have no idea what response Tiffany was expecting from the rest of the family other than the one she got. Mom and Dad and Gran have now all joined in on the scolding while Penny stares on in shock and you stare blankly at a spot on the rug.

Tiffany’s eyes are wet with tears even as her jaw clenches in anger. With a huff she abruptly stands and storms out of the room.

“TIFFANY MICHELLE!” Mom calls, invoking not only the full first name but also the dreaded middle name. “You get back here!”

The only response is the sound of the front door slamming.

Abigail sighs heavily and reaches for the lever on the side of her easy chair, folding the footrest back into place. “I’ll get her,” she says.

“A-Are you sure?” Penny asks, rushing to help her pregnant sister out of the chair.

Abigail laughs weakly. “I’m only at six months. I’m not going to pop, don’t worry,” she says lightly. Given that this is her third time being pregnant, compared to Penny and Tiffany’s zero, you’re quite sure she knows what she’s talking about.

Still, Penny insists on going with her to find Tiffany. If it were anyone else, you’d guess she was doing so to get out of the current awkward conversation, but you’re sure Penny’s desire to help Abigail comes from a place of genuine worry for her older sister and future niblet.

You’re glad she had been away at college for the worst of you and Tiffany’s drama. Sometimes you think the only reason she’s become your closest sibling is that she simply hadn’t had the chance to see you at your worst.

An awkward silence falls over the room once all three of your sisters have left. Eventually it is broken by Mom quietly asking if you’re alright, to which you nod silently.

Another awkward silence passes, and now it is Gran who breaks it. “Your plan is to move him out of that Pizzeria?” she asks, continuing the conversation as if the outburst hadn’t happened.

You shrug, having no choice but to do the same. “We don’t have that much of a plan. We’re focusing on preventing him from being considered property.” You sigh heavily. “But…if he’s not Fazbear Entertainment’s ‘property’, I doubt they’ll want to keep putting him up in the ‘Plex,” you admit.

Gran nods thoughtfully. “Do you think the barn would be big enough?” she asks, her tone strangely conversational given the gravity of the situation.

“The--The what? Barn?” you ask blankly. “W--You don’t mean the one on your farm, do you?!” you blurt in surprise.

Gran chuckles. “Of course that one! What other could I possibly be talking about?”

“M-Mom, you…you’re not going to…give away the farm, are you?” Mom asks, stunned.

Gran snorts. “Well, selling it clearly isn’t happening. Maybe this is what destiny had in mind for it all these years.”

You’re still too stunned to speak, staring at Gran in shock.

“Well? Would it work?” she prompts you after a moment.

“I-I…y-yeah. Yes!” you say, feeling your eyes misting up again. You haven’t been to the old farm since she put it up for sale a few years ago. You try to remember the exact size of the barn, though you know DJ could definitely fit inside it…and you’re pretty sure he could squeeze through the tall sliding door at the front of the barn. You vaguely remember some animal stalls and shelving that would have to be cleared out to make the barn one big room for DJ. It would be at about time and half the size of his stage…not quite the same as him having full run of the West Arcade and the maintenance hall, along with all his tunnels, but…

But nothing! It’s a hell of a lot more doable than anything else you can even come close to affording!

“Thank you…” you whisper, wiping at your eyes.

“Now, you know it’s not in the greatest shape anymore,” Gran cautions you. “The house has been kept up but I’ve had to let the barn go a bit. As far as I can tell it’s still safe, but…probably a bit drafty. Penny’s been visiting the property a bit, though. Maybe she can show you around this afternoon.”

With Gran’s limited mobility, the farm is no longer a hospitable place for her. When you were in your early teens, she’d begun selling off her animals as they got to be too much to take care of. Then downsizing her small crop fields too. By the time you’d finished college, she’d moved in with your parents and had started trying to sell off the property.

You may not be sure what state it’s in, but as long as it’s still standing, it’s a far better starting point for you and DJ than you’d imagined you’d get.

Still…

“I-I…can’t believe you can just…give that away…” you say, still reeling from what you’ve been gifted. You’re not sure exactly what the farm is worth. You don’t even know the price it had been last listed at, and now it seems the price it would have sold for is destined to remain a mystery. Though you can’t imagine you could have matched even the lowest of lowball offers.

“Dear, I’m perfectly happy to see it go to a grandchild who needs it rather than some yahoo who just grabs it up on the cheap and does who-knows-what with the land,” Gran insists.

Mom and Dad are still sitting in stunned silence. Finally, Mom speaks. “It…does seem to be the only place that will fit such a…a large…um…robot,” she says, the last word sounding a bit forced. As if she’s still processing that her eldest child has been paired with an entirely inhuman creature.

You suppose you can’t blame her. It’s a lot to process.

“So…you all…believe me then? That he’s my soulmate?” you ask quietly.

“Of course,” Gran says.

Mom and Dad seem a little less confident as they each give a nod. “We certainly don’t believe you’re trying to scam Fazbear’s,” Dad says.

You guess they do believe you’re sincere, even if they’re still questioning if you’re right. Well…you didn’t expect them to come around overnight. They’re already giving you more support than you’d expected. But then, maybe your mind has been poisoned by Ezra and your previous bosses--people whose financial futures relied heavily on robots never being seen as being anything close to human.

You hear the front door open and all four of you tense, relaxing only slightly when it’s clear it’s only Penny returning. She doesn't look particularly happy, but she seems more tired than actually hurt or angry. “Abby’s still helping Tiff cool off. They um…said it might be awhile yet…” she admits awkwardly.

Gran nods, then glances at you. “Why don’t you share the good news?”

“O-Oh, um…Gran…Gran’s giving me her farm…” you say.

Penny’s eyes widen and her jaw drops. “R-Really?”

“Y-Yeah…” you say. “I-I mean, it…seems…unlikely that Fazbear Entertainment will let DJ stay at the ‘Plex if…if he’s not…‘theirs’ anymore…” you grimace. “So we…we’ll need a bigger place…” you say, almost apologetically.

You’ve heard about how disputes about family property like this can absolutely ruin families. One sibling gets what appears to be preferential treatment because “they need it more” and suddenly everyone else has a strong opinion on who “needs” things more than the rest of their siblings.

But Penny has always been the mildest of the four of you--perhaps due to being the youngest--so if she has any such feelings she hides them magnificently. Though in truth you don’t think there’s any ill will hidden behind her awkward smile as she nods in understanding.

“O-Oh, I see…” she says. It’s still quite a surprise to her, but at least there doesn’t seem to be any resentment over the large gift.

“Why don’t you two drive over and take a look?” Gran asks.

“I-I’d like that,” you say, smiling encouragingly to Penny. “I-I mean, if you have time…since I haven’t been there in a few years…”

“Um, s-sure…I don’t mind,” Penny says, nodding.

You give her a kind thanks, and the two of you get your coats on, saying you’ll be back in a few hours. Penny offers to drive, so you both climb into her car. You leave the subdivision and head down the main road. The first few miles look like a typical small town, with shops and small offices lining the streets, until it rather abruptly transitions to a straight road surrounded by open fields. Suddenly, you’ve gone from small town to rural farmland.

Penny turns off the main road onto what looks like a nondescript dirt road, a “Private Property” sign being the only hint that this is actually a long driveway. A few car lengths down the drive, the road is blocked by a metal gate. Though perhaps “gate” is too charitable--it’s little more than a single metal swing bar held in place with a chain and padlock. Not exactly high security but so far it’s proven to be enough to keep any “yahoos” (to use Gran’s term) off the unoccupied property.

Penny gets out and unlocks the gate, moving the bar out of the way before getting back into the car and driving past it.

“I usually don’t bother closing it behind me unless it’s night time,” she explains.

“Night time? What’re you doing here at night time?” you ask curiously.

“Stargazing,” she says. “There’s a lot less light pollution here than the part of town my apartment’s in.” She smiles weakly, almost apologetically, and adds, “That and uh…there’s…not a good place to set up my telescope near my apartment…”

You know the telescope she’s talking about. It isn’t just some little thing on a tripod one could just set up anywhere. It’s a huge, cylindrical thing that takes up the entire back seat of her car whenever she takes it anywhere, and while you didn’t know the exact price she’d paid for it, you knew it had been well into the triple digits.

You chuckle, quirking a brow at her. “Sure, Pen, you can keep the telescope at the farm. And come out for stargazing, if you want,” you say, answering her unspoken request.

“Thank you,” she says with visible relief. Then she pauses, glancing sideways at you as she stops the car. “You…don’t think DJ will mind?”

You shake your head. “Nah. I don’t see why he would,” you say. You can’t even begin to describe how happy you are that she even thought to ask.

You both step out of the car, and you glance around, surveying the farm. It doesn’t look too different from what you remember. Some of the landscaping has gone a bit wild--the only shrubs that seem maintained are the ones in the flower beds around the house itself. The ones beside the driveway and around the yard have only been haphazardly cut when the branches extend too far over the pathways.

The lawn, too, is now mostly crabgrass, which seems content to stay a little below knee height. But the small flagstone walkways leading around the house look well-maintained, as does the house itself.

The dirt driveway Penny’s car is parked on continues down a hill to the barn, though that portion of the path is a bit more overgrown--not enough to prevent you from driving up to the barn if you so desire, but it’s clear nobody has bothered to do so in some time. The barn itself is just as big as you remember, though the red paint has dulled and worn away, making the building look more of a rusty brown color. From this distance, the structure itself still looks fine, if a bit weathered.

From what you understand, Penny has been doing most of the work in making sure this place didn’t fall into complete abandon. Of course, Gran pays her, and decently well, from what you understand. It makes for some nice spending money and even a bit of savings to augment Penny’s (unfortunately) low pay as an elementary school teacher.

The “tour” of the farmhouse is fairly quick. After all, you’ve seen it plenty of times, so it’s more of a brief walkthrough. There are a few burned out light bulbs Penny hasn’t replaced and some wallpaper that’s peeling off. One of the toilets no longer flushes, but they are holding off on replacing that until they have a potential buyer, at which point they’d negotiate with them on who would pay for the replacement. The fridge and washing machine had been given away to your aunts when theirs had broken down, so now the farmhouse is missing those particular amenities.

The farmhouse alone is bigger than anything you are likely to buy anytime soon--two floors, with five bedrooms, a den, and two and a half bathrooms. Gran had raised five kids here, after all.

Then again, you’re not sure how much time you’d spend in the house when you and DJ live on the farm together. You’d rather modify the barn so you could mostly stay in it with DJ. Granted the house and the barn are only about fifty yards away from each other, so it’s not exactly living apart, even if you are in the farmhouse a lot of the time.

You head down the dirt driveway to the barn and enter through the smaller side door.

The inside of the barn is not as you remember. It’s far dingier and dustier, and at first glance it almost looks like the ground is just packed dirt--but that’s just how messy the concrete floor has gotten. There’s also a spot on one wall where not only the inner wall has been chewed through, but the insulation and outer wall as well, leaving a one-foot tall hole in the wall near the ground. The angle of the afternoon sun causes the light to shine through the opening, drawing particular attention to it.

“We think it was raccoons. About a year ago,” Penny says when you ask her about it. “I’ve been setting up repellent since then. So there shouldn’t be anything living in here, at least.”

You nod, glancing around.

“What do you think?” Penny asks after a moment, leaning against one of the long-since empty stalls.

“It seems doable,” you say. “We’d probably want to clear out these dividers…” you say, gesturing to the walls separating this half of the barn into stalls. “Fix the wall, obviously…”

“Does…does he get cold at all? DJ?” Penny asks curiously.

“Not as such, but he was built to be in a fairly climate-controlled area. It wouldn’t be good for his endoskeleton to be too cold for too long,” you explain. You turn your gaze upwards. Half the barn is open all the way up to the ceiling, while the other half is split vertically by the hayloft. “Maybe I could make the hayloft into a…loft,” you muse with a weak smile.

The image of you standing at the railing of the loft, at DJ’s eye level without him crouching down…it’s certainly appealing.

You sigh softly. “But I don’t know how I’m going to afford general upkeep of this place, much less that kind of remodeling,” you say as reality once again closes in around you.

You glance at Penny, and see she’s looking at you in bewilderment.

“What?” you ask, frowning in confusion.

Penny gives a hesitant, bemused smile. “I-Isn’t…your boyfriend a world-famous musician?”

You’re almost too distracted by your heart fluttering at hearing DJ referred to as your boyfriend to process her question. But after a moment, you do. “Oh,” you say, stunned. As much as you love DJ’s music, his music career had barely entered your mind in the time you’ve known him--there had always been far more pressing things to think about. “Y-Yeah, I…I suppose he is, but…his songs don’t really get released. They’re all improv, for the most part,” you say.

“Do you think he’d ever want to actually release anything?”

You consider, staring up at the loft again. “I think if he didn’t need to, he wouldn’t be interested in bothering with that. But…I think if it were to help us build a life together, he’d definitely be willing,” you say with a small smile. “I just hope Fazbear Entertainment doesn’t try to trap us in some kind of non-compete clause,” you mutter.

The two of you exit the barn and begin heading back up the hill to the house, but before Penny can ask anything about how the hearings with the Committee are going, both of you notice something at the same time.

Tiffany’s car is parked next to Penny’s.

You both freeze, exchanging a glance, but neither of you dare to comment on it as you resume your walk up the hill. As you approach, you can see Tiffany isn’t in her car. She must have gone inside to wait for you two, since Penny hadn’t locked up after the tour.

“W-Why don’t you…wait in the car, Pen?” you say as you crest the top of the hill.

Penny gives you a hesitant look, then nods.

You enter the farmhouse. “Tiff?” you call out as the door swings shut behind you.

“In here,” she replies, her tone even. Almost unnervingly so.

You follow the sound of her voice to the living room, where she sits on one of the old, threadbare armchairs that still remains in the home. You silently take a seat on the opposite sofa, which creaks in protest.

Tiffany is the first to break the silence. “Mom and Dad and Gran want me to apologize for what I said,” she says flatly, staring out the window instead of looking at you.

“O-Oh…” you say. Clearly she doesn’t think she owes you such an apology. “I-It’s okay--”

“I didn’t say I was apologizing!” she snaps.

You flinch, still not meeting her gaze. After a moment, you start again. “I was going to say ‘It’s okay’ because you don’t have to apologize.”

“Finally something we agree on,” she mutters wryly. She glares out the window, her arms folded across her chest and shoulders squared. “You know, nobody cared when you said it to me. But somehow I say it back to you and I’m the monster.”

“I did get in trouble!” you say. “I got yelled at! Just like you did! Besides, it was years ago!”

She scoffs indignantly. “I’m the same age now as you were then! And you may have gotten a slap on the wrist, but I got lectures on how ‘family needs to forgive family’ and ‘oh just think of how it would feel, being the oldest without a soulmark’ and ‘can’t you have some sympathy?’! You can say or do whatever you want, and it’s just ‘oh but Tiffy, you got your soulmark first, so what does a bit of sibling abuse matter?’”

You blink at that. “I-I…I’m sorry, Tiff, I…I had no idea…”

She huffs slightly, her expression softening despite--it seems--her best efforts. “Didn’t you?” she asks, sounding like she’d tried to be angry but her voice had come out more subdued.

“I didn’t!” you say quickly. “I-I just…I thought we all kind of swept it under the rug…forgot about it…”

“Nobody forgot,” she mutters. “Except maybe you,” she adds bitterly.

You let out a strained, sad laugh that sounds more like a sob. “Oh, I promise I didn’t,” you say weakly. “But I wanted to.”

She snorts, turning away to look out over the farm. “Easier than apologizing I guess,” she mutters.

You flinch. “Yeah,” you admit thickly. You slowly take in a breath, squaring your shoulders and lifting your gaze to her. “I…I am sorry, Tiff. It…it was a fucked up, stupid, mean thing to say and…no matter how much we were picking at each other back then, there’s…no excuse. There’s no excuse for saying something like that ever, but especially not on your sacred day. It crossed a line. A-And…I’m sorry…”

Tiffany turns sharply towards you, and you're dismayed at both the tears in her eyes and the look of surprise on her face. Especially the latter. As if she truly believed that apology was never coming.

Well. It’s been years. She had every reason to think it wasn’t.

You two sit in silence a moment before you speak again. “I…I didn’t even want to tell DJ I’d said anything like that to you.”

“You’ve talked to him about that?” Tiffany says, giving you a somewhat indignant look.

You shrug. “Only a little. I was…telling him I had three sisters, so he asked what you all were like. So I just…told him not all of us were close and…just…mentioned it was related to soulmate drama…” When Tiffany doesn’t respond, you continue, “I-I’ll…tell him someday. If only because I want him to hear it from me rather than anyone else. B-But I mean, I didn’t even realize we were soulmates at the time and…things have just been moving so fast since then…”

Tiffany’s still staring out the window as she gives a hum of acknowledgement. “It sounds like it’s not going well. The whole C.A.R. vs. Robotics Committee thing,” she says, turning away from the window to glance at you.

You wince. “It’s…not. Not really…” you admit.

“I saw your hearing. They went at you pretty hard,” she says, and you think you detect some sympathy in her voice. Or is that just wishful thinking on your part?

“Yeah…” you say, looking at her in confusion as you wonder where she’s going with this.

“You really should have a lawyer with you. Or someone who can redirect the more bullshit questions, and keep your arguments focused,” she says. “Someone who knows how to play the game.”

“Karter and Zeke have a lawyer friend. Someone from college I guess. I haven’t met him, but he’s…too busy to be involved for more than a couple hours a week.”

She lets out another soft hum before standing up, getting her wallet from her pocket and fishing out a business card. “Well, give Karter and Zeke my card when you get back to Hurricane,” she says simply, crossing the room to hand it to you.

She says it so matter-of-factly that you almost wonder if at least one of you has misunderstood the conversation.

“I-I…” you stammer as you take the card. Tiffany has returned to her seat by the time you find your words. “We don’t…really have any money. We can’t pay you.”

“I know,” she says. She gives a weak smile. “Or, well, I inferred. I assumed if you could afford a lawyer, you’d have one.”

“So…y-you’d do it…basically for free?” you say in disbelief.

“...It’s called pro bono in the business,” she says dryly before shrugging. “It could uh…prove to be a very significant case. Not a bad thing to attach my name to,” she says. She takes a breath, turning towards the window again. “B-Besides…I am still your sister,” she says quietly.

You feel your eyes stinging with tears and try to wipe them away with your sleeve before a loud sniffle escapes you.

Tiff’s eyes are misting again as well as she stands up, clearing her throat. “I-I’m…gonna head home. Think about what I said, okay?” she says a bit awkwardly.

You nod, not daring to speak for fear of opening the floodgates.

Your cause has received an unexpected yet vital ally.

*

Darryl is not enjoying his promotion. He had always been content to be a middling employee with a bit of respect, but not so much that the higher ups gave him a bunch of extra responsibilities. So he’d had no problem when you, the newbie, had easily outpaced him in value. It had gotten him out of the daycare, after all.

But then you had been fired, and Hannah had quit. Darryl had found himself rising through the ranks though no fault (or effort) of his own. Not only is he now once again in charge of the Daycare Attendant, who is more cagey and uncooperative than ever, but Ezra has insisted he take over Hannah’s management duties, at least temporarily.

“Temporarily” looks like it’s going to stretch on to infinity. For some reason, job applications to all areas of the ‘Plex have slowed to barely a trickle--barely a drip. Is the publicity from the Coalition for AI Rights really so bad that people don’t even want to work for Freddy Fazbear’s--a magical place for kids and grown-ups alike?

Another tech had just quit after Ezra suggested they start using controlled shocks to get the Daycare Attendant to cooperate. Said tech had also been the one who usually cleaned Chica’s stomach hatch, so now that is yet another unpleasant task that falls to Darryl.

Yet at this point, he’ll take that over what he was doing now--standing before Ezra’s desk while the man fumes at something on his screen. Darryl has been standing here ten minutes and still has no idea why Ezra called him in.

At last, Ezra speaks. “The Nighttime Attendant is up to something,” he says.

“Oh?” Darryl asks hesitantly.

“It’s hardly ever on the cameras anymore. A few weeks ago its routine took it past eight different cameras, at almost exactly the same time each night. You could practically set a clock to it. And now? Nothing.”

“Maybe he’s just…varying his routine?” Darryl suggests tentatively.

Ezra glares at him balefully. “It’s a machine. It doesn’t crave variety. It doesn’t get random whims to try something new. If it changed its routine, it’s for a reason. And I need to know what that is.”

“I-I…don’t know, Ezra…” Darryl stammers haltingly.

“Clearly,” Ezra mutters with a roll of his eyes. He slides a small box forward. It’s barely the size of the boxes the Fazwatches come in. “When you do the attendant’s maintenance tonight, put this tracker in it.”

“A-A tracker?”

“Yes, Darryl, a tracker!” Ezra snaps. He swivels in his chair, turning to fully face him. He smirks. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about violating the thing’s privacy?”

Darryl quickly shakes his head. “N-No, no, of course not!” he says quickly. “I-I just…He’ll notice. He might…object?”

Ezra gives him a deadpan look, unimpressed with his logic. After a moment he lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing his forehead like a disappointed parent. “Listen, Darryl. I don’t say this lightly, but…I’m going to need you to take a page out of that new tech’s book. Just for the next session. Don’t read off its repairs, and let it keep its eyes closed while you do whatever maintenance is scheduled. Stick the tracker somewhere inside its chassis and it won’t even realize what you’ve done. If it asks--which it won’t, because apparently it thinks it’s ‘squeamish’ or something--just say it had a loose wire you were pushing back into place.”

“O-Okay…” Darryl stammers out.

Ezra’s expression immediately turns impatient as he makes a shooing gesture. Apparently the conversation had ended, and Darryl had been meant to know that.

Darryl can see why Hannah quit. In fact, he might be updating his own resume tonight.

Chapter Text

You hadn’t doubted Tiffany’s offer. Not in the least. But you’re still incredibly surprised when she arrives in Hurricane and sets up in a hotel near your apartment. She says she simply prefers to speak to clients in person whenever possible, rather than video call.

Her husband, Mateo, does not accompany her, though that surprises you less. Even after all these years, you’ve only met him a handful of times. He and Tiffany are both very career driven, both lawyers, and you get the impression even they don’t see very much of each other. But they both know the other is standing beside them, even if it’s not always as literal as other soulmates. For them, the texts, the video calls, and the very rare evening together is enough. Compatibility comes in many varieties, after all.

Tiff is now at your apartment, having brought over a pizza. You move your birthday bouquet to your desk to make room for the pizza box, and the two of you sit down at the small dining table. You’ve already explained bits and pieces about DJ and the general situation at the ‘Plex in brief notes over text, but now you lay out most of the full story of you and DJ, as well as the triplets and Sun and Moon. You blame your drunken confession on simple fatigue during a late movie night…you also leave out Moon’s various rule-breaking, particularly his sneaking you into the ‘Plex.

You’re aware that giving Tiffany--as your lawyer--all possible information will have certain advantages when it comes to the hearing…but right now the Daycare Attendant has no protection over whatever punishment Ezra or Fazbear Entertainment might give them. So you won’t give Fazbear Entertainment any reason to retaliate.

“So, um…I know you probably don’t want to, but we should talk about what happened at the hearing the other day.”

You snort bitterly. “You mean me barking at Ezra like a rabid dog?” you mutter.

Tiffany gives you a look that’s a mix of deadpan and sympathetic. Now isn’t the time to mope, much as she understands the temptation. “Legitimate news sources aren’t saying that. Only the tabloid-y sensationalist rags are.”

“Well, people read them both,” you point out, trying to keep the sulkiness out of your tone. As much as the statement gives you reason to be grumpy, you’re mostly pointing it out because it’s just plain true.

“Unfortunately,” she concedes with a shrug. “But unflattering descriptions aside…” she begins, her brow knit in concern. “I know it usually takes more needling than that to get you to lose your temper these days.” She doesn’t mention that she knows this because she used to needle you, and you don’t see any reason to point it out either.

You’re both past that.

“So what did he do?” Tiffany asks plainly.

You sigh softly, dropping your half-eaten pizza slice back onto your plate. “I…I don’t want to get into it.”

“Shouldn’t keep secrets from your lawyer,” she says. She wears a playful smirk, but there’s genuine worry in her tone.

You lean back in your chair, folding your arms and glancing away. “I-I…I don’t want it involved in the Committee hearings. I don’t…I don’t want it public,” you admit reluctantly.

Tiffany’s brows raise as she senses whatever happened is probably worse than the minor spat or clash of personalities she had initially assumed, but she dips her head in a nod.

“I-It started…I guess on my birthday…” you say. You explain the “date” as best as you can remember, though admit your details on the conversation are sketchy due to being distracted by worrying about DJ. You emphasize that you truly don’t know if he’d intended it as a date and was angry that you’d rejected it, or if he really was, as he implied, truly just angry at your assumptions.

Either way, you think this event was what painted a target on your back.

“Then…the whole…Committee business started happening with Karter, and…I…I kinda outed myself as being more on Karter’s side than Ezra’s with that. But it…it still seemed like Ezra was trying to be amicable some of the time,” you say, fiddling with one of the napkins.

“It was, um…a couple nights before I was fired…I was in the dance hall watching DJ’s show and Ezra told me to come with him to FazPad--this little cafe thing in the ‘Plex. He…did say I could refuse, but…it…it didn’t feel like I could. But I should have tried. I really should have tried,” you lament, rubbing your hands over your face.

“He…he put something in my drink,” you admit thickly.

Tiffany’s eyes widen. “Holy shit…” she breathes. This is much worse than she’d thought!

“DJ’s brothers and Moon got me away from him before anything happened. I-I mean…not…that I know for sure he would have…” You trail off, covering your mouth and leaning forward as your stomach threatens to eject the half-slice of pizza you’ve eaten.

Tiffany is glancing away, her eyes wide as one hand covers her mouth. “You don’t have to know,” she mutters after a moment. “The drugging is enough.”

You give a brief grunt of agreement, staring at the table.

“Please tell me you plan on pressing charges,” she says gently.

You shrug. “There’s…a lot of other stuff to worry about right now.”

Tiffany frowns. “He shouldn’t get away with that.”

A sad smile graces your lips. “DJ said the same thing.”

She lets out a weak chuckle. “Well, DJ’s right.”

You sigh heavily. “I-I know, but…I…I need to know DJ and the others are safe first.”

Tiffany grimaces. “I…suppose so. Usually there are ways around that…protective custody and restraining orders and whatnot, but…”

“Not for animatronics,” you finish her statement.

She nods grimly. “Well. In any case. You have that, and possibly a good wrongful termination suit on your hands. I advise you to think about it--as both your lawyer and your sister,” she says with a wry smile.

You smile weakly. “I do think about it, Tiff. I don’t want him to get away with it either.”

“Then he won’t,” she says simply.

*

You don’t hear much from Tiffany for another couple days. You’ve been spending your time helping with C.A.R.’s inbox, requesting access to the animatronics’ blueprints and schematics in order to better make your case, and doing a couple more coaching sessions with Zeke, even though Tiffany has promised to keep your speaking role to a minimum in the next hearing.

She manages to catch you as you’ve just finished heating up a can of soup, texting you to see if now is a good time for her to swing by.

You resist the urge to use this as an excuse to toss the soup and skip another meal. You remind yourself that you can probably finish most of it before she gets here.

Do it for DJ--the mantra you repeat to yourself whenever you’re tempted to skip a meal or a shower or any other part of your very basic self-care routine.

You’ve finished the soup and are just rinsing out the bowl when you hear Tiffany knock on the door. You dry your hands on your jeans as you hurry to let her in, hoping she has some kind of good news.

And, from the large grin on her face, you guess she must!

“Guess what?” she asks eagerly, brushing past you before you can properly invite her inside.

“Uh--”

“You remember that client I had last year? The chocolatier?” she says quickly, sitting down at the dining table.

“Vaguel--”

“Well!” she rushes onward, “The lawyer I’d partnered with on that has a friend who specializes in theme park rides. That friend put me in touch with someone who specializes in animatronics, and they put me in touch with a judge who’s friends with another judge in DC, and that judge is friends with one of the members of the National Robotics Committee. Kylie Smithson?” Here she finally pauses to allow you to speak.

You nod. “I’m familiar. She hasn’t done a lot of talking during the hearings, though,” you say, still struggling to keep up with the long line of social contacts Tiffany had just blazed though. You could never keep track of that many people! Friends-of-friends was about as far outward as you can trace your own social circle.

But Tiffany has always been far better at networking than you are.

“She’s the newest member. Anyway. I got a couple of them on a call this morning and convinced them to have the next hearing at the Pizzaplex. So DJ will be able to speak to them directly. Er, well, though an interpreter I suppose, but in person,” she says, beaming proudly.

You’re stunned at what she’s managed to pull off, and as much as you want to be elated at the thought of DJ being permitted to speak, you can already see a flaw in the plan.

“What about Ezra and the other Fazbear higher ups? Won’t they object?”

Tiffany scoffs. “Not if they don’t want to look like a bunch of shady miscreants with something to hide.” She gives you a wry look, holding up a hand. “Technically, as your lawyer, I am obligated to say that we have not gotten full approval just yet.” She smirks. “But as your sister, off the record…we got this,” she winks.

*

Tiffany’s abundance of certainty in her networking and negotiating skills is not misplaced. Before you’d seen her in action, the bold confidence with which she’d talked about her cases had been somewhat grating on you. You’d thought at least some of it was bravado and ego. But now, seeing what she’s accomplished for your cause, combined with what you know of her track record in general, her self-assurance is clearly well-earned.

You and Karter walk beside Tiffany as the three of you approach the Pizzaplex. Karter is wearing his usual nice but slightly threadbare suit while Tiffany is sharply dressed in her pantsuit that looks practically brand new. You have very little formalwear to speak of, so like in DC, you feel a bit underdressed in your nicest sweater and slacks, but Tiffany assures you that the look works for the situation. Karter is the head of the Coalition for AI Rights, Tiffany C.A.R.’s lawyer, and you’re a civilian witness. So you being more casually dressed is appropriate--effective even. It would be less poignant if you looked like you’re too professional and too prepared.

A crowd of reporters and paparazzi is gathered outside the door and being mostly held back by a few of the ‘Plex’s human security guards. The three of you keep your gazes fixed ahead as you cut through them.

Tiffany had advised you this morning that it’s best not to take off the cuff questions from random reporters and paparazzi like this, especially when emotions are running high.

The entire Pizzaplex is closed today, which Tiffany assures you was not something she had ever even suggested, much less demanded. On the drive over, she had speculated that they simply hadn’t wanted customers wandering into the hearing, either accidentally or on purpose. The fact that they cared about this enough to toss away a whole day’s revenue was promising, in Tiffany’s mind. It means they consider the C.A.R. to be a serious threat…which in turn means C.A.R. has a chance of getting what they want.

Once inside, your trio is flanked by two human guards and two S.T.A.F.F. security bots. Polite nods are exchanged all around and you are escorted to the dance hall.

The lights are fully up, brighter than you’ve ever seen them. You had barely realized the dance hall could get this bright. Rows of long tables and chairs had been brought out and set up, allowing the room to be arranged similarly to the hearing room in DC, with representatives from Fazbear set up on the left side of the stage, while C.A.R. is set up on the right side, and the Committee across from the stage.

Whatever the situation, let it never be said that Fazbear Entertainment are poor hosts.

However, you barely register any of that as your gaze immediately locks onto the stage. The curtain is open, and DJ is there. He lights up when he sees you, waving.

“Sweetie! You look wonderful!” he signs to you from atop his stage. With no performance going on, no pretenses of you being just another audience member, there’s no reason you and he can’t just sign to each other across the room.

You feel your cheeks heat up. “Thank you,” you sign back silently.

“What’d he say?” Tiffany asks as the tree of you approach your seats.

“U-Uh, j-just that I look nice,” you say awkwardly.

DJ’s gaze fixes on Karter, and again he brightens, lifting a hand in an enthusiastic wave. “Tell Karter hi for me?” he requests politely.

You laugh slightly. “DJ says hi,” you say to Karter as you take your seats.

“I noticed,” Karter says good-naturedly. He lifts a hand, waving hello to DJ as well.

You wish you could climb onto the stage and give DJ a quick hug before the proceedings, or at least hold his hand for a moment, but McKinney is already about to call the room to order.

DJ lowers himself so that his body rests atop the stage, folding his front set of arms and listening intently. As much as he’s overjoyed to see you and Karter, he’s incredibly nervous about this hearing. It never occurred to him that he’d be participating in any of this. He--and you--had assumed the matter would be deliberated and discussed among humans. But he supposes it’s a good sign that he’s being included…that he’s even being considered at all. They are starting to treat him as a human--or at least a being worthy of the same considerations as a human.

You’re keeping your gaze on DJ as the room quiets, and you see his brow lower as he frowns at something. You follow his gaze and see Ezra taking a seat across from you.

“He was at the last meeting too,” you sign once DJ’s gaze shifts back to you. “I take it nobody told you he would be here?”

DJ shakes his head. “Wasn’t told anything. Overheard some things as the dance hall was being set up. But nobody said anything to me.”

Your lips press together in a grimace. Figures.

“What’s up?” Tiffany whispers while McKinney briefly skims her notes of the previous hearings.

“Nobody really told DJ what’s going on. He’s pieced it together from what he overheard when they were setting up the dance hall. But nobody said anything to him.”

She frowns, glancing up at DJ, who’s watching the conversation. “He wasn’t given the briefing?”

DJ shakes his head.

Tiffany frowns, sighing. “Alright. I’ll take care of this,” she says with a small nod.

You realize McKinney is watching your conversation impatiently. “Something to share, Mrs. Ortiz?” she asks Tiffany.

“Yes, in fact,” Tiffany says, standing. She looks at the lawyer sitting next to Ezra. Another member of the Faz-Team that had been mostly silent during the previous hearings, but you knew his last name was Rossi. You hadn’t caught his first name.

“Yesterday I forwarded Mr. Rossi a briefing that he was supposed to pass on to DJ. Or arrange for a tech to read it to him, at least. But it seems that didn’t happen.”

Rossi tenses slightly, but it’s Ezra who speaks. “The DJ isn’t a person. It’s not subject to the same guidelines--”

“He is for the duration of this hearing,” Tiffany cuts him off.

Ezra smirks. “Its briefing would have been before the hearing,” he points out.

If this fact throws Tiffany off balance, she doesn’t show it. “Fine then,” she says simply. “I had hoped to save time by sending it along ahead, but we’ll do it now, then.”

She turns to DJ. “DJ Music Man, you understand the purpose of these hearings is to determine whether or not it is possible for a robot to have a soulmate, whether you--at present--are bonded to my client, and, should either of these prove true, to come up with a solution that results in fair treatment for any person--human or machine--that has been proven to have a soul?”

DJ blinks at how rapidly she reads it off, but nods. He finds Tiffany a bit…intimidating. He’s certainly glad she’s on your side!

“You understand that the Committee has provided an interpreter--” Said interpreter at the Committee table stands and nods, “--as there are concerns that having your soulmate be your sole interpreter would constitute a conflict of interest. However, if you or my client disagrees with the interpreter’s translation of your signing, they are free to voice that opinion and we will try to come to a consensus on what was said. Of course you will also be allowed to weigh in on who is providing the more accurate translation.”

DJ nods again, already starting to feel overwhelmed. He’s still only ever signed to you and Moon, and even then it’s only been a few weeks since he’d learned ASL. He feels at ease with you and Moon in a way he certainly doesn’t right now. Signing to a bunch of strangers is…quite a leap from that, especially given what’s at stake.

He realizes that, unfortunately, performing lyricless dance music for large crowds did not give him any confidence for anything resembling public speaking. His silly little joke the other week was truer than he’d realized.

But he’ll do it for you.

“DJ Music Man, is there anything you’d like to say to the Committee before we begin?” Tiffany asks.

DJ lifts his middle hands to begin signing when Ezra quickly stands up. “We are already--”

“Mrs. McKinney,” Tiffany cuts him off. She doesn’t shout, but somehow her voice sounds so much louder than Ezra’s, causing the whole room to fall still. “May my client’s soulmate address the Committee?”

McKinney’s eyes flick to Ezra briefly before she apparently decides to ignore his protest. “Very well. Proceed,” she says, waving a hand.

Ezra sits down, glowering at DJ.

DJ nods nervously. All eyes are on him, even though he guesses you and the interpreter are the only ones who know ASL.

He’s usually not the center of attention even during his shows, at least not for the duration of the set. People usually pay attention as he starts up his set but then focus on their own dancing or whatever conversations they’re having with friends.

Even so, he’s far more confident in his music than his “speaking”.

His eyes flick to your worried face and you silently sign, “Go on. It’s okay,” in motions as small as possible while still being readable.

DJ relaxes slightly, then begins signing. “I like my job here at the Pizzaplex. I like performing. I like living in the West Arcade. But I have a soulmate now. I don’t want to be reprogrammed into someone who won’t love them. I don’t want them banned from the Pizzaplex. We both want them to be allowed to visit me when they want. To be able to see each other when we want. To be together. Safely.”

The interpreter speaks the words as DJ signs, and both you and DJ are relieved that the translation is on point.

When the interpreter finishes speaking, Tiffany nods. “A modest request, is it not? And certainly no ill will towards Fazbear Entertainment.”

Ezra scoffs, standing up again. “These requests always start off as sounding modest. But I assure you, granting an ex-employee unlimited access to the Pizzaplex and our most expensive animatronic is not the modest ask you think it is. Besides, if we grant this request, I promise you within the next year we will be negotiating salaries and granting these animatronics the ability to just come and go as they please.”

“Then those conversations can be had when those requests are made,” Tiffany says. “You’re asking my client to defend demands they’ve never made.”

McKinney nods. “Yes. Let’s stick to the requests at hand, rather than future hypotheticals.”

Ezra glowers. “Fine. But you still have not proven this thing has a soul or a soulmate,” he points out.

“And what, I ask, would it take to prove such a thing?” Tiffany asks. When McKinney and Ezra are both silent, she says, “I admit, I can’t prove such a thing any more than I can prove that I have a soul and a soulmate. Or that any of us do,” she says, spreading her hands and glancing around the room. “Nobody else can see anyone else’s soulmark except their soulmates. There’s no reason two people cannot just say they’re soulmates when they’re not. Or why two people who are soulmates can pretend otherwise. It’s unprovable.”

You shift nervously in your seat. Tiffany had prepared you for this argument, of course, so you’re not shocked to hear it--just nervous at how it will go over.

Ezra smirks. “Not exactly a compelling argument, Mrs. Ortiz.”

“I haven’t finished, Mr. Clark,” she says evenly. “There are many examples throughout history of governments, religions, and yes, even businesses trying to tell people who can be soulmates with whom. They have been wrong every single time.” Ezra opens his mouth to speak but Tiffany speaks first. “Every. Single. Time,” she repeats pointedly, staring him down as she taps a finger against the table with each word. “Both parties have confirmed they are soulmates and can see DJ’s soulmark. That is all the proof needed in any other case, so it must be the only proof needed in this case.”

Ezra glances to McKinney. When she seems to be listening to Tiffany’s speech, he lets out what was meant to be a smug laugh, but ends up betraying some of his own nervousness. “Come on. Surely you understand that machines should not be subject to the same level of faith and trust as humans?”

“Not all machines, no. But machines that can be demonstrated to have mental capacity and emotional intelligence comparable to humans? Yes.”

“That description does not fit any Fazbear animatronics,” Ezra counters.

“Oh really?” Tiffany counters. “I have several documents here that claim otherwise. Fazbear Entertainment’s advertising has always leaned heavily on how lifelike the animatronics are, but I have here several brochures claiming that the Glamrocks and the Daycare Attendant are capable of forming real friendships with guests. This one,” she says, tapping something on her tablet to send the e-brochure over to McKinney’s tablet, “even says the Glamrocks are friends to ‘children, teens, and even parents’.”

“That’s--that’s…it’s not literal!” Ezra protests. “Besides, we’re not talking about the Glamrocks.”

“No, we’re not. However the base AI chips used in the Glamrocks, the Daycare Attendant, and DJ Music Man are the same. And with DJ Music Man being the newest, it could be argued that he’s likely the most advanced.”

DJ does his best to contain his surprise at that note. He’s never thought about it that way. He doesn’t think he’s much more advanced than Moon or the Glamrocks, but the suggestion does seem to be a strong point in his--and your--favor.

Tiffany continues, “I will be ceding the floor to Mr. Jameson to go over the further technical details. But going over the documents and specs we received from Fazbear Entertainment’s engineering and design department this week, we do have sufficient proof that, whether or not you believe they have souls and soulmates, the robots at Fazbear Entertainment are intelligent enough and emotionally aware enough to warrant being treated as humans.”

You suppress a grin when you realize Ezra’s face has gone just a single shade paler.

Karter stands, and spends the next hour meticulously explaining the design documents of the Glamrocks, the Daycare Attendant, and DJ Music Man--design documents he had been unable to secure access to until Tiffany had started throwing her weight around. Design documents that were too far above your skill level to understand. They were above Karter’s skill level too, but not to the same degree. Karter could not have designed these systems himself, and he could not have re-created the documentation from memory, but he can comprehend them and explain them to others if needed.

And he does so excellently. In previous hearings, Ezra and the Fazbear Entertainment lawyers had interrupted him. Redirected him. And McKinney had allowed it. She had never seemed particularly interested in stopping the Fazbear Entertainment side from steamrolling over C.A.R. at every chance they had. No doubt that had been part of Fazbear’s strategy. They’d had the advantage when it came to charisma, and they’d known it.

But now your sister has joined the fray, and she fiercely shuts down any attempt from Ezra or the lawyer or even the other Fazbear techs to interrupt Karter. She does, however, allow McKinney to ask a few clarifying questions about what Karter is saying, and when the Faz-techs give answers that are too wishy-washy or noncommittal, or try to change the subject, Tiffany zeros in on them, staring them down like a cat watching a mouse, cutting them off repeatedly until they give a real answer.

You can see why she graduated law school a year earlier than most of her peers.

At the end of the hearing, McKinney nods. “This has been very enlightening, thank you Mr. Jameson and Mrs. Ortiz.” You don’t even care that she doesn’t mention you. The look of intrigue on her face during Karter’s presentation was promising, as too were the frowns of disapproval when Karter discussed the matters of reprogramming.

“The Committee will be taking tomorrow to confer and reach a conclusion. We’ll let you know if any further information is required, but we expect to make an announcement within the next forty-eight hours,” McKinney says.

You think, at least, a full reprogramming ban is on the horizon…and you’re cautiously optimistic about the possibility of being given the right to freely visit DJ.

Ezra is having a hushed but heated exchange with Fazbear’s lawyer as they leave the dance hall.

You rise to your feet, stretching and looking over towards DJ. Tiffany and Karter are speaking to each other, and you lightly nudge Tiffany’s elbow. “I’m going to see if they’ll let me talk to DJ for a minute,” you say.

She nods. “Good luck,” she says earnestly.

You step around the table, going over to the stage. The guard on duty quirks a brow, and you ask, “May I?” nodding to the stage. She deliberates a moment, then nods. “Just stay where we can see you.”

You’re about to go around to the stairs beside the stage when DJ lowers his hand. You wrap your arms around his thumb as he scoops you up, hugging you to his cheek.

The few stragglers in the room can’t help but watch the interaction curiously, but you don’t care who’s watching. It’s not as if your affection for DJ is any sort of secret anymore.

“You did great, sweetie,” you say, giving him a light peck on the cheek.

He pulls away slightly to sign, “Didn’t say much, though.”

“You said enough. You said all the right things,” you reassure him kindly.

DJ grins at that, lowering his head to nuzzle his forehead against yours.

You sigh softly as he pulls away. “I wish I could stay longer…” you murmur. Both of you have the sense not to allude to the possibility of Moon sneaking you in soon.

“Someday. Someday soon,” DJ signs hopefully.

You nod, and he brings you in close to plant a kiss on his lower lip before returning you to the dance floor. You give his thumb one last hug while he wraps his fingers around your back before you part ways. Your eyes are glistening as they always do when you and your love part, so you quickly wipe at them with your sleeve before returning to Tiffany and Karter.

As you turn, you accidentally lock eyes with McKinney, feeling your face heat up as you realize she had watched the entire interaction. Well…you just have to hope she sees it as genuine, and not--as Ezra suggested in the previous hearing--some kind of over-compensation to aid your case. Her gaze shifts upwards to DJ, but her thoughts on the matter are hard to gauge.

You return to Tiffany and Karter, and Tiff gives you a sympathetic look and lightly touches your shoulder as the three of you walk out together.

*

Ezra paces his office, fuming at the latest email from the board.

They’re beyond furious at how today’s hearing went.

If they lose DJ Music Man, Ezra will be lucky if he can find work as a janitor, much less any cushy gigs in the C-Suite. They’re threatening to terminate him for gross negligence and breach of contract too. If C.A.R. gets their way, there’ll be no golden parachute for Ezra.

There might not be golden parachutes for any of the board members if DJ Music Man is given freedom to up and leave. The insurance policy on the animatronics only covers damages due to damage or theft, not sudden personhood.

Ezra is losing control of the situation.

No, he realizes with dread…He’s already lost it. Today’s hearing had been the final nail in the coffin. While the Committee is technically still deliberating, Ezra’s seen enough similar proceedings to sense which way the wind is blowing. That stupid little “speech” DJ gave about such humble demands got the Committee to lower their guard, only for Karter to swoop in and basically prove the animatronics are human--at least in all the ways the Committee seems to care about.

Ezra hadn’t been purely trying to trip up C.A.R. with a slippery slope argument when he’d brought up the slippery slope Fazbear Entertainment is indeed about to slide down.

Something on his computer pings, and he whirls towards his desk with a wordless snarl of frustration.

The tracker on the Daycare Attendant. It’s left the ‘Plex.

Ezra glowers. What does it matter? It’ll be free to do so within a week he’s sure. After today’s--

He stops, watching the blip on the map. His eyes narrow as he notes the direction it’s heading in. But there’s a lot in that direction. It could be a coincidence.

While he watches the Daycare Attendant traverse Hurricane, he pulls up your employee profile, confirming your address. He quickly enters it into the mapping software, and it appears as a green dot in roughly the area he had known it to be.

The Daycare Attendant’s tracker is making a beeline for it, and Ezra can’t take his eyes off the screen. As Ezra thought, the tracker stops right on top of the green dot at your address.

Ezra abruptly shuts down the computer and tears out of his office, storming down to Parts and Services.

He knows Darryl is still there, despite the late hour. Darryl is sitting at one of the metal tables along the wall, apparently fixing a circuit board for a S.T.A.F.F. bot.

Or at least he had been, before he had dozed off.

Ezra slams the door open, causing Darryl to jump awake. “I-I was…just resting my eyes a sec…” he says, shoving the circuit board aside and removing his gloves to rub at his tired eyes.

“I don’t care. I need you up in the dance hall. And bring the shock sticks,” Ezra says, and doesn’t wait for a reply as he turns to leave.

Darryl blinks, then quickly scrambles to his feet to trot after Ezra. “Th-The what?”

“You heard me!” Ezra calls down the hall.

Darryl bites back an annoyed sigh, but grabs two shock sticks from the rack beside the door before chasing Ezra down the hall.

He considers asking for an explanation, but with the way Ezra’s fuming right now…These past few days, Darryl’s become well aware of how to tell when Ezra is “not in an explaining mood”, to put it lightly.

The elevator ride out of P & S and the walk across the atrium to the West Arcade passes in silence, punctuated only by the occasional annoyed huff from Ezra.

When they arrive in the dance hall, DJ’s in recharge mode, snoring quietly atop his stage. Ezra turns to Darryl, nodding towards the large tunnel entrance over the dance hall. “I need to power it down. Get in front of that tunnel. In case it tries to leave.”

Darryl nods, grimacing. These AI chips have a weird quirk--an open secret among Fazbear techs. If you try to power them down, they get…uncooperative. Even more so than the Daycare Attendant during their maintenance.

Though…it was one of the things Karter brought up in his presentation this afternoon…so the open secret is now more open than ever.

Darryl’s been working here since before DJ came online, and he’s not sure the big guy has ever been shut down, so it’s unclear how he’ll react to the attempt.

Luck is on their side, for DJ’s audio sensors and optics are powered down for his recharge cycle. Ezra quietly moves onto the stage, shock stick at the ready. He knows DJ won’t sleep through his side panel being opened, but as long as Ezra can get close--

DJ’s shuttered eyes blink open as he feels footfalls near himself. Assuming it’s you, he turns to glance over his shoulder with a large grin, only to freeze when he sees Ezra standing with one hand hovering over the latch to his side panel.

DJ doesn’t even have a chance to react. The prong of the shock stick is shoved against one of his arms, and blue bolts of searing electricity course through DJ’s systems. If he had a voice box, he’d be screaming in pain.

Ezra dances back as DJ’s body collapses atop the stage, one hand dangling limply over the edge. The electricity kicked off the failsafe in his power supply, causing a temporary shutdown of all systems--one which will only last a few minutes.

Ezra quickly opens the side panel, reaching into it.

“Wh-What are you doing?” Darryl can’t help but ask.

“Switching on its bouncer mode. Its ‘soulmate’ is sneaking into the ‘Plex tonight. But they’re still blacklisted. For now,” he says, smirking over his shoulder at Darryl.

“Bouncer mode?!” Darryl gapes. “That’s--wasn’t that deleted?”

Ezra shakes his head. “No. We had to tell the investors it was, but removing it entirely was going to be too expensive.”

Darryl stares at him. “Ezra, that’s…I-I mean, that’s way too dangerous. You can’t--”

Ezra turns to him sharply. “How long do you think this place will stay in business if anyone can just make off with our robots because they claim they’re their ‘soulmate’?” His lip curls in disgust at the word.

“Well…the robot has to agree…”

Ezra scoffs. “Oh come on. You think it was hard to coach this thing,” he gestures at DJ’s limp form behind him, “to nod along at a few phrases?” He turns back to the open panel in disgust, reaching into it and struggling to flip the switch next to the diagnostic console. It’s nearly stuck, as it has never been used before, but after a moment it flips abruptly, a low thud echoing through DJ’s chassis.

Darryl hesitates, then stammers, “I-It was…more than just some…nodding along…”

Ezra rolls his eyes. “Oh SHUT. UP. Go join their little Coalition if you’re so damn worried about it!” he sneers. The sneer turns into a cruel smirk as he leans back, dusting his hands as DJ’s systems slowly come back online.

DJ’s expression is slack as he lifts his head, then gets his hands under himself and lifts his body off the ground. He stares straight ahead expressionlessly, awaiting either another command or for a blacklisted patron to enter the dance hall.

Before Ezra can make any kind of celebratory remark, the sound of suction cupped feet skittering across the dance floor is heard. The triplets have leapt from the vents and are running across the floor towards Ezra and Darryl, staticy beeps and chitters furiously sounding from each of their speakers.

But Ezra and Darryl had been prepared for this. They knew DJ’s little network of drones wouldn’t allow him to be tampered with. Ezra runs down the stage’s stairs to meet Darryl, both men brandishing their shock sticks.

Whether the triplets are naive to the danger the shock sticks pose or if they’re too enraged at the mistreatment of their big brother to care is unclear, but they are undeterred at the sight of them.

Unfortunately, the shocks themselves do more than enough to deter them. Electricity courses through the three small robots, overloading their power supplies and causing a temporary shutdown, just like it had with DJ. They go limp and clatter to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs.

DJ continues to stare forward blankly. No movement in his brow nor twitch of his mouth hints at any sort of emotion or even opinion on the horrid treatment of his dear little brothers.

Darryl grimaces at the pile, but quickly flips the switches on their backs to put the triplets in rest mode before their processors can power back on. He picks up Tenor, staring down at the blank eyes and slack expression for a moment before setting him down a bit more respectfully than would be needed for a nonliving thing. “D’you…ever worry that Karter and them may be right about these guys?” he asks hesitantly.

Ezra scoffs. “No. There’s no way those little ones are advanced enough to have souls.”

“What about the big one?” he asks as he gently loads the three triplets into a cart.

“No,” Ezra repeats icily. “Now stop asking stupid questions before I test bouncer mode by blacklisting you!” he says, waving his tablet in Darryl’s face.

Darryl blanches, stepping backwards. “Wh-Where do you want me to put the little ones?” he asks.

“Anywhere, as long as they’re out of the way. They won’t be of any use once the big one’s out of commission anyway.”

Darryl nods silently, turning back to the cart and pushing it out of the dance hall.

Once he’s gone, Ezra turns and smirks up at DJ.

“Your ‘soulmate’s’ on their way. Do you know that?” Ezra says tauntingly.

DJ, of course, doesn’t react. His empty eyes continue to stare blankly ahead.

Ezra chuckles. “Let’s show the world exactly why robots can never have soulmates,” he sneers, reaching up to pat the blue stripe on DJ’s chin.

Abruptly, DJ tosses his head back, pulling away from Ezra's hand, the sudden motion causing his neck hinge to emit a metallic screech.

Ezra yelps in surprise, scrambling back at the sudden movement. His eyes are wide with panic and his forehead shines with a sheen of nervous sweat as he slowly takes another step back.

Just as slowly, DJ lowers his head, returning to his neutral position. He does not turn to look at Ezra or acknowledge his presence in any way.

Ezra lets out a shuddering breath. What the hell was that?!

“Stupid piece of junk…” he mutters, keeping his gaze on DJ as he backs away, hitting the button to close the curtain on DJ. He then hurries down the stage stairs and makes his way out of the dance hall.

DJ remains still, standing atop his stage, his blank gaze fixed ahead at the closed curtains, unknowingly awaiting your arrival.

Chapter Text

The sense that something isn’t quite right doesn’t fully settle in around you until you reach the lip of the tunnel leading into the dance hall.

No sign of your little brothers. During your previous visits they had mobbed you before you even reached the end of the tunnel. Surely the novelty of your sneaking in hasn’t worn off yet?

“Where are the triplets?” you wonder aloud as Moon lowers you to the dance floor.

He hops down, landing silently beside you. “Don’t know.” He sounds ill at ease, which only makes you more nervous.

You glance towards the stage, seeing the curtain closed. You begin walking towards it, pausing when you see the curtain shifting slightly. “DJ?” you call out softly. Something in your soul shivers and you don’t know why.

You hear a groaning and creaking of metal behind the curtain. One massive gloved hand slams down on the floor below the stage, then another. DJ’s head pushes through the curtains as if he doesn’t even realize they’re there. The heavy fabric falls away from his face and his blank gaze fixes on you.

“D-DJ…?” you call out again, instinctively taking a step back.

With a metallic creak, he takes another step forward, stalking slowly towards you. His entire face is chillingly expressionless. His eyes are fully open, his brows flat, and his mouth slightly open yet completely unsmiling. There’s no recognition in those big dark eyes. No warmth.

And certainly no love.

“S-Sweetie? Wh-What’s wrong…?” you ask meekly. The dance floor shudders as another gloved hand slams down, bringing him ever closer to you.

He looks…scary. You’re scared of him. It shames you to admit that even to yourself. You’ve never been scared of him, not like this. Intimidated when you first met him, yes. Worried that he’d been angry at you when you didn’t want to report Ezra, sure. But not this. Not this kind of full-bodied fear.

Ah DJ, nothing about you could ever be scary. Your words from your last maintenance session with DJ echo in your mind tauntingly.

You had been so sure they’d been true when you’d spoken them.

The joints of his endoskeleton creak eerily as he takes another step towards you. You resist the urge to step back, but Moon steps in front of you, holding an arm out protectively.

“Moon!” you protest. Despite your own fear, the thought of Moon stepping in to protect you from DJ still feels like a grave insult against your soulmate.

“Bouncer mode. You are still blacklisted,” he says, stepping back and forcing you to do the same as DJ takes another slow, ponderous step forward. “Dangerous,” he adds darkly.

“Moon!” you scold him fiercely even as he pushes you back another step. “DJ is not dangerous!” you say harshly.

“DJ is not DJ,” he says, and for the first time you notice the despair in his voice.

The fear.

Moon had always seemed so confident and unflappable, even as he had taken so many risks for you and DJ…to hear him sound fearful of your beloved is utterly chilling.

You glance towards Moon, and see his eyes are no longer the narrow, annoyed-looking slits they usually are. Now they are widened, his brows turned up in despair.

You’ve never seen such an expression on him. Even after everything you’ve been through together, you’ve never seen such an obvious display of any emotion.

Clearly Moon is just as anguished as you to see his friend in this state as you are your soulmate.

Another metallic groan fills the air as DJ slowly lifts his hand, reaching towards you and Moon. His head tilts slightly to the side, his teeth snapping shut with an ominous clacking sound.

His hand hovers over you, and despite yourself you find yourself clinging fearfully to Moon’s arm as DJ’s fingers flex in the air.

You don’t have time to register the slight shudder in DJ’s hand before Moon’s arms are around your waist as he leaps across the dance hall, pulling you with him. He hasn’t even landed yet when you hear the loud crash of DJ’s hand slamming down on the floor.

You look over Moon’s shoulder and gape at the cloud of dust and debris from where DJ had slammed his hand down. He’s left a massive hand-shaped crater on the dance floor, having smashed through the painted hardwood.

You cover your mouth with your hands, your eyes wide.

DJ doesn’t move for a moment. There is no sign of frustration that his strike had missed. No confusion. No sign that he cares one way or another.

No emotion at all.

Slowly, his head turns towards you with a sickening metallic creak. His blank stare locks on you, and slowly he begins to turn his body towards you to resume his hunt.

It would be so much easier if he looked angry. Enraged even. He would still be him, at least.

But as it is…there's nothing. Nothing of your beloved DJ, nothing you can talk to or negotiate with. Nothing left to reason with.

He’s empty.

“Know how to switch it off?” Moon asks, then clarifies, “Bouncer mode?”

You nod. “Y-Yeah, in his maintenance hatch, behind his back right arm, there’s a switch next to the diagnostic panel--”

You cut yourself off as Moon releases you, running in a wide circle around DJ before leaping onto his back.

“Moon, don’t!” you cry fearfully.

DJ’s head turns a full 180 degrees with a screech, his blank stare now focused on Moon.

Moon reaches for the maintenance hatch, but DJ is faster. One of his middle hands wraps around Moon, yanking the Attendant off his back.

Whether it’s Moon’s attempt to tamper with DJ or it’s his aiding you that makes bouncer mode categorize him as a threat, you don’t know. But Moon’s bravado and borderline recklessness has finally caught up with him. He finally took too big a risk.

DJ brings his middle hand in front of him, clutching Moon in a tight fist and regarding him with an empty stare. Moon lets out a grunt of pain, wriggling in DJ’s grasp. His curled slippers kick vainly at the air below him, jingling louder than you’ve ever heard them--at least when Moon is out. He’s not even trying to silence them anymore.

Something in Moon’s upper arm crunches and sparks fly from his shoulder as he screams a scream more pained than you’ve ever heard from any robot or human.

“DJ, stop!” you cry.

With a creak, his head turns slowly towards you. His teeth open and close a couple times, clacking loudly. His grip on Moon loosens, allowing the Attendant to slip from his grasp and clatter limply to the floor.

You stare at Moon’s crumpled form as DJ slowly makes his way towards you. Eventually, you see Moon twitch, his good arm raising as he attempts to pull himself towards the edge of the dance floor. His legs drag limply behind him, but even through the poofy jester pants you can see they’re bent in a couple places they shouldn’t be.

“Little Star!” he calls out. “Security office next to the maintenance hall. Get the shock sticks.”

“Shock sticks?!” you blurt out, stepping back from DJ’s slow advance towards you. Even after seeing what he did to Moon, the thought of using a shock stick on DJ makes your stomach churn. “I-I…”

“Temporary shutdown. Long enough to turn off bouncer mode,” Moon grunts.

You shift your gaze back up to DJ’s blank stare. Your soul calls out to his, for you know despite everything, your love is still in there somehow. He has to be.

“I-I’m so sorry…” you whisper hoarsely as you stare up at him.

You made the decision too fast. Barely two seconds of deliberation and you’ve already decided to use a shock stick on him, to harm your love.

You glance at Moon once more, hesitating only half a second before turning and running out of the dance hall and towards the shining circular staircase.

The ground shakes behind you as DJ gives chase. You thought you’d been able to gauge how fast he moves in bouncer mode…but you’ve only seen how quickly he approaches a mostly stationary target.

The haunting creaks and groans of his joints echo through the arcade, drowning out the cheerful beeps and boops of the arcade cabinets. Why is his body making those sounds? His movements are usually more quiet…

The question barely has time to form in your head, much less be answered, as you sprint up the stairs. To your surprise, DJ attempts to follow you up them.

The spiral staircase is barely wide enough to accommodate him, and indeed, his hands are blithely crushing the railings as he grips either side of the staircase.

You run faster, taking the stairs two at a time and using the railing to pull yourself forward as fast as you can. The staircase shudders as DJ puts his weight on it.

You hear the grinding of twisting metal and the shattering of glass as the staircase begins to collapse under DJ’s weight, and you leap forward, flinging your body onto the landing and sliding painfully across the tile floor as the staircase breaks free of the landing and crumples to the ground floor.

You’re being chased by the world’s largest animatronic. You’re loathed to ever call DJ dangerous, but…

…The collapsed staircase behind you says otherwise.

You should bolt directly to the second staircase, but you can’t resist the urge to peek over the edge to make sure the fall hasn’t damaged DJ.

Whatever damage he may have taken appears to be minor. All six of his limbs are in motion as he rights himself. There are a few marks on him that may be either scuffs or cracks, but you’re too far away to tell for sure.

You desperately hope it’s nothing too serious.

He begins climbing up one of the pillars, his hollow stare once again fixed on you.

It’s hard to tear your gaze away, but eventually you do. You tear across the small arcade cabinet-filled landing to the second set of stairs. As you crest the top of the stairs, you feel a sharp breeze as something heavy sails a couple feet above your head.

Just in front of you, a heavy arcade cabinet crashes into one of the neon-lit pillars. You stop short--practically skidding on the tile--to avoid running headlong into a cloud of dust and falling debris.

You turn, glancing back at DJ in wide-eyed panic.

He’s climbing up the wall, another arcade cabinet in one of his middle hands. With a creak, his arm pulls back as he prepares to throw it. You freeze in terror, and DJ’s hand seems to tremble as he prepares to take the shot.

You don’t wait for him to finish calibrating his aim. Immediately you’re off again, zig-zagging through rows of arcade cabinets and around pillars. You hear two more impacts on either side of you. One cabinet hits another pillar, taking a chunk out of it and causing a huge crack that seems to circle the entire pillar. The other crashes down atop another row of cabinets, scattering them like bowling pins and leaving a tangle of splintered wood and circuit boards in its wake.

You run across the glowing bridge and feel another sharp breeze as another pair of arcade cabinets whizz by on either side of you, crashing into the pillars on the other side of the bridge.

You falter as the cloud of dust and debris blocks the other side of the bridge, holding up your hands to shield yourself from stray bits of cement and wood that ricochet away from the impacts.

Behind you, DJ places one hand on the bridge, then another, stalking towards you across the narrow walkway.

Your eyes widen as you feel the bridge shudder below your feet, and you hear an unsettling creak that doesn’t come from DJ.

“DJ! Don’t!” you cry fearfully. “This bridge can’t hold you!”

But bouncer mode cannot be reasoned with, and it forces DJ forward. The sound of creaking plexiglass fills the air and with a lurch, the ground below your feet is abruptly three inches lower.

You wobble at the sudden drop, widening your stance to keep your balance. If you turn and run to more solid ground, DJ will surely put his full weight on the bridge and collapse it.

But if you don’t…

“DJ, please! Please listen to me!” you plead.

He moves one of his middle arms to the bridge, wrapping his hand around the side of it, heedless of how the glass barrier shatters beneath his grip.

You’re forced to take a step back as one of his main hands lifts and begins to reach for you, slowly and ponderously as ever. If you hadn’t seen what had happened to Moon, you’d be tempted to let him catch you just to keep him off the bridge.

Maybe if you goad him across the bridge as fast as possible…

You turn and sprint to the other side of the bridge…or try to.

Before you can reach the end, DJ’s side gives way. He clings to it recklessly, clearly caring little what happens to him in pursuit of his goal, and the support beams on your side of the bridge bend and warp, causing most of the bridge to slam against the wall below you.

You frantically grab for the railing, clinging to it for dear life as the horizontal ground beneath your feet suddenly becomes vertical. You cry out in terror as your feet kick at the empty air.

Below, DJ is moving his hands to the wall, all the while his haunting, empty gaze remains glued to you, as if he cannot--is not allowed to--perceive the danger you both are in.

Your relief at his not crashing all the way to the ground floor is brief as you’re forced to focus on your own predicament.

You manage to swing your body slightly, wrapping a leg over the twisted metal railing, and you begin to pull yourself upwards. You’re too focused on that to wonder why DJ’s movements are so slow as he climbs after you.

Your hand slips once on a particularly smooth part of the railing, causing you to let out a wordless cry of desperation. But you manage to regain your hold, and finally make it to the top. You pull yourself over the edge, feeling the sharp bits of broken bridge that still cling to the side tearing your jeans and hoodie.

You scramble back from the edge and collapse, laying on your back and staring dizzily up at the ceiling. Your arms are burning. Your legs feel like jelly. Your heart’s beating so fast you wonder how it’s even still in your chest. Your throat feels like sandpaper.

You’re not an athlete. You never have been. You don’t know if you can keep going.

But you know you must.

For DJ.

As you struggle to do so, two large hands slam down on either side of you, and you find yourself staring up into the emotionless mask that is your beloved. There’s a large crack forming on one of his eye coverings, and his left “nostril” is missing entirely, leaving a dark gaping hole in his faceplate.

With a metallic creak that echoes through his chassis, he leans forward, bringing his face mere inches from yours as bouncer mode seemingly prioritizes pulling himself up over catching you.

At least for the moment.

In his large, dark eyes, you can see your own terrified, disheveled face reflected back at you, illuminated by the magenta glow from DJ’s mouth. At some point you’d gotten a long cut across your forehead, and a smaller one across your cheek. You can barely even feel them through the adrenaline, much less hazard a guess at when exactly they happened.

His middle hands grip the edge of the floor and the sound of the crumpled bridge breaking free and falling to the floor below snaps you back to reality. You scramble out from under him while he focuses on pulling his rear set of hands up to the second floor.

Again he pursues you at an almost leisurely pace, the creaking of his joints echoing ominously across the upper level of his domain, forming a jarring syncopated cacophony when punctuated with the beeps and boops of the many arcade cabinets around you.

His middle hands are raised, poised as if to grab you if he gets close enough. You manage to avoid that fate, but abruptly both hands lower at the same time, each hooking under an arcade cabinet and flipping them up in an arc towards you.

You skid to a stop in a panic, only to realize you didn’t have to alter your path to avoid the cabinets. One hits another pillar while the other sails over the railing, crashing down somewhere on the ground floor.

You weave through the maze of arcade cabinets, running to the maintenance door at the back of the arcade.

Another pair of cabinets is launched. One crashes into the pillar near the ceiling and the other rolls across the floor, the wood casing starting to break apart before thudding against the bottom of another pillar. The pillar shakes and a cloud of dust drifts down from the ceiling.

DJ’s pace seems to vary for some reason you don’t even try to determine. It seems he always stays about twenty feet behind you, even if you end up losing time because you reached a dead end in the maze of cabinets and had to circle back.

A vague thought begins to form in your head about bouncer mode seeming to be highly ineffective on top of being unreasonably aggressive, but you don’t have time to dwell on it.

You reach the door and yank on the handle.

It’s locked.

It’s fucking locked.

It had always been left unlocked during the day. Of course it’s locked at night, of course it’s locked after hours, of course it’s locked now when you need it to be open more than you’ve ever needed anything in your life!

Either Moon hadn’t realized, or--more likely--he knew that trying to get through the locked door was the only way to save yourself from DJ. It was the only possibility he could suggest that had even a chance of working.

The ground shakes beneath your feet and you turn, pressing your back against the brick wall. You’re illuminated by the lone emergency light that hangs over the maintenance door, casting you in a dim, yellow spotlight.

Not that DJ needs that to find you.

He stands not ten feet away, his front and back hands planted on the floor while his middle set remains held aloft, ready to grab you.

DJ tilts his head, his neck making a sickening grinding sound as he does. His teeth clash together twice, but otherwise his stare remains blank and lifeless as ever.

You suck in a ragged, shaky breath, your vision blurred and stinging from the blood dripping in your eyes. There’s nowhere else you can go. He takes up most of the corridor you’re in, so any escape route would involve trying to pass by him even closer than you are now.

The smell of ozone fills the air. You’re too overheated from your own exhaustion to register the heat coming off DJ, but you do notice the thin lines of greyish smoke emerging from either side of his mouth.

Is bouncer mode causing him to overheat? Is it that poorly designed that it’s somehow both ineffective and aggressive, all the while overheating DJ’s circuitry?

DJ’s head tilts in the opposite direction, and he gives another unnerving clack of his teeth. You feel the ground trembling beneath you, and your eyes flick downwards momentarily. Long enough to realize DJ’s front hands are shaking.

Slowly, one of them slides backwards almost imperceptibly.

You look up at him. “DJ…?” you say, barely daring to hope the theory forming in your head is true. “A-Are you…still in there?”

His other main hand scoots back an inch.

“P-Please, give me some kind of sign that you’re there…that you can hear me…” you say, your hoarse voice barely above a whisper.

One of DJ’s middle hands, still aloft, twitches slightly. His middle finger slowly folds inward against his palm while his other fingers and thumb remain spread.

“I love you.”

Your heart leaps into your throat at the sign, tears streaming down your face as you clasp both hands over your mouth.

DJ’s still in there!

You’re torn between relief that he can fight this, and horror at the things he’s witnessed his body being forced to do. Do to you. You’d thought his true mind was dormant during bouncer mode, but that’s clearly not the case.

He’s been fighting this whole time. That’s why nothing’s actually hit you, why he never moved quite fast enough to catch you…and probably why his circuitry is burning up right now.

You remove your hands from your face, pointing to yourself. “I.” You hold your hands in loose fists, crossing your wrists over your chest in an X, one hand resting over your heart. “L-Love,” you speak in a trembling voice. “You,” you choke out, pointing to DJ with a trembling hand.

“DJ…you can fight this. I know you can,” you say. “Your soul is stronger than some stupid lines of code. Please. Let me switch bouncer mode off for you,” you say, holding up your hands and taking a step towards him.

With an ear-splitting screech of metal, one of his front hands slides back as he rapidly turns his body away from you. His middle hands clench to trembling fists.

You step back with a gasp at the sudden movement, still holding your hands up defensively. “DJ…I’m just going to open your maintenance hatch and flip that switch. Okay? Focus on me, focus on my voice…I know you can just make yourself hold still long enough for me to do that, okay?”

His middle hands are shaking even harder now, the metal groaning hauntingly as DJ struggles to hold them still.

“DJ…I’m right here. I’m with you,” you say. You don’t even know if your words are completely reaching him, but you have to hope at least your voice is…and that he can feel your soul calling out to his.

You take another step forward, and one of his middle hands abruptly swings sideways, punching clean through the brick wall beside you.

You scream, scrambling back from the shower of debris and covering your mouth as the cloud of red brick dust wafts over you. You squint through the debris, seeing DJ once again scooting backwards. He can’t seem to bring himself to lift his front and back hands, but he can haltingly slide them across the floor as he struggles to fight bouncer mode long enough to move himself away from you.

Through the dust you notice the middle arm that hit the wall is now dragging limply beside him. Despite DJ’s size and strength, he was never intended to punch through brick, and doing so has a steep price.

You pull your hand into your sleeve, placing it over your nose and mouth to keep the dust out. “DJ…please…we can fix this…just let me--”

His other middle hand slams down on the ground beside him, leaving a crater deep enough to obscure almost his entire fist. You can see immediately that his shoulder joint has come out of alignment from the sheer force of it, leaving both his middle hands essentially useless as they hang limply beside him.

As you step forward again, DJ’s body abruptly scrambles back, a symphony of screeching and creaking metal attacking your ears as bouncer mode tries to fight whatever DJ is trying to make himself do.

His thrashing flings his body against a pillar with a loud thunder of shattering concrete. No, you realize--through a pillar. As you squint through the dust, you see the broken bits of neon lights hanging from the ceiling as the pillar itself was demolished.

A shudder rips through the building and you see the small bit of pillar still fixed to the ceiling fall, taking a chunk of the ceiling with it.

It doesn’t stop. The hole continues to grow, huge chunks of ceiling crashing to the ground. The pillars that had been damaged during DJ’s chase give way, and the pillars that are undamaged cannot support the extra weight. The lights flicker and shut off, plunging you into a far more complete darkness than the bright arcade usually allows.

“DJ!” you call in panic. You feel the ground beneath your feet begin to slant dangerously as the floor begins buckling under the weight of the collapsing ceiling.

It’s too dark and the air too full of dust for you to see anything, but just as you lose your balance, you feel yourself land atop a soft surface. DJ’s front hands wrap around you as the floor surrenders to the weight of the ceiling collapse and you, DJ, and most of the West Arcade crash down to the ground floor.

Chapter Text

“They really did a number on you, huh?”

“You…you’re sweet and kind and…y-you need someone on your side right now…And…s-someday you’ll find your soulmate…And wish I could be that soulmate…”

“Ah DJ, nothing about you could ever be scary.”

You stir awake, shifting slightly as you feel the softness of the surface you’re resting on, as well as the one lightly resting atop you. You recognize the feeling of DJ’s gloves, and for one magical moment you think you’re safe on his stage, snuggled up as he holds you so gently after you’d dozed off.

The moment is over too quickly as the sound of dripping water in the distance brings you back to reality.

“Nnng…DJ?” you mutter, only to cough when you inhale some of the lingering dust in the air.

No response. The hands you lay in are strangely still.

“DJ?” you repeat.

Still nothing.

A wall goes up in your mind, refusing to allow you to even consider the worst. That horrid possibility is promptly locked away.

You squirm enough to roll onto your back, and notice a faint glow visible between DJ’s fingers. Daylight? Had you been out that long?

You struggle to sit up, pushing against his fingers as you try to wriggle out of his hands. You slip between his index and middle fingers, only to cough again at the dust in the air, which hangs thicker out in the open.

You’re on the ground floor of the Fazcade, but your surroundings are completely unrecognizable. All around you are large chunks of shattered concrete and twisted metal, occasionally broken up by the bright colors of busted up arcade cabinets scattered throughout the mix.

Looking up, you can see the sky showing the faintest hints of dawn. The sky is just a touch closer to the blue of morning than the purple-ish hues of sunrise, and you can still pick out a couple faintly visible stars.

There’s no ceiling. It’s gone.

In the distance you can see the walls of the Pizzaplex’s main atrium still standing. It seems the collapse was primarily localized to the West Arcade itself, and even then, mostly the ceiling and the second floor. The walls remain in place aside from a handful of missing chunks near the top, and you and DJ are surrounded by high piles of broken rubble and concrete.

You shuffle a bit, turning around as you perch atop DJ’s hand. In the slowly brightening morning light, you can make out your soulmate’s face a few feet away.

His face has even more cracks and scuffs, and some of his painted markings have been partially chipped away. Both of his eyes are also cracked, but surprisingly neither is fully broken. Half of one of his eyebrows is missing, and the red band of his headphones is also partially missing. A couple of his keyboard teeth have broken off and fallen away as well.

His eyes are somehow even more empty than they had been in bouncer mode, with his optics (and indeed, pretty much all his systems) currently offline. Even the glow from his mouth is completely darkened.

There’s very little rubble on top of him, at least as far as you can tell from here. There are a few larger pieces leaning against his sides, one of which hangs slightly over his back. But you guess he could extract himself from the rubble if you can bring him back online.

“DJ?” you ask timidly, your hushed voice booming in the almost deafening silence.

When he doesn’t respond, you pull your legs free of his limp grasp. You inch towards the edge of his hand, then carefully slide yourself off, only to let out a small cry of surprise when you land in chilly, ankle-deep water.

Some pipes must have been taken out in the collapse, and those would be the cause of this standing water as well as the dripping you keep hearing in the distance.

Your cry doesn’t seem to have stirred DJ, so you move towards him, the water quietly splashing around your ankles. You place a hand on one of his blue cheek circles, lightly brushing away some of the dust.

“DJ? Sweetie?” you say louder, hoping to reach him. You lift a hand, standing on your toes to wipe the dust from his eye coverings with your sleeve and peer into his optics. You can’t find any sign that the small cameras within them are moving, or that they’re even active.

He’s completely unresponsive.

Your mind allows you to admit that whatever is going on with him is more complicated than the semi-shutdown state he had been in after you’d been fired. You’re going to need to open him up and fix something in order to rouse him.

You can accept that. But your mind is still keeping the worst possibility locked away from you. It is not and can never be an option.

You splash through the puddles again, circling around him. He’s not as buried as you’d expect, given the whole ceiling had caved in and he’d fallen through the floor. Maybe he had managed to dig himself out a bit before powering down?

His middle hands lay haphazardly bent and sprawled beside him, part of the glove on one of them torn off, exposing his endoskeleton hand. His back set of hands are still buried under rubble…or at least, the one he has left is. The other one seems to have been severed between the shoulder and elbow by a particularly heavy steel beam falling on it.

But you’re relieved his maintenance hatch is only slightly blocked. One of the large pieces of concrete leaning on him rests against the area just above the hatch. It’s not easy, but if you stand beside the concrete slab, you can reach under it and push the hatch inward enough to unlock it, causing it to slide open.

A dark grey cloud spills from the opening, wispy tendrils drifting up towards the sky. You feel the heat of it even as you step back, coughing.

Smoke. His chassis had been filled with it.

Your mind buries the potential implications of this immediately.

You tuck your hand into your sleeve so you can cover your nose and mouth, then use your other hand to bat away the last of the smoke as best you can. The acrid stench of burned plastic hangs in the air.

Between the dim morning light and the shadow of the concrete slab, it’s hard to see into the maintenance hatch. But you remember where everything is, generally. You wedge your shoulder between DJ and the slab to reach inside and feel around. The air inside the hatch is still warm from DJ’s circuits overheating.

You find the diagnostic panel readily enough. It’s the biggest thing in the hatch and the large, flat surface makes it pretty distinct even by feel. So then just next to it will be the switch…

You move your hand across the diagnostic screen towards where you know the switch to be, and suddenly grab something hot. You hiss in pain, wriggling your arm out of the narrow gap and shaking your hand off to cool it down.

You blow on your burned fingers, squinting at them. It looks like your fingertips are just red--no blisters, so not that severe a burn. More surprising than actually damaging.

You wish you had your phone, but you hadn’t been bringing it on these visits. There’d been no reason you’d need to have it, and several potential downsides of having it--your geolocation data being inadvertently shared or the phone accidentally going off and blowing your cover being the first ones to come to mind.

You’re staring frustratedly at the open hatch, wondering if you just have to sit here and wait for the circuitry to cool more or if you can wedge yourself close enough to actually get a good look when you hear rubble shifting behind you.

You whirl around, startled, only to see a very disheveled and dirty Sun cresting a pile of broken concrete. The arm that had been ruined when DJ caught Moon is dragging limply beside him, and you can’t see the state his legs are in. His rays are mostly clean and unbent, suggesting that Moon had been the one to endure the worst of it. Given how dim the early morning light still is, Sun probably hasn’t been active that long.

“Sun!” you cry, splashing through the puddle and climbing up the pile to meet him.

“C-Careful!!” he squeaks out. “Th-This rubble could shift…”

Reluctantly, you step back, wringing your hands as he pulls his body over the top of the pile. He swings his legs around and you can see that either he or Moon did some on the fly repairs--some of the metal rebar from the wreckage along with strips of fabric have been used to create makeshift splints. One is on his right thigh and the other on his left calf.

You guess he’s still in pain, and probably can’t walk very well, much less perform any of the acrobatics you’ve seen Moon pull off. But at least he seems stable enough to hobble.

He eases himself down the incline feet first, and occasionally some smaller, loose pieces of gravel and concrete shift and roll down the pile with him, but the larger pieces fortunately remain still.

You hold out your arms, letting him grab your shoulders to stabilize himself once he reaches the bottom. Once he’s steady, you wrap your arms around his waist, burying your face against him.

“Oh Sun…Holy hell, I’m so glad you’re safe…Is Moon alright too?” you ask breathlessly.

Sun nods weakly. “Mm-hm. He did a quick patch job on our legs before it got too light.”

You pull away slightly. “You weren’t…caught in the collapse?” you ask worriedly.

He shakes his head, his neck hinge creaking--with all the dust he’d gotten in his joints, he was in desperate need of some oiling. “No. We’d made it into the vents. We were trying to find a way up to the maintenance hall to help you but…w-we were too slow…” he says with a guilty wince, wringing his hands.

“It’s okay, Sun…DJ…managed to fight against the bouncer mode…somewhat…” you say, glancing back and DJ’s inert form worriedly. “I-I need to get him back online…” you say distractedly. You turn back to Sun. “You haven’t seen the triplets, have you?”

“I’m afraid not, Little Star,” he says, both of you leaning on each other as you limp back to the maintenance hatch. He pauses, seeming to lose focus for a moment as he confers with Moon. “Moon thinks whoever switched on bouncer mode would have needed to get them out of the way.”

Sun’s words send a fierce bolt of white hot anger down your spine. “Whoever,” you scoff bitterly. “As if we don’t know.”

Sun’s rays shrink farther into his faceplate at the venom in your tone, but he nods in agreement. “Y-Yes…”

Ezra. It had to be Ezra. Who else could it have been? Who else would it have been? You don’t care to speculate on his exact motivations right now, but with how short-staffed P & S is now, the list of people who would have even been able to do it is increasingly short.

You drop the subject for now. Getting DJ back online is more important.

“I got his maintenance hatch open but it’s hard to reach into it. Much less see anything. And I think some of his circuitry might still be too hot to touch,” you say.

Sun lets out a small squeak. “O-Oh, i-is…is that so…?” he says in a wavering voice.

You could kick yourself. You’d damn near forgotten who you were talking to. “Oh, Sun, I-I’m sorry, I…I was just thinking aloud…” you say. “I’ll…uh, stop…doing that,” you say apologetically.

“Oh, it’s alright, Little Star!” he says quickly. “I-It’s okay if…you need a, um…sounding board…” he lies, wringing his hands.

“I don’t,” you say with a tired but gentle smile. You wedge yourself under the slab blocking the hatch. “Could use a flashlight though…” you mutter.

Sun brightens, his rays emerging from his faceplate. “Oh! Oh, that I can help with!” he says quickly, grinning. “Hang on…” He reaches into the near invisible pocket on his pants with his good arm. Nearly his whole arm disappears into the deep pocket as he bends awkwardly at the waist. “Oh, it’s in here somewhere!” he says as he rummages.

Finally, he rights himself, pulling his arm out of his pocket and handing you a small flashlight, barely bigger than a pencil. It looks like the type EMTs use to check for concussions…In fact, that’s probably exactly what it is and why he has it.

“You’re a lifesaver, Sun!” you say in relief as you accept it. His rays spin happily at the praise, despite the grim situation.

You wedge yourself between DJ and the slab once more, twisting yourself uncomfortably to shine the flashlight into the hatch.

The small circle of light passes over the diagnostic panel, which looks a bit dirty but otherwise intact. You move it over to the bouncer mode switch and--

For a moment you can barely process what you’re looking at. At first you think the switch is entirely gone. But it hasn’t disappeared--it’s melted. The simple plastic knob that turned your soulmate into a monster is entirely melted. Only a charred hunk of black goo remains.

That must be what you burned your hand on.

You stare at it in stunned silence for several moments while Sun waits behind you, wringing his hands nervously.

You extract yourself from the narrow gap, splashing through the puddle to stand in front of DJ again, looking up at his empty, half-lidded gaze.

For a moment your face is just as slack and empty as his. You step forward, the water lightly splashing over your shoes. You rest your forehead against the bridge of his nose, your hands resting on either side of it. You run one hand up and down the scratched and chipped surface.

You can’t flip the switch. You can’t turn bouncer mode off.

Is there a chance you don’t have to?

DJ had been fighting it. He’d held you and protected you from the falling rubble. And you’d meant what you’d said--his soul is stronger than some silly lines of code.

There’s no choice. You have to get him back online, and soon. You don’t trust Fazbear Entertainment to do right by him, no matter what the Committee decides.

You hear a jingle and a soft splashing behind you. “Little Star?” Sun asks.

You tilt your head, lightly kissing DJ’s nose before standing upright, wiping away the tears that had started to form in your eyes. “I have to get DJ back online,” you say, your tone flat and distant.

Sun tilts his head, following after you as you circle DJ to return to the maintenance hatch. “W-Were you able to turn off bouncer mode?”

You stop. “No. I…I’ll give you time to get clear before he comes back online.”

He lets out a worried, strangled noise as you wedge yourself under the concrete again. You push the button on the side of the diagnostic screen and the screen comes to life and begins running the diagnostic. Fortunately the screen has its own power source, meaning it can generally run regardless of how damaged DJ is.

The screen starts listing off various points of damage, all highlighted red to indicate they have gone well beyond the point of unacceptable. But you don’t need to wait for it to finish to know some of what you need.

“I’m gonna need some tools to fix him up…” you say, extracting yourself from the narrow space while the diagnostic runs.

“Moon found some stuff!” Sun says, once again rummaging in his pockets with his good hand. “Let’s see…soldering iron…electrical tape…screwdriver…” he says, listing off the items as he pulls them from his pockets and sets them on a dry, relatively clean slab of broken concrete.

“Wh-Where did you get these?” you ask, stunned.

“From the small triage station in the maintenance hall,” he says. “Or what’s left of it…” he adds with a wince. “W-We…thought you’d need it…”

You sigh softly, looking over the tools he’s laid out for you. “Thank you Sun…and Moon. You two truly are lifesavers…” you murmur reverently.

Sun manages a modest shrug and a wave of his hand, his faceplate brightening beneath the grime.

You smile weakly up at him. “I mean it. I…I’ll never be able to repay everything you two have done for us but…I’ll try,” you say quietly.

“Oh! Little Star, there’s no need to--” Sun cuts himself off, his eye twitching. He grips his faceplate, frowning. “No! Now’s not the time! Don’t be rude!”

You frown slightly, looking up at them in worry. “What is it? What’s he saying?” you ask.

“Moon says…you can repay us,” Sun admits hesitantly.

“I’ll do anything!” you say immediately. “What is it? What can I do for you?”

“If…If we’re ever allowed to leave Pizzaplex…we’ll need a place to stay…” he says. Despite Moon’s insistence, and everything the Daycare Attendant has done for you, Sun is apparently incredibly hesitant to ask you for anything.

You let out a tearful laugh at that. “Oh Sun, you’ll have it!” you say eagerly. In your excitement you grab both his hands. “I didn’t get a chance to tell any of you, but my grandma’s given me her old farm. There’s room for DJ, and more than enough room for you and Moon!”

“A-A…A farm?” he says, stunned.

You nod. “Yeah, just outside Allendale.”

Sun blinks, shifting hesitantly. He pulls his hands from yours, wringing them nervously. “O-Oh…that’s…pretty far, isn’t it?”

You frown, canting your head a bit. “I suppose. Were you hoping to stay in Hurricane?” you ask.

Sun shifts uncomfortably, one hand wrapping around his wrist as he fidgets, clearly reluctant to sound critical of your gift to him and Moon.

“It’s alright if you were, Sun. The farm doesn’t have to be your forever home if you don’t want it to be. But I promise, as long as I have that farm you’ll have a place there,” you say gently, gripping his upper arms and looking up at him kindly. “And if it’s not what you want, I’ll help you find something else, okay?”

You’re just glad that after everything they’ve done for you, all the risks they’ve taken, them being hurt…that you can offer something to at least begin to make it up to them.

Sun nods, giving what would have been a tearful smile if he could cry. You return a bracing smile, but the moment ends abruptly when the diagnostic monitor dings.

You splash over to the alcove and wedge yourself in again, wincing as the bruise forming on the back of your shoulder complains.

There’s so many notifications, all highlighted in angry red, that you actually have to swipe your finger up the screen to scroll down and read them all. You didn’t even realize the list could scroll.

The list gives you no insight on what needs to be fixed to get DJ back online quickly--all completely broken joints, supports, and disconnected wires are unhelpfully marked as URGENT. You scroll though the list, your brow furrowed in concentration as you try to figure it out yourself.

Dislocated shoulder joints, broken elbow joints, torn glove, bent fingers, cracks in his exoskeleton…none of these are keeping him from coming back online. Finally, you find the culprit--a single wire which runs down his back and is connected to his power supply. If you fix that, he should come back online…

If not then you’ll keep going down the list.

Your mind is still not considering any possibility other than that.

“Okay, there’s--” You cut yourself off, this time actually remembering it’s Sun you’re talking to. “I uh…I think I know what I need to do,” you say. You take a few steps back, looking up at the broken “speaker” atop DJ’s back. Despite usually being referred to as a speaker--and most guests thinking it actually is one--it’s really just a cooling vent, as DJ has no onboard sound system.

“I need to get up to the speaker on his back. I should be able to reach what I need from there,” you say, gathering up the tools Sun had set out for you.

Sun hums thoughtfully, glancing around. “The slab blocking his maintenance hatch should be stable enough for us to climb up.”

“‘Us’?” you repeat, looking up at him in surprise.

He smiles, ruffling your hair as if you’re one of the kids at the daycare. “I wouldn’t send you up there alone, Little Star!” he chirps. “Besides, we can grip onto the concrete better than you can,” he says, raising his good hand and curling his fingers like a claw.

“Even one handed?” you ask, frowning.

“Mm-hm! Weak hinges or not, one of our arms is still stronger than two human arms!” he says, flexing his good arm with a goofy wink. He’s clearly trying to keep your spirits up…and it’s not not working.

You smile weakly up at him. “I could take a look at your other arm first…” you say, reaching for his injured arm, which still hangs limply at his side.

“O-oh nono!” he says quickly, turning his whole torso to pull his shoulder away from you. “Th-There’ll be time for that later, Little Star!”

You give him a small, sad smile. With his anxiety, the cure feels worse than the ailment for nearly everything. At least in the moment. You don’t remind him that his arm and legs will need to be looked at eventually. He’s surely well aware.

You tuck the tools into your hoodie pocket, wincing as you finally notice how torn up the garment is…along with your jeans. But the pocket is good enough to carry the tools at least, even if the hoodie itself will be unsalvageable by the time you get out of here.

You climb atop the slab and begin pulling yourself upward. The angle is mild enough and the surface rough enough that you could have done this somewhat readily even without Sun--at least if you weren’t as battered and bruised as you are. As it is, you definitely need Sun behind you, holding your legs and preventing you from sliding back, occasionally even pushing you forward.

You drop down from the edge of the concrete onto DJ’s back, gasping for air. In a moment, Sun is behind you, his hands on your shoulders as he steadies you long enough for you to catch your breath.

The top of DJ’s back is relatively flat, but still has enough of a curve that Sun doesn’t feel completely comfortable letting go of your legs as the two of you crawl over to DJ’s “speaker”.

You can’t say you’re glad most of the covering was torn off during the fall…but you also can’t imagine how you would have removed it on your own, or even with Sun’s help--assuming you could even get Sun to help with actual repair work. It was the kind of thing DJ himself would usually help with, like all his maintenance that involved moving any of his bulkier or heavier pieces.

You take the tools from your hoodie pocket and lay them out next to the speaker. You suppress a grunt of pain as you lay down on your stomach, scooting towards the hole. “Hold my legs, I’m gonna have to lean pretty far in,” you say.

Sun nods, kneeling on DJ’s back and gripping your ankles tightly with his good hand.

You hold the small flashlight in your mouth, scanning DJ’s interior. You find the broken wire fairly quickly, and scoot forward a bit more to reach it. Then a bit more, stretching your arms until you can grab it in one hand.

By the time you do, your waist is at the edge of the hole, your body bent ninety degrees as your torso is suspended vertically. If not for Sun holding your legs, you’d’ve toppled in well before you could reach the wire.

Your shoulders are aching and sweat is running down your forehead before the soldering iron is even switched on.

You carefully hold the ends of the wire together, one side pinched between your thumb and your pinkie, the other between your index and middle fingers. You begin soldering them together. It’s a task you’re normally more than adept at, but hanging vertically in the air, bloodied and bruised and sore, has a way of sapping one’s skill.

Still, the patch job is serviceable, even if it does look like it was done by an intern in their first week.

“Electrical tape,” you call up to Sun breathlessly, holding the soldering iron in the air.

You feel him shift his grip on your legs, bracing his knee against them to free up his hand so he can trade the tape for the soldering iron.

You wrap the tape around the wire, though not as neatly nor as smoothly as you’d’ve liked. But it’ll hold, and it’ll keep the exposed wire from kicking off any pain sensors.

Not that this one wire would be that noticeable to DJ in the grand scheme of things.

“Okay, done!” you call up, and Sun drags you back out.

You flinch in pain as you lower your arms, your muscles burning and spine aching. Your whole body is drenched in sweat, but you don’t want to remove your hoodie and wander this wreckage in a t-shirt, scraping up your bare arms even more than they already are.

Sun holds you against himself while you catch your breath, your back against him and your head pillowed on his collar, much the way you’d sat with Moon when you were sick in the bathroom stall.

You feel a damp cloth wiping at your face and you let out a vague sound of inquiry, too tired to speak properly.

“Just a wet wipe. Don’t want DJ to wake up and see your face all dirty, do we?” he says, his cheerfulness considerably strained. Clearly he has some doubts about what’ll happen when DJ comes back online.

You’re not without a few yourself, though you can barely even admit that to yourself.

You feel Sun press a couple bandaids against the cut on your forehead and cheek, and when your eyes drift open, you see him crumpling a Freddy bandaid wrapper and crumpling it in his pocket. Of course he only has Fazbear branded bandaids…but it’s better than open facial cuts, you suppose.

When you’ve caught your breath, at least mostly, Sun helps you back down the concrete slab, and you once again wedge yourself between DJ and the fallen slab. The bruises and possibly cuts forming on your back from doing this repeatedly protest, and you hope this is the last time you have to force yourself into this narrow space.

You swipe past the list of damages, clicking through menus you would have almost never had to use if your job at the ‘Plex had gone normally, finding the option to disable the pain receptors.

You sigh. They can only be turned off for four hours at a time, but you’re less than surprised by this. Most robots you’ve worked with have a timer on that, to prevent techs from accidentally (or intentionally) bypassing them and forcing the robot to work to the point of falling apart.

You’ll just have to keep turning them off every few hours until he can be properly repaired. Not too different from helping a human soulmate remember to take their pain medication after an accident.

And, last but so very far from least, the big green button you reach after paging through all the rarely used menus.

Do you wish to bring the DJMM back online?

With all your heart.

You pause for just a moment. “Sun, I’m bringing him back online. So…um…get clear, just…just in case…” you say nervously.

“Y-You’re sure…?” Sun says nervously.

“I am. If…If bouncer mode is still active, it’ll…it’ll be best if there aren’t any distractions…”

You hear Sun make a wordless noise of distress as he frets over what he’s about to do. But he knows he can’t talk you out of it, and he knows as well as you do that you can’t wait for help from any of your former colleagues. It has to be you, and it has to be now.

“A-Alright then…G-Good luck, Little Star…”

You hear him climb up the pile of rubble. Your hand hovers over the green CONFIRM button, but you wait until you hear only silence. Either Sun has gotten to where he’s decided to go and hunkered down, or he’s far enough that you can no longer hear him.

You take a breath, closing your eyes and steadying yourself before hitting the button.

You squeeze out of the alcove, wincing as the jagged concrete catches on your hoodie, but quickly make your way through the flooded crater as DJ’s systems slowly power back on.

You move to stand in front of his head, lightly running a hand over his cheek as you do.

You’re tense, clutching your hands in front of your chest, almost as if in prayer. You’re sure that, ultimately, he can fight bouncer mode. His soul is stronger than it. His love and yours are stronger than it. But as confident as you are of victory, you don’t know how long the battle will be.

Or how dangerous.

In a moment, his eyelids slowly close, then open again as he blinks awake.

The tension leaves your body instantly as you let out a sob of relief. You know it’s him right away. There’s no question. The moment his optics come online and focus on you, his brow slightly upturned in worry, you see him. Him. Your DJ. Your love. Your soulmate. Not the cold, empty stare of bouncer mode.

You hadn’t been sure you’d be able to tell right away. But the concern--the warmth--in those big dark eyes is unmistakable.

Your love is back.

“DJ!” you cry breathlessly, running to press yourself against his cheek in a hug.

To your surprise--and dismay--he suddenly pulls away, turning his face away from you and lifting his head as he tries to push his body backwards, away from you.

“DJ?” you ask tentatively, even as you take the hint and back away from him.

He doesn’t sign anything or even look at you as he pulls his main set of hands closer to his body. He looks so dejected and ashamed--his eyes lidded and downcast, his brows low, and his mouth turned downward in a sad frown.

His shoulders begin to shake and he abruptly covers his face with his main hands, his whole body trembling in grief.

“H-Hey, DJ…it’s okay…I’m here…” you say gently, lightly resting your hands on his upper arm, near his elbow.

He scoots away again, keeping one hand over his face while the other signs, “N-O-T-O-U-C-H.”

The bluntness of the statement sends a stab through your heart, even as you remind yourself he’s not trying to be blunt or short with you; he just needs to make his point in as few letters as possible.

Yet despite that, DJ must sense your wounded feelings, for he raises his hand again and spells out, “P-L-E-A-S-E.”

“A-Alright…” you say uncertainly, rubbing at your arm. “I won’t, if you don’t want me to, but…” You sigh softly, taking a moment to think through your phrasing. Once you’ve chosen your words, your face heats up slightly, even before you speak. “You um…you know I’d still…want to, right?” you say, feeling oddly shy about being so direct, despite everything that’s happened. “I…I still want to be near you…and sit in your hand and hug you…” You had blithely assumed you could express such sentiment without your voice breaking, but it turns out you can’t.

The weight of the past few hours begins to squeeze in on you, and you do your best to keep it at bay. Maybe you could have expressed such fondness with only shy smiles and giggles before you’d been fired. When you just had happy fun visits with DJ in the ‘Plex.

But not now. Not after this. Your heart aches too much at the thought of him pushing you away.

He doesn’t look at you as he lifts his hands to sign, “Why?”

The single word question nearly breaks you. “Why?!” you gasp out in an incredulous sob. “What do you mean ‘why’? DJ, you’re my soulmate and I love you…that’s why!”

DJ closes his eyes, wincing guiltily at your sob. He still can’t meet your gaze as he signs, “Ezra’s right. Something like me shouldn’t have a soulmate.”

You let out a sound that’s halfway between a scoff and a sob. “Oh DJ…listen to yourself. ‘Ezra’s right’? Come on. Think about what you’re saying,” you say, forcing some levity into your tone despite your tears.

DJ gives only a slight shrug as an answer. You step closer, reaching a hand up towards his face. He hesitates, then lowers his head enough for you to gently lay your hand on his cheek, tenderly brushing your fingers against his faceplate. “It wasn’t your fault, DJ. A-And…I know…that might not be easy for you to accept right now. Because…because the curse of being as sweet and kind as you are is always worrying that no matter how much you’ve done, you somehow haven’t done enough.

“But you did. DJ you…look at what you did to yourself to protect me. Not just…the damage, but…overpowering your programming like that shouldn't have even been possible. But you did it. For me. How could anyone ever ask more of their soulmate than that?” you say, leaning forward and planting a gentle kiss on one of the cracks on his cheek.

His gaze is still averted, so you snuggle up against his cheek, still caressing his faceplate. “DJ…all I want right now is…is for you to just hold me. Please?” you ask softly.

DJ’s optics flick towards you, but you’re too close to his face to see the movement. But you feel one of his front hands move, the soft surface gently resting against your back as he hugs you close to his cheek.

You’re trying to stay strong for him. To not let him know how much seeing him lose control terrified you. You weren’t just scared of him--you were scared for him.

But you’re exhausted and your body aches. You can’t even count how many cuts and bruises are covering you, and your clothes are so torn and caked in dust and specks of blood that you know none of it is even close to salvageable--not even as scrap fabric.

The grief of the past few hours, the past few days, the past few weeks--ever since Ezra drugged you--all comes flowing out. Streams of tears flow down your cheeks and your body heaves in gasping, broken sobs.

DJ hugs you closer, nuzzling his cheek against you before lightly nudging his lower lip against your forehead. Your sobs have sent a new wave of grief though his circuits, and he fights the urge to push you away again. Not because he wants to, but because he feels so unworthy of even the slightest touch or bit of affection from you.

After everything he’s done, all the horrors his bouncer mode has caused you…It’s still him you turn to for comfort. He would never want to deny you that, even if part of him thinks he should.

You deserve so much that he’s sure he’ll never be able to give you.

But if it’s him you want…he’ll give you all he can. All he is.

You pull away slightly, and he keeps his hand against your back to steady you. He cups his other hand against you, using the pad of his thumb to carefully wipe away your tears.

You smile in relief at the small touch, gazing tiredly up at him as you wrap your arms around his thumb. “I love you, DJ. Please don’t ever think I don’t…” you murmur.

He pulls one hand away. “I love you,” he signs back, though he doesn’t look completely at ease. He hesitates, then adds, “Sorry. So sorry.”

“It’s alright, sweetie. You have nothing to be sorry for,” you say gently.

He frowns at that. It’s pained, bitter, and incredulous all at once. “You were scared. Terrified.”

You resist the urge to insist you weren’t scared. You know he won’t be fooled. You remember seeing your own terrified face reflected in his eyes, and know that he saw it too--it’s etched into his memory banks far more clearly than it’s etched into your own brain. Besides, the last thing he needs right now is to get it into his head that you’re only giving him empty platitudes purely for the sake of making him feel better.

“I was scared, yes.” You hesitate, then add guiltily, “...Of you...Or…whatever was controlling you. But DJ, I never believed you’d want to hurt me…and I never doubted you’d do everything in your power to keep me safe.”

DJ can still barely meet your gaze, but he adjusts himself, and behind him there’s a loud thud as one of the smaller bits of concrete that had been leaning against him falls to the floor. The sound makes him jump, glancing fearfully over his shoulder.

You had jumped too, but you manage to calm yourself before he does. You’d been expecting some pieces to come loose. After all, you’re more aware of the surroundings, and how his shifting may knock some things loose but is unlikely to cause another collapse.

“You just knocked a bit of rubble loose…nothing to worry about…” you assure him gently.

DJ turns back to you, looking down at you incredulously. “Nothing to worry about?!” he signs, the panic on his face and the sharp gestures of his signs putting a rare urgency in his tone. “Look at this! Look what I did!” he signs desperately, stopping his signing to spread his hands wide. He buries his face in his hands again, and you see one of his middle hands twitch ever so slightly as he tries to sign with that set.

Remembering they’re broken, he lowers his main set of hands to sign, “What I almost did to you. Could have--” He doesn’t know the sign for ending someone’s life, and he can’t bear to spell it out.

“DJ, that…that wasn’t your fault!” you cry emphatically. “You didn’t ask for bouncer mode to be left in your code, you didn’t ask for Ezra to switch it on…” You pause, your expression darkening. “It was Ezra, wasn’t it?” you ask, though it’s barely a question.

DJ dips his head in a glum nod.

“So it’s his fault,” you say bluntly.

“It was still me,” he protests.

“It was your body. It wasn’t you,” you state firmly. Unwaveringly, even.

“Same thing. What if it gets switched on again?” he signs, the dread in his eyes unmistakable.

You look momentarily confused by his phrasing…but you realize you shouldn’t be. Even if his pain sensors were on, he might not be able to tell the switch inside him was melted off.

“DJ, the switch melted,” you say softly.

He cants his head in confusion. “You melted it?”

You let out a sound halfway between an incredulous laugh and a gasp, quickly shaking your head. “No, nonono. I would never try something like that. It was already melted when I opened the panel.”

DJ’s brow knits in a frown, and he takes a moment to process what you’ve said before signing, “Then how did you turn it off?”

“I didn’t. I…I thought you’d just gained control over it…” you say, frowning up at him. He thought it was off? You suppose he would know, but…

“It’s off. Or it feels like it is. I’m not fighting anything,” he signs in confusion.

“You…you think it’s gone? Like…gone-gone?” you say, stunned.

DJ simply shrugs helplessly. He can barely let himself dare to believe it.

“It might be!” Sun’s voice pipes up from atop the rubble. Apparently sensing it’s safe, he begins to climb down.

DJ’s face lights up with dizzy relief at the sight of the Daycare Attendant. “You’re alright!” he signs before holding out a hand for Sun, helping him make his way down the last of the rubble. He freezes when he realizes Sun’s a bit less alright than he initially thought, staring at his splints with a grief-stricken look.

“I am!” Sun chirps. “Nothing a little patch job won’t fix!” he says easily, actually managing to mostly mask his nervousness at the prospect of another repair session. “Anyway…You know Moon and I…w-we don’t always follow our programming either…” Sun says, glancing between you and DJ.

You cant your head in thought. “Well…maybe not, but…hacking the email server and sneaking out at night aren’t quite on the same level as purging something like bouncer mode from your systems…” you say.

“True, but…we’ve never needed to do anything like that,” he says. “And…I mean, maybe…once we find our soulmate, if it were for them…”

“But have you actually deleted protocols or do you just bypass them?” you ask.

Sun considers--or perhaps confers with Moon in their head. “We…hadn’t actually thought about it. But…there are some that…we don’t need to bypass anymore. After awhile, bypassing them got so easy we…didn’t even notice when we didn’t have to anymore…” he says with a helpless shrug.

You glance between Sun and DJ. DJ’s brow is knit in concentration as he searches through his protocols, trying to find any hint that some part of bouncer mode might remain.

You turn back to Sun. “So…you think it’s…possible that bouncer mode is just…erased?”

Sun lets out an uncertain hum, gesturing vaguely with his hands as if trying to pull the answer from thin air. “I-I mean…you’re a tech…what do you think?” he asks earnestly.

You let out a laugh that sounds borderline delirious, shaking your head. “And you three are robots with souls. That’s not exactly something any of my classes or certifications ever covered,” you say.

Sun wrings his hands in silence, his unfocused gaze suggesting he’s having another discussion with his brother. After a moment, he speaks again. “Moon thinks it’s possible. A-And…he’s the one who started figuring out how to bypass our own protocols…so…I-I think he would know.”

You nod, smiling weakly up at him. “I think so too.” You and Sun both glance up at DJ.

“Feels true. But--” He frowns, trying to figure out how to word it. “Too dangerous to take for granted.”

It’s a fair point, and you hate that it is.

Sun’s rays seem to wilt as he wrings his hands, apparently having much the same thought as you. His eyes lose focus for a moment as Moon speaks to him. He blinks, lifting his head. “Bouncer mode should only matter if DJ’s in the Pizzaplex!” he says suddenly. “Moreso…if you’re in the ‘Plex!” he adds, pointing to you.

Your eyes widen as you glance between Sun and DJ again. Of course! Someone being blacklisted from the ‘Plex won’t matter unless they’re actually in the ‘Plex! And if DJ’s no longer in the ‘Plex himself, he won’t be part of the Pizzaplex’s network…thus bouncer mode shouldn’t even have access to the blacklist to check against.

As you’re processing this revelation, Sun grins widely. He stands behind you, putting his hands on your shoulders. “Which I belieeeeve is the perfect segue for some good news our Little Star has to share!” he giggles cheerfully, gently pushing you towards DJ before stepping back.

DJ cants his head, looking down at you curiously.

You hold out your hands, and after a brief hesitation, he takes him in his, holding them gently between his thumbs and forefingers.

“I…I’d wanted to tell you when I visited tonight. But my grandmother’s given me her farm.” You pause, smiling shyly. “W-Well…given us her farm. There’s a barn, a-and it’ll need a bit of fixing up…it’s not as big as the whole dance floor, but it’s bigger than your stage…with room for me to…m-maybe set up some living space for myself…”

DJ blinks, barely believing what he’s hearing. One of his middle arms twitches again, and he reluctantly releases your hands so he can sign. “We could live together? Not just nearby? Actually together?” he asks.

You dip your head in a nod. “Once we put a bit of work into the barn, yes. It’s…it’s what I’d want…for us,” you say tentatively, letting the unspoken question hang in the air.

DJ’s shoulders relax in a silent but elated sigh. “What I want too,” he signs. “More than anything.”

Your eyes begin to mist as you hold out your hands again. He takes them, lowering his head and gently nuzzling his forehead against yours.

When he lifts his head and releases your hands, he looks up at the collapsed ceiling and upper floor of the West Arcade, then back down to you thoughtfully. He seems to deliberate with himself for a moment, then signs, “I don’t want to be in the Pizzaplex anymore. Not ever again.”

You let out a sad little laugh, patting his hand when he lowers it to you. “Me neither,” you say simply.

“Likewise,” Sun pipes up.

DJ looks up again. “I can climb us out,” he signs.

“Are you sure?” you ask, looking up what’s left of the arcade. It seems like it’s mainly the ceiling and the second floor that are collapsed, while the walls themselves look to be mostly in place to your untrained eye. But just because they’re still standing doesn’t mean they’re stable enough for DJ to climb on.

DJ nods. “I can tell which parts are stable enough to hold me. There’s a path,” he signs, then points to the wall, tracing an invisible line to indicate said path.

“Ah, so there is!” Sun chirps, apparently having performed a similar set of calculations in his own head.

You laugh weakly. “Well, you’re the experts,” you say good-naturedly. “Alright. Let’s get out of here,” you say.

DJ holds out his hand for you and Sun, then places you both on his back. Normally DJ would prefer to hold any passengers in his hands, but with only three functional hands, for the first time in his life he simply doesn’t have a hand to spare.

Sun sits behind you and uses his good arm to wrap his injured arm around you, telling you to hold onto it while he grips the broken edge of the speaker with his good hand.

“Ready!” Sun chirps.

DJ nods, then slowly stands, letting the few remaining pieces of rubble fall away from him.

“But be careful!” you fret. “Don’t forget your pain sensors are off…so make sure you don’t strain yourself,” you say worriedly.

DJ smiles at you over his shoulder, giving a thumbs up.

Your grip on Sun’s arm tightens as DJ’s body rises. Gravity pushes you back against Sun’s torso, but Sun’s grip on DJ doesn’t falter. DJ picks his path up the wall, moving around the larger chunks of floor and ceiling that are still stuck onto the walls.

He crests the top of the wall, and you’re forced to squint as the bright early morning sunlight is no longer blocked by the walls of the arcade.

In the distance, you notice ambulances, fire trucks, and other emergency vehicles starting to gather near the front of the Pizzaplex. Apparently the powers that be have indeed been alerted to the situation.

And if you see them, they surely see DJ.

DJ, though, doesn’t seem to pay them any mind as he pauses a moment, his gaze wandering across the horizon.

“DJ? Are you alright?” you ask.

He seems to snap out of whatever reverie he’d been in, though he has no way to explain himself as he repositions for the climb down. He descends the outer wall backwards, keeping your weight against Sun rather than vise-versa.

Finally, he steps over the narrow row of shrubbery along the outer wall of the Pizzaplex, his gloves touching down on the asphalt of the parking lot.

DJ has officially left the building.

He reaches around himself to help you and Sun down from his back before once again turning his head upwards to look at the sky.

It had been visible from inside the rubble, but he hadn’t had time to pay it any mind. But now, out here…he can truly take in just how big it is. How high up it goes…and how far out the horizon is. The open space out here utterly dwarfs the interior of the Fazcade by a nigh incomprehensible amount.

For the first time in his life, DJ feels small.

But not in a bad way. In fact, it makes the height difference between you and him seem trivial. What do a couple dozen feet matter when the sky and the horizon stretches on for miles?

“Sweetie?” you ask, putting your hand atop one of his.

He smiles fondly at you, lightly touching your cheek before signing, “It’s big out here.”

You follow his gaze up to the sky. You’re sure you had marveled at its vastness at some point in your childhood, but that time is long forgotten and the sky is now taken for granted. At least until DJ points it out to you again. “Yeah…” you murmur. “Have you never seen it before?”

He shakes his head. “First brought online on my stage. Never left the arcade. Until now.”

“You should see it at night!” Sun chirps happily. “The stars are just beautiful!”

You grin at over at Sun. “Yes. And the farm probably has even better stargazing than the park,” you tell him.

Sun lets out a happy squeak, clutching his hands together as his rays do a quick spin around his faceplate.

DJ cants his head at Sun’s reaction. While DJ and Sun both feel like they know each other to some extent, this is their first time actually seeing each other in person. DJ’s brothers don’t transmit visual data as consistently as Sun sees through Moon’s eyes, so while DJ was aware that Sun was far perkier and energetic than Moon, seeing it in person is quite different.

It’s surprising both how similar and how different Sun and Moon are. On the surface, their bodies and faces look very similar, but they move and act so differently. It’s amazing how much difference a color swap, a few rays, and a bright smile can make. And also how jarring it is to see such a familiar face making an expression DJ can barely even imagine on Moon.

Still, DJ is obviously glad to finally meet his best friend’s brother after all this time. “By the way, it’s nice to finally meet you,” he signs to Sun.

Sun brightens. “Oh yes! Goodness, where have my manners been? Very pleased to meet you! My name’s Sun!” he chirps, deciding to make a proper introduction.

DJ grins. “My name is DJ Music Man. Call me DJ.” The very first full sentence you ever taught him to sign, and now he finally has a chance to use it!

“Certainly, DJ!” Sun grins, holding out a hand.

DJ extends his hand to Sun, and Sun takes his index finger, bouncing it up and down in an exaggerated handshake. Of course, it’s mostly DJ moving his own hand, going along with the joke.

You laugh warmly at the interaction, only to find yourself wavering slightly. You don’t even realize you’re falling until you see DJ quickly reaching out a hand. You land on the soft surface, dazed.

The adrenaline has fled and the brief moment of calm has made your body decide it’s time to rest. You become aware of just how sore and exhausted you are.

DJ looks to Sun in a panic, but Sun is already next to DJ’s hand, scanning your vitals worriedly. “Just exhaustion,” you hear him say from what sounds like a million miles away. “They didn’t faint, their injuries are superficial…they’re just very weak and tired…” He turns, seeing the emergency vehicles that had gathered near the front of the ‘Plex have taken notice of your little trio and are now heading towards you. “But it looks like help is on the way,” he says nervously.

You stare up at DJ blearily, and he moves you closer to his face so you can rest a hand on his cheek, his other hand stroking your hair with one finger.

“...Tired,” you manage to mumble, confirming Sun’s diagnosis. You’d only gotten about half a night’s sleep before running yourself beyond ragged, after all.

He gently brushes his lower lip against your forehead, and is relieved when the gesture seems to soothe you.

Sun and DJ’s gazes both drift back towards the ambulance, which is now slowing to a stop a few yards away.

They’re both glad that help for you is on the way…even if their own fates remain uncertain. None of you have spoken about it yet, but…you all know there’s no way this won’t affect the decision the Committee had been about to make.

Chapter Text

The ambulance stops a few yards away and the EMTs exit, staring up at DJ with wide eyes as they slowly approach. Of course, most people in Hurricane are familiar with the Mega Pizzaplex and the animatronics that populate it, whether or not they actually have much interest in ever visiting. The EMTs who have the Pizzaplex on their beat are no exception. They know who DJ Music Man is, but still…seeing the huge animatronic off his stage, outside the building even, is more than a bit jarring.

Not to mention intimidating.

DJ rests his body on the ground and lowers his head, making himself as unimposing as possible. He extends the hand you’re laying in, resting it flat on the ground so the EMTs can get to you.

They’re pushing a wheeled gurney towards you when Sun steps forward.

“Miss Kaitlyn! How nice to see you again!” he says to one of the EMTs.

She and her partner jump in surprise, having been too distracted by the towering animatronic spider to have even noticed Sun standing there. Covered in dust as he is, he’s not quite as bright and flashy as usual.

“Oh, hi Sun,” she says, relaxing only slightly at the sight of a more familiar face in the chaos. “Who do we have here?” she asks, nodding towards your limp form in DJ’s hand.

Sun tells them your name and they pause, exchanging a glance.

“Not…the same one from the DC hearings?” Kaitlyn asks.

“The very same!” Sun chirps proudly.

The two EMTs’ gazes drift up to DJ, who gives them what is meant to be a reassuring smile but mostly just ends up looking nervous and a tad awkward. It’s not helped by the cracks in his faceplate, slightly broken nose, and partially missing eyebrow.

Kaitlyn’s the first to speak. “So then…they’re…” She raises a hand, pointing between you and DJ. “...With, uhm…him?”

“Mm-hm!” Sun nods. “But let’s not worry about all that right now,” he says cheerfully, waving his good hand.

“Er, y-yeah, of course…” she says quickly.

“I’ve already scanned them. Their vitals are stable, no internal injuries, certainly no broken bones…really only minor bruising and some cuts,” Sun explains.

Kaitlyn’s partner, whose name tag reads Collin, nods. “Okay. Do you think you can help us get them onto the gurney? We’d like to take them to--”

You hadn’t even realized you’d been listening. You hadn’t even realized you’d been awake. But the mention of being separated from DJ again wakes you quicker than being doused in ice water. Your eyes shoot open and you struggle to sit up, with DJ quickly using his other hand to support you. “N-No! No, I don’t…need to go anywhere…” you say, your voice going from a cry of distress to a tired mumble to a pained wince over the course of one sentence. You slump again, and DJ gently eases you back down.

DJ glances at Sun helplessly. He wants you to get the best care you can possibly get, even if it means taking you away from him temporarily, but…if there’s a way for you to get that care without taking you away…

“Oh, Little Star, it’s okay! Our friends are here to help…” Sun frets over you gently. He sounds like he’s using the same lines (and tone) he’s used to comfort kids in the past.

Kaitlyn winces slightly at that. “They’re not a child, Sun. If they’re refusing to go in the ambulance we can’t make them.”

Collin frowns thoughtfully, hesitantly approaching DJ’s hand and looking you over. “Well, if Sun’s scanned them and there’s no internal injuries, we don’t really need to take them to the hospital…” he reasons.

Kaitlyn nods in agreement. “Water and a blanket, then?”

“Oh, yes! Yes please!” Sun says quickly, and DJ nods eagerly as well.

While the EMTs are getting the requested supplies, DJ signs to Sun, “You know them?”

“Just Miss Kaitlyn,” Sun says. “She was one of the EMTs that did that safety presentation in the daycare last year. And her younger brother is one of our Little Superstars,” he explains.

“Glad there’s a familiar face,” DJ signs, to which Sun nods in agreement as the EMTs return.

Collin spreads a shock blanket over you, a thin piece of yellow fabric that you’re surprised to find is already warm, helping chase away the chill from your damp clothes.

DJ helps you sit up enough to drink the water Kaitlyn offers, keeping one finger against your back for you to lean against.

Collin keeps an eye on you while he fills out some kind of paperwork on his tablet, tapping the screen with the stylus and occasionally asking you a few questions about your medical history, which you answer almost absently between sips.

A couple yards away, Kaitlyn is quietly asking Sun about what happened, and you hear Sun give a few vague answers, getting increasingly uncomfortable. After a moment it becomes clear that Kaitlyn doesn’t realize DJ had any part in the destruction, and Sun is trying to keep it that way. At least for now.

Once Kaitlyn and Collin are satisfied that you no longer need their assistance, you sign a couple forms on their tablet and Sun walks them back to the ambulance, bidding them a polite farewell.

You’re about to drift off again when you hear Tiffany’s voice calling your name. You start awake with a mildly unflattering snort, blinking and rubbing your eyes as you see Tiffany running towards you with Karter close behind.

Well…if the emergency vehicles are here already, news of the incident at the ‘Plex must be spreading. You’re too tired to wonder how Tiffany and Karter knew to look for you here when you’re blacklisted from the ‘Plex, but later Tiffany will tell you she tried repeatedly calling you, then got in touch with Karter to see if he’d heard anything. They’d gone to check your apartment together and when they couldn’t get an answer, they’d both had to admit that DJ’s ruined arcade was the most likely place you would be.

Apparently, they’d both had a suspicion you were getting in to see DJ somehow. You evidently hadn’t done a good job of feigning the distress of being truly separated from him for so long.

Tiffany’s eyes are red from crying, she’s wearing a bathrobe and PJs, and her hair is in a hastily tied bun more messy than any hairstyle you’ve seen on her since she was in high school. It’s clear that once she had heard what had happened at the Pizzaplex, she had thought of nothing else.

Karter, at least, had made time to dress before meeting up with Tiffany, though it doesn’t appear he’s brushed his hair or shaved.

Tiffany quickly runs over to you, her arms spread wide. DJ--with great reluctance and an incredibly apologetic look--moves the hand you’re in away from her and uses his other hand to gently block her. He doesn’t want to keep your sister away from you, but he also assumes (correctly) that the urgent hug she was going in for would have been painful for you.

She looks up at him questioningly, and DJ glances at Sun, spelling out, “N-E-E-D-T-O-B-E-G-E-N-T-L-E.”

“Erm, Mrs. Mateo?” Sun says, moving to stand beside Tiffany. “DJ just wants to make sure you’re being gentle. They’re…pretty roughed up.”

She blinks at Sun, then glances up at DJ, nodding in understanding. “I’ll be careful,” she says.

DJ smiles graciously, then lowers his hand just as you’re finally pulling yourself into a sitting position.

As she promised, Tiffany carefully sits down on his hand next to you, putting an arm around your shoulder. “Holy shit…you look awful…”

“Thanks,” you say sarcastically. “‘M just a bit scuffed up is all…”

“What happened? What…what would make it collapse like that?” Tiffany asks.

Both you and DJ wince at the question.

“It’s…complicated…” you say softly. “DJ…um…th-there was this thing called…bouncer mode…”

“Bouncer mode?!” Karter cuts in, gaping.

“Did you know about it?” you ask him.

He nods. “Yeah. I think any of the techs who worked here when DJ was in development would. It wasn’t a secret--it was just canceled.”

You shake your head. “Not entirely. The switch was still there. The code was still there,” you say grimly.

“Switch?” he asks.

“The one by his diagnostic panel. You must’ve seen it?” you ask him.

“Sure, I remember it. But Ezra said it wasn’t functional and to just not mess with it.”

You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief. You can’t believe such a dangerous switch was allowed to just sit in plain sight of any tech. Granted, most techs would know better than to randomly flip a switch like that, especially on an animatronic as large as DJ.

But still…any of them could have done so quite easily, at any time.

DJ and Ezra had apparently been the only ones at the ‘Plex who knew the switch was still functional. Obviously, Karter had never asked DJ about it, as DJ would have had no way to answer. Given how casually DJ had told you, even he clearly didn’t realize the switch’s purpose was meant to be kept under wraps.

“Ezra knew damn well it was functional,” you mutter darkly. “He’s the one who flipped it.”

“Holy hell…” Karter murmurs, glancing towards the ruined arcade. Most of the damage isn’t visible from here, but the missing roof and jagged top edge of the wall still paint a picture of some horrific structural damage.

“Wait, hold on…what’s ‘bouncer mode’?” Tiffany asks.

“It was going to be a protocol DJ would switch over to after hours,” Karter explains, “to remove trespassers from the arcade. But simulations kept showing it as being far too aggressive. They were trying to fix it, but they decided it was redundant once Moon started doing night patrols. So the project was scrapped and the protocols deleted. Or so we were told.”

“‘Too aggressive’?” Tiffany asks, her tone hard. Leaning against her, you can feel her shoulders tensing angrily.

DJ winces, glancing away. You place a hand on his thumb, squeezing it comfortingly.

Karter shifts uncomfortably. “The simulations had bouncer mode repeatedly grabbing at trespassers instead of just chasing them off. And if they ran further into the arcade it was…relentless in pursuing them.”

“So Ezra just flipped it on, knowing that?! That’s--That’s attempted murder!” Tiffany growls. “Isn’t it?”

“I doubt he thought it would be this bad…” Karter says, glancing towards the wreckage. “But…you’re the lawyer. If you think that’s the charge that can stick…”

You shudder, covering your face in your hands. You’re not ready to face what might have happened, much less the idea of it being deliberate. The idea that someone--even someone as despicable as Ezra--would see your entire existence as something so expendable that they’d drop you on death’s door without a second thought…

And for what? Money? Pride? You’re not sure which is the bigger driver for Ezra at this point, but if you cared to think on it (which you don’t) you’d likely conclude that money and pride have somehow become essentially interchangeable for him.

You feel DJ’s thumb gently rubbing your shoulder while Tiffany holds your hand, and you suck in a breath, managing to pull yourself out of your mental spiral.

“Let’s talk about the details later,” Tiffany says gently, clearly noticing your mounting distress, and Karter nods in agreement. Tiffany glances down at you. “We should get you home,” she says.

You only have time to make a small noise of protest before you feel DJ’s hand tense beneath you. You assume he’s worried about you leaving, but when you look up at him to assure him you’re not going anywhere, you’re surprised to see him glaring daggers at an old, beat up car approaching.

You squint, but can’t make out who’s driving the car. “Who’s that?”

“Darryl,” DJ signs. It’s rare for DJ to have an urge to rough handle anyone or anything, but at the moment it’s taking a tremendous amount of effort to not cross the lot, grab the car, and tear the roof off.

Because he senses his brothers inside. They’re still offline, and it’s lucky for Darryl that their backup sensors allow DJ to know they’re undamaged. If DJ thought there was even a chance Darryl had hurt his little brothers, he would not be able to simply stand by and wait for the car to pull up.

DJ’s only ever been truly furious at someone a small handful of times--all of them within the past few weeks. And now Darryl finds himself on that incredibly short list.

Darryl stops a few yards away--noticeably well out of DJ’s reach. He opens the door and stumbles out, his hands up, his wide eyes fixed on DJ’s glare. His hair is disheveled and he’s still in his tech jumpsuit that he had been wearing last night. The bags under his eyes and stubble on his chin suggest he’s been up all night.

“P-Please--j-just listen--!” he stammers out, his voice cracking due to how dry his throat is.

Tiffany quirks a brow. “Who is this?” she asks quietly, sliding off DJ’s hand.

“Darryl. One of the techs. What--” You cut yourself off when DJ starts signing.

“He has our brothers. In the car. He helped Ezra get them out of the way when I was put into bouncer mode.”

“What?!” you snap, wincing as your own volume sends a stab through your temple. You push past it, but the spike of rage gives you the strength to get up from DJ’s hand, letting the blanket fall aside as you storm towards Darryl’s car. “Why the hell would he--”

“Just listen!” Darryl says again, holding up his hands as he scrambles back from you. “I-I panicked, okay?”

You stop walking, only to find yourself wavering again. DJ quickly puts a hand out, letting you rest against it as you both glare balefully at Darryl.

“Ezra--he said it didn’t matter what happened to them. I-I thought if…if I left them in the ‘Plex, they’d just be…scrapped…So I just put them in my car and left. I tried to call you, to see if you could take them…I couldn’t get through, and…when--when I saw all this on the news…I came here.”

He sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair in a way that makes him look even more disheveled. “I-I don’t know if they have souls or not, but…if…if they do…” He lets the statement hang, looking at you pleadingly.

“They do,” you say firmly, though you’re not entirely sure Darryl would consider you an unbiased source for that information.

He nods quickly, holding up his hands defensively. “Okay. They do,” he says in a way that’s clearly meant to placate you. You’re not sure if he actually believes it or if he’s too afraid to state his uncertainty in front of you and DJ. Particularly DJ. “Y-You can take them, I didn’t--I didn’t take them to hurt them, I swear!”

“I-I understand,” you say. You’re not sure you do, but you, like Darryl, want to get the interaction over with and have your brothers safely with you. Neither side is interested in changing hearts and minds right now--Darryl just wants to wash his hands of the whole affair and you’re more than happy to help him do so if it gets your little brothers back.

Darryl steps backwards, keeping his eyes on DJ as he opens the back door. He leans into the back seat, and when he emerges, Alto’s limp form is in his arms.

Alto’s eyes are shuttered and his body limp as Darryl holds him, his six legs dangling and clattering against each other like a morbid windchime.

Your heart leaps to your throat at the sight, and you quickly run forward to gather him up. This time Darryl doesn’t try to back away from you, though he’s still clearly wary, sending nervous glances to DJ, as if worried DJ will grab up him and his car to get at his siblings.

DJ can’t pretend he’s not tempted to do so. His expression is still dark, but his anger has given way to worry. Being forced into rest mode is unpleasant, and waking up disoriented is even moreso.

You carry Alto and Treble while Darryl takes Tenor, bringing them over to DJ. You set Alto and Treble in DJ’s hand, then turn around and gather up Tenor from Darryl, who is--perhaps understandably--very reluctant to get within arm’s reach of DJ.

Darryl quickly steps back, holding up his hands again. “Okay. We’re good. We’re all set?” he asks uncertainly.

Tiffany steps forward, handing him her card. “We’re good for now,” she says pointedly. “But I may want to speak with you later,” she says, unable to keep the statement from sounding at least a little ominous.

“Um…” Darryl gulps nervously, taking the card.

“Look. If you’re worried about getting in trouble for taking animatronics out of the ‘Plex, I can help with that. In return, I may ask you for some statements. Got it?” she asks. Normally she’s a bit more amicable when making deals like this…but there’s only so much kindness she can muster up for someone who had been complicit in putting her sibling and their soulmate in harm’s way.

Darryl nods eagerly. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Okay, I can do that,” he says. He starts inching towards his car. “I’ll um. I’ll be in touch?” he says, his eyes pleading with your little group to just let him leave.

Tiffany glances at you, and you dip your head in a nod. With that, she waves her hand in a go-ahead gesture, dismissing Darryl.

Darryl doesn’t give any of you a chance to recant, quickly scrambling into his car and backing up so quickly the tires screech.

And you don’t have the energy to care. You have the triplets and Darryl is gone. It makes no difference to you if he’s going home or to the gates of Hell itself as long as your brothers are safe.

You climb into DJ’s hand with them and begin flipping the switches to bring them out of rest mode while DJ looks on worriedly. He’d be wringing his middle set of hands nervously if he could move them right now.

Tiffany takes a step towards you, watching curiously as the triplets begin to stir, but Karter lightly touches her arm, stopping her.

“I wouldn’t. They’re very skittish,” he says. “I worked in the ‘Plex the entire time they’ve been here and I only saw them maybe half a dozen times. And one of those was before they were even brought online,” he adds wryly.

You’re glad Karter’s there to remind you of that. The triplets are so open and affectionate towards you that you’d almost forgotten how DJ had told you they were usually shy when you’d first met them…and you’d hate to accidentally let Tiffany make them even more stressed after what they’ve been through.

You hear their modem-like noises firing off rapidly as they come online, their communication with the network activating before their motor functions do. The last thing they remember is DJ being attacked by Ezra, and then themselves being attacked by Ezra and Darryl.

They also have just realized they’re outside the ‘Plex, and quickly huddle up around you, their eyes wide as they take in the huge open space they now find themselves in. They didn’t even like being in the middle of the wide-open atrium, much less the wide-open world.

Suffice to say, they don’t seem as wonderstruck by the open space as DJ had been. You suspect once you get them to the farm, they will remain rather indoors-y, and you’ll be happy to do whatever it takes to make the house and barn comfortable for them.

You hear the sound of DJ’s communication reverberating in his chassis as he tries to calm them, reassuring them that he’ll be alright, that you’ll all be alright. He tells them about the farm, about the possibility of them all leaving the ‘Plex to stay with you.

But they can see how damaged DJ is. They’re understandably skeptical…but there’s also little they can do about it, and little point to arguing. So they remain huddled around you, seeming less than excited about the prospect of life outside the ‘Plex.

“They’re worried. Leaving the ‘Plex sounds scary,” DJ signs to you even as he continues trying to comfort his brothers.

“It’ll be okay, guys…we’ll figure out how to make the farm comfortable for all of us,” you say. You smile weakly. “We’ll make a tunnel from the house to the barn, so you’ll have lots of space without having to go outside.”

Before you can see their reactions to that prospect, you hear a voice you’d all hoped to never hear again.

Fucking Ezra.

He’s following McKinney, who had somehow found the time to not only don a freshly-pressed pantsuit, but do her hair and makeup before arriving at the ‘Plex as well. Or perhaps she too had a late night that had turned into an early morning.

Though Ezra himself doesn’t seem to be faring too well. He’s wearing the same suit as he was last night, and its wrinkled and frumpy state would make that obvious even to people who hadn’t seen him yesterday. He has dark circles under his eyes and an uneven smattering of stubble on his chin.

“Mrs. McKinney, I really must insist. This one--it’s not safe, it’s malfunctioning! It’s been tampered with!” he protests. “By its supposed ‘soulmate’, I suspect,” he adds, his baleful gaze resting on you.

“Tampered with?!” you snap, ignoring the protest in your leg muscles as you get to your feet again. The triplets huddle together in DJ’s hand, watching the exchange fearfully. “By you! You’re the one who turned on bouncer mode, not me! I would never put DJ through that!” You manage to stay upright despite your shouting, but all the same, DJ keeps a hand near you, his forefinger gently resting against your elbow in case you get dizzy again.

Ezra smiles. “Bouncer mode?” he laughs. “That was scrapped. Deleted. If you consult the manual, you’ll see there is no bouncer mode in the DJMM anymore. But I guess some of the older techs still like to spread that little rumor?” he muses, glancing pointedly at Karter.

“Oh, bullshit!” you snap, causing Sun to flinch and mumble a warning about language. Clearly he’s obligated to correct any cursing, for you seriously doubt he truly has any objections to you swearing at Ezra. “It’s not in his manual but the switch is easy enough to find. And DJ knew what it was for. He told me.”

“There’s a switch not in the manual?” McKinney asks, her interest clearly piqued.

“Yes. Next to his diagnostic panel. Or at least there was…it’s melted now,” you explain.

“Melted?” she repeats, quirking a brow.

You glance up at DJ, and he nods permission for you to open his maintenance hatch again. As you do, Sun quietly turns away to avoid the sight.

“This used to be just a simple On-Off switch,” you say, pointing out the remains of the bouncer mode switch to McKinney. “But DJ purged the bouncer mode from his protocols. He overpowered it, but that overheated his circuitry…and I think that’s why the switch melted off.”

McKinney listens to your explanation silently, takes a moment to look over the melted switch, then looks down at her tablet, going through the documents she’d received from Fazbear Entertainment.

“That switch is definitely not in the manual,” she agrees after a moment. She turns to Ezra. “Mr. Clark, I believe we requested the most up-to-date versions of these manuals?”

The withering glare Ezra had been directing at your back vanishes instantly, replaced with a cold smile. “That is the most recent edition. But some superfluous structural details, like that switch, are not included to avoid causing confusion with the techs. Whatever that switch was, it wasn’t even hooked up to anything.”

“That’s not true,” Sun says. When everyone turns to look at him, he falters slightly, wringing his hands. “M-Moon found the older schematics in the company archives. Along with the emails explaining why bouncer mode can’t be finished…and why it would be too expensive to try deleting it.”

“Sun…” you utter in a soft warning. He’s truly laying it all on the table now. If the Committee doesn’t grant him autonomy, he’ll be reprogrammed for sure after that revelation! And that’s if he’s not scrapped outright.

McKinney’s eyebrows raise. “Oh? And why exactly does the Daycare Attendant have access to such files?”

Sun winces. “W-We…bypassed some protocols…to try to find information about our previous soulmate…”

McKinney regards him a moment, then says, “You’re taking a big risk by admitting that, aren’t you?”

Sun nods, the hinge in his neck squeaking.

“Mr. Clark,” McKinney says, turning towards Ezra but keeping her gaze fixed on her tablet as she rapidly swipes and taps. “Last night the Committee decided to grant the option for autonomy to the Glamrocks, Daycare Attendant, and the Music Men. We were alerted to the ongoing situation here before we could send out the notice…and I’ll admit, what you showed me in the arcade did cause me to seriously question our decision. But this? Two animatronics overpowering their own programming?”

Ezra laughs coldly, but there’s a hint of nervousness in his eyes. “Simply some glitches in--”

“I know what glitches look like, Mr. Clark,” she snaps. “I’ve been building robots and programming AIs since college--nearly two and a half decades now. These are not mere glitches. I’m upholding the Committee’s previous decision.”

“Y-You can’t do that!” he protests.

“We certainly can, and we have,” she says, hitting a button on her screen. “The notice has just been sent to the board.” She tucks her tablet under arm. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m sure there’ll be a lot of fallout over this in DC that the Committee will need to deal with.” She turns to begin heading out, but briefly turns back to you, DJ, and Sun. She dips her head in a nod, actually giving a faint smile. “Congratulations, by the way.”

Ezra’s lip curls at that and later Tiffany will swear he let out a literal growl…but Ezra’s the last thing on your mind right now.

You stand stunned, leaning heavily on DJ’s hand in a moment of shock.

You’ve won.

Your knees give out in relief just as DJ quickly scoops you up, hugging you to his cheek. You’re vaguely aware of Sun letting out a small squeak of surprise as DJ’s back hand scoops him up, hugging him to his other cheek while his other front hand clutches the triplets to his chest.

You’ve won.

DJ releases Sun and the triplets after a moment, then holds the hand you’re sitting on in front of his face. You both lean forward at the same time, your lips pressing against his.

You’ve won!

DJ and Sun and Moon and the triplets never have to go back, never have to fear reprogramming again.

DJ lowers his hand to the ground, and it’s another round of hugs with you, Tiffany, Karter, and Sun.

Ezra rolls his eyes, clearing his throat.

You turn to him in surprise. You’d honestly thought he’d left. Why wouldn’t he? What reason could he possibly have to stay?

He’d lost.

He pulls a tablet from his jacket, holding it out to you. “Fazbear Entertainment would like to extend its condolences for what happened here last night. As a show of goodwill, we’ll gladly cover any medical expenses you incurred…provided you sign this,” he says.

Tiffany scoffs, plucking the tablet out of Ezra’s hand as he attempts to hand it to you. “Not without a lawyer looking it over first, thank you,” she says as she begins skimming the document. It’s not long before she lets out a snort. “You can’t be serious,” she says, giving Ezra a scathingly unimpressed look. “My clients will not be waiving their right to sue for the emotional and physical distress inflicted upon them last night.”

“Clients?” Ezra repeats.

“Yes,” she says firmly. “Your former employees, as well as DJ, his brothers, and the Daycare Attendant.”

Sun blinks at that, surprised to hear himself and Moon included in the list. On the list of things he expected today, suddenly having legal representation hadn’t exactly been on his mind.

Ezra’s teeth are gritted, his lips pulled back in a cold smile. “As I said, we are offering to cover any medical expenses…”

Tiffany scoffs again. “Medical expenses?” She gestures to you with the tablet. “They’re standing up and walking around. What exactly do you think you’ll be paying for? A box of bandaids and some ice packs? A hot shower and some fluffy pillows?”

Ezra tenses, glowering at her a moment before sneering. “Don’t tell me you’d actually prefer it if your dear sibling had been crushed? Killed by their own soulmate? I suppose it would result in a larger settlement for--”

CRACK!!

It happens so fast you can barely track the motion. Suddenly Ezra is laying on his back on the concrete and Karter is standing over him, one hand clenched into a white-knuckled fist.

“Shut. Up,” Karter grates.

Ezra sits up, blinking dazedly. His nose is already swelling and a few drops of blood drop onto his jacket. “That’s assault!” he snarls.

Tiffany sniffs, unimpressed as she tosses the tablet onto Ezra’s lap. “And if you don’t leave, it’s harassment. Either way, you are not to speak to my clients again. Have your lawyer speak to me regarding any…ongoing matters,” she says. She allows herself the tiniest hint of a smirk. “Assuming there are any.”

Ezra huffs indignantly, grabbing up the tablet and pulling himself to his feet. He opens his mouth to make some scathing remark, but quickly closes it. With a snarl of frustration, he turns on one heel and storms off.

And that would be the last you, Karter, and your robot friends ever have to see of the man.

You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Jeez Tiff. You’re brutal,” you say reverently.

She grins, shrugging with feigned modesty. “When it’s warranted,” she says sweetly. “Now. Don’t get too comfortable, because we still need to figure out how to get everyone to the farm.”

You sigh, deflating slightly. You wish she’d given you a few minutes to revel…but, brutal is brutal.

Besides, there’ll be time to rest at the farm.

A lot of time, with you still being unemployed…

“DJ was brought here in a double-wide flatbed,” Karter says. “I don’t remember the shipping company but I’d probably recognize the logo if I saw it again?”

Tiffany nods. “You think you could arrange that, Karter?” she asks. Before he can answer, she fishes her wallet from her pocket and passes him a card. “Put any expenses on this.”

“Oh, uh, yeah…I guess?” he says. “It might take a bit…and shouldn’t we repair DJ and Sun first?”

Tiffany frowns at that, looking thoughtful. “I’ll have to defer to you guys on that, I suppose,” she admits. She looks up at DJ. “What do you think?”

DJ blinks, surprised to be included in the conversation. He hesitates, then signs, “I’d like to be at the farm as soon as possible.”

Sun nods. “He wants to leave as soon as we can. As do me and Moon.”

“Can we even do the repairs at the farm?” you ask, frowning a bit.

“You’ll have to be able to eventually,” Karter points out.

True…while the Daycare Attendant and DJ are unlikely to ever need repairs anywhere near this extensive again, they will occasionally need some fixing up.

Tiffany nods thoughtfully. “I’m sure I can negotiate something with the Pizzaplex to at least surrender all the spare parts they have on hand for you guys,” she says, nodding towards the animatronics. “It would be very hard for them to justify not giving them to us, given they’ll no longer have a use for them,” she reasons. She glances at Karter. “Do you think that’ll be enough?”

“It’ll be a good start. They usually keep a pretty generous supply of spare parts on hand. Some of the bigger ones are printed on the fly, but those are usually exterior casings.”

You glance up at DJ, and he lowers his head so you can rest a hand against his cheek. Is this really happening? You’ll just all move to the farm, repair him there, and just…live freely together?

Despite the hell you’ve gone through to get to this point, somehow the solution still manages to feel almost too easy. Though getting DJ to the farm won’t exactly be an easy drive…Still, you feel like you’ve been running full tilt for weeks, and now that the finish line is at least in sight it’s hard to even believe your eyes.

Tiffany and Karter’s discussion about logistics fades into the background as you snuggle up against DJ’s cheek, closing your eyes as you run a hand over his faceplate. You feel him nuzzle his cheek against you, his thumb stroking your hair.

The voices in the background fade to muffled, unintelligible noise as the exhaustion of the past day once again begins to sink its claws into you.

You’re startled awake when you feel DJ moving his head away, and you feel Tiffany’s hands on your shoulders, preventing you from stumbling.

“Alright, we’re gonna get you home so you can clean up and get some actual sleep,” she says.

“Mm-mm,” you mumble a sleepy protest. “I’m not leaving DJ.”

“Little Star, this--this isn’t a good place for you to sleep…” Sun chimes in.

You try to lay back down again, but Tiffany holds your shoulders stubbornly. “DJ’s hands are the perfect place to sleep,” you grump.

One of DJ’s fans kicks on at the compliment, rattling louder than usual and earning a questioning glance from Tiffany. He smiles apologetically at her and shrugs.

DJ’s no stranger to having an audience, but he’s suddenly realizing he prefers the moments between you and him to be a bit more private than they currently are. Besides, while he doesn’t quite know how his padded gloves compare to an actual bed, he knows sleeping outdoors isn’t going to do you any favors.

He lightly touches your shoulder, prompting you to look up at him. “Y-O-U-S-H-O-U-L-D-S-L-E-E-P,” he spells out with his free hand, then adds, “I-N-A-B-E-D. I-N-D-O-O-R-S.”

You know he’s right. But you hate that there’s still one more thing keeping you apart--your traitorous body and its villainous need for sleep.

“I’ll stay with DJ,” Karter says. “I’ll call or text if there are any updates.”

You dip your head in a tired nod, hugging DJ’s thumb before reluctantly climbing out of his hand. With Karter here, there’s at least a line of communication between you and DJ. At least enough to know he’s okay.

“Make sure to turn off his pain sensors again in a couple hours,” you say, to which Karter nods.

Tiffany puts an arm around your shoulders, preparing to take you to her car. You can’t help but turn one last time, pulling away to hug one of DJ’s fingers again. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” you promise.

You release his hand reluctantly, and as you’re backing away, you raise a hand, silently signing, “I love you.”

DJ smiles warmly at you, raising a hand and repeating the sign back to you. “I love you.”

As Tiffany’s leading you away, she chuckles softly. “I recognized that sign,” she says, her tone lightly teasing.

You let out a tired laugh. “Well, it’s not a secret,” you return easily.

Not anymore.

*

You can’t even stay awake for the car ride back to your apartment. Tiffany takes you up to your unit, calling the maintenance number to get them to let you back inside. Since you left through the window, you hadn’t thought to take your keys.

You doze off again sitting in the hallway waiting for them. When the very confused and concerned maintenance worker lets you in, you immediately shuffle towards your bed, leaving Tiffany to find your wallet and show the maintenance worker your id, proving that she didn’t just let a couple randos into an apartment.

You barely register that they’re even having a conversation, much less what it’s about, but later Tiffany will tell you that the maintenance worker had been concerned about your dirty, bedraggled appearance and asked if you both were sure you should be here instead of a hospital. Tiffany had assured her that you had already been looked over by professionals and cleared to go home and clean up.

Before you can get too comfortable, collapsed atop your comforter with your dirty clothes still on, Tiffany pulls you back out of bed and ushers you into the shower.

“You’ll thank yourself later,” she keeps saying whenever you protest.

You don’t really wash up so much as stand under the warm water enough to rinse most of the dirt and grime off yourself. Meanwhile, Tiffany finds a fresh set of PJs for you, though once you’re out of the shower you only manage the undergarments and shirt before stubbornly shuffling back towards your bed, your hair still dripping.

Tiffany moves the comforter aside for you, and you flop onto the mattress. She pulls the comforter back over you, then goes to turn off the lights and close the blinds.

You then fall into the deepest sleep you’ve ever had in your life.

*

When you eventually wake, it’s not because you’re fully rested but because the bruise on your back is protesting too much to be ignored. You sit up, blearily rubbing your eyes.

Out of the darkness, you hear Tiffany speak your name.

“Mm?” you mumble.

As your eyes adjust, you see her sit down on the edge of the bed, handing you some painkillers and a glass of water. You accept them readily.

“How’s DJ?” you mumble.

“Karter’s still with him. They were actually able to convince the remaining techs to give over enough parts to fix his middle set of arms. Well…mostly, anyway. The casing and his gloves are still a bit messed up, but he can move them.”

“Good,” you say, relieved.

“He also talked Sun into letting him at least fix his arm and turn off the pain sensors. Fixing his legs is probably going to have to wait until you’re at the farm though. Something about…rewiring taking a long time, so…gonna need a few hours of uninterrupted repair time, which Sun wasn’t going to agree to without you there.”

You wince. “Ah…Yeah, that’s…not surprising…” you admit. At least the pain sensors are off now.

“He’s also arranged a flatbed to take DJ to the farm.” With a smirk, she adds, “We ride at dawn.”

You laugh, feeling your eyes misting again. “I can’t believe it’s really happening…” You know it’s only been a few weeks, but you feel like you and DJ have been fighting this fight for years. You get to your feet, standing shakily. “I-I’m going back to the ‘Plex until then.”

“Noooo nono,” Tiffany says, quickly standing up to steady you. “I’ll drive you over to check on him, but only for a bit. You still need to rest tonight--you’ve still got a busy couple weeks ahead of you,” she reminds you.

You wince at the reminder. The farm’s not yet in the condition you were hoping it’d be in for your and DJ’s arrival. “Have you heard from the family yet?”

She laughs. “Ooooh yes. The Pizzaplex roof collapsing and the animatronics going free? That’s global news,” she says, pointing a finger at you playfully.

Playful or not, that fact makes you dizzy.

Tiffany continues, “I’ve been giving them updates, but they’d like to hear from you. I told them you’ll probably be uh…indisposed for a few days.”

“Mm, I suppose I will,” you admit, going into the bathroom to wash your face. You grimace at your reflection, peeling off the dirty Fazbear branded bandages and cleaning off the rings of dirt they left behind. You also notice that the tattered, dirty clothes you’d left on the bathroom floor have been picked up and stuffed into the small bin next to your sink. Tiffany had clearly agreed with your assessment that they were entirely unsalvageable.

You brush out your hair, once again pulling a face as you see dirt and dust being shaken loose. Standing under the showerhead had only cleaned you up so much.

You’ll take a proper shower later. Not now, not when it’ll only delay your return to DJ, to your soulmate. You’ve never been happy with how much time you two have had to spend apart so soon after meeting each other, but you hate that you had to leave him alone again after last night.

Well. Not entirely alone, you correct yourself. He has Sun (probably Moon by now), his brothers, and Karter. And at least he’s no longer being forced to pretend everything is normal.

You emerge from the bathroom, grabbing your keys and letting Tiffany lead you out of the apartment, pausing only to lock up behind yourself.

You head towards your car, but Tiffany grabs your arm and redirects you towards hers, gently reminding you that you’re not quite fit to drive yet.

“Thanks for…all this,” you say. If someone had told you a few weeks ago that, of all your sisters, you’d be leaning this heavily on Tiffany…you’d’ve certainly been incredulous, to put it lightly.

“Of course,” she says. She starts the car and pulls out of the lot, and after a few moments of driving, you ask another question that had been drifting around in the back of your mind.

“H-How are we paying for all this? The truck rental and all that?” you ask.

“You saw me give Karter my card,” she reminds you.

“Y-Yeah but…A double-wide flatbed all the way to Allendale? That’s…that’s gotta be four digits, right?”

“Could be,” she says. “But look. I was working while you rested, and I think we have a good chance of taking Fazbear Entertainment to court and winning some significant damages. Or a significant settlement, if that’s what they decide.”

“You think so?”

“Probably. Maybe some for DJ too. And his brothers, and Sun and Moon. Er, or maybe just the Daycare Attendant,” she says with a small shrug.

“Huh?” you say blankly.

She laughs weakly. “Sorry. I mean to say, I’m not sure if the courts will count Sun and Moon as separate parties for the sake of a lawsuit. Or anything really. So, either my clients are Sun and Moon, or my client,” she emphasizes the singular word, “is the Daycare Attendant. I suspect in matters of physical trauma, it would be the latter. Since there’s only one round of repairs to be done.”

“Wow. You’re really covering our bases,” you say, impressed.

“S’what I do,” she chirps with a shrug of feigned modesty.

When you arrive at the ‘Plex, you see the guards have set up additional barriers to keep any lookie-loos away from DJ and the others. Tiffany stops the car a few yards away and the guards let you through the barrier.

Of course by now they recognize you and Tiffany instantly, and they allow you to pass through a narrow gap in the barriers. At some point, you’ll have to see what clips and photos of you are being put up on the news, but for now, you’re trying to pretend you and your soulmate don’t have a global audience.

DJ is resting on the blacktop in much the same place you left him, one hand still partially curled to provide shelter for his brothers. Karter sits atop a cloth folding chair, giving you a bleary-eyed smile without getting up, while Moon is perched atop DJ’s head, his red eyes scanning the surrounding lot.

Moon nods politely to you, then slides down from DJ’s head, landing fairly gracefully despite his legs still being in splints. He retreats to the edges of the barrier, giving you and DJ some space.

DJ perks immediately when he sees you, holding out one of his main hands while lifting his two middle hands slightly, waving them at you to show they’re fixed.

“Yeah, Tiff told me,” you say, hopping into his hand and letting him hug you against his cheek. “How’ve you been holding up?” you ask once you pull away.

DJ lowers his hand to the ground and brings both his front hands together, allowing his brothers to scuttle across his hands towards you. As they snuggle up against you, DJ signs, “Fine. Pain sensors are still off.” He hesitates, then adds, “Nervous. About the ride.”

“Me too,” you admit. “I know it’ll be safe, but…stressful.”

“I wasn’t online the last time I was moved like this,” he signs, even though he’s aware that you already know that.

“Yeah,” you agree gently. “Well…Tiffany and Karter have made sure to hire the very best. They know what they’re doing,” you assure him.

With the triplets more reluctant than usual to leave your side, as well as Moon, Karter, and Tiffany all nearby, the visit is hardly romantic. But still. Just seeing each other for a bit is enough to bolster your spirits to help you both rest easy for the night.

Tomorrow’s journey to the farm won’t be easy.

Chapter Text

You and Tiffany arrive at the ‘Plex just as the sun is peeking over the horizon. Almost exactly twenty-four hours since DJ and the others first left the ‘Plex. You’d slept for much of the day yesterday and nearly the entire night, but you still feel weary and achy. The painkillers help but your bruises and cuts have a way of abruptly reminding you of their existence if you move even slightly wrong.

Zeke had taken over for Karter overnight, and now Karter is back and mostly rested, with Zeke staying just long enough to see him off.

Because moving everyone to the farm is going to take two vehicles, Karter (to your immense relief) has offered to drive one of them.

While the logistical nightmare of moving DJ is obvious, the Daycare Attendant doesn’t exactly fit easily into most vehicles either. You and Tiffany both drive fairly small sedans, but Karter has a larger SUV that could fit Sun in the back.

The rest of the group had worked out a plan while you’d rested. DJ will of course be on the double-wide, while the rest of you will be in Karter’s SUV. Your car will be left behind for now--Karter and Tiffany will work out a plan to drive it to Allendale for you in a few days.

For this trip, the triplets will be a line of communication between you and DJ, and you’ll have the number of the driver pulling the double-wide. If there are any problems or DJ’s in any discomfort, the driver has agreed to pull over ASAP if you call him, but you hope that’s not needed.

It’s a couple hours after dawn when the truck finally arrives, and another couple hours to get DJ loaded up. You hate that “loaded up” is an accurate term for the state of things. The trailer is a wide, flat-top surface with no walls or roof. DJ is laying atop it, his arms all tucked in as close as possible, and then securely tied down.

You hate to see him trussed up like an animal or mere cargo, but the only alternative any of you can think of is trying to get DJ to walk himself all the way to Allendale, and he simply wasn’t built for that long of an outdoor trek. Especially not in the state he’s in now.

You stand before his head on the trailer, and you can tell he’s doing his best to put on a brave face. To be fair, it’s pretty convincing…but there’s no fooling his soulmate. He’s very nervous, and being tied down like this doesn’t feel particularly dignified. He was just granted his autonomy a day ago, yet he’s never felt like a mere inanimate object than he does tied onto a truck like this.

You place your hands on either side of his nose--being careful of the cracks in the casing--and rest your forehead against the bridge. He can’t even move his head enough to nuzzle against you--he can only close his eyes contentedly at your touch.

“It’s only a few hours,” you remind him gently.

Unable to sign or even nod, he just forces his smile a bit wider, reassuring you as best he can.

You lean forward and plant a light kiss on his nose. As much as you want to linger, every moment of reassuring pats and kisses is another moment he stays on the flatbed. Another moment away from your new home.

You step back, helping the driver tie down the front of the tarp, covering DJ. Both to protect him from any weather and debris, but to give him some amount of privacy from any lookie-loos that might be on the road.

It’ll be a long drive. Normally it’s about four hours, but with how slow the flatbed has to drive, you’ll consider it a victory if you get there in six…meaning you’ll need to make at least one stop to turn off DJ’s pain sensors again. Not to mention whatever rest stops you and your fellow humans may need.

Tiffany is in the parking lot to see you off, but she’s staying in Hurricane for a few more days to meet with Fazbear Entertainment’s lawyers, as well as the police regarding Ezra. While she admits it doesn’t exactly strengthen the case for you to not be at these meetings, it’s a risk you’re both willing to take for the sake of you and your animatronic family getting to your new home.

You give her a quick hug, but once again you don’t linger. Sun and the triplets are already in the van. The triplets are huddled in the passenger seat well while Sun sits in the back. Karter was kind enough to remove the middle row of seats, allowing Sun to sit on the floor without having to hunch over too much.

None of you are sure if seat belt laws will apply to autonomous animatronics, but Karter’s promised to drive slow enough that you won’t have to open that legal can of worms today.

Once you’re in the car, the passenger well is pretty crowded with your legs and all three of the triplets. You slide the seat back as far as you can to give them room. Occasionally, over the course of the ride, one of them will climb up on your lap for a bit, but the sight of the scenery whizzing by outside the windows makes them ill at ease, so they all seem to prefer huddling below the console or around your legs.

You feel awful for them. You’re not sure how well they understand the situation, but you at least know they don’t want to stay in the ‘Plex after how they and DJ were treated.

The ride starts out with a slightly awkward silence between you and Karter. Neither of you want to talk about Ezra, the Committee, or the ‘Plex. For your part, you’ve been so focused on your and DJ’s situation for weeks now that you feel like you barely remember how to make casual conversation, or even smalltalk. Even thinking about anything else seems like a huge paradigm shift now.

But, eventually, Karter starts asking about the farm, and you spend much of the ride telling him about your childhood memories of visiting Gran there, how it looks now, and what you might be able to do to make it a good home for your new little family.

Sun is oddly quiet during this, occasionally glancing out the window while fidgeting with his hands.

During a lull in the conversation between you and Karter, you turn around to glance at Sun. “How’re you holding up?” you ask him.

“O-Oh, fine, just fine!” he says quickly, one hand wrapped around his wrist while the other clenches and unclenches nervously.

“Are you su--”

“Oh yes! I’m sure!” he chirps before you can even finish the question.

You debate pressing the issue and decide against it. This isn’t really a good time or place for a heart to heart. You glance down at the triplets, leaning down to let each of them briefly touch your hand.

You’ve secured your friends’ and soulmate’s safety. Now it’s time to get to work on their comfort. You’re going to do right by all of them--not just DJ.

*

Your hope of six hours is, as you had feared, too optimistic. You’re approaching the eight hour mark by the time the flatbed pulls over, slowing to a stop in front of the partially hidden dirt driveway to Gran’s farm.

Your farm, you remind yourself.

Karter’s SUV pulls up behind the flatbed, and everyone except the triplets gets out of their respective vehicles to begin undoing the straps holding DJ in place. With you, the driver, Karter, and Sun all working together, the straps are undone in only a few moments and DJ is at last able to climb down.

You’re about to go to him when you hear the driver chuckle to himself. “Man. Not every day I have the cargo unload itself.”

You force a slightly uncomfortable laugh. You don’t sense he’s trying to be disrespectful, but you can’t say you’re overly fond of his phrasing--particularly him outright calling DJ “cargo”.

“Thank you for doing this drive on such short notice,” you say politely.

“‘Course,” he says.

Before you can say anything else, a car drives by on the otherwise empty road, slowing nearly to a stop as the passengers stare in stunned silence at giant spider animatronic at the side of the road.

DJ smiles awkwardly, lifting a hand in a wave, causing the car to abruptly speed off. He blinks in confusion, glancing at you questioningly.

“Guess they remembered it’s rude to stare,” you say with a slight laugh.

The driver chuckles at that. “Not too polite to take up a narrow road with a double wide either. I’d best be off. Y’all take care now!” he says kindly, shaking you and Karter’s hands. You notice he does not extend a hand to Sun, and you wonder if that’s simply because Sun is hanging back slightly, still wringing his hands nervously…or if it’s because not everyone is going to recognize the animatronics’ newly declared personhood overnight.

He climbs back into the cab of the truck, and the flatbed rolls away. You barely wait for it to make it down the road before going to the gate to open it for Karter’s van.

Then at last, you climb back into DJ’s hand, letting him hug you against his cheek. “Still doing okay?” you ask.

“More than okay,” he signs before lowering his head to nuzzle his forehead against yours.

You laugh softly and when he pulls away, you look up at him, an adoring smile on your face. “Ready to see our new home?”

DJ’s face lights up with a smile far bigger than you’ve seen on him in awhile, his dark eyes sparkling with joy. He nods eagerly, begins following the dirt driveway onto the property, keeping you in his hand as he does.

Behind you, Karter follows slowly in his SUV with Sun and the triplets inside.

DJ takes it slow, his eyes roving over the trees on either side of the road and occasionally up to the sky. He hadn’t been able to see much on the drive with the tarp over him, so this is his first time seeing anything other than the ‘Plex and its parking lot.

It’s not an entirely alien sight, of course…he’s seen movies and had some basic world-knowledge preloaded into him when he’d been created. He’d always known what the sky and trees and countryside look like, at least in broad strokes.

But knowing and seeing are so very different.

The house comes into view first. DJ’s surprised at how small it is, even though as houses go, it’s not actually small by any means. He suddenly has a newfound appreciation for just how hard it would have been for you two to find housing that could accommodate him.

He reminds himself not to dwell on that. You did find something, that’s what’s important.

Speaking of which…

DJ turns away from the house and looks down the hill to the barn.

The new home you two will share…together.

“Now, there’s still a lot of work to be done…” you remind him when he pauses to stare at it. “But…I can stay with you tonight…if you want…” you say, leaning against his thumb as you look up at him.

He glances down at you, quirking a brow. “‘If’? What do you mean ‘if’?” he signs, though his grin is decidedly playful. “Of course I want you to,” he adds before lifting his hand so he can brush his lips against yours.

You kiss his lower lip, laughing. “I phrased it wrong,” you admit good-naturedly. Of course you hadn’t doubted DJ would want you at his side as soon as possible.

He lowers his hand and you climb off as Karter’s SUV pulls up beside you two. You begin to lift the latch to the main barn door, a mechanism too small for DJ to operate, but still big enough to be difficult for you…especially since it doesn’t seem to have been used in awhile. You push it upwards, and it seems to not be budging…until it abruptly pops free with a clang, causing you to stumble slightly.

DJ quickly holds out a hand to steady you.

“Probably need to oil that sometime…” you comment with a weak laugh as you lean against his hand briefly. You straighten up, then hook your fingers around the small gap between the two tall, sliding doors. Again, something DJ’s hands are too big to help with…at least until you widen the gap a bit. Once you do, he slips his hand in, carefully pushing the door open the rest of the way for you.

“And figure out a way for you to open this door without me having to unhook it for you,” you add.

DJ grins down at you. “No rush. Sky is pretty, but I don’t think I am an outdoorsman. Don’t mind staying inside for a few days.”

You glance down at his gloves. He had kept his main pair of hands mostly off the ground while carrying you, but his middle set and his remaining back hand are already pretty dirty from the walk. You’re definitely going to need pathways made of something other than packed dirt if he ever does decide to be even a little bit of an outdoorsman. Or maybe an additional outer layer for his gloves?

Add that to the list of adjustments to make for this new life.

Karter and Sun emerge from the SUV, and Karter opens the passenger door for the triplets. They crowd in the doorway, though none of them seems eager to be the first one out of the vehicle. They look down at the dirty ground in disapproval, and you hear the modem-like noises of an exchange between them and their big brother.

Seems they are even less outdoorsy than DJ.

DJ holds out a hand for them, and they hop aboard. Finally, you head into the barn. DJ needs to duck his head a bit to get into the doorway, as well as be careful about how he maneuvers his arms though the opening, but it only takes a minimal amount of caution to make sure he doesn’t bump anything.

This is your first time seeing the interior since you visited with Penny several days ago, and you’re pleasantly surprised at the change.

Your various mid-teenage niblets and cousins had been busy at work cleaning the barn and bringing it up to some of the more charitable definitions of the word “liveable”. Gran had paid them of course, and you’re sure many new video games and at least one pair of nice sneakers were funded by this project.

You’re immensely grateful…you just wish you’d been able to pay your younger relatives out of your pocket rather than relying on Gran’s money.

Still, the floor is swept, and most of the stall dividers have been removed. Enough that DJ can rest his body on the floor without crushing the various wooden dividers, at least. The hole in the wall hasn’t been fully repaired, but a tarp was fixed over it to at least help the barn’s climate control systems keep the large interior at a consistent temperature.

There’s still some piles of old junk, random planks from long forgotten projects, as well as boxes of miscellaneous farm and livestock supplies good enough to keep “just in case”, but not worth the effort of trying to sell.

DJ carefully steps inside, doing his best to brush the dirt off his gloves as he does, and glances around. He peers up at the loft, seeing the entire thing easily from this vantage point. Coincidentally, he pictures much the same scenario you did when you were visiting with Penny--you standing at the railing, eye level with him.

He’s glad you’ll have your own space…he knows humans need a lot more than he does (relative to your respective sizes, that is) to live comfortably. You certainly can’t sleep on the floor or stay still for long periods of time the way he can. He’s still far from an expert in what humans need to live their lives day to day…but he’s sure he’ll learn fast.

He rests his hand on the ground, letting the triplets clamber down. They stay grouped together as they tentatively explore the new place, but you hear the sounds of their network buzzing and chirping away as they confer with each other, occasionally punctuated by DJ’s deeper modem-noises as he weighs in.

While they’re conferring, you take the chance to open DJ’s maintenance hatch and once again switch off his pain sensors.

“What do they think?” you ask DJ once you push the hatch closed again.

“They’re a bit intimidated. But they like it,” he signs as he watches the three climb up the wall into the loft. The loft is presently full of various boxes and miscellaneous sundries, making it feel like much less of an open space than the lower part of the barn.

“And…what do you think?” you ask him.

He glanced around, taking a moment to consider his answer instead of just immediately saying he’s happy--even though he is. “Nice. Big enough. A perfect home for both of us,” he signs with a fond smile.

You laugh. “It will be, eventually,” you agree. “Will you all be okay while I get Sun settled in the house?”

He nods, then reaches out a hand to Karter. Karter grips one of DJ’s fingers in a handshake.

“Thank you,” DJ signs. He wants to say so much more, but Karter still only knows a few signs, and DJ doesn’t want you or Sun to have to translate.

“You’re welcome, DJ,” Karter says. “I’m…glad you all have this place. I’ll see you in a couple days though, alright?”

DJ nods, and you leave the barn with Sun and Karter. Karter drives the two of you back to the house to spare Sun the walk down the dirt path.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come in and have something before you go?” you ask as Karter helps move your suitcases from his SUV onto the porch.

He shakes his head. “Nah, I’ll eat while I drive. I want to get back to Hurricane ASAP to see about those parts,” he says.

You nod, offering a vague murmur of assent. You feel guilty at how much driving he’s going to be doing. All the way here, now all the way back to Hurricane to hopefully pick up the spare parts Tiffany is trying to negotiate away from the Pizzaplex. In the meantime, your luggage contains some of the more basic repair supplies, so you can get started on making the Daycare Attendant and DJ a bit more comfortable.

You and Sun wave him off, standing beside the porch steps as you watch the SUV disappear down the long driveway.

“Well, let’s get you and Moon’s rooms picked out, shall we?” you say, turning to Sun.

Sun blinks, his faceplate rotating slightly. “We both get our own rooms?”

“Sure,” you say easily, walking up the porch steps to get your suitcases. “There’s five bedrooms…enough for you and Moon and all the triplets to have your own rooms if you want,” you chuckle.

“What about you? I-I mean, until the barn’s ready, that is,” he adds with a slightly playful smile. He’s well aware that you don’t want the house to be your residence for too long.

“Pullout couch in the den,” you say, picking up a suitcase.

“Oh, let me get that for you!” he says quickly, moving to take the suitcase, only to frown in confusion when you pull away.

“You shouldn’t be lifting anything until your legs are fixed,” you say. You’re surprised Karter had managed to persuade Sun to let him fix his arm at some point yesterday…you suspect Sun had only gone along with that because he wanted to be able to help during the move.

“But--” he starts.

You smile gently at him, lightly touching his arm. “Please, Sun. It’s okay. I’ve got them,” you say.

He hesitates a moment, fidgeting with his hands before nodding reluctantly.

“Thank you,” you say genuinely. While you trust DJ not to damage himself while his pain sensors are off, you have a sneaking suspicion Sun might push himself to the point of worsening his damage if you accept his help too readily.

But you do let him get the door for you, thanking him again as you crab walk through the doorway with a suitcase in each hand. You set them just inside the door, planning to unpack in a bit.

Sun takes a few steps into the entryway, wandering towards the living room. Much like DJ, he’s entirely out of his element. He’s never been in a house before.

“Do you want a tour? Or just look around yourself?” you ask.

He considers. “I think…I would like to sit down,” he says slowly.

You follow him to the living room and he takes a seat on one of the chairs that still has an old sheet over it. He still hasn’t been fully cleaned after his time in the rubble.

You take a seat on one of the uncovered couches in front of him. “Are you going to be okay in here alone for the night?”

Sun laughs. “Silly Little Star! You know I’m never alone,” he winks.

You laugh as well. “Heh. Yes, I do. I must be more tired than I thought,” you say good naturedly. “Well then, will you and Moon be okay with just the two of you?”

He nods. “Yep!” he chirps. But before the relief can set in for you, his smile fades slightly. “Th-Though…I admit I…I think I’ll miss it. The daycare. Especially all our Little Superstars…”

You wonder if Moon feels similarly. You guess he probably does, though perhaps not to the same extent. But that would be a conversation to have with Moon later.

“Well…maybe you can see them again, someday,” you say.

Sun shakes his head. “I don’t think so…I miss it, but…the thought of going back…isn’t very nice either,” he says with a shudder. “And I doubt we’ll be welcome…”

You wince, grunting in vague agreement. You think Sun and Moon may recover from their trauma enough that visiting the Pizzaplex would be doable eventually, but you suspect Fazbear Entertainment’s opinion on the matter is far more permanent.

“It doesn’t have to be at the ‘Plex,” you say after a moment. “I mean you…could just post on social media that you’re going to be back in town for a day. At the park maybe…and maybe some of them will be able to visit.”

Sun blinks, canting his head. “I…I suppose I could do something like that, couldn’t I?” he muses. Clearly he’s still getting used to what true freedom means for him.

“I’m…still sorry you had to leave though. All of you. I…hope the farm isn’t too quiet for you guys,” you say, thinking of both the Daycare Attendant and DJ. The triplets as well, though you know if they miss anything about the Pizzaplex, it wouldn’t be the people. But Sun and Moon miss the kids, and you know DJ will miss doing his shows.

You had all been asking so little of Fazbear Entertainment. Their refusal had cost them dearly, but you hope it won’t turn out that it costs your new family as well.

Sun frowns a bit, noticing your slightly somber look. Abruptly he stands up, clapping his hands together. “You must be hungry! Why don’t I get you something and then you can get back to DJ!”

“Oh, it’s okay Sun, I can get it,” you say, starting to stand up.

“Up-bup-bup!” he chides you, placing a hand atop your head and pushing you back down onto the couch. “I can manage making you a simple little sandwich,” he says. “Besides, you need your rest too, Little Star!”

You chuckle wryly. “I’m going to be walking back down to the barn anyway, Sun.”

He smirks playfully. “Then all the more reason for you to rest a moment while I get you some dinner!”

You open your mouth to protest, then close it again. He had you there.

Barely two minutes later, Sun’s made you a simple peanut butter sandwich. Cooking options are a bit limited--there’s still no fridge, though Abigail and her wife did do a grocery run for you so that the house would be supplied when you moved in.

You eat the sandwich as fast as you can without being rude. Not purely to rush back to DJ…you just hadn’t realized how hungry you’d been. You’d only had a couple granola bars on the drive over.

After that, it’s a quick stop upstairs for some extra blankets and a stop at your suitcase for your PJs and robe. You bid Sun goodnight and promise him you’ll be back to check on Moon once it’s dark, but he assures you there’s no need.

“Enjoy your first night with DJ!” he chirps, and the cheeky grin he gives you causes your face to burn.

You don’t bother correcting him that this is technically your second night spent with DJ. They were there, after all.

But now you and DJ live together. You don’t have to hide yourself in the tunnels. You don’t have to sneak in and out at night. The two of you can finally just…be.

You enter the barn through the smaller side door, setting the blankets and sleepwear aside on one of the boxes still scattered around the edges of the barn. You run to DJ, leaping into his hand and hugging his thumb tightly. He lifts you to his face and you plant a lingering kiss on his lower lip, and you hear one of his fans kick on in response.

He rests his chin on the ground, cupping you against his cheek as you lay in his hand, your hand slowly running back and forth across his faceplate.

Something in his chassis creaks slightly as he relaxes. More than he’s been able to relax at all in the past few weeks…possibly more than he’s ever relaxed outside of his recharge mode. His eyelids shutter with a quiet click and he moves his head slightly, leaning into your warm touch.

You don’t speak, and he doesn’t sign. You don’t need words right now. Just you, him, and your two souls finally feeling like one.

The pain of the past week fades away for the time being, and you savor your time alone with your beloved soulmate.

You would have stayed there all night and into the morning, but eventually DJ senses you starting to get tired. He lifts his head, and you open your eyes to blink up at him. “Should get changed before you get too sleepy,” he reminds you gently.

“Mmm…I guess so,” you admit. Reluctantly, you climb down from his hand. You give him a peck on the cheek before gathering up your PJs and going to the small restroom at the other end of the barn to change.

You emerge from the bathroom and gather up the blankets, tucking them under your arm.

DJ brightens visibly once you round the corner, signing, “Cute. Looks comfy.”

Your cheeks warm and you laugh shyly. “Y-Yeah, they are…”

He rests one of his main hands on the ground and you spread a blanket, then pull the other blanket over yourself as you lay down. He holds you to his cheek again for a moment, then lifts his head, brushing his lower lip against your forehead before resting his chin on the ground one more.

You snuggle up to his cheek, planting a kiss on the painted blue circle.

DJ brings his other main hand over, resting it atop you, and you set one of your hands atop his middle finger while the palm of your other hand rests on his cheek, your thumb lightly caressing his faceplate.

You lay like that for a couple hours, in a tranquil state close to dozing, but just alert enough to savor how content you both are. Occasionally DJ shifts slightly, nuzzling his cheek against you or lightly stroking your hair or back with one finger.

As it gets darker outside, you hear the wind rustling through the trees outside…and against the barn, causing the tarp to flap noisily despite being nailed in place. But the noise is only a mild annoyance…it’s the cold that’s starting to become a problem.

You hug the blankets more tightly around yourself, remaining thoroughly in denial that the temperature in the barn is dropping. It’s not even midnight yet…it’s only going to get colder.

DJ, however, is less in denial. He notices you beginning to shift more, and of course his temperature sensors leave little room for debate on how cold the barn is. And how cold you’re starting to get.

Reluctantly, he pulls his hand away from his cheek. You look up at him in confusion, though from the slight trepidation in your eyes, he can tell that you’re already aware of his concern. Even if you’d rather pretend otherwise.

“Getting cold,” he signs with his middle hands as he lightly touches your cheek with the index finger of one of his main hands.

You sigh, then dip your head in a reluctant nod. “There are probably more blankets at the house…”

DJ frowns slightly, and you can tell he knows just as well as you do that a pile of blankets is no substitute for an actual closed, heated house.

“Should sleep in the house. In a bed.”

You smirk. “I have a bed,” you say, patting his hand. You start to lay back down, but he pokes your shoulder with one finger, keeping you upright.

He’s grinning slightly at your joke, but the worry isn’t gone from his eyes.

“DJ, really, I’ll be fine…” you say. It’s technically true--the night isn’t going to get cold enough to do any real damage to you--but it’s also not nearly as true as DJ would like it to be.

He smirks. “I’ll tell Moon on you.”

You scoff, snuggling stubbornly against DJ’s thumb. “What’s Moon gonna do? Ground me?”

“Maybe,” DJ signs with a grin.

You laugh. “Yeah, maybe,” you agree. “But--” You squeak in surprise as DJ lightly touches a finger to your lips, silencing you.

“No buts,” he signs, his smile fading. “You worked so hard to get us here. You don’t want to get sick the first night, do you?”

You huff, reluctantly preparing yourself to admit he’s right. You sit up, hugging his thumb. “I don’t want to be apart from you on our first night, either.”

“I know,” he signs sympathetically. “But getting sick will last longer than one night apart. So please? For me?” His dark eyes are filled with worry as he looks at you almost pleadingly.

You laugh softly. “You’re the king of puppy dog eyes, you know that?” you say, causing his shoulders to shake in a silent laugh.

“But it works?” he signs with a playful smirk.

“Yeah, it works,” you say with poorly feigned annoyance. You lean forward and he lowers his head, letting you kiss the bridge of his nose. “It’s unfair is what it is,” you tease fondly. “But for you, love. I’ll sleep in the nice warm house,” you say, feigning displeasure at the idea.

“Thank you. Sweetie.”

He lowers his hand and you climb off. He briefly hugs you to his cheek, then kisses you goodnight. You pull on your robe and slip your feet into your shoes, leaving the barn to walk up the hill to the house.

You’re not that far apart, you rationalize. Closer than you’ve been most nights since you met.

But soon. Soon you will be able to sleep in the same room every night.

You glance up to the small balcony over the porch, seeing Moon’s red eyes staring down at you.

“Goodnight, Moon,” you call up to him.

“Goodnight, Little Star,” he says back. Then adds in a pointed tone, “Stay warm.”

Yeah. He wouldn’t’ve been pleased if you’d stayed in the barn all night either…and you’d’ve probably heard something from Sun in the morning too.

Chapter Text

If you hadn’t been recovering from your injuries and the fatigue of running full tilt for days now, you may have had trouble sleeping on the pullout couch in the farmhouse’s den. The mattress is thin and the old frame tends to squeak whenever you move--not to mention your general laments that you’re once again separated from DJ.

But despite all that, you get a much needed good night’s sleep. You’re up a few hours after dawn, heading into the kitchen to grab a granola bar for breakfast.

“Goooood morning, Little Star!” Sun crows happily as you step into the kitchen, causing you to jump.

“Oh! M-Morning, Sun,” you say. You blink, rubbing your eyes a moment as you take in the sight of him.

He’s now fully cleaned up. The ‘Plex had never authorized the animatronics to do any self-maintenance--other than DJ helping with the occasional heavy lifting--though obviously those rules don’t apply anymore. So Sun (and/or Moon) had finally cleaned the last of the grime off their chassis.

What you hadn’t expected is the wardrobe change. Their frilled collar, poofy pants, curled slippers, and even their wrist ribbons and bells have all been removed and replaced with a pale pink hoodie and dark grey sweatpants, though both have small spatters of the light green paint matching the shade used in one of the upstairs bathrooms. Apparently Gran had left some old painting clothes in one of the upstairs dressers. Neither garment is quite long enough for the lanky Daycare Attendant, so the pants are more like capris and the sleeves of the hoody end halfway between their elbow and wrist. You can also see one of their leg splints poking out from under the hem of the pants.

“You changed clothes,” you observe after a brief pause.

“Mm-hm!” he chirps with a cheerful nod. “We do want to fix up our old outfit but it’s…quite tattered right now. Besides! The jester outfit seems…just a bit out of place here,” he says sheepishly.

You chuckle. “Well, you can dress however you want in your own home,” you say. “Once Tiff brings my car back I can pick you up some new clothes in town if you want?” you offer.

He waves a hand. “Oh no, Little Star! That’s not something we need to be spending money on! We’re perfectly fine with these.”

You suppress a wince at the mention of money, but you can’t say Sun’s wrong. You need to start figuring out an income soon, because canceling your apartment lease in Hurricane and fixing the hole in the barn are probably going to finish off what meager savings you have left.

Maybe Sun can do some babysitting too…and you haven’t forgotten Penny’s idea of DJ selling some of his music. Though you’d need to get DJ’s decks back for that. Currently you’re not sure if Fazbear Entertainment will hand them over, or if they even survived the collapse at all. So you can’t even begin to guess when that plan might be put in motion.

But the animatronics have been through enough. You can give them a few days to adjust before saddling them with the burden of Financial Responsibilities.

“Well…alright,” you say, giving him an apologetic smile. “Moon turned off your pain sensors again, right?” you ask.

Sun nods, grinning. “Yep! Everything’s all set here, no need to worry!”

“Alright,” you say again. “Well, you know where to find me if you do need something, okay?”

He nods cheerfully, and you head back to the barn…but not before grabbing a few cereal bars at Sun’s insistence. One to eat on the way, a couple more for your lunch.

You do feel a bit bad for Sun and Moon…it seems like it would be lonely for them in the house by themselves--even if they do have each other. It’s just not the same as a daycare full of kiddos. You know they hadn’t wanted to stay in the Pizzaplex any more than DJ and the triplets had…but part of you still feels like you dragged them away from a situation they were mostly happy with only for them to sit alone in a farmhouse.

You have to remind yourself it wasn’t you dragging--it was Ezra and Fazbear Entertainment pushing.

You enter the barn through the small side door and are immediately mobbed by the triplets, all of them playing excited warbles and trills over their speakers. They surround you with such urgency that if not for their bright, happy smiles, you’d be worried something had gone wrong overnight.

“What’s up, guys?” you ask. You reach down to pat Tenor’s head, only to have him grab your hand and begin pulling you, pointing excitedly at something on the other side of the barn.

DJ is standing back, watching the interaction while his shoulders shake in silent laughter at his little brothers’ energy. At your helpless, questioning glance, he signs, “They’ve been busy,” with a cryptic smile.

Bemused, you allow the triplets to lead you past DJ to the other side of the barn, pointing excitedly at an unpainted patch of wall.

It takes you a moment to realize what you’re looking at.

“You fixed the hole!” you say, astonished. You kneel down, running your hand over the surface. It looks like they’d cut away the ragged edges and found new planks of wood to put over it, covering the opening. The only hint that the wall was ever damaged at all is the lack of paint. If they’d been able to paint over it, you would never have even been able to tell where the hole had been.

“This is excellent! You guys did amazing!” you gush.

“Outside fixed too,” Alto signs with DJ’s guidance.

“Yeah?” you ask as they begin leading you to the door to show you. Tenor walks up the door to reach the doorknob, and Alto and Treble push it open. Tenor drops down and the three of them lead you around the barn to show off their work on the outside.

It’s just as pristine, though again unpainted. Not that you mind. The whole barn is overdue for a repainting, but you’re far more excited that the barn may actually be habitable overnight.

“Thank you…” you say reverently as you run your hand over the patched wall. You hadn’t even realized the barn had had the supplies on hand to do the repair--not that you have the skill to make use of them anyway. You’d been assuming you’d have to hire a contractor, who would use their own supplies that you would be billed for in addition to hours worked.

But with it fixed, that’s one less triple-digit price tag to worry about. You wonder if the triplets realize how significant a favor this is.

They lead you back inside, each of them pausing to wipe all six feet on the mat.

You glance up to DJ, opening your mouth to bid him a proper good morning, but Alto quickly reaches up and takes your hand, with Tenor and Treble nudging you towards the other side of the barn. It seems they still have more to show you.

You give DJ an apologetic smile, and he grins and waves farewell as the triplets once again carry you off.

Once you tear your gaze away from DJ, you immediately begin to see what they’re trying to show you.

They’ve finished taking down all the stalls and pens. The wooden half-walls that had littered the first floor of the barn are now completely gone. On top of that, they managed to do so in a way that didn’t involve actually breaking apart most of the wood--a neat pile of planks now rests against the back wall of the barn.

“Wow…” you breathe, having nothing more substantial to offer. You crouch down before them, patting their heads before letting them pull you into a group hug.

“Thanks guys…” you say again. “This is…incredibly helpful.”

“House next?” Alto signs, again being guided by DJ.

“I’m not sure there’s much work to be done in the house,” you say. “Some light bulbs, though I’m not even sure if there are spares on hand…A few bits of peeling wallpaper and some plumbing issues, but nothing structural, really…”

You hear the modem-like noises as they briefly confer, then Tenor signs, “Still want to look.”

“Well…alright then,” you say. You’re glad they feel comfortable leaving the barn already…you were worried they’d be holed up in here for days before they had the nerve to venture out again.

You don’t assume they mean now, so you turn back to DJ, smiling warmly at him. He lifts his hands to start signing, but Treble reaches up to tug on your sleeve and you find yourself being herded by the triplets for a third time.

You laugh, you and DJ exchanging apologetic shrugs again. As far as reasons to be kept away from your soulmate go, being pulled around by your excited little brothers as they adjust to their new home is hardly the worst, and you can tell from the fond look in DJ’s eyes that he feels the same.

They follow you up the hill to the house, scuttling in a single file line behind you like a row of ducklings.

As you approach, you’re a little surprised to see Sun exit the house, your tablet and phone in his hands. Both are going off and Sun’s rays are withdrawn as he apparently debates what he should do about it.

“Oh, shit!” you say, realizing you should have been keeping your phone on you. You’re not used to living in a place big enough for you to need to carry it around.

“Language!” Sun corrects absently as he hands over the devices. Before you can apologize, he continues, “They started going off a few minutes ago. It’s Tiffany, she’s called a few times…so it must be important…” he says.

“Probably,” you agree, tucking your tablet under your arm while you answer your phone. “Hey Tiff, what’s up?”

“Oh, there you are! I was worried when you didn’t answer. Everything okay?” she asks, concerned.

“Yeah, things are going well over here. I just uh…forgot to take my phone with me when I went to the barn.” As you’re talking, you nod to the still open front door, signaling Sun and the triplets to head inside with you. “What’s up?” you ask as you shut the door behind you.

“Just wanted to give you an update on how things are going here. DJ’s--er--ah, his--arm?--was recovered this morning,” she says, sounding distinctly uncomfortable at talking about a severed limb belonging to someone who’s more or less her brother-in-law at this point. “So uh…Karter will bring that when we come by tomorrow. Along with the parts we could get Fazbear to surrender.”

“Oh good!” you say, relieved. If Karter’s bringing it, you assume it’s salvageable, which is obviously a relief--it would probably take weeks or even months to get all the parts together to rebuild a new one for him.

“And they said his decks were found too. They seem mostly undamaged but it’ll be awhile before they can be retrieved. But I did get a judge to declare them as DJ’s property, so you will get them eventually,” she says.

“That’s great news!” you say enthusiastically. “DJ’ll be happy to have those back. They’re pretty irreplaceable…” you say with a weak laugh.

“Yeah, no kidding. But anyway, the main thing is I’m going to be sending over some documents for you to sign. Ping me with any questions on them, but if you can try to get them back to me by the end of the day that’d be ideal.”

“Yeah, sure, I can do that. Thanks, Tiff!”

“No problem. Well, I won’t take up too much of your time. See you tomorrow, okay?”

With that, the two of you say your brief goodbyes and hang up.

“Sounds like good news?” Sun asks tentatively.

You nod. “Yeah,” you say. You stop yourself short from mentioning the arm, and after a pause, simply say, “Uh…let’s just say…don’t help with the unloading tomorrow when Karter gets here, alright? Maybe stay at the house until we get everything set up in the barn?”

His smile takes on just a hint of sickliness as your implication registers, but he nods gratefully.

Treble, who had been waiting patiently with his brothers around your legs while you took the call, suddenly decides the conversation is over and reaches up to tug on your hoodie, letting out an impatient, staticky warble.

“Right, right!” you laugh. “Okay, I’ll show you guys around.”

They stay close to you during your little tour, and you hear their little modem noises going as they confer about what needs to be fixed up. They pause to examine a peeling corner of wallpaper, something you’d noted yourself. But when they stop to look over a slightly uneven spot on the hardwood floor, you wonder if their plans for fixing up the house aren’t just a tad more ambitious than your own.

You resist the urge to point out that they shouldn’t feel obligated to fix up every little thing. You know they don’t feel obligated--they want to get back to cleaning and repair work. Any competently programmed AI enjoys the thing they were built to do. Why create a repair ‘bot that wants to wander off and go birdwatching for half the day but never has the time? That doesn’t help the ‘bot or the humans.

Still…you hope it’s possible for their interests to diversify. The farmhouse isn’t going to be the constant cycle of small repairs and general upkeep that the entire massive Pizzaplex had been. They’ll need a new hobby eventually. You’re a bit more optimistic about DJ now that it sounds like he’ll be getting his decks back, and you’re sure Sun and Moon can find some kind of babysitting work around here if they wish to…though at least they also have stargazing and crafts to occupy themselves.

You show the triplets where to find whatever tools and repair supplies the farmhouse might still have on hand and let them get to work. In fact, you’re a little surprised at how quickly they shoo you away from their would-be worksite--a squeaky door that won’t stay shut. Maybe they like the theatrics of unveiling their work to you, or maybe they know DJ is waiting for you. Probably a bit of both.

You head back to the barn, your tablet under your arm and your phone in your pocket.

As you close the side-door behind yourself, you grin up at DJ wryly. “Morning, sweetie,” you finally manage to say.

“Morning,” he signs with his middle hands. One of his main hands reaches for you, the tip of his finger lightly caressing your cheek. “Sleep well?”

“Mm-hm,” you say, looping an arm around his finger and nuzzling your cheek against it. You sigh softly, closing your eyes contentedly, enjoying this brief moment of peace before you have to get back to business.

DJ puts his fingers against your back and his thumb across your stomach. You lean back against his fingers, letting him scoop you up. As you settle into his palm, you say, “Tiff called while we were at the house--I mean, your brothers probably told you that much, but she had good news,” you say.

He cants his head curiously, waiting for you to continue.

“Karter’s bringing your arm tomorrow. And your decks seem mostly undamaged, but it’ll take more time to get them out. But it sounds like they are considered yours, legally, so you’ll be getting them back,” you say.

Dj’s bright smile is echoed in your own grin as he perks up at the news. “Good. I’ve missed our private concerts.”

“And your public ones too, I imagine?” you ask tentatively.

DJ pauses, considering. “A bit. But not as much. At least for now. A break from the spotlight would be nice. For awhile.”

You smile weakly, nodding in understanding. You don’t point out that he’ll be on a break from the spotlight for awhile whether he wants to be or not. He’s surely aware of that, and you both can just be glad that circumstances worked out in your favor on that particular matter.

And at the same time, he's going to be in a completely different, not entirely welcome spotlight. You're almost scared to find out what the news is saying about the whole fiasco at the Pizzaplex--and about the two of you in particular.

You get out your tablet, starting to go over the documents Tiffany had sent over. DJ offers you a seat in one of his hands, looking over your shoulder and reading the documents as well. They’re a bit confusing and wordy, riddled with overly complex legalese as is to be expected, but he feels like he gets the gist of them.

You pause, blinking. “Holy--” you breathe, your eyes boggling. “This can’t be right…” In your periphery, you see DJ canting his head in confusion, so you point to the amount of damages meant to be awarded to you. “That is…way more than I expected. I-I just gotta double check with Tiffany before I sign this…”

You pull out your phone and call her. She answers right away.

“Hellooo?” she says, her tone already coy. She clearly knows why you’re calling.

“Y-Yeah, hey Tiff…I just wanted to check…this is the right amount…? There um…there’s not like…an extra zero or something, right…?”

She confirms the amount that’s listed in the document. Then asks teasingly, “You want us to try for more?”

“MORE?! Holy hell, Tiff!”

She laughs. “Look, they’ll probably try to talk it down or settle for less. So that might not be the final amount,” she says. Her tone turns serious, and she continues, “But I mean…you have a barn to renovate, a soulmate to care for…Even if we do get everything we ask for, it’s not like you’ll be able to spring for sports cars and gold plated toilets.”

You and DJ both wince at the reminder. A small, modest home for a giant spider robot is still in the same price range as a mansion, and while you got the building and the land for free, upkeep will be expensive. Even with the triplets saving you money on actual labor.

“Yeah…you’re right,” you admit. “It’s just…a lot.”

“Yeah, I know,” Tiffany says sympathetically. “But listen, if you want to talk more before you sign, I can call you tonight. But I’m about to head into another meeting…”

“No no, it’s fine,” you say. “I’ll get these signed and over to you soon,” you say.

She thanks you, and the two of you say a brief goodbye for the second time today before you hang up. You flop back in DJ’s hand, sighing.

He lifts you up, turning his hand so you’re facing him.

“You okay?”

You nod, smiling at him. “Yeah, DJ. Everything’s fine.”

DJ looks slightly unconvinced, then gestures to the barn around you two before signing, “All this is still expensive.”

“Mm-hm,” you say. “But we’ll figure it out,” you add quickly. He doesn’t seem all that comforted, so you continue, “Penny mentioned…you could maybe sell some of your music? To…help with income? Only if you want to, of course!”

“Sell? I wouldn’t even know how,” he signs. “Never recorded anything before. Always played live.”

You laugh weakly. “I don’t really know how it all works either…” you admit. “But…we can figure it out together. If you want.”

“Want to help,” he signs. He grins shyly, then adds, “Want to take care of you.”

You smile warmly up at him, lifting a hand. He takes the hint and brings you closer, letting you run your hand over his cheek. “You do take care of me, sweetie.”

He grins, brushing his lower lip against your forehead before once again lowering his hand, letting you take the next half hour or so to finish reading and signing everything.

Finally, you set the tablet down on your lap and stretch. “Okay. That should be everything…” you say. You smile up at him. “And now it’s well past time I get started on your repairs.” You scoot closer to the edge of his hand, assuming he’ll lower it for you to climb down.

Instead, he gives you a cheeky grin, cupping you in both his main hands. His fingers are laced behind you and his thumbs lightly nudge both your cheeks. “Cuddle first.”

You let out a flustered giggle at how direct he is, feeling your face warm up. “D-DJ…” you stammer, attempting a weak protest you don’t actually feel.

“Cuddle,” he signs again. He starts to bring you closer to his cheek, then pauses, his smile softening. “Just for a bit?”

You laugh softly, running a hand over his chin once you’re close enough. “Of course, sweetie. A bit now…and more later,” you say, leaning forward and kissing his lower lip.

Even this close to his face you can see his grin widen at that, and he hugs you to his cheek, one finger gently rubbing your back.

You relax against him and admit to yourself he was right to insist. So far you’ve woken up, went to the barn, got immediately dragged back to the farmhouse, took the call from Tiff, did the paperwork, then tried to get yourself to launch right into repairs, all without even taking a breath.

Those are DJ’s thoughts on the matter almost exactly. He is, of course, appreciative that you want to tend to him as soon as possible, but another day or two of having to get his pain sensors turned off every few hours isn’t so terrible. He wants you to enjoy what you two have here now.

And of course, he wants to enjoy it too.

As promised, he only keeps you for a few minutes. You feel his hands relax slightly against your back, signaling that he’ll move them out of the way as soon as you push against them.

Though despite your earlier protests, you find you’re not eager to leave the embrace…so you allow yourself to linger another moment before finally pushing against his hand. You slip out of his grasp and move to open his maintenance hatch. Of course, despite Karter managing to fix DJ’s middle set of arms, the screen is still red with a long list of tasks to be done. They’re unordered, as apparently whoever designed this system never thought there’d be this many at once.

Well…you can’t say you don’t at least wish they’d been right.

You skim the list for anything you can work on without the more specific parts that Karter is bringing tomorrow, which basically means wiring repairs will be your focus for today. You also remove the casing from his lower joint and tape up the ends of the wires, trying your best to prepare it for re-attaching his arm tomorrow.

You don’t keep track of the time as you work--you do one task, then the next, then the next. You barely even keep track of how many tasks are left beyond “a lot”. After you’ve done a few items on the list, DJ nudges your shoulder, reminding you to eat the cereal bars you’d brought with you. You hadn’t even realized you’d gotten hungry, but once he points it out, your stomach growls, foiling any attempt you may have made at arguing.

You take a seat on his hand to quickly finish your meal, though the term “meal” is incredibly generous.

Then it’s back to fixing DJ’s wiring. More hours pass, and you rub at your eyes as you scroll through the list that doesn’t seem to have gotten any shorter, pausing to roll your shoulders, absently rubbing at the mending bruise on your back.

You feel one of DJ’s fingers lightly poke you on the shoulder again. You let out a wordless grunt of inquiry, only to squeak in surprise as his hand wraps around you and brings you in front of his face.

His smile is gentle but his eyes hold a bit of worry. “Seems like it’s time for another break,” he signs, using his remaining back hand to close the maintenance hatch.

You frown slightly. “It’s only been a couple hours…”

DJ quirks a brow. “Six hours, seven minutes, and forty-five seconds. Including your six and a half minute lunch break.”

You snort weakly. “Showoff.”

“Besides, Moon’s on his way with dinner.”

“Moon?” you repeat. You don’t wait for an answer as you glance at the narrow window over the loft and confirm it is indeed dark out. You sigh softly, leaning against his thumb. “After all that I barely made a dent…”

“Did plenty,” he signs, gently poking your cheek. “Eat, then rest.”

You let out a sleepy-sounding laugh, and for the first time hear how tired you are. “Alright, big guy. For you. If you insist,” you say with feigned magnanimity.

DJ grins widely. “I do!” He brings you in for a quick kiss, setting his hand back down just as Moon opens the door, sliding a hand in to flip the lightswitch before entering.

He’s wearing the same outfit Sun had been, though with the addition of a pair of workboots for the walk down the driveway. His red eyes glance around the barn, lingering a moment on the patched hole in the wall. “Triplets have been busy,” he observes.

In his hands is a small tupperware container of soup, along with a water bottle, which he passes to you.

“Thank you,” you say, staying seated in DJ’s hand to eat. There’s not really any other seating besides the floor at this point.

Moon nods, then idly wanders around the barn, taking it in. “Going to rain tonight,” he comments.

“Well, I think the roof is still solid…” you say between bites. “There’s no sign that’s been leaking.”

He nods again. “Yes. Barn is habitable. Even in the rain. Needs more fixes before winter. But it will do. For now,” he says.

You cant your head at his statements, then laugh slightly. “Is this you giving me permission to sleep in here tonight?”

Moon’s gaze locks onto yours. “Yes.”

He sounds like he may have actually considered removing you from the barn if he deemed it unsuitable for an overnight stay.

“How’ve you and Sun been doing at the house?” you ask.

“Fine. Keeping busy. Sun found a puzzle. Five-thousand pieces. Never seen one that big,” he says.

“Oh, yeah, Gran’s always been really into puzzles. When we were kids we’d spend weekends here a lot…and trying to do the big puzzle before the weekend was over was always one of the goals,” you say. You hadn’t really thought about that in years. You continue, “There might be more puzzles up in the loft. I think Penny was keeping some of her favorites in the house for when she was taking care of the place, but if I find any more I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you,” he says simply, taking the now empty tupperware container. “Have a good rest, Little Star.”

You get up and walk with him to the door, waving him off. Once you close the door behind you, your gaze drifts back to DJ’s maintenance hatch, and you wonder if you have time to do a few more small fixes before you settle in for the night. You vaguely remember seeing something about a loose wire in one of his headphones--

DJ abruptly turns, hiding his maintenance hatch from view and lowering his hand to sign, “No,” close to your face.

You blink, glancing up at him. “No?”

“No more work. Time to rest,” he signs with a smirk.

You sputter a bit, flustered that he so easily saw through you when all you did was glance at him. “I-I just…wanted to see how many repairs were left…” you say, taking a couple steps around him to get to the hatch.

His playful smirk widens as he turns, keeping the maintenance hatch out of your sight. “No,” he signs again.

You laugh. “I just want to check!” you say, quickly trying to move around him.

He just as quickly turns away, spinning in place. “No no no no!” He signs the word repeatedly despite his shoulders shaking in silent laughter.

You pick up the pace, laughing as he does the same.

“You’ll get dizzy before I do,” he signs after his second rotation.

You slow down, already starting to run out of breath. “I’ll get tired before I get dizzy,” you admit.

DJ winces, his smirk softening into a sympathetic smile. “Then rest,” he signs, gently scooping you up, letting you lay back in his main hands.

You laugh softly as you rest against the soft surface. “You’re very stubborn, you know that?” you ask playfully.

DJ lifts his head in surprise, blinking rapidly as his mouth falls open in feigned indignation. “Me? I’m stubborn?!” he signs. He gives you a wry smirk, lightly poking you on the nose. “You.”

You giggle, relaxing against his hand. “Mmm…maybe…” you admit lazily, looking up at him fondly.

He grins, nuzzling his forehead against you before setting you down. “PJs. Relax. Can’t work in PJs.”

You laugh as you slide off his hand. “Sure I can,” you say teasingly, even though you’ve already long since given up the idea of doing any more work tonight.

DJ raises his brows, giving you a playful warning look. “But won’t.”

“But won’t,” you agree, kissing his glove before going to get changed.

You return in a few moments, and DJ already has your blankets arranged in his hand. You climb into his hand, snuggling under the blankets as he hugs you against his cheek.

*

In the middle of the night, DJ sits in the barn with you sound asleep in his hand. The glow of his mouth is dimmed and the barn is darkened. Darker than it had been last night, as the clouds from the rainstorm block out what little starlight reaches through the loft’s small windows.

DJ’s eyes are closed as he listens to the wind and rain outside, his cheek propped up on one hand. He’s heard storms from inside the ‘Plex before, but they had been incredibly muffled through the thick concrete walls, and even in the dead of night the ‘Plex isn’t nearly as quiet as the farm is.

Now he can hear every drop of rain against the roof, every bent bough and rustled leaf, occasionally punctuated by a distant roll of thunder…It’s a whole new, different kind of music.

Another roll of thunder sounds, this one quite loud.

Suddenly DJ becomes aware of your heart rate and breathing going up. He lifts his hand up slightly and gently pulls the blanket back. Your brow is furrowed and jaw clenched as you frown, one of your hands twitching slightly.

A…nightmare? Is that what this is? DJ’s never seen one before, but…you don’t have a fever, none of your injuries have gotten worse, and you’re still asleep…so there’s no other reason for your pulse and breathing to spike like this.

Should he wake you?

He winces at the thought. Given recent events, he can guess what you might be having a nightmare about…Maybe waking up to see his face taking up your entire vision won’t actually be all that comforting.

DJ rests his chin on the floor, keeping his mouth dim and holding the hand you’re sleeping in slightly away from his face as he watches you.

A bright flash of lightning briefly illuminates the barn, causing you to jump awake with a gasp. Before you can get your bearings, a loud roll of thunder sounds above you, close enough to rattle the glass panes in the loft windows.

You scream, coving your head and ducking down. “DJ?!” you cry, despite your cowering.

He brightens his mouth, bringing you closer and gently cupping a hand over your back.

Your eyes are drawn to the magenta glow, and to DJ’s surprise you scramble forward to try to reach him. If he didn’t have inhumanely fast reflexes you may have tumbled out of his hand before he could bring another hand over to block you.

“DJ…” you gasp. Your face is streaked with tears and you’re trembling. “What happened? Are you alright?”

DJ blinks, canting his head. “I’m fine. You were having a nightmare, I think?” he signs.

You blink, trying to steady your breathing as DJ uses one of his middle hands to gently wipe away your tears with one finger.

You wrap your arms around his finger, hugging it close. “I-I…I heard…a noise and I thought--”

Another loud rumble sounds and you let out a wordless cry of terror, squeezing his finger tightly.

He lightly touches your cheek, prompting you to open your eyes and look up at him.

“Thunderstorm,” he signs. He hesitates, then asks, “Scary?”

You sigh, slumping against the finger you’re still hugging. “They…didn’t used to be…” you admit.

DJ gives you a curious look, waiting for you to continue.

“T-The noise…the thunder…just…reminds me of the roof collapsing on us…I guess…”

So the nightmare was connected to that terrible night. He hesitates, then asks, “Your nightmare…was about me?”

You sigh, leaning back in his hand. “Oh, that’s nothing new,” you say, lifting a hand and doing a half-hearted, dismissive wave.

The stricken, wounded look on his face is like a knife to your heart as you realize what he was actually asking…and what your answer had told him.

Your eyes widen and you sit up, holding up your hands. “N-No, oh no, DJ, that’s…that’s not what I meant!” you cry. “I don’t have nightmares about bouncer mode--I have nightmares about you getting hurt! Not about me getting hurt.”

This doesn’t ease his distress as much as you’d like. In fact he seems confused.

You sigh, then continue, “After I got fired…some nights I had…nightmares that you--they either reprogrammed you or sold you for scrap or…or you just were gone and I didn’t even know why…”

His expression softens, his stricken look replaced with a slightly different sort of hurt. “Why did you never tell me?”

You’re a little surprised that he’d even ask that, but perhaps you shouldn’t be. The answer seems obvious to you, but…perhaps it’s not so strange it isn’t to him.

“Well…for one thing, talking about nightmares isn’t how I wanted to spend what little time we had…” you say with a melancholy smile. “And besides, it…barely seemed worth mentioning…”

“How could it not be?” he signs, his brow knit in worry.

“Because having nightmares about something bad happening to your soulmate when you’re under stress and they’re in a bad situation is…I mean it’s…normal. Most people would have nightmares in that situation.” You smile weakly. “Humans, anyway,” you say. You’re aware that he and the other animatronics don’t dream.

DJ frowns at that. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Dreams don’t always make sense, but…if…you’re worrying about something, it’s pretty common to dream about it.”

“You’re still worried?”

You pause, considering. “I…I’m not not worried,” you say wryly. “I guess…I’m still adjusting to not needing to be worried.” A peel of thunder sounds and you flinch, gasping loudly. You force yourself to relax, letting out a shuddering sigh as you pull a blanket around your shoulders. “Loud noises don’t help…”

DJ hugs you to his cheek, nuzzling against you while one finger gently strokes your hair.

You lean against his faceplate, pressing your forehead against the cool metal. “I’m alright, sweetie. It’s…stressful, but I know we’re both safe, and I know the storm won’t hurt me.” You laugh softly, resting your shoulder against him and snuggling up against his cheek. “Especially with you here to protect me,” you say warmly, giggling to yourself when you hear one of his fans kick on.

You realize he has very little experience with dreams and nightmares. Sometime you’ll have to explain more to him, but for now you just want him to know that you feel more stressed than actually unsafe.

DJ moves you away from his cheek so he can sign, “Should I wake you? If you are having a nightmare?”

You actually pause, considering. “Hm…probably not,” you say after a moment. “If I can sleep through it, I’m more likely to not remember it in the morning, I think. Besides, if I wake up it might take me awhile to get back to sleep.”

DJ cants his head at that. Clearly he has a lot to learn.

“Is that okay?” you ask. “I mean…I…know it’s probably upsetting to see me like that…” you say sympathetically. Most soulmates won’t be as acutely aware of their partner’s nightmares as DJ is…Aside from him being awake most of the night due to his recharge cycles only needing to be about two or three hours, spikes in your pulse and breathing won’t escape his notice. Even if you set up a separate bed in the loft, he’ll notice you in the throes of a nightmare far more readily than a human soulmate ever could.

“A bit,” he admits, one finger lightly rubbing your shoulder. “But easier if I know you are safe. And that I’m doing the right thing.”

He brings you closer, and you rest a hand on the blue stripe on his chin. “But if I do wake up, at least I don’t have to worry about interrupting your sleep too.”

DJ brightens at that, hugging you against his cheek. There are a lot of things a human soulmate would be able to do that he never will…but there are also plenty of things he can do that a human soulmate couldn’t.

It’s a comforting thought.

He rests his chin on the ground, helping you adjust the blankets as you snuggle up against his cheek. He feels your heartbeat steadying, and your breathing follows suit. Soon, you’re back to sleep.

Chapter Text

The first week at the farm feels like it goes by almost instantly, yet so much happens during that time that you and your animatronic family manage to find yourselves feeling like that horrible night in the West Arcade was several lifetimes ago.

DJ has been fully repaired, aside from some parts of him that need to be repainted. Though after everything he’s been through, “need” is perhaps a strong term for something like paint. Karter had managed to get Fazbear Entertainment to make new casings for the parts that needed it, though you still don’t have a firm plan for when next they need to be replaced. You hope you have at least a few months, or ideally years, before that happens.

You and Karter have also figured out how to fit DJ with a small speaker of his own, allowing him to play his handful of sound clips without having to worry about connecting to an external sound system. The small speaker is secured to the inside of his chassis near the vent on his back, allowing the air vent to double as something of an actual speaker.

The Daycare Attendant has also been fully repaired, and Karter had found and removed the tracker Ezra had made Darryl put in as well. Not that the Daycare Attendant’s location was much of a secret at the moment, but the thought of Fazbear Entertainment still keeping tabs on them had been unnerving to say the least.

Sun’s been working on mending their jester outfit during the day, but doesn’t seem to be in any hurry with that project. Sun and Moon are now the proud owners of two pairs of sweatpants and two hoodies. They are hand-me-downs, picked from what was still laying around the house and--after checking in with a few family members to make sure they were actually up for grabs--officially gifted to the Daycare Attendant. But Sun and Moon seem pleased all the same.

When they have a better sense of their own tastes, you plan on offering to have a tailor out to the farm to make them something. Or perhaps a proper shopping trip in town, should they ever feel up to it.

The cables needed to charge the Daycare Attendant, DJ, and the triplets had also been delivered promptly--at Tiffany’s insistence, of course. You’d all had one “sleepy day” (as Sun called it) where the animatronics had been basically motionless to conserve their last twenty percent of battery before the cables arrived. It had also taken an electrician coming out to wire an entirely new type of outlet into the house and barn until you were fully back in business, but it had gotten done before anyone dipped below ten percent.

You are not excited to see what your electricity bill is going to be.

You’re now staying in the barn full time, and trips to the house are now mainly to visit with Sun and Moon, though you also check in on the triplets’ progress each day (because they seem to be eager to show you) and of course, laundry and showering since the barn only has a toilet and a sink as of yet.

The rest of your nights in the barn have been far more peaceful than the first two--you fall asleep warm and cozy in DJ’s hand and haven’t even had any more nightmares. You don’t think they’re gone forever--things like that rarely are--but they're being kept at bay.

Tiffany remains confident about your lawsuits against Fazbear Entertainment, though both of you are in agreement that you certainly won’t be spending money you don’t yet have.

But there’s a lot you can do to make the place more homey in the meantime. You take one corner of the loft and begin turning it into a makeshift kitchen. One of your aunts donates an old mini-fridge and hotplate left over from your cousin’s college days, and that plus the microwave from the house open up your meal options considerably. There are no cabinets up in the loft, but you make due with a console cabinet that Sun helps you move down from the house.

Sun seems to enjoy making you sandwiches--something he used to do for the daycare kids--so you mainly use your kitchen for breakfasts and dinners. Sun’s also tried his hand at proper cooking a few times, which has consistently gotten very good results. Turns out being able to eyeball measurements down to the milligram and temperature down to the exact degree, plus access to a whole internet full of recipes, can get one quite far in the culinary arts.

The house and barn are both immaculate now, with the triplets having finished what repairs they could make with the supplies on hand and now doing nightly cleanings of both buildings, though they still don’t care for the walk between the two. For now, you walk them back and forth once or twice a day at their request, but you’re trying to think of a way to build some kind of tunnel or covered walkway between the two buildings to give the triplets a bit more autonomy.

They’ve also organized and sorted all the boxes that had been in the loft. Many were things Gran was storing for other family members. You don’t want to suddenly foist the responsibility of storing them back onto your family with no warning, but you have been trying to track down who owns what and slowly start chipping away at all the random belongings being kept in what you’re trying to turn into your home.

Just as you’re starting to worry the triplets would run out of work and get bored, they find your uncle’s old set of Lincoln Logs. One day when you go up to the loft to check on their progress, you find they’ve built multiple buildings that they seem quite proud of.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t also impressed.

DJ’s decks had also been delivered, though it had taken a bit of negotiation to get the delivery drivers to actually bring them inside the barn. The compromise had been DJ waiting outside while they’d gotten the decks set up inside. You hadn’t been particularly happy at that solution, but DJ’d been quite excited to have his decks back and had assured you he’s used to people being intimidated by him from time to time.

The decks have been a bit damaged, unfortunately. There are some scuffs, along with some missing switches and buttons that aren’t working. Fazbear Entertainment is still being coy about giving you any schematics other than the ones for the robots themselves, so you and DJ work together to puzzle out and fix the problems with the decks.

But he doesn’t need them entirely fixed to start playing again; he’s adept at working around the pieces that don’t work and you’ve once again resumed your private concerts. Each day you fix a few more things on the decks, slowly opening up his options until finally, they’re fully repaired.

Finally, after a week, you’re ready to do an overnight trip away from the farm. Ready, but not particularly eager. But the end of the month is approaching, and if you’re going to break the lease and move out of your apartment in Hurricane, you can’t put it off any longer.

You and Penny had worked together all day yesterday to pack up your apartment and load it into a rented moving van, driving back to the farm early in the morning. Penny had offered to find a friend or one of the cousins to help out in your stead, but you’d insisted on being involved. As reluctant as you are to leave DJ for a whole day, you’re even more reluctant to shunt yet another task onto your family. Even though your injuries make it so Penny insists on doing most of the carrying and lifting, you can at least help her pack up the boxes and drive the van for her. You already feel a bit guilty that Tiffany had taken on the task of selling or donating most of your furniture while she was still in Hurricane--it was all cheap or incredibly old, barely worth the cost of making multiple trips or trying to get a bigger van to haul it. You’ll make due with the furniture already at the farm.

The van bumps along the narrow dirt driveway, with Penny in the passenger seat, looking out the window.

“I’m excited to meet everyone,” she comments, sounding a bit more nervous than excited.

So far, Tiffany is still the only member of your family to meet the animatronics. The triplets are still so shy during her and Karter’s visits that you haven’t wanted to introduce them to yet more new people for the first week. Besides, all of you have been so busy fixing up the property and the animatronics, you wouldn’t’ve had the time or energy to be a good host. Or even a mediocre host for that matter.

“Yeah, I think Sun and DJ are excited to start having people over. They’re…used to a lot more social interaction than they’ve gotten the past week. Especially Sun,” you say with a slight frown. “But the triplets still seem shy, so uh…don’t be surprised if you don’t see much of them today,” you remind her apologetically. You’ve already given your whole family a “probably eventually” estimate on when they’ll meet the triplets, but are unwilling to commit to anything more specific than that for now. As much as they’ve adapted to life on the farm, they still make themselves scarce when Tiffany and Karter are over.

“Of course,” she says easily.

You pull the van up to the house, trying to back it up so the rear door of the van is as close to the front door of the house as possible. Despite the barn being set up enough for you to sleep in, there’s still some renovating to do before it feels like DJ’s and your home instead of just shelter, so you won’t be bringing most of your personal possessions to the barn any time soon.

Except for one, which Penny currently holds reverently on her lap--the bouquet DJ had given you. You’d told Penny the story on the drive, of course. Both to fill time and to impress upon her the importance of keeping the flowers safe.

You go around the van and open the door for her, helping her down from the high cab while she holds the paper bouquet. She follows you up the stairs to the porch and you open the door for her. You smell something cooking and guess Sun has decided to make you two lunch before you get into the unloading, so you lead the way to the kitchen.

“Sun? We’re back,” you call out.

“Great timing, Little Star! Lunch is almost ready!” he chirps as you enter the kitchen. He’s standing in front of the stove, frilly, flowery apron over his clothes as he makes some kind of stir fry.

Penny steps around you, setting the bouquet down on the dining table. “Oh wow, that smells amazing!”

Sun stops abruptly, turning to Penny sharply, his eyes widening. His smile becomes distinctly forced and nervous.

Both you and Penny blink at the reaction. You can’t imagine how Sun could have taken her comment negatively, but he’s certainly not reacting as if she’d said something kind.

Penny’s the first to break the silence. “U-Um…did…I say something wrong?” she asks with a tentative smile.

Sun quickly shakes his head, holding up a finger in a “wait a moment” gesture. He sets the spatula aside so abruptly that it clatters on the counter and hangs precariously over the edge. He doesn’t seem to notice as he turns and practically runs from the room.

You and Penny exchange looks of bewilderment. She steps forward to nudge the spatula back into place before it falls. “Wh-What was that about?” she asks.

You shake your head, probably even more perplexed than she is. “I have no idea…”

“Did…I upset him?”

“I can’t imagine how you would have…” you frown, staring at the doorway Sun had left through as if expecting him to suddenly reappear and explain himself. You sigh softly, and as you’re debating with yourself, the sizzling from the pan suddenly gets louder and Penny quickly grabs the spatula, pushing some of the food around to keep it from getting burned.

“You uh…mind holding down the lunch situation while I go check on him?” you ask.

“Of course,” she says easily.

You check the living room, then the den, and then finally upstairs. You’re about to call out his name when you hear his voice muttering.

“No. No!!! Moony, please! Let’s not fight…not about this…”

You blink, sensing you’re inadvertently eavesdropping on a very private conversation. “Sun?” you call out, more to alert him to your presence than anything.

“Y-Yes, Little Star?” he replies quickly, doing a poor job of pretending he doesn’t know exactly why you’re looking for him.

You follow the sound of his voice to one of the bedrooms and find Sun sitting on the floor beside the bed, his back against the wall and his knees tucked against his chest. The apron has been removed and tossed haphazardly on the floor. He looks oddly tired, his rays seeming to droop a bit.

“Hey…” you say gently, sitting down on the floor across from him. “Um…so…what…what happened back there?” you ask awkwardly.

Sun seems to snap himself out of his forlorn trance, his bright smile reappearing. “Nothing!”

Your brows raise and you give him a deadpan look.

“Nothing at all!” he says, his smile strained.

You sigh. “Sun…if you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to…but I know it wasn’t nothing,” you say. You try to keep your tone gentle, but a bit of pointedness still comes through.

He winces, his rays receding slightly.

Your expression softens and you give him a small smile. “Really, Sun,” you say, doing a better job of using a gentle tone this time. “You’re allowed your privacy if that’s what you want,” you remind him.

Sun smiles apologetically at you, titling his faceplate forward in a nod. “I-It is…for now…” he says.

“Then that’s fine,” you say, even though you're not without a bit of trepidation at letting this go. If he were human you might push a little harder for an answer, even a very generalized one…but Sun’s still very new to the whole “complete autonomy” thing, and you guess if you’re even a little bit pushy with him he’ll be too easily compelled to tell you something he’s truly not ready to talk about. Especially since you guess his personality still leans towards “people pleaser”, even with his autonomy.

He smiles gratefully, but still seems distracted.

“I’m gonna go back downstairs and help Penny unload. You can hang out up here as long as you need to--we’re just putting the boxes in the living room for now,” you say.

He nods again. “Thank you,” he says quietly, still seeming almost lost in his own head. Maybe Moon is insisting on continuing whatever conversation of theirs you interrupted.

You reach forward and lightly pat his arm before standing up and heading back downstairs.

When you get back to the kitchen, Penny has plated the food for you both, and left the rest on a back burner to simmer.

“Sorry about that,” you say, sitting down across from her at the dining table.

“No worries,” she says. “Do you…know what was up?”

You shake your head. “He didn’t want to talk about it. I doubt it was anything you did, though,” you say, knowing that would have been her next question. “I think it’s just been…kinda a hard adjustment for him,” you say as you start eating. “He liked his job. I mean…robots like their jobs more than most humans like theirs.”

“I guess so,” she says. She takes a bite. “Mm! Well, if he ever wants to do something other than childcare, chef might be a good fit,” she chuckles.

You laugh. “Well, we’ve been kinda talking about setting up a daycare or babysitting service here…I guess we can put ‘five-star lunches’ as one of our selling points.”

Once you’re both finished with the meal, Penny starts putting the leftovers away. You announce that you’ll get started unloading, but she quickly turns. “No no!” she says, dropping the half-washed pan into the sink and gathering up the paper bouquet. “Why don’t you take this down to the barn and I’ll work on getting the van unloaded?”

You give her a wry look. “Distracting me?”

“You still shouldn’t be doing any heavy lifting…”

“Penny, I was only bruised up a bit, it’s not like I broke anything…”

Now it’s her who gives you a wry look. “Still. I’m here, and maybe Sun will come down and help too. There’s no reason for you to lift anything heavier than these,” she says, pushing the flowers into your arms.

You sigh, rolling your eyes good-naturedly. “Oh, alright,” you say. You’d had the same “argument” when packing up the apartment, and you had lost that one too.

You head down to the barn. “Hey DJ, I’m back!” you call out. “Hope you weren’t too bored while I was gone…”

He shakes his head. “Worked on music,” he signs. He holds out his hand, and you take a seat on it, holding the bouquet carefully. He lightly nudges the delicate paper flowers with one finger, smiling fondly. He remembers the day you’d shown him a picture of them set up in your small apartment…how worried he’d been that you two would never be able to have a home together.

He moves you over to the area under the loft, letting you climb off his hand and set up the bouquet in your makeshift dining area--which is currently just one rickety old folding chair and a few empty plastic crates.

“It’ll look nicer when we get a proper table and chairs…but…I’ve missed seeing it every day,” you admit as you arrange some of the crates into a more spacious table, not wanting to put the bouquet anywhere too precarious.

“I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to see it every day,” he signs when you glance up at him. “Or see you every day,” he adds, lightly hooking his knuckle under your chin when his thumb grazes your cheek.

Your cheeks warm, both at the sentimental words and the gentle touch. You lean against his hand, admitting, “Me neither.”

You stay a bit longer with him than is perhaps polite to your guest…but you tell yourself she’d just insist on you sitting around while she unloads the boxes. And that is true--she would rather have you visiting with your soulmate for a bit rather than pestering her to let you help, but you still feel a tad guilty as you always do when you have to lean so heavily on someone else.

But, you do the thing both Penny and DJ would prefer you do, and linger in the barn just a bit.

It’s not like spending time with your soulmate is any kind of hardship.

*

Back at the farmhouse, Penny opens the double-doors on the back of the van, taking a couple of the lighter boxes and carrying them inside.

Unbeknownst to her, Sun peeks through one of the upstairs windows, watching her.

Help her. Moon demands from within their shared mindspace.

Sun doesn’t answer, nervously gripping his wrist.

Sun. Help her.

“I-I…can’t…” he squeaks out nervously.

A wordless noise of frustration echoes inside their mind.

Can. Moon insists. He’s silent for a moment, then says in a knowing tone. Want to.

Sun lets out a weak, sad laugh. “Of course I want to,” he says softly.

Then help her.

“B-But what do I say?”

Anything. What you are meant to say.

Sun pouts. “Ooohhh…you’re no help,” he mutters.

Says the one at the window. Moon’s tone is lighter this time, slightly teasing.

Sun tries to make his huff sound more indignant than he actually feels. “Fine,” he says simply. He doesn’t have to admit aloud that he’s glad for Moon’s pushing. Moon certainly already knows.

He goes downstairs, pausing in the hall as he hears Penny stacking some of your boxes in the living room. He fidgets with his hands silently, ignoring Moon’s urging him forward.

Penny’s out the door again before Sun can muster the nerve to speak.

Sun falters a moment, then quickly follows her out the open front door. He stands on the porch, once again fidgeting silently.

Penny stacks three smaller boxes atop each other, then grabs the bottom one, lifting the stack with a grunt. She turns to face the door, and the stack of boxes blocks her view, preventing her from realizing Sun is watching her. As she takes the first step, the contents of the top box shift unexpectedly and it slides sideways.

Before she can even register the movement, much less attempt to compensate for it, Sun leaps forward and grabs the top box, lifting it away. “Careful! It’s slipping!” he says without thinking.

Penny’s eyes widen and she looks up at him in surprise. Neither of them move for a moment--Sun staring down at her and Penny staring up at him.

Sun finally breaks the silence with a nervous laugh. “S-Sorry, it--it just…looked like it might fall,” he says, gently placing the box back atop the pile. He places his hands below hers on the bottom box. “May I?”

Penny blinks rapidly, giving a slight shake of her head as if coming out of a trance. “Wh--Oh, y-yes, if…if it’s not too much trouble…” she says distantly.

Sun’s grin widens, his eyes closing into upside-down crescents. “No trouble at all!” he chirps, taking the stack from her.

Once he turns to carry it back in the house, she glances down at her wrist, lightly tracing a hand over it. She lets out a silent sigh, closing her eyes and running a hand through her hair. She takes a breath, willing herself to focus.

She grabs one more box, deciding against pushing her luck with another stack, and follows Sun inside. As he’s placing his stack beside the ones she’d already brought in, she says, “S-So…you’re um…feeling better, then?”

“Hm?” he squeaks, his rays retracting for only a second before both they and his bright smile return. “Oh, haha…yes, of course…just, ah…new home jitters, I guess?” he says awkwardly.

Don’t lie already.

Penny cants her head slightly. “Oh…um, okay then…” she says with a weak laugh. “B-But uh…if it was…anything I said--”

“It wasn’t!” he cuts in quickly, holding up his hands.

No. Lying.

“Er, that is…you didn’t say anything wrong,” he corrects quickly, tapping his index fingers together sheepishly.

Thin ice, Sun.

“A-Anyway…wh-why don’t we get that van unloaded?” he says, abruptly leaving to do just that.

“S-Sure…” Penny says, following after him. She steps around him, climbing into the van and gathering a few boxes to hand him. They unload most of the van in relative silence, though not an unfriendly or awkward one. A focused silence, broken only by the occasional direction or suggestion for unloading. Finally, they’re down to the last three boxes.

As Penny stacks two together, she lets out a slightly awkward laugh. “Y-You know…the kids in my class talk about you sometimes…it’s uh…a little surreal to think you’re…living here now…” she says.

“They talk about me?” he asks, surprised.

She passes him the stack before grabbing the last one herself. “Yeah. I mean, all of you guys. You, and Moon, and DJ, and the Glamrocks…”

“Oh. Well, the Glamrocks certainly!” he says readily. “And DJ. But Moon and I?”

“Sure. You’re part of the gang, aren’t you?”

He shakes his head. “Not really. We’re Pizzaplex exclusives. No appearances in the cartoon, no merch sold outside of the ‘Plex.”

“Oh,” she says. “Well, they still know about you, in any case.”

“I see…” he muses as they set the boxes inside. As they return to the van for the final once over, he asks, “Well…what do they think of…uh…” he laughs nervously, “...recent events? I-If it’s okay to ask?”

She laughs. “Sure it is. But, they’re first graders, so…no need to worry about them siding with the boring grownups over you guys,” she says warmly. “And they don’t pay enough attention to the humans involved in the hearings to notice someone with the same last name as me being involved in the whole thing. And if any parents have made the connection, they haven’t mentioned it to me.”

“You teach first grade, then?” Sun asks, standing at the back of the van while she climbs inside.

“Mm-hm. They can be a handful at that age, but…they’re also so curious about the world…it’s sweet,” she says fondly. She scans the floor of the van carefully for anything that may have fallen out of the boxes.

“Isn’t it?!” he blurts happily. “They’re always asking so many questions and never run out of energy…” He laughs. “Though that makes Moon’s job a little harder.” He watches her thoughtfully for a moment. “Say, do you want to meet him?” he asks suddenly, holding up his hands to help her down from the van.

She blinks. “N-Now?” she stammers awkwardly, not accepting his help immediately.

Sun’s rays recede slightly as he lowers his hands and steps back slightly. “Sure! If…If you want to…”

“I-I mean…I suppose it would make sense…it’s still a few hours til dusk and he’s…um…already here?” she fumbled questioningly. She’s even less sure about how the whole thing works than you are.

Sun nods, relieved. “Exactly!” he says, holding out his hands once more to help Penny down from the van.

Penny accepts his help this time, hopping down from the van as he holds her hands in his…and both allow their hands to linger in the other’s grasp. Sun’s rays slowly rotate around his faceplate as he gazes down at her fondly, and she lets out a soft giggle at the motion. Neither you nor her students had ever mentioned the rays spinning like that…

It’s adorable.

Penny’s the first to break the silence. “S-So um…h-how do we do this?”

“Hmm?” he asks absently.

“Bring Moon out? It…has to be dark, right? That’s how it works?”

Sun straightens, snapping back to reality. “Oh! Oh, yes! Right, of course!”

Penny laughs awkwardly, wondering what had caused him to get distracted like that…never once thinking it could be the same reason for her own momentary loss of focus.

“One of the rooms doesn’t get as much light…so turning off the lights and closing the curtains should work,” he says, finally slipping his hands from hers. He pauses to let her fall into step beside him and they head upstairs together.

Sun finds the relevant room, a bedroom with its window on the north side of the house, and partially blocked by a tree at that. The light is currently off, and with just the partially blocked daylight filtering in, the room is pretty dim already. Sun turns on the light, then goes in and pulls the curtains shut.

Penny follows him in, closing the door behind her to keep any light from the hallway out.

Sun stands near the lightswitch, one hand hovering over it. “Ready?”

Ready.

Penny nods, smiling politely.

Sun flips the switch, and Penny blinks as her eyes try to adjust to the darkness. She hears the faint mechanical clicking and whirring of Sun’s rays receding fully, and a soft jingle as Moon’s nightcap appears.

She has to stop herself from gasping when two glowing red eyes appear from the darkness above her, but the urge passes quickly enough.

In any other situation, Penny might have been intimidated at being in a dark room with the only light coming from a pair of red eyes glowing in the dark. Not to mention the tall, lanky figure those eyes belonged to.

But she’d just spent a four hour car ride listening to you talk about your time at the ‘Plex, and Moon had been a significant part of that. You’d had nothing but nice things to say about both Sun and Moon, and had spoken about them both in a tone that bordered on reverent at times. You and DJ would have both been lost without them multiple times.

Realizing she’s been staring, she quickly averts her gaze. “S-Sorry, my eyes are still adjusting…” she says after a moment.

Moon’s quiet for a moment, then to Penny’s surprise, places one hand over his chest and lowers his head in a shallow bow. “We are glad to have found you.”

Penny blinks, glancing down at her wrist. Of course, in the darkness she can’t quite make out the words, but like everyone who gets a soulmark, the image of it is permanently etched into her memory.

“Careful! It’s slipping!

We are glad to have found you.”

It had seemed unusual at the time. Most soulmarks are only a sentence or two, and she’d never heard of two sentences having so much empty space between them. Though such things were hard to talk about when soulmarks were invisible to all but the person with the mark and their soulmate…so the slight oddity had been easy enough to write off at the time.

And she had to admit, the thought of someone saying those two lines back to back had struck her as odd, but she assumed the pieces would fall into place once she heard the sacred words.

She supposes they have indeed…but not at all in any way she would have guessed.

The reality of it hits her suddenly and her knees go weak. Moon quickly steadies her, putting his hands on her elbows and guiding her to sit on the foot of the bed while he sits near the head of the bed. “You know,” he observes.

She glances sideways at him, then nods, gripping her wrist. “I think so…” she says. “Th-That’s…why Sun ran off, isn’t it?”

Moon nods. “Heard the sacred words. Panicked. But I was prepared.”

“You knew this would happen? Th-That…I’d be both your soulmates? That…you’d both be mine?” Just saying it makes her mind reel anew. She has two soulmates? Multiple soulmates are not unheard of, but she’s never heard of anyone having two soulmarks appear at the same time. Usually people with multiple soulmates find their soulmate, then get another soulmark sometime after things settle down.

“No. But guessed,” he says, looking down at his own soulmark. “Hard to explain. Sun and I are different…but not separate. Not entirely. We do not think we have two complete souls,” he says, lightly touching a hand to his chest. “But we have more than one.” He turns his gaze back to her. “Did not know what your soulmark would look like. But we saw the look on your face when Sun spoke. We guessed he said part of it. But not all. Correct?”

She nods, still struggling to process the situation. Her gaze lowers to his wrist and she scoots closer to him. “M-May I?” she asks, holding out a hand. He dips his head in a nod, holding his arm out and allowing her to examine his wrist.

She frowns, canting her head. “It’s…hard to read…It looks like they were both written on top of each other.”

Moon’s faceplate tilts ninety degrees. “You see them both?”

“Yes. Don’t you?” she asks.

He shakes his head, taking his wrist back and wrapping one hand around it. “I see mine. Sun sees Sun’s. But we have told each other what they say.”

Penny gapes. “You told each other?!”

Telling anyone what the soulmark says before finding one’s soulmate is not exactly taboo, per se, but it’s generally agreed to be a pretty terrible idea. At best it ruins the magic of the moment, at worst, it sets one up to be duped and tricked. Besides, it’s just…difficult to do. Something in the unconscious mind takes over and stops one from foiling themself, the same way it would if one tries to hold their breath until they pass out or clutch a hot coal in their bare hand.

Technically, it is possible to power through and do it anyway, and some have…but for what?

Moon tilts his faceplate slightly. “Hard not to, in our situation,” he says, tapping the side of his head.

“O-Oh…right…I guess…” she says. “S-Sorry…”

“No need to apologize,” he says. He pauses, then continues, “We are…new to this,” he admits hesitantly. “We will make mistakes,” he adds with his usual bluntness. There’s a slight amount of self-deprecation in his tone, making it clear that the “we” refers to Sun and Moon…not Penny.

“Everyone does,” Penny says gently. She hesitates, then scoots a bit closer to him, placing her hand over his.

Moon’s gaze drifts downwards, and he turns his hand over, wrapping his fingers around hers.

“H-Has…Sun heard all this?” Penny asks after a moment.

“Yes,” Moon says. He lightly squeezes her hand. “And he feels this too, to an extent.” He turns her hand over so her wrist is facing upwards. “And he sees your mark for him,” he adds, running his thumb along her soulmark for Sun--with Sun’s guidance, of course. “But not your mark for me,” he says, tracing the sacred words he’d spoken moments ago.

Penny watches his thumb move along her wrist, resting her shoulder against his arm. Her eyes have adjusted to the dark for the most part, and the light from Moon’s eyes illuminates her soulmarks now.

She hesitates, then asks, “Y-You…um…you…had a soulmate before…didn’t you?” she asks, as if Sun and Moon’s previous soulmate wasn’t incredibly public knowledge at this point.

She senses him tense beneath her, and marvels at how she can even feel such a thing from a being made of metal and plastic.

“Yes,” he says after a moment. “We never met them. Don’t know what happened to them. Suspect they found a way to move on. Hope they did,” he says, his thumb still tracing her soulmark. He’s doing so in a way that could be mistaken for “absently” from anyone else…though based on what you’ve told her, Penny suspects Moon never does anything “absently”.

“I-I’m…sorry…” she says softly.

Moon lifts his shoulders in a slight shrug, careful not to jostle her. “We have made peace with it. If the marks disappeared, it means they will be happier with someone else. As will we,” he says, turning to look down at her. He reaches up, lightly touching her cheek, and when she doesn’t pull away, he gently cups her cheek in his hand.

He hesitates a moment, then speaks in a tone far softer and more gentle than the plain, matter-of-fact way he’d been speaking most of the conversation.

“As will you?”

It’s a question, not a statement. A question spoken tentatively, but hopefully.

Her heart flutters at the question, her expression softening at the worry in his eyes. She’s not as familiar with his usually flat expression as you are, but you did mention that, while he seems to have opened up more, he’s still usually hard to read.

His expression is subtle, but Penny can see it nonetheless. His slightly upturned brow, lit by his glowing eyes, betrays a lingering fear he’s trying to hold back. That despite everything, despite the soulmarks, Penny may yet decide she doesn’t want animatronic soulmates. Or that she doesn’t want two soulmates that share a body. Or that she doesn’t want soulmates who’d lost their previous soulmate before they’d even met them. Or that she doesn’t want a soulmate who, despite undergoing so many repairs the past week, will always be just a little bit broken--

Penny’s aware of Moon’s shoulders shaking before he is. She lifts her hands to his face, holding his faceplate in her hands. The shaking stills, and he watches her silently.

“I will,” she says softly. “I will…”

Moon lets out a low, soft sigh, or at least the sound of one. It sounds like he had been holding his breath waiting for her answer, despite the fact that he doesn’t have lungs. Slowly, he leans forward and rests his forehead against hers.

Both of them are startled by the sound of the front door opening and closing. “Penny? I’m back,” you call out from downstairs.

Moon stands, helping Penny to her feet, keeping her hand in his as they cross the room to stand by the lightswitch. “Will you stay until nightfall?”

She nods, smiling weakly. “I…wouldn’t mind staying later, but…” Her gaze flicks towards the door, even though you’re still downstairs. “They um…might…ask why…”

“And what will you say?”

Penny laughs nervously. “The truth, I hope? If that’s alright…”

Moon nods. “Yes.” He pauses a moment. “You and Sun may tell them.”

“Not you?”

He lets out a sound not unlike a soft chuckle. “Can only be one of us. Sun wants it to be him.” He reaches up, lightly cupping her chin in one hand. “He’s eager to see you again. With his own eyes.”

Penny’s face heats up at that and she lowers her gaze with a shy laugh. “O-Okay…”

Moon lowers his head, once again bumping his forehead against hers. She closes her eyes as he flips on the light, feeling a slight shift as the nightcap disappears and is replaced with Sun’s rays.

There’s a more subtle change in the hand wrapped around hers, too. Moon’s grip is looser, and heavier in a way, as he let her support some of the weight of his hand. But Sun’s grip is more firm, yet lighter as he takes the weight of her hand in his.

“H-Hello again,” he says softly, his forehead still resting against hers. He takes her other hand, his fingers weaving between hers.

“Hi Sun,” she says fondly.

Once again your voice calls out from downstairs. “Pen? Where’d you go?” You begin heading up the stairs, wondering why she would have gone up there. You know she would never have gone upstairs to check on Sun without a good reason, especially after the way he’d left so suddenly.

Penny gives Sun a bracing smile, then opens the door, keeping ahold of his hand as she leads him into the hallway.

You crest the top of the stairs to see your youngest sister standing in the hall, holding the Daycare Attendant’s hand. Your first thought is that she actually had--for whatever reason--taken it upon herself to go upstairs and comfort him.

But as your gaze drifts up to their faces, you realize it’s something more significant than that.

Penny looks positively giddy, though Sun seems more nervous. His rays are partially receded, and while his smile is bright, there’s an undertone that looks strangely apologetic, of all things.

You had frozen on the top step, now slowly step up into the hallway. “Um…” you prompt, not even sure what to ask.

Sun releases Penny’s hand, his index fingers nervously tapping against each other. “Little Star, do you remember your and DJ’s first movie night at the ‘Plex?” he asks.

You blink. The question actually takes a moment for you to process because it’s so far from anything you had expected Sun to say just then. You have no idea where this is going, but you have to assume Sun and/or Penny do. “It was our only movie night at the ‘Plex…” you correct, then add, “So um, yes?”

Sun’s smile softens. “You were so worried about DJ getting in trouble. You didn’t even know he was your soulmate and you…you still cared about him so much…”

Penny glances at Sun. Her smile doesn’t fade but there’s a slight curiosity in her eyes. It doesn’t seem like she knows where he’s going with this either.

You rub at the back of your head awkwardly. “W-Well...I-I mean…It was…mostly my idea,” you say. Though now you realize DJ had definitely been nudging you in that direction by even mentioning the screen. Still, you had taken the information and ran with it, and it had technically been your own decision to figure out how to work the projector and stay late to visit with DJ.

“But still…after our--” He falters, wincing a bit, and you see Penny take his hand again, squeezing it gently. “After--what happened--we didn’t think any human could be trusted. Not adults anyway. Certainly not techs. But…you were already being so good to DJ…”

You feel your face heating up, and you glance awkwardly at Penny, who’s smiling shyly, her eyes sparkling with warmth. You let out a nervous laugh as you try to figure out what to even say to that. “I um…n-never realized I’d…m-made such an impression…”

Sun nods, glancing fondly at Penny. “We…think that’s why--at least part of why--Moon and I um…we got our soulmarks that night…”

You blink in surprise, then burst into a wide grin. “Sun! You guys have soulmarks? Oh that’s wonderful!” you say, so elated you forget to wonder what Penny might have said to the Daycare Attendant to prompt them to share this revelation.

Of course, you’re neither surprised nor offended that you’re only finding out about this now. Not everyone is open about when they get their soulmarks, and Sun and Moon in particular obviously have a lot of baggage around disclosing such a thing. It would never even occur to you to think they owed you that information.

“And you remember what day that was…right?” Sun asks.

At your perplexed look, Penny takes her cue.

“The day before your birthday,” she says, scooting slightly closer to Sun.

You stare at both of them as it finally clicks into place. “You and Sun and Moon?” you say, your wide grin returning.

Penny nods, giggling. “They’re my soulmates and I’m theirs…” she says shyly. “Is…that okay?” she asks, almost meekly.

“Okay?!” you laugh. “Oh it’s more than okay! I’m…I’m so happy for you guys…” you say, pulling them both into a hug.

“Thank you,” Penny says softly.

As the hug ends, you laugh suddenly. “Well, you’ll have quite the introduction when you meet DJ, won’t you?”

“I-I guess so…” she says, her voice wavering slightly with nervous giddiness.

You smile warmly. “He’ll be happy for you guys. I know he will,” you say. “Why don’t we head down there now?”

They agree readily, and the three of you head down to the barn. Penny eagerly fills you in on what happened during your brief absence while Sun walks quietly beside her, holding her hand. You’re a little surprised at how quiet he is, but the fond glances he keeps giving Penny leave no room for doubt about how happy he is to have found her, even considering how heavy such a revelation must be for all three of them.

You enter the barn and are surprised to see DJ grinning knowingly at the three of you.

Too knowingly.

“Triplets told me the good news. Congratulations,” he signs.

You laugh, shaking your head in feigned disapproval. “Those little snitches,” you say lightly.

At Penny’s confused glance, Sun leads down and says, “The triplets overheard us, apparently…”

The smile doesn’t fade from her face even as she winces slightly. “Oh…I-I didn’t even realize they were in the house…” She’s more apologetic than offended. It doesn’t occur to her to label the triplets overhearing as anything malicious like eavesdropping. If anything, she’s worried she had accidentally encroached on their space.

“They’re pretty quiet when they want to be,” you say. “But all animatronics have far better hearing than we do, so…they might have overheard from a few rooms over,” you explain. You give an awkward laugh, realizing introductions have been derailed. “But ah…anyway…this is DJ. DJ, this is Penny,” you say, gesturing to each in turn even though everyone certainly knows who everyone is at this point.

Since Penny doesn’t know any ASL, DJ simply ops to lift one hand in a wave, extending another for a handshake.

“Pleased to meet you, DJ,” Penny says, gripping his index finger in her hand.

“Pleased to meet you,” he signs to her, which you translate.

“I’ve heard you’re quite the musician…I’d love to hear some of your work,” Penny says politely.

“I can play something for everyone tomorrow,” DJ signs.

You translate, then do a double take at what you just said. “Wait, tomorrow?”

“When things have settled down,” he signs with a knowing smile and small shrug.

You laugh weakly. “Right…” You turn to Penny and Sun. “Well…not to cut things off too early, but…DJ and I don’t want to take up too much of your time right now,” you say gently.

Penny looks as if she’s going to make a half-hearted protest--to give some assurance that it’s no trouble, and she’d love to hear DJ’s music, and she absolutely doesn’t want to derail anything you two might have had planned for her visit.

But her eyes flick to Sun and she nods. “Th-Thank you,” she says softly.

“I should probably gather up the triplets, too,” you say wryly. You walk Penny and Sun back to the house, where the triplets are already waiting just inside the front door.

“Text me if you need anything,” you say to Penny, then glance at Sun and add, “But I imagine you won’t.”

Sun smiles giddily, giving a small, modest shrug.

Penny blushes, nodding and glancing shyly at Sun, then back at you. She looks like she’s trying to figure out how to ask you something, and you guess at the question before she can work up the nerve to ask it.

“Stay as long as you like. All weekend if you want,” you tell her.

You guessed right, for she nods in relief. “Thank you!” she says effusively. More effusively than she really needs to be thanking you, given you barely use the house yourself, but Penny’s always been a bit shy of asking for too much.

You lead the triplets back down to the barn, with them following you in a single-file line like a tiny parade. Once inside the barn, they return to the loft and you return to DJ.

You take a seat in his outstretched hand and let him lift you to eye level. “You know, I don’t think Sun and Penny would have minded listening to one song,” you say jokingly.

“Maybe.” There’s a touch of seriousness in his smile as he adds, “But…I want them to enjoy their first day together. No distractions.”

Your smile doesn’t fade, but there’s a clear melancholy at his words. There are still times you wish you and DJ hadn’t had to endure such turmoil when you’d first found each other. But you have each other now. And someday, those first couple months will be barely a fraction of your history together.

Still…you’re glad Penny and Sun and Moon will have a more carefree beginning to their relationship than you and DJ had been given.

DJ smirks. “Besides, I missed you,” he adds playfully, lightly nudging your cheek with the tip of his finger. He’s mostly joking--he would never cut introductions with your family short just for some extra alone time. Though he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t just a tiny bit tempting.

You laugh warmly, hugging his finger against your cheek. “I missed you too, sweetie.”

*

You had fully intended to not return to the house until morning--to give Penny and Sun and Moon their privacy on their first day as soulmates.

But alas, you’d given your laundry to Sun (at his insistence) so he could do it for you during your trip to Hurricane, and you’ve been wearing the same outfit for over a day. A very active day, at that.

You hope Penny and Moon are at least upstairs so you can just slip in, grab the basket of clean laundry, and head back to the barn.

The downstairs is predictably dark when you slip in through the front door. The lights are rarely on in the house unless you’re stopping by for something, especially at night. You quickly head to the laundry room and grab the basket of clean and folded laundry.

As you cross the yard, you become aware of voices. Glancing around, it only takes you a moment to notice Penny and Moon up on the farmhouse roof. She’s leaning on his arm as they both look up at the starry sky.

Your protective older sibling instinct sparks to life after being dormant for several years, but only for a second. If a human soulmate had taken your younger sister out on the roof, you may have words for them. But Moon? Penny’s safe with Moon no matter how precarious their perch may seem.

As you turn to head back to the barn, you hear something else. A low laugh, raspy yet still a bit melodic.

Moon.

He’s laughing.

The corner of your mouth ticks up in a smile. The best you’d ever gotten from him was a short, sensible chuckle. But that’s the magic of soulmates, isn’t it?

Moon’s glowing eyes lock onto yours, and he lifts his hand in a small wave. Penny follows his gaze, then does the same, though hers is a bit more cheerful. At least in appearance--you’re sure Moon is quite happy, even if he doesn’t show it as overtly as Sun and Penny do.

You return the wave before resuming your walk back to the barn.

Your worries about Sun and Moon being unhappy at the farm have certainly been put to rest.

Chapter Text

Yet another week passes, and things are finally starting to settle down. All the repairs and re-arranging that can be done without any major purchases have been completed. The triplets put together a list of smaller tools and supplies you can buy so they can keep working, and you’ve gotten them a couple of the less expensive items on that list. But your bank account is fading fast, so you’ve started up job applications, even reaching out to your previous job here in Allendale.

You’re not particularly surprised you haven’t heard back…but you had to at least try.

Penny hasn’t officially moved in yet, but she’s getting there. She seems to have a room picked out and has moved some of her clothes and overnight supplies. She’s not at the farmhouse all the time--she still has to go to work, of course, but you get the impression she has probably spent maybe two hours in her apartment this entire week.

That’s about what you expected her to do, really.

You had almost extended the move-in invitation yourself, but decided instead to remind Sun and Moon that the house is theirs as far as you’re concerned (even if you still need to borrow parts of it from time to time), and thus the invitation was theirs to extend to Penny when they felt ready.

You’re not sure if they’ve done that yet, but they certainly seem happy with the amount of time Penny spends at the farmhouse, so you don’t press the issue.

Right now though, you and DJ are inside the barn. Your family will be coming over soon, and today’s the big day when everyone finally meets your soulmate.

But first, you’re trying to take care of something you hadn’t yet gotten around to. Yesterday you finally went to the hardware store for paint swatches, and you’re currently holding them up to DJ’s eyes to try to match the color of his pink and blue face paint. He’s resting his chin on the ground while you stand in front of his head, holding the various swatches next to his face paint.

“I thiiink the blue is this shade,” you say, squinting. You hold the swatch up to DJ, who lifts his head and nods.

“Looks right to me,” he signs.

You smile at him, then dig through the bag next to you, pulling out a handful of other swatches in various bright colors. “I did grab some more, in case you wanted to change things up,” you say.

DJ quirks a brow, smirking. “Change? I thought you said I was perfect?” he teases.

You laugh, playfully poking the tip of his nose. “You’re perfect no matter what color eyeliner you have on, you big goober!” you say affectionately.

He grins. You feel his hand behind you so you sit down, letting him lift you up to eye level. “A lot’s already changed. For the better, of course. But…for now I’d like some things to stay the same.”

You laugh warmly as he hugs you to his cheek. “Of course sweetie. I love how you look. I just…it was kinda an impulsive idea at the hardware store is all,” you say, even though it’s clear he’s not taking your light suggestion as anything deeper.

DJ pulls back enough to nod. “I do like that I have the option to choose for myself now. Maybe someday I’ll use it,” he signs with a shrug.

“No rush. You’ll always be perfect,” you say fondly.

Your heart flutters to see a bit of shyness in his grin at that, but you don’t have time to linger on it as you hear Sun’s and Penny’s voices outside.

“I’d better go help them set up,” you say, leaning forward to kiss his nose before he sets you down.

Outside the barn, you’ve spread some gravel on the ground to form a temporary, rustic patio area outside the big barn doors. Sun and Penny are currently setting up tables for food and drink, as well as some folding chairs.

Sun’s wearing an outfit Penny had made for him--a simple pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved sweater, the patterns modified enough to actually fit the Daycare Attendant’s body properly. He’s also carrying a couple long folding tables under one arm while Penny pulls a large, wheeled cooler behind her.

You work in silence for a few moments, until Penny speaks up. “S-So um…I…still haven’t told anyone about Sun and Moon and I…could we keep it a secret just a bit longer?” she asks hesitantly. She laughs nervously. “I uh…don’t want to steal your thunder…”

You scoff, but not unkindly, shaking your head. “Pen, we’ve got more thunder than we know what to do with. We’re sick of it. Steal as much as you like,” you say, waving a hand.

“I guess,” she admits with a small laugh. “I…I think we’ll still hold off,” she says, her hand finding Sun’s. “I…kinda want to tell people individually…not as a big group…”

Sun nods. “I don’t mind a big announcement, but Moon doesn’t want that either.” He grins, releasing Penny’s hand a moment to give an exaggerated shrug. “Seems I’m outvoted!” he says good-naturedly, earning a giggle from Penny as she loops her arms around one of his.

You laugh. “Nobody tell the triplets about voting. DJ and I will never win against them,” you joke.

You hear the sound of Tiffany’s car arriving at the house; the tires crunching on the dirt driveway followed by the click of the door opening.

You, Sun, and Penny head up the hill to greet her. She has a bottle of wine in one hand and her phone in the other and is talking animatedly with whoever’s on the other side as she walks down the hill.

As she gets closer, you catch a bit of what she’s saying. “Of course…Yep…Certainly. Alright, thank you, Mr. Fazbear, I’ll be in--” She cuts herself off, laughing. “Okay, Freddy. Yep. I’ll be in touch. Goodbye.” She hands up the phone, slipping it into her coat pocket. She grins at your little assembly. “You’ll never guess who I just landed as a client,” she says with feigned smugness.

As you’re trying to think of an obviously incorrect answer to suggest as a joke, Sun blurts out, “Freddy?! You were talking to Freddy? How is he?”

“He’s good. He says he and the Glamrocks miss you guys,” she says.

Sun’s smile turns a bit melancholy. “I wish we’d gotten to say goodbye to them before we left…”

DJ nods in agreement. He hadn’t even seen Freddy or the Glamrocks since meeting you. They didn’t do a lot of appearances in the dance hall. There had been one Glamrock show in the dance hall planned for a couple days after you’d been fired, but it had been canceled for reasons that were supposedly unrelated…but as DJ thinks on it now, he wonders if maybe Ezra wanted to keep the Glamrocks and him separate while the soulmark debate raged on.

But he had considered them friends. He still did, even if he wasn’t sure if he’d ever see them again. You and he had discussed it briefly a couple times, but obviously DJ couldn’t go visit them and the logistics of them visiting the farm were complicated, especially since you had no way to get ahold of them.

Until now, apparently.

“Why does Freddy need a lawyer?” you ask as you lead the group back into the barn. “Pay negotiations?” you add, leaning against one of DJ’s hands.

Tiffany nods. “Yes, that and royalties for their music, appearance, and merchandise. The Glamrocks still want to be the Glamrocks and do their shows, but they don’t want to live at the ‘Plex. So they need a housing budget. And Monty in particular wants more days off…And by more I mean any.”

Penny falters slightly. “Er, which one’s Monty, again?”

“Gator on drums,” you say quickly.

“Oh, right! He was only added a couple years ago, right?”

You give a small hum of affirmation as Tiffany looks pointedly at you both, feigning annoyance at the derailment.

“Anyway!” Tiffany asserts once you’re finished, “Freddy and Bonnie wish to be recognized as soulmates.”

Your and Penny’s jaws fall open, but Sun looks less surprised. DJ’s brows raise slightly but Sun simply smiles. “Good!” he chirps.

Penny glances up at him. “You knew they were soulmates?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “No. To be honest, we had never tried to guess such a thing. Buuuut…hearing it, it’s about the least surprising news we’ve ever heard,” he laughs, winking. “If you’d seen them together, especially when they’re not performing, you wouldn’t be surprised either.”

You laugh slightly. “I’ll take your word for that.”

Tiffany waves a hand. “But enough about my other clients,” she says. “I have news for you!” she says, pushing the bottle of wine into your hands. “The court ruled in your favor. You’re being awarded sliiiightly less damages than I’d hoped,” she says, holding up her fingers in a pinching motion. “But it’s definitely enough to turn this barn into whatever you want it to be,” she says.

You gape. “O-Oh! That’s…that’s amazing news!” you say. You’re dizzy for a moment as you try to process, but after only half a second of hesitation, you throw your arms around her, squeezing her tightly. “Thank you so much, Tiff…”

DJ nods in agreement. “Thank you,” he signs. Tiffany has picked up a bit of ASL too, though has been too busy with the case to do much in the way of properly studying it. Still, from her visits to you and DJ over the past couple weeks, “Thank you” has become the sign she recognizes most readily.

You hear the sound of a car rolling up outside, soon followed by the dull ka-chuck of car doors opening. It must be Mom and Dad arriving with Gran--they’re the only ones who would pull up all the way to the barn, since Gran would struggle with the walk down the hill.

You, your sisters, and Sun head outside to greet them. It’s mostly the traditional hi’s and hello’s and brief hugs.

Gran turns to you. “Now. Let’s meet this guy of yours, hm?” she says, getting right to the point. She turns towards the barn and you quickly move to help her through the side door. Everyone else waits outside, giving you, DJ, and Gran a few moments alone.

Gran glances around, immediately impressed. “Goodness…you really have done a lot of work…” she says.

“Well, the triplets did a lot…” you say modestly.

DJ stands perfectly still, practically at attention as he watches you and Gran enter the barn. You have of course told him that Gran knows ASL. So he’s looking forward to being able to actually have a conversation with a member of your family without relying on translations…even if it will likely be brief.

Gran’s cane clicks against the concrete floor as she walks towards him. Her eyes are appraising, but there’s still a glint of good humor in them, and her mouth quirks in a small smile.

“So. This is him, huh?” she asks, stopping in front of DJ and folding both her hands atop her cane.

“Yep!” you say, and DJ hears hints of nervousness in your tone as well. “Gran, this is DJ Music Man…and DJ, this is my grandmother,” you say, gesturing to each in turn.

“Pleased to meet you,” DJ signs before placing a hand on his chest and bowing deeply.

Gran barks out a laugh. “Bowing? How old fashioned! Young man, just how old do you think I am?” she laughs.

DJ’s eyes widen in alarm as he quickly rights himself, signing something that you’re pretty sure was meant to be an apology, but he’s so flustered his hands practically tangle into each other as he tries to sign several words at once.

You laugh gently, standing on your toes and reaching up to touch one of his hands, prompting him to lower it towards you. “Gran, don’t tease him!” you say, looping your arm around DJ’s forefinger in a brief half-hug to steady him.

“Oh, alright,” she says with a shrug. She looks up at him again, her smile more warm and genuine. She passes you her cane, and you hold it for her while she signs, “I am happy for you two.” She smirks, glancing at you and signing. “I had a feeling something was up with you during Penny’s party. You kept staring off with that dreamy look.”

A fan kicks on in DJ’s chassis at that and he hopes Gran doesn’t hear. If she does, she’s kind enough not to react.

You laugh shyly, shrugging as you hand her cane back. “Well, then as usual, you’re far wiser than me…because I didn’t know at the time,” you admit.

Gran laughs heartily at that, her eyes sparkling with joy as she regards you and DJ a moment. “Well. Let’s open up the barn and get the party started, then,” she says, nodding to the door.

“Yes’m,” you say quickly, unlatching the door and pushing it open enough for DJ to open it the rest of the way. As he opens it, you see Abigail and her wife Mari coming down the hill, and both of them stop and stare in awe at the massive robot that just appeared before them.

Their two kids, however, had apparently already rushed down the hill to see Sun and were chatting excitedly to him. They had paused to watch the door slide open, and now they tore into the barn, bombarding DJ with excited questions.

“Are you really staying here?”

“Do your music tables still work?”

“Is Freddy going to come here too?”

DJ of course, can’t answer as the kids are already circling him, crossing under his body and climbing over his hands. He’s afraid to even move. While kids have talked to and interacted with him plenty, there was always some kind of barrier--namely, he was atop his stage and they were not.

He knows between his fine motor skills, quick reflexes, and motion sensors that he wouldn’t accidentally hurt the kids--he’s more worried about startling them.

“C’mon guys, give DJ some space,” you say, ushering the kids out of the barn. You grin over your shoulder at DJ, adding, “He needs room to get set up for his show!”

DJ smiles in relief, nodding. Once the kids are clear, he settles himself in front of his decks, playing a quiet and unobtrusive--but still upbeat--song as background noise for the party.

It’s certainly more fun than laying quietly and watching the conversations. Part of him is almost grateful most of your family doesn’t know ASL yet. He’d be a little overwhelmed at having to answer all the questions your family would surely be asking him and trying to engage in conversation with so many new people. Having an excuse to ease into his new social obligations is certainly welcome.

Tiffany steps forward to help Gran into one of the folding chairs while Mom and Dad finally approach DJ. Neither seem as excited to meet your soulmate as you would have once hoped, but they’re at least here and speaking with him.

“N-Nice to meet you,” Mom says.

DJ smiles politely, trying to look as unimposing as possible as he extends a hand towards them. Mom “shakes hands” with him, then Dad, who repeats Mom’s greeting verbatim, even down to the slight stutter.

You guess they’re more intimidated than anything else…hopefully that eases up in time.

“The music’s a bit loud,” Dad mutters once he (incorrectly) thinks he’s out of earshot.

Mom just shrugs. “It’s dance music.”

You laugh at the exchange, and DJ gives you a questioning look.

“Parents always complain about their kids’ music tastes. It’s perfectly normal,” you say as you grin up at him.

DJ tilts his head thoughtfully. A very normal and mundane--but ultimately minor--gripe from his soulmate’s parents. Just like anyone else.

It’s a better reaction than he’d dared to hope for, really.

Abigail and Mari greet DJ as well, their greetings just as simple as Mom and Dad’s but at least a bit less awkward. Even Tiffany’s husband, Mateo, shows up and gives DJ a hearty handshake. Well, as hearty a handshake as a mere human can give a giant spider robot.

You haven’t seen much of Mateo since he and Tiffany were married. Their wedding was probably the longest time you’d been in the same room as him, and it seems that record won’t be broken tonight--he’s the first to duck out, not even staying for dinner as he has a big case to prepare for. But really, you’re surprised and honored he even found a small bit of time to come out here and give his blessing.

Dad sets up the grill and begins preparing dinner. Sun almost goes over to offer his help, but Penny quickly grabs his arm, whispering, “When Dad’s in the zone, we leave him alone.” An often repeated mantra from your childhood.

Sun does end up spending some time with the niblets, as you’d bought some coloring books and scrap paper for them to occupy themselves with during the party. Sun sits with them while they sprawl on the floor next to one of DJ’s decks and even helps them make their own little paper hats.

Abigail waits until the two kids are quietly coloring and Sun doesn’t seem busy with them before approaching him to have a quiet discussion about the possibility of Sun babysitting for her sometime. Sun, of course, is delighted at the prospect, though once Abigail asks what his rates are he seems to freeze up.

Penny comes to his rescue quickly, telling Abigail that whatever she feels is reasonable will suffice until they can figure things out a bit better. Abigail definitely notices the way Penny gently touches Sun’s arm and the way Sun gazes down at her in fond relief, but has the grace to not comment on it.

That secret won’t stay secret for long. Soulmates rarely do.

Gran occasionally signs with DJ during the party--DJ operating the decks with his middle hands and signing with his main set. You don’t catch all of their conversations but they seem to be mostly about the farm itself and its history, and Gran’s own memories of raising your mom, aunts, and uncle here.

After dinner, Gran and your parents are the first to leave. Gran tires quickly so Mom and Dad take her home. Abigail, being pregnant, and her kids, being kids, are soon tired as well and you and your sisters help Abigail up the hill to their car while Sun carries both the sleepy niblets.

DJ’s playing a quieter song, his eyes closed as he operates the decks by feel while his head bobs slightly to the slow beat. He looks like he could fall asleep at any moment, though of course that’s just him being relaxed…and happy.

The sun begins to set, and Sun and Penny make an excuse of going up to the house for a couple more drinks as the cooler had run out a bit ago. They sneak a quick kiss before Moon comes out…who then sneaks a kiss of his own.

“Oh!” Tiffany says, a bit surprised when the Daycare Attendant emerges from the house as Moon. “Guess it really is getting late.”

“A bit,” Moon agrees, passing her the soda she’d asked Sun for.

“Mm…I might have to take this on the road then,” Tiffany says.

“We should do this again sometime,” Penny says. “I’ve uh…missed these,” she adds. You used to have cookouts like this at the farm a lot as kids, when Gran was still living here.

You nod thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“Gran’s certainly happy this place is staying in the family after all,” Tiffany says with a smirk. “I kinda wonder if she always had it marked up too high…hoping to give it to one of the grandkids.”

Penny laughs. “I had the same thought.”

The three of you share a brief chuckle at that. It does seem like the sort of thing Gran would do.

“Well, I’m heading out,” Tiffany says, getting to her feet with a soft grunt. “You sticking around, Pen?”

“Oh uh--yeah, for a bit,” she stammers sheepishly, and can’t help but let her eyes flick briefly to Moon.

Tiffany gives a smirk a bit more knowing than Penny would prefer. “Uh-huh,” she says flatly. “Figured as much.”

Penny opens her mouth to give a fumbling explanation, but Tiffany cuts her off with a poorly faked yawn.

“Anyway,” she says before Penny can accidentally give away more than she’s quite ready to, “I’ll see you all around.”

You walk with her to her car, which is parked up the hill near the house. Before she gets inside, she turns and waves to Moon, Penny, and DJ, who all return the wave.

“You’ve got a good thing here,” she says softly to you.

You smile warmly at her. “Yeah. I do,” you say. To her surprise, you pull her into a hug. “Thank you again. So much.”

“Of course. We’re family,” she says, giving you a squeeze in return.

*

Later that night, when Penny and Moon have returned to the house and you and DJ have closed up the barn, the two of you put on a movie to relax. You’d managed to get ahold of a projector of your own. The picture isn’t quite as sharp as the one in the ‘Plex, and you have to rely on the blank back wall of the barn which isn’t quite as smooth as the canvas, but your home theater is still a work in progress.

You lay back in DJ’s hands, his thumb absently rubbing your shoulder as you watch the screen. Your eyes drift shut, and when they open again you find DJ has turned you to face him, holding you up slightly so you can see him sign.

“Sleepy?”

“Mmm…a bit. Maybe we should finish this tomorrow,” you say.

He leans forward, brushing his lower lip against your forehead. When he pulls away, one of his back hands is holding a blanket which he drapes over you. “Sleep then. See you in the morning. Sweetie.”

DJ moves the hand you’re in near the projector so you can reach over and turn it off. Once you do, you settle into his palm, closing your eyes as he gently strokes your hair.

He rests his chin on the floor, his hand in front of him as he gazes at you. You’re illuminated slightly by the dim magenta glow from his mouth. He can tell you’re not asleep. At least not fully. To a human, you would appear to have dozed off, but he can tell your breathing and heart rate have not evened out quite as much as they do when you’re asleep.

DJ smiles fondly as he watches you, his eyes lidded in a look of pure contentment. You’re perfect. He marvels at that every day. You’re perfect and even more amazingly, you think he’s perfect. He’ll never stop being in awe of that.

He keeps the hand you’re in perfectly still so as not to disturb your rest and slightly lifts one of his other hands, folding his middle finger down while his other two fingers and thumb remain extended.

“I love you.”

Even if your eyes had been open, you wouldn’t’ve been at an angle to see the sign…but DJ needed to sign it anyway.

And even if your eyes didn’t see it and your brain didn’t register it, your soul felt it all the same.

Chapter Text

A couple weeks after the cookout, you and your animatronic family are officially awarded and paid the promised damages. Tiffany, of course, gets a generous cut--a more generous cut than she’d asked for by a wide margin, but you and DJ and Sun and Moon all insist. And DJ assures her that the triplets would have insisted too if they understood money.

Besides, DJ’s new music career is taking off, so income is steady despite you not being able to find a job. It seems that until more robots get put in charge of hiring their own techs, your career as a technician is at an impasse, given what searching your name online brings up these days--though your case is so widely known among robotics circles, the companies you’ve applied to probably didn’t even need to search your name to know what you’ve done.

Your skills certainly aren’t stagnating, though--you do still work on the Daycare Attendant and DJ and the triplets, even though they all need less maintenance now that they’re living quieter lives. But you’ve also become something of a personal assistant to all of them--getting what they need from the outside world, helping with paperwork and in DJ’s case, setting up recording and running his online music store and socials--things they either lack the knowledge or dexterity to jump into just yet. It’s a slight career change, but one you don’t entirely mind.

Karter, on the other hand, did manage to get his old job back, as did Hannah. When they had both quit and Ezra had gotten fired, Darryl found himself catapulted far higher up the corporate ladder than he had ever wished to be, and the board had no choice but to approve his hiring decisions to get some semblance of a team back together to deal with the backlog of S.T.A.F.F. bots in dire need of repair. It was the only way to keep even some of the attractions at the ‘Plex operational.

As for Ezra? Well, the less said about him the better, in your mind. His tampering with DJ had been talked down to reckless endangerment--the attempted murder charge wouldn’t’ve stuck, Tiffany regretfully informs you. There’s just far too much room to debate Ezra’s actual intentions.

Finances aside, though, you’re at peace with the charges brought against him. Part of you does want to believe Ezra when he says he only expected you to be scared off, not hurt. Not out of any particular desire to see some good in Ezra or give him the benefit of the doubt, but because the thought of someone actually wanting you dead is often too much to bear.

Nevertheless, between that and the charges eventually brought against him for drugging you, he’s going away for a long time, and even when he gets out, he’ll never have the kind of power he had over you and your animatronic family ever again. His reputation is so ruined he wouldn’t even be put in charge of a roomba, much less a fully sentient, sapient animatronic.

But you haven’t thought of Ezra in months now, and you’re all the happier for it.

The next year sees a lot of activity and construction around the farm as you and Penny and your animatronic soulmates make it your own.

Penny and the Daycare Attendant have converted most of the farmhouse’s first floor into a small daycare. It’s no Mega Pizzaplex Superstar Daycare, but it hardly needs to be. At the Superstar Daycare, only about half the kids were regulars and the other half were only there for a few days while their families visited the ‘Plex from out of town. So Sun and Moon find they enjoy having a smaller, more consistent set of “Little Superstars”--a nickname they still use for their charges.

The upper floor of the house is turned into Penny and Sun and Moon’s shared living space. Luckily the triplets don’t hold you to your earlier joke about giving each of them their own rooms, as they seem to prefer staying in the barn’s loft, though you did manage to help them build a tunnel to the house so they can move freely back and forth without a walking buddy. It’s a little less than three feet around and was built above ground. It doesn’t look like much from the outside, but the interior is rounded and painted black, with strips of LED lights stuck on every couple feet, reminiscent of the neons in their tunnels back at the ‘Plex.

The barn has been modified to make most of the floor into one big wireless charger--much the way DJ’s stage had been at the ‘Plex. Sun, Moon, and the triplets still use cables for charging, as they always have, and a few solar panels around the farm help offset the costs of keeping five animatronics online.

DJ has gained somewhat of an appreciation for the outdoors, though the triplets still prefer a roof over their heads whenever possible. But all the Music Men prefer the new flagstone walkways around the property to walking over dirt and grass.

They’ve adjusted to their new lives quite well--for a bit they’d seemed to be running out of things to do from time to time, with only the first floor of the house to clean every night and the barn to clean only periodically. But that’s about to change as they prepare to take on the maintenance and cleaning of what’s about to become the farm’s crown jewel: the new dance hall, complete with parking lot and a separate entrance so cars won’t be driving near the farmhouse as they gather for DJ’s shows. In fact, the gate you usually take to get in has been upgraded to a tall fence that opens at the swipe of a key card, just to ensure the private areas of the property stay private.

The construction has finally finished and DJ is set to do his first live performance since leaving the ‘Plex. You can tell he’s been excited for this--how eagerly he’d looked over the blueprints and designs with you and the contractors, the giddy look he got whenever the building progress hit a new milestone, and finally, the elated grin he had when he’d finally set up his decks on the brand new stage.

The dance hall is connected to the barn by a DJ-sized version of the tunnel the triplets had built between the house and the barn. He’ll be able to make a grand entrance by climbing down the wall onto his stage, as well as keep his gloves clean.

The stage is more or less a recreation of the one in the Pizzaplex. Of course, the contractors you hired didn’t have access to the blueprints of the ‘Plex, but they were able to recreate most of the look of it. DJ’s decks have been moved from the barn to his new stage, but he’s hoping to eventually save up enough to get some decks for home use. But for now, your private concerts will have to be in the new dance hall after hours.

You hardly mind.

Construction completed this morning and opening night is next week. Now you and DJ stand on the large, empty dance floor, admiring the space.

You beam up at him proudly. “Excited?” you ask for probably the millionth time. You can’t help it--you’re excited too.

DJ smirks, shrugging and tilting one hand back and forth in a so-so gesture.

You snort, shoving one of his arms playfully, and he does you the favor of pretending to stagger slightly at your shove.

“Of course I’m excited,” he signs earnestly. He hesitates, scratching his cheek with one hand. “There’s something I’ve been thinking about lately.”

“Oh? What?” you ask as he takes one of your hands in his.

His middle hands fidget almost shyly for a moment. It’s adorable that he can still find reasons to be shy after a year…but of course he thinks much the same of you on the occasions when you still get flustered. Finally, he signs, “After I got my soulmark, but before we met…I would see couples holding hands together, or hugging, or dancing together…and I thought I would never be able to do that with my soulmate. With you.”

Your gaze lowers to your hand gently clutched between his thumb and forefinger. “Maybe not in the same way as two humans would…but we can…” you say softly.

DJ nods. “Yes. All except the dancing,” he smiles. “I wouldn’t’ve been able to join you on the dance floor when there are other people on it…and I’d have to stay on stage to play music anyway.” He grins, taking your other hand in one of his. “But…the dance floor is empty…and I have recordings of my music now…”

You feel your face heating up, your heart fluttering just as it has so many times in the past year. “Are you asking me to dance?”

He nods as the speakers begin to play a familiar song. It takes you a moment to place it, and when you do, you beam up at him. “I remember this one! It’s…It’s the first song you played for me, isn’t it?”

DJ’s face lights up and he nods again. “You remember!” he signs in delight. He knows humans don’t have as good a memory as he and the other animatronics do. Not everything is etched permanently into your brain, complete with timestamps. And in this case, you wouldn’t’ve known that you were soulmates when you heard the song. He had expected that you may not have placed any special weight on that song and thus wouldn’t’ve tried to commit it to memory.

You laugh, oddly shy at how delighted he is that you remember. “Well…I probably wouldn’t’ve been able to hum it for you if you’d asked, but…I can recognize it if I hear it.”

He lifts one of your hands over your head, and you go along with the motion, letting him twirl you in place before pulling you close as he lowers his head. You lean forward and kiss him on the nose.

And together, you dance.