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He came to in a daze.
It was slow-going, crawling back to consciousness. He wasn't really sure what his goal was. He wasn’t really sure what he was. As he got closer to the surface he became more and more aware of the pain in his… everything.
If he were more coherent, he might have used the words "abject agony" to describe it.
As it was, all he really had was "ow."
Feeling returned to his legs first, pain slowly climbing up his body, liquid torture filling him up like a glass of the worst lemonade he's ever tasted.
He couldn't tell where his feet were, the fine bones and delicate nerves compressed into a paste between plates of metal. Every twitch was fire up his spine, every jerk like lightning through his veins.
It got to his torso, and he inhaled a ragged, wheezing breath as the pain-induced paralysis released his diaphragm. Air whistled around the pins and springs poking holes in his lungs, and more blood poured out with every exhale.
He couldn't see, he noted dimly, somewhere in his agony-addled half-awareness. He remembered the feeling of his eyes bursting under the pressure of the animatronic eyes slipping into place. Like grapes between your teeth.
The jelly they were reduced to dribbled down was left of his nose, mixing with blood and dripping into his permanently gaping mouth, pistons jutting through his mandible and hiking both his and the animatronic's jaw's open, the pressure on the roof of his mouth indicating that the slightest nudge would probably send the spikes directly into his nasal cavity. Or higher.
His hearing came back at about the same time as feeling in his arms- it seemed his hands suffered the same liquefied fate as his feet, the only feeling that of air on nerves that should have never been exposed.
Whispers, nonsensical at first, met his ears. Childish giggling, resounding through the small space and reverberating through his skull like a tuning fork. A little hand grasped his finger, he thought, beams of ice-cold nothing shooting from where the feeling ended in his arm.
It picked up his hand, waving it about, and his lungs seized in his chest as more pain struck what was left of his arms, the weight of flesh and metal nearly threatening to dislocate his shoulder. More giggling followed, and the children began shouting amongst themselves.
It took a while for his hearing to tune in, to hear over the ringing in his ears, but a few things stood out.
"This whole time all it took was some stupid water on his stupid suit!" Giggling, and the one who'd picked his hand up threw it to the floor. The pain was so severe he could have vomited, except the springs and wires jutting through his throat were holding back his gag reflex. As it was, he saw stars through the black of his nonexistent eyeballs.
"It killed him like a mouse trap! Snap! Just like that!" Another chorus of giggles followed.
"Guess that means SpringBonnie is more of a sprung trap," one snarked, and he felt ice-cold fingers pry his mouth open further, the child looking in at the damage to his face. "Ohmygosh, his eyes exploded! Come look!"
He lost himself to the frigid, tiny fingers prodding at him, pulling him apart and setting off locks that hadn't yet snapped out of place. They took great joy in every wheeze, every choked gasp. Through the pain, he could barely recall what he did to get into this position. Could barely recall what he must have done to them for them to want to do this to him.
By the time they were done, however much later that might have been, he could think of nothing at all, besides the pain. The only words that echoed through his mind were the taunting chanting they'd fallen back on when they ran out of new gorey discoveries.
One word, repeated, over and over, in that incessant way children do when they think of a funny nickname for the target of their ire.
Springtrap.