Work Text:
This was not how you planned spending your weekend.
The blood on your hands makes the steering wheel slippery, red smears and crusts over your skin uncomfortably, and whe whole car reeks of metal.
If you hadn't already ejected every meal you've eaten ever, you'd probably wretch into the pavement.
You're parked in your staff assigned spot at Freddy Fazbear's Mega Pizza Plex, keys still in the ignition of your car.
"Christ."
You whisper, collecting the keys and your badge and leaving the car.
Your place of work is probably the worst place to be right now, a sick kind of irony, really. Regardless, your Keychain jingles as you man handle the lock on the side entrance.
You're instantly comforted by the smell of feet and bad fast food.
A pause.
Your legs wobble as you linger around the atrium, the lights have been shut off, though the signage remains brightly lit.
You check the time, and sure enough, it's way past closing.
You're still in shock. Blood clings rather uncomfortably to the worst places, stuck under your fingernails and in your hair -ratty and poorly hidden by a hat-
You don't exactly remember what happened, but the image of blood violently gushing out of the wound you inflicted plagues your mind, and you heave, throat dry and eyes wet.
A hand, long and sharp, firmly rests on your shoulder.
"Naughty naughty… it's past your bedtime…"
Sounds from behind you as you curse out line after line of obscenities.
"Fuck man, I mean fuck. What the hell"
You keep going, nonsense rambling just barely ceasing when Moon's hands are on you.
"What happened? Where are you bleeding?"
He asks, and you shudder.
Hands rake over bruises and wounds all over, most hidden under fabric, but the ones on your face and hands, too.
The words bubble up in your throat, but they get stuck and you wheeze.
Moon waits very impatiently as you fight the words out.
"I think I killed somebody."
You lay out bland, fingers twitching against the wrinkles in your pants.
Silence rings loud between you two.
"I- didn't want to be alone. I didn't know where else to go- I'm-"
Words fall over each other, and you stutter profusely, words tangling and refusing to come out coherently.
"Quiet."
Moon demands and you all but wail, voice catching in your throat as you whine.
You look like hell.
Your hair is tangled, your clothes are filthy, you're covered in bruises and scratches, red and blue blooming in almost tie-dye patterns.
Moon looks as worried as a robot can, as he leads you through the Plex, totally foregoing any scolding for your trespassing.
You're brought to a bathroom where Moon instructs you to wait.
So you do.
Your head is entirely empty as you sit, the tile floor and brightly painted walls mock you ferociously, you're an outlier.
You're stained purple and crimson drips from you to the floor below you.
Time stretches long, even if it has only been about three minutes before Moon returns carrying a bucket of things.
He's fast.
He's awfully quiet, placing everything on the ground as he puts the bucket in the sink.
An extra bottle of gentle handsoap, multiple towels, first aid, a toothbrush.
The bucket is filled and moon crouches in front of you with a towel.
He cleans your face, your hands and anywhere else he can get to before he asks you to take off your clothes.
You do, and it's cold.
He runs a towel all down your body until you are clean, paying no mind to your newfound nakedness.
Your clothes are deposited in the sink, which he leaves running.
He washes the towel in the bucket and continues, wounds being pat carefully and bruises paid extra mind.
"You're really good at this."
You whisper, and he glances away.
"Cildren."
"It's almost like you've cleaned a crime scene before"
You joke as he deepcleans your fingernails with a towel.
A look.
He doesn't say anything.
"Oh. Fuck. Shit I'm sorry"
"Hush."
It's as final as everything else he says, but it holds no malice.
Silence.
He cleans between your fingers and toes, behind your ears, your hair, makes you brush your teeth and dresses your wounds. No stitches, but a couple butterfly bandages and gauze are secured to your skin.
He lays towels over you while your clothes dry out, stain free.
"It will be alright."
He rasps to you, letting you rest in his lap.
"Things will blow over. No one will know, okay?"