Work Text:
Gregory’s ankle hurt.
His ankle hurt, and he smelled like shit and—
Catching sight of Chica in the dim, flickering lights somewhere in the room had him scrambling away, tripping over the garbage strewn about the floor. He and Chica were plunged into darkness as his flashlight flew from his grip and rolled away, his fazerblaster clattering to the ground beside him. He fell backward and onto his butt with a loud echoing thud, weight resting on his left elbow of all places.
Everything went blindingly white, and the need to scream was there, but Gregory wasn’t in control of his body. When he came to, the world fading back into the near darkness of before, he was hunched over on his hands and knees, vomiting. Any and all bravery he had felt or claimed to have felt earlier in the night was thrown out the window as he felt his broken nose burn and his eyes water.
He wanted Eggs. He wanted Freddy. He wanted Papa.
He sobbed in between bouts of heaving, his stomach still continuing to cramp painfully.
But Papa was not here. He never was. Not when Gregory needed him. What made him think nearly dying would change that?
He collapsed to the floor next to his own sick and turned over to lay on his back and just breathe.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
Papa wasn’t here. Eggs had probably been eaten by one of the other animatronics. Not even Freddy could help him down here.
He was on his own.
A couple more breaths and he hauled himself back up to his feet, slowly, unsteadily, and gave his vomit a wide berth. He spent more time than he should have searching for his flashlight. Making sure his fazerblaster was still in working order. Putting off the inevitable.
Chica was still sprawled in a motionless heap atop a pile of overstuffed garbage bags. She also smelled like shit; her casing was grease-stained with numerous cracks spiderwebbing all over her. Her eyes, once so lively despite being little more than code in a fancy case, stared at nothing now. The trash compactor had done its job, forcing her offline like a broken computer. Her voice box was just there, easy pickings.
Maybe if Gregory weren’t Gregory, he could have told Freddy it was a hard choice and meant it. He could have told his favorite Glamrock band member that he didn’t want to hurt his friends. That he would never want to hurt anyone even if they were trying to hurt him. That there wasn’t any other way, that he had no choice in the matter, and that he had tried looking for another way.
But Gregory was himself, and Papa, as always, was right.
He closed his eyes as he reached out to take Chica’s voice box, no longer wanting to look into the robot bird’s broken face.
This was Freddy’s friend.
The voice box, shielded from all the damage by Chica’s beak, slipped into Gregory’s pocket easily, like candy or pocket change.
Fazbear Entertainment could fix it. She was one of the face characters for the Glamrock band. Fazbear Entertainment had to fix it.
He assured himself of this thought as he stepped away, turning his back on Chica’s unmoving body, venturing further into the underground sewer system to hopefully find his way out.
The animatronics were scary, but the crazy bunny lady? She was terrifying.
He was almost free, almost out of this stupid sewer maze and its weird corridors and garbage walls. He never thought he would want to see the neon lights and multicolored walls of the pizza plex again, but here he was, hoping the next door would be the last. That he’d crash through one final pair of double doors and tumble straight into the main lobby, or Roxy Raceway even. At this point, he’d even take Gator Golf if it meant getting away from here alive.
“Are you having fun yet?” Get away. Get away. GET AWAY.
He was so close. So close. The doors that may or may not lead to his freedom were just steps away. He’d already made it past the never-ending staircase, and he knew, based off the wall décor and overall lack of garbage, that he was close. He had to be close. Of course, this was when he made the stupidest decision of the night so far. He looked over his shoulder.
He tripped over something, an empty box, maybe. It didn’t matter, none of it freaking mattered. He tripped, and his ankle was on fire. It hadn’t been as bad at the start when he’d first left Chica behind, but now, after sprinting at full blast away from her and the lady in the bunny suit, he worried it might be more than just sprained.
He drew himself up on his hands and knees as quickly as possible. From somewhere beneath him in staircase hell, the bunny lady’s giggles echoed up toward him.
“Freddy!” He was shouting into the little mic on the Faz-watch, smashing the button that let him speak with the bear as hard as he could without breaking the stupid thing. “Freddy!”
The bear, if he was listening, remained silent.
He scrambled forward, crawling towards the swinging doors in front of him as fast as he physically could.
There was no escape, not with how slow he was crawling. The bunny lady was going to get him and murder him and—and—and—
The closet was cramped, dark, and dusty.
“Freddy!”
The air went stale forever ago.
“Freddy, please…”
“There you are…”
Papa stood outside the door.
“Please…”
“I see you…”
“Please, Papa…”
The lady’s giggles grew louder. Gregory was going to die. He was going to die, and it was all his own stupid, stupid fault.
“Papa…”
“Gregory?”
Gregory looked up fast enough to cause his neck to crack loudly at the call of his name from a very familiar voice. Towering above him, like a guardian angel made of metal and plastic, was none other than Freddy Fazbear.
He tried to tell Freddy about the bunny lady. Tried to warn him about Chica lurking somewhere below them. But he couldn’t form the words. He couldn’t get them out of his mouth. His throat was too tight, and his lungs didn’t want to work correctly.
Freddy lifted him up off the floor, careful of his ankle, and held him close, one large paw rubbing up and down his back. He knew the bear was speaking, but nothing was getting through except his own ragged breathing.
Distantly, he knew they were moving, walking toward somewhere. Freddy continued to talk, a steady stream of nonsense that had Gregory slowly relaxing in the animatronic’s hold. By the time he was aware they had stopped, his breathing had returned to almost normal. Opening his eyes, he turned his head and was met with the familiar sight of a charging station.
Freddy stayed quiet momentarily, his ears twitching slightly as he decided on his next action. Gregory had a feeling he knew what the bear was going to ask.
“I am terribly sorry, Gregory.” Always an apology with this guy. Would he ever know there was almost nothing the animatronic could do to make Gregory mad at him? “It is nearing the end of the hour, and I need to enter a recharge chamber.”
Gregory nodded silently when Freddy seemed like he wasn’t sure if he should continue.
“Would you like to hide in my birthday cake hatch or wait outside the recharge chamber?”
The answer is an easy one.
“Hatch, please.”
If an animatronic could feel relief, Freddy certainly did at his request. His whole casing seemed to sag under the feeling.
“Of course, Superstar.”
Freddy was gentle as he set Gregory down on his feet, only a little alarmed at the hiss of pain he let out from the sudden pressure on his ankle. The need to recharge must be more critical than Gregory’s discomfort because the bear was quick to kneel down and open his hatch for Gregory to climb in.
Freddy’s hatch was cramped, clean, and dark. The air smelled like frosting and ice cream.
“Freddy?” Gregory asked into the silence after Freddy had settled in to charge.
“Yes, Gregory?” Freddy answered instantly, voice calm and maybe a little concerned.
“Nothing,” He could leave it there, but something urged him to keep talking. “Just wanted to make sure you’re still…um, there.”
“I am not physically able to go anywhere while in a recharge station,” Freddy informed him.
Silly bear.