Chapter Text
One week had passed since the incident in the basement.
If the need and ability to look deeper, to notice change and the second old started to shift into anew—hadn’t been programmed into his system, the bear animatronic might’ve said nothing had changed.
But it had, in many ways.
Toy Freddy was an observant type, one might label him as quiet and composed, but he was quite the opposite. He felt as if silence didn’t exist. That it was a made up word to assist the imagination of the children in the picture books they would read to them. His mind was never silent.
It felt as if he had opened the glass pizzeria doors and stepped from the entry and into a storm. The overwhelming wind constantly blowing, lashing out as if the skies were angry and punishing the people below. Thunder rumbling above, the only sound that you could hear over the cries of the wind.
His mind always raced, full of thoughts no matter the type.
And because he was cursed with the ability to see more than others, to feel more, to think more, he had noticed the change.
When he had first climbed up the cold stairs of the basement—walls tight and close, the older bear beside him resting a reassuring paw on his back while he pushed open the door, and when his eyes had adjusted to the light and was met with the concerned faces of his friends, he had noticed a change.
His frame had scrunched slightly, his brows furrowing, and his eyes squeezed shut. He had been expecting the others to rush towards the bear, to feel hands and the unbearable pain of a concerned and tight embrace, to feel the panic of having to hold his breath until he’d be released.
Even though the panic was only a mere illusion—programmed into his system.
But it never came.
He almost wanted to thank the air in appreciation. But he was smarter to know they would’ve pounced forward if something hadn’t changed.
So what did?
When he forced himself to peel open his eyes, he had come to the realization that the others hadn’t moved an inch. The concern and curiosity of the situation still remained etched into their expressions, but they hadn’t moved.
When they did, they kept their space, ensuring they weren’t in his bubble. He appreciated the action then, it blessed him with the time to calm down on his own.
Toy Freddy had expected things to go back to normal, but it hadn’t.
His friends still softened their tones when speaking to him, and his bandmates still hesitated to playfully touch him like before.
Worried glances were still shot his way, and questions of how he was doing were still asked.
But the biggest change—was the fact that Goldie hadn’t left his room at all during the week.
If he didn’t know any better, he might’ve come to the conclusion that Freddy had locked him in there once again, and from the way nobody would dare bring up his name around the bear, he might’ve thought they wouldn’t want him to know.
But he did know better.
It didn’t take much for Mari to silently voice her concerns about the golden bear to Freddy, who’s expression slightly scrunched in thought—like he was having an eternal battle with his emotions—for only a mere moment, before he brushed it off and dismissed the topic.
Toy Freddy’s confusion only grew more from there. They spoke of the bear as an urban legend, that even the mention of his name would curse you for eternity.
The toy animatronic had observed Mari from the sidelines whilst she voiced her thoughts. He had noticed the way her face never really rested, even when quickly consoled, the fear and concern had remained etched on her expression. Her eyes glossed with worry, and whatever potential scenarios the puppet animatronic had come up with to cause such closed off panic.
Toy Freddy couldn’t help but wonder as well.
He didn’t know the golden animatronic much, but he did know how unlike him it was to spend his days cooped up in the very room everyone thought he despised.
He had always seemed desperate not to step foot back into that room. Even when there was one minute left before the front doors were unlocked to the public, Goldie’s presence lingered when he could.
Ever since the incident in the basement, Goldie seemed to be everywhere, even though he wasn’t.
Although he hadn’t left the backroom once after he had teleported away that night, he was all that was on the toy bear’s mind.
It was almost as if he were made to be the bear’s victim, haunted by his presence even when it wasn’t there, haunted by his absence and haunted by the mere thought of him.
Toy Freddy didn’t understand—for once, there was peace around the pizzeria, the only shouts were out of happiness, and the arguments were accompanied by a smirk and a playful shove. And yet, he couldn’t settle, couldn’t rest.
The bear couldn’t even glance at a cupcake since the incident, it was almost as if he could see the invisible box above, held up by a stick, and ready to trap the bear until he would feel the cold of the basement on him once again.
Toy Freddy had been so sure of everything in his life.
He had noted the likes, dislikes, and preferences of everyone he met when he could. It was instinct, and most likely in his programming.
It also provided a sense of security, knowing which of those he knew would have his back, and which wouldn’t. He preferred to stick close to those who would.
So he didn’t understand why he felt so confused about the Golden bear.
He was so sure about his thoughts on him, was so sure he was just plain evil, and that everything he did was for his own benefit and his alone.
That his only goal in life were to terrorize the only people he’ll ever see for the rest of his life. Even the people who were fond of the bear—still, at some point in their life, had a door slammed behind them, darkness surrounding them, and had heard Goldie’s all-too-familiar laugh of pure bliss.
Bonnie had experienced it, so had Toy Chica, and everyone else who thought they could tame the beast.
Well, except for Mari, but he had concluded that it was only because she never left her box to be able to be lured into a trap, and was far too smart.
But he had a feeling it wasn’t that.
He’d noticed how close their relationship was, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t surprised. They both seem to be truly fond of each other, and despite everything Goldie has done, they still stick together like glue.
Toy Freddy would think they were siblings instead of Goldie and Freddy.
So for the first time in his life, Toy Freddy was unsure.
Despite how much he tried, to not think about it, to distract himself—by throwing himself into situations he knew he couldn’t handle, knowing he’d panic, and wouldn’t ask for help from the person in arm’s length—who he knew would be willing.
Because he thought distracting was better than facing.
That ignoring what had happened would somehow resolve his issues, but he knew better. He always did.
His thoughts returned to the golden bear.
The person who haunted his every moment.
He recalls the panic he felt in the dark room.
And recalls how certain he felt that he wouldn’t make it out of there.
He remembers the sinking feeling in his stomach, telling him there was still a chance, to move—to run. The defeat, not accepting he was stuck, but like always—he knew better.
He remembers the aching feeling in his wrists, the restraints tight—too tight. The cold of the basement consuming him, and if he were human, he might’ve been able to see his breath leave his body.
But what he remembers the most, is the shock that came after he felt the ropes leave his wrists, and the sight above him of an all-too-familiar golden bear.
“Sorry. Let’s get you outta here.” He had said.
The bear had been leaning over, his paw resting on his knee to hold himself up, while the other extended as an offer,
An apology.
The sight hadn’t left his mind since.
Toy Freddy had told himself over and over it wasn’t real, that it was his absolute imagination.
That the utter regret and raw guilt across his face wasn’t real, because Goldie doesn’t feel shame, Goldie’s brows don’t furrow in sorrow, his eyes don’t gloss.
And Goldie hadn’t risked his life to save his.
But he knew better.
Toy Freddy wasn’t good at lying to himself.
“You-hooou.”
The waving of an electric blue paw in front of his eyes had snapped Toy Freddy out of his thoughts.
The world seemed to spin for a mere moment, as if trying to throw him off balance in mockery—before he regained his vision and composed himself, double checking to make sure he was standing straight and not leaning towards the left.
“Hell-oooo, earth to Eddy.”
Toy Freddy had finally lifted his gaze to meet the voice calling him.
Toy Bonnie stood in front of him, his stance firm, and the paw that had disrupted his thoughts returned to rest on his right hip joint—a displeased look etched on his face. Toy Freddy wondered if he had been talking to him whilst he was in a daze, and had unknowingly ignored his words.
Beside him stood Toy Chica, who was leaning on the bunny beside her. She had both hands planted on his shoulder, her head resting on top—a curious, as always, look on her face, her brows raised.
The two toys ahead had always been an iconic duo, to the animatronics who lived in the pizzeria, and to the guests who roamed the building during the day.
Ever since the three had been shipped and dropped into the unfamiliar place, they all had stuck together like glue, but the bear had quickly realized how fast and naturally the two’s bond had formed, as if they were programmed to be.
If it weren’t for their patience and determination to befriend the bear, he would think he would’ve been casted away, doomed to spend his days in the corners of each room.
But fortunately for him, they had all quickly become close friends, eventually forming a bond that could be labeled as family to one another.
The toy fox: mangle, had arrived at the pizzeria later than the trio had, due to unexpected complications with their endoskeleton.
The three had been ecstatic upon being delivered the news by their manager Henry, and had all been counting down the days until the sun would rise, and a huge delivery truck would pull into the pizzeria’s property.
Mangle had been more closed off than any animatronic, and it had taken a while for them to get comfortable, but with patience and time—their family of three had turned into a family of four.
To this day, they couldn’t be happier together, spending their days preforming and making memories for themselves and others, and spending their nights in the arcade—or on rare occasions, watching a movie together, cooped up in the night guard’s office, all four pairs of eyes pinned on the vhs player that rest on the desk.
Toy Freddy wasn’t sure if the memories had visually caused his face to go through 6 different emotions, but the pair in front had taken notice—glancing at one another before returning to the bear.
Toy Bonnie cleared his throat, gaining his attention, before the chicken resting on his shoulder spoke up.
“Yeahhhhh,” She started, concern seeping into her voice. She was never really good at hiding her emotions. And Toy Freddy suddenly felt like he was being interrogated.
“What’s up with you lately?” She questioned, using the figure under her grasp to push herself back up so she stood, her body swaying side to side for a mere moment before regaining her balance.
She lifted her head, eyes looking down but still pinned on the bear before her—as if to get a better look. Before plopping the side of her face on the bunny’s shoulder and leaning on him once again.
“I feel like every time I talk to you nowadays, you’re always spaced out. Am I that boring?” The chicken questioned, and the bear could practically hear her gears shifting, as if she was voicing her thoughts aloud, and dragging the two down her path of overthinking.
The bear winced.
Toy Bonnie—still maintaining eye contact with the bear ahead—shrugged his shoulder and awkwardly raised the hand squished between them to peel the chicken off of him, to which the bird yelped in refusal and tried to swat away the hand that squished her face in an attempt to distance the two.
“Hey—!” The toy chicken protested, fighting the other as if she co-owned his shoulder, and that she had the right by law to lean on it.
“Anyways,” Toy Bonnie interrupted, and if Toy Freddy hadn't known the two since he was created, he would’ve been surprised how well the bunny predicted her movements and immediately blocked it in utter perfection.
“Me, Mangle, and this turkey beside me, are gonna be hanging out in the arcade room later today after we finish cleaning up the party rooms—maybe have some competitions,“ He rambled, and added a small: “nah competitions are Goldie’s thing.” To which the small bear immediately tensed up upon the name as Bon continued.
“—Wanna join us?”
Toy Freddy wouldn’t have caught the invitation if both animatronics in front of him hadn’t stopped in their tracks to stare at him, awaiting an answer.
“I—um.” The bear tried.
He attempted to spit out an answer as if he had one, he didn’t know what he wanted. He had been too busy cooped up in his own mind, terrorized by his own thoughts—to pay attention to anything around him, like his self awareness had been stripped from his code, and left vulnerable and jumpy at the slightest noise.
He could feel himself unconsciously move to fidget with the pant legs of his striped overalls, unable to meet the pair of eyes ahead that practically burnt like lasers onto his frame. He wouldn’t be surprised if an alert would pop up from how hot he felt his system was getting—the warning urging him to cool off.
“I think I’m gonna take a walk. Maybe tomorrow?” The bear managed. Though barely above a whisper, somehow the animatronic pair in front of the bear had caught his muttered words.
“Aw okay..” The bird whined, as Toy Freddy turned around in one swift motion and began to walk off, hoping the two wouldn’t notice how quickly his feet were carrying him across the room.
He pretended not to notice, and he pretended not to let it get to him, but he had caught their disappointed expressions after he declined yet another offer to hang out.
He’d been getting a lot of those lately.
The bear felt terrible, he knew his friends were concerned about him, and he knew their only intention was to help, but he felt he couldn’t be around a crowd today, even if said crowd were his closest peers. His family.
Toy Freddy’s face scrunched in guilt as he dragged himself to cross the remaining distance between the toy bear and the arched doorway.
He lingered for a moment under the frame, debating on a slight head turn to paint the picture of what was behind him. He could already guess; the two still clinging to one another in a frozen state, eyes glued to the bear exiting the room. And as soon as he would, their heads would turn to one another, exchanging messages through only a single glance.
And that’s when he concluded that his expectations were correct, as Toy Freddy knew them more than himself.
He stepped forward and slid to the left, as a long held-in sigh escaped him, and he felt his endoskeleton sag, exhausted from the short socialization—before he could no longer hold himself up, and the wall behind him offered support as his back crashed against the cool structure.
He leaned forward with another sigh, hunched over his lower half. His hands had found his knees, gripping the fur as he used them as support to hold the rest of his body up. The wall grounding the bear.
The only thing Toy Freddy could hear was his own heavy and fast paced breathing—an illusion, to make the animatronics seem more like their creators.
Which he never understood.
Humans were already gifted with the ability to create more of their kind in their own body—which the bear also never understood. Had been gifted with the chance to make, raise, and train their own mini-them, to watch them grow and experience their own life just as they did.
So why would they want to create something so…fake? So uncanny. When they could already do that with their own insides.
Humans were made to be different, to have their own and unique personality, to have their own opinions and their own personal thoughts.
But animatronics—they were programmed to.
They weren’t born with their own personality.
They weren’t born with uniqueness.
It was simply in their coding.
Another illusion—made by man: God’s favourite creation.
It was almost humorous how hard humans had tried to mimic the God they believed in.
Tried to mimic humanity, the gift of life—in a bundle of nothing but materials that were a gift from their God.
It was impossible.
No matter how much programming and made up personalities they could create—animatronics would never have one thing they did: a soul. The one thing they couldn’t mimic from their god. Because under all the coding and wires and metal, they were nothing but an empty suit.
Empty suit.
He found himself thinking of the scrapped golden rabbit Goldie had shown him and the rest of the toys.
The golden bear had made Toy Freddy and the others in the small group promise to not tell a soul, that it would be their little secret, and that they should be thankful he showed them.
But they all knew the bear just didn’t want to be put in time out for showing such a horrendous and utterly disturbing display.
He couldn’t imagine being in that position. So..dead. The rabbit’s limbs twisted in awful ways, and his mouth had been slightly open, as there was no code running that sent signals to close it. Patches of his fur had been presumably moldy—an icky colour between green and gold. And although he couldn’t see well in the terrible lighting, the bear swore he could’ve seen hints of deep red across his fur in different ratios.
He quickly dismissed the thought.
His thoughts returned to Goldie—and he wondered if the golden bear thought at some point, that would’ve been him.
He felt sick at the thought.
He recalls Goldie mentioning when he had first opened the door, how people seemed to think him and the rabbit were in love, and warned them not to get close.
At the time, Toy Freddy wanted to laugh, but refrained, concluding that it was disrespectful as they were in the presence of the closest thing to a corpse they’ll ever witness.
Well.
For the toys at least.
Toy Freddy still felt guilty for thinking that.
The bear sighed as he pushed himself up and off his knees, finally deciding to start the walk he said he’d do.
Otherwise the bear would feel he lied to his friends and feel guilty for a week.
He walked at a slow pace down the hall. His arm raised slightly to trace the iconic checkered pattern painted across the walls with his pointer and middle finger.
He wondered what everyone else was doing.
He closed his eyes as he imagined, slowing his pace as a safety precaution.
He could practically already hear the bickering of the pair he’d just abandoned, and could only laugh at what they’d be arguing about this time. He could see mangle hanging from the vent above the two, observing with a slight smile and hints of mischief in her eyes, waiting for an opening to swoop down and catch the two off guard. Balloon Boy would probably be seated on a nearby party bench, kicking his feet whilst giggling, watching the three ahead.
He smiled at the thought.
In a room away, he could guess Mari would be laying in the same position as always; one arm stretched out and over the box, while the other sat across the edge, her head resting on top. Her eyes closed as always. Wearing a peaceful expression. Though the bear doubted that with a frown due to how worried the marionette was lately.
He could imagine the original four. Most likely hanging out in a red-leathered booth near the kitchen, Chica serving the three appetizers while they chatted, and could almost hear the chicken’s snarky replies while placing dishes with her usual smirk plastered across her face.
Toy Freddy’s pace slowed, and he slightly swayed as he switched between steps.
For once, he couldn’t imagine what Goldie would be doing.
His normal assumption would be out causing mischief, hanging around behind booths and doors attempting to plot his next attack.
But this wasn’t normal.
After all, the bear in question hadn’t left his room in a week.
He couldn’t help but wonder why—and what he was doing.
Was he punished and the toy bear just hadn’t been notified?
Was he inside, really really plotting? Carving his revenge plan with his claws on the walls, floor, ceiling, wherever the bear could reach?
Or was it something else.
And suddenly he was back in the basement.
Suddenly he was back on the cold, cracked-checkered-tiled floor.
His wrists adjusting to the newfound freedom of their restraints.
His breathing fast and uncontrollable, his chest rising and falling in an unnatural rhythm.
His neck craned, looking up in utter shock.
A golden bear before him, guilt written all over his face.
Toy Freddy had tried to ignore it—but he couldn’t help but admit, that he’d never seen someone look so guilty. As if his body itself were a representation of the word itself.
And he couldn’t help but wonder, if he had been in there on punishment, but not from anyone else.
Toy Freddy doubted himself, and he hated the fact that for once in his life, he was uncertain.
It was unfamiliar to him, not knowing. It felt like he was running blind into a raging war. Everyone had their strengths, their talents. Foxy’s speed, Mari’s communication, Mangle’s stealth, Freddy’s strength. It was the one thing Toy Freddy had. To know, but for once—he didn’t.
And it scared him.
What if, as soon as he’d let his guard down, let himself rest—he’d be restrained again, the cold tiles numbing the fake nerves that came into contact.
What if Freddy wasn’t strong enough, Foxy not fast enough, Mangle not stealthy enough, Mari’s voice not heard.
And what if Goldie wasn’t there that time.
Who would free him then?
He’d learned to never rely on himself. As he wasn’t good at anything. He was frail, stumbled when he ran too fast, too noticing, and he stuttered when he spoke.
And the only thing the bear had that was unique, was his insightfulness. But he couldn’t see this time. Couldn’t even try. Couldn’t attempt to study Goldie’s face, how he’d react. If he’d see that regretful, guilty expression again. Because he hadn’t even seen the bear at all.
The only gold he’d seen that entire week were the images inside his head, and still— the colour always seemed off. Too far on the cool side, too little warm, the gold seemed too brown, then too green.
It was agonizing. Mind torture.
His body half screamed at him to bolt down the hall, to twist the knob and slam into the door of the backroom. Just to remind himself what he looked like. Maybe then he’d look real hard, note down the exact shade. And maybe then he’d be okay with his absence.
And he hated that he wasn’t.
He wanted to hate the bear with all his heart. After all he’d put him through, what he’d put everyone through, he deserved to. He had the right. He doesn’t want to sympathize with him, to pity him. He so badly wants hatred to take over at the mere mention of his name, like everyone else.
But he’s always been different, hasn't he?
Instead, the feeling felt wrong. Hating him felt wrong.
Because hating him would make them the same.
Deep down he desired something else, something deeper. Maybe a truce, maybe a flicker of friendship.
But what he did know, is that he wanted to know his mind, his motives, how he thinks and why.
He so badly wanted something that proves he’s like them, that there’s still a sliver of the Goldie Freddy used to know, the Goldie Mari spoke so highly of.
A Goldie who could be redeemed.
Maybe it was his insightfulness, or maybe you could blame it on his empathy, but he knew he could still be reached. If he were really as evil as Freddy said, then Toy Freddy wouldn’t be here. He would have ended up an empty suit like the yellow rabbit—cold, sprawled out on the basement tiles, forgotten.
Instead, he had walked up those stairs.
And all because of Goldie.
So yes, maybe he was stupid, crazy, or maybe something had corrupted his code into believing there was still good in him.
But all Toy Freddy really wanted—was to understand him.
The slow piercing creek of rusty hinges rubbing against each other snapped the bear out of his thoughts.
Toy Freddy looked up towards the sound, and his stomach dropped.
He had unconsciously paced himself in front of the basement door—which had now slowly creaked open before stopping halfway.
The toy bear felt himself struggle to stand upright, his mind fuzzy and his knee joints weak. His whole system was on fire, screaming at him to run, to freeze and that if he’d blink then he’d be back in the party room.
And he tried.
The bear squeezed his eyes shut, his breath the only thing he could hear, and suddenly it sounded too much like the hinges moving—meaning the door was opening, his eyes were still closed, he was vulnerable, something was going to grab him. He felt himself sway, refusing to open his eyes to face the possibility that he’d still be there instead of the party room his system promised.
He felt the closest to sick he’s ever been.
He was terrified.
He always was.
He felt beads of tears form where his eyelids met. He felt utterly pathetic. Panicking over a staircase.
The staircase that almost got you killed. He reminded himself.
A footstep echoed from the bottom of the stairwell.
His eyes shot open.
He barely caught it.
And he could’ve convinced himself it was nothing, but it wasn’t. He’d seen it, and he knew it was there.
The same shade—the real shade of gold, that had been on replay in his mind.
Not the green or brown gold, the real one.
Goldie. Turning the corner. Then gone.
Before he could stop himself, words had already been gasped out desperately.
“H-hey..! Wait—!” Toy Freddy called out—frozen, voice echoing uselessly. But the golden bear hadn’t come back.
The toy bear panicked, his mind racing. And before he knew it, his body had moved on its own.
The sounds of his hurried footsteps exploded in the tight space. He gripped the rail for balance, half sliding, half jumping the steps two at a time, before he failed to catch his balance on the turn and slammed his left side into the paint-chipped wall—catching him.
His breath hitched, and he felt pain explode in his shoulder, before he pushed himself to stand upright.
He continued with a pained grunt, and he felt as if the walls were closing in around him as he plunged downward, his fake heart hammering in his chest, his mind racing—screaming at him to catch up.
The light dimmed the deeper he went, but his eyes were too focused on searching for the gold that had disappeared to notice.
He nearly slipped—again, but he had caught himself just in time, and continued.
The bottom was getting closer, but so was the cold.
His right foot had landed on sudden material change, and he held onto the rail as he tested the water with his left, checking to see if he had reached the end, or another step—unable to tell in the pitch black darkness of the basement.
A relieved sigh slipped past his lips as he stepped forward, and he stretched out his arms—fingertips brushing cool walls on either side. And the bear realized he’d entered another hallway.
Toy Freddy doesn’t remember where the room he’d been abducted in was located, and he hoped he wouldn’t find out.
He just wanted to find Goldie, grab him by the wrist, and drag himself and the other bear up and out the staircase.
He doesn’t know why Goldie had come back down here. After everything, why would he?
I mean, Shadow er Freddy..? If he recalls, had tried to kill him as well in the end. So what makes the bear think he wouldn’t now?
Toy Freddy decided he’d done enough thinking today and turned his focus onto navigating the unfamiliar basement.
His two fingers had found the checkered pattern on the right wall, the paint smoother—almost the same feeling as the countertops in the kitchen. Cool to the touch, no rough bumps as he slid his hand across.
And if he were correct—most basements mimic the structure of the walls above, so—he would be in the same hallway as before, the only difference being on a different story.
That would mean a party room was nearby.
He continued along the path, his pace quickening in anticipation, and his fingers piling up dust from the walls as marched through the hall.
Toy Freddy refused to breathe, to make a sound. That even the slightest creak of his joints would trigger something to jump out and chase the bear.
He felt himself tremble, but refused to address it. Telling himself it was the cold—and not the fear of endless possibilities getting to him.
The bear was still in fight or flight mode, clinging to any sudden noise and movement —at the possibility of it being Goldie, warmth sparked in his chest, before he remembered the dangers that lingered in the shadows, and felt the fear return.
His fingers then hit something.
A doorframe.
He felt relief crash into him like a dam breaking, and he quickly but carefully pushed himself to face the doors as he felt around.
He felt around the frame, and felt the dip of the door as he slid his hand around. Smooth material.
Glass.
Felt the handle, then confusion as he was met with the absence of the other side of the frame, before realizing it continued.
Double doors.
He begged silently as he twisted the knob—and sighed in frustration.
Locked.
Suddenly the air felt colder, less welcoming. As if whatever lingered in the shadows had now become aware of his presence.
The bear felt panic rush through his system.
He lifted his pointer and dug his claw into the lock, chest pressed against the cool glass as he worked, begging silently to whatever would bother to listen to let him in.
His prayers worked, and he heard the lock click open. Without much thought, the bear twisted the knob and carefully but quickly pushed open the door and stepped in, closing it behind him in a panic, as if something were right outside the glass frames.
For a mere moment, the bear allowed himself a moment of rest. Still holding onto the knob, he leaned forward and pressed his head against the cool glass—a shaky exhale slipping past his lips.
This was crazy.
Absolutely crazy.
He couldn’t believe he was doing this.
Chasing after the person who’d almost led him to his death just a week ago, and—well, today too.
Toy Freddy couldn’t help but wonder where he was. He couldn’t have gone far, after all the bear had been right on the other’s tail, and he would’ve heard the echo of his footsteps ahead.
He wanted to scream—in anger, in frustration, in fear. And he wanted to cry right then and there.
How. How could he have been so stupid?
When does he ever think.
Had it not come to him that maybe—maybe, following the person who had tried to get you killed into the very place it happened, isn’t a good idea?
No.
Because he hadn’t thought. He didn’t even remember wanting to move, nonetheless he did. And now he was here.
A swarm of an unwanted emotions infested his system.
He closed his eyes, and inhaled.
Bang!
The bear instinctively jumped back as his eyes shot open, and he struggled to maintain his balance as he stepped backwards, away from the sound.
He craned his neck, and looked up.
A hand. A hand.
But it wasn’t quite.
It was as if the figure on the other side of the door wasn’t solid. As he was melting. But at the same time he wasn’t.
Black oozed from the hand that had been slammed on the glass—and slowly dripped down the door.
Toy Freddy felt utterly terrified.
He was frozen, in a state of shock and terror, unable to accept the sight before him. He couldn’t think, as if his systems were shutting down.
Focus.
And the bear rushed forward, his breath caught in his throat as his hand struggled to find the handle of the door.
Crap crap crap—
His paw bumped against the knob, and he quickly wrapped around it, measuring the size before aiming for the middle—where the lock should be.
He trembled in fear and pure adrenaline, and his fingers slipped off, he internally cursed himself before he found it again, and turned the lock.
He kicked himself upright and jumped back, putting a safe distance between the bear and the..creature.
The hand that had locked the door had found his chest, tugging at the fur—desperate for something to ground him as he heaved.
His other hand held his head, fingers coiled in the fur—and tugged.
He hoped the pain was real.
And that his real body would feel the pain, and wake up.
Because how could this be real.
It wasn’t.
It couldn’t be.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Toy Freddy froze, and his eyes slowly returned to the door.
The creature—was now tapping on the glass.
He tugged harder, begging to wake up.
The creature’s hand continued to move, and the noise got louder, harsher, and faster.
Tap.
Tap, tap, taptaptaptap—
Taps turned into bangs, and Toy Freddy snapped out of his trance, his head turning to each direction of the room.
The dark was so much, and his night vision only worked short distance.
The toy bear panicked as he shot out his arms, searching for anything—to hide, to block, anything that could assist his situation.
He pounced forward, expecting to bump into a wall.
Nothing.
He ran forwards again.
Nothing.
This time left.
Nothing.
Maybe right was better.
Nothing.
The room seemed to go on forever, and it seemed to be almost hollow.
Tears had uncontrollably formed at his bottom lids, blurring his limited vision of the pizzeria’s checkered tiles as he ran in all directions.
The bangs got louder, and he would’ve stopped to admire how much pressure the glass could withstand if he weren’t running around the room for his life right now.
He’s so stupid.
He’s so STUPID.
He had run back into the very place that had left him traumatized, all at the sight of something that probably wasn’t even there.
Why did he go down.
Why did he—!
Bump.
He froze, and slightly moved his leg, attempting to continue moving forwards. But it wouldn’t.
Toy Freddy’s eyes widened, and he immediately dropped to his knees—feeling around.
This wasn’t a wall, they were sturdier, this—this was a different structure.
Hope surged through his system as he continued feeling around, dust following his every movement, clinging to him.
But he didn’t care, how could he?
His hands had found a small and sturdy step that came out from the structure he had previously examined. His hands continued searching—this time above his newly discovered step.
Nothing yet.
He moved his hands back further this time instead of to the side.
Bingo.
His hands bumped into a copy of the step from before.
He paused.
Step?
The bear shot up, and he immediately lifted him leg, his foot searching around on the step.
A staircase.
A small one—extremely small.
But it was something.
He didn’t have time to test the waters with his weight, and he immediately hopped on, stepping further up, until he reach about the height of two tables—and the bear returned to his knees.
Having just a staircase in the middle of an open area wasn’t normal. It meant there was normally something that it led to—like a pool. Or a trampoline.
The bear used one arm to plant himself steady, leaning forward as the other dived down, feeling for anything below the drop.
His hand found plastic.
Plastic?
He moved around, the sound of multiple items crashing against each other filled the room, quieter than the bangs on the door, but palpable.
He continued feeling around.
His hand caught around something resembling a ball.
Plastic.
Balls.
Suddenly it all clicked in his head.
A ball pit.
Toy Freddy had found a ball pit.
He almost wanted to laugh in euphoria. And hope grew larger than his fear.
Without thinking, the bear immediately twisted around and held onto the edge on either side of the staircase, before dropping down, and releasing his grip.
His hand shot up and around his mouth to cover his sobs.
Sobs?
Ah. Right.
He was crying.
He knew when he’d felt the tears bead in his eyes, but not when they’d started to pour down his face, fur soaked under the streams of tears.
He wasn’t even sure at this point if it were from happiness—of finding something to hide in, or the raw fear that still managed to claw its way up his system.
His thoughts returned to the present, to the tapping.
The bear tried to maintain his panic, failing miserably. He felt himself tremble.
Monsters don’t check ball pits…right? He thought to himself.
If he’s correct, he doesn’t recall hearing about a film where murderers check ball pits, it’s always under the beds, tables, and in the closets.
So, he’d be fine. Right?
Crack.
The bear paused, his sobs coming to a halt in half fear, half curiosity.
The bear waited, listening.
A harsh bang on the glass.
Crack.
Another bang.
Another crack.
His breath hitched as the bear came to the realization that cracks were coming from the glass.
And glass cracking meant it would eventually shatter.
And shattered glass meant there was a way in.
Toy Freddy tried his best to dive deeper into the ball pit, chest pounding as the sounds of the plastic balls clashing against each other erupted in his eardrums.
He prayed to whatever out there—that it wouldn’t hear his movement.
Tears unwantlingly poured over the hands covering his mouth, pooling in between his fingers.
He huffed.
The word stupid rang in his head on repeat.
And he was.
He should’ve turned back the moment he felt the shift in the air—a subtle change that whispered of danger. Every instinct in his body urged him to retreat, to bolt back up the staircase.
But he didn’t.
Because he refused to leave without him.
Him.
Out of all people.
Who had probably been aware of the toy bear swiftly following him, and continued with that same grin—dragging the two into the dark without a second thought.
He couldn’t even believe himself, what was he expecting?
To talk to him? And suddenly he wouldn’t be evil anymore?
To have a budding friendship between them?
It had all been just wishful thinking.
The hand around his mouth squeezed as he choked out another muffled sob.
He could’ve never seen the basement again, if only he hadn’t followed him.
He could’ve been upstairs in the arcade room, with his friends, with his family—people who actually cared.
Talking with Mangle, tidying her fur from crawling in the vents—while watching Cheeks and Bon argue over the controls on the arcade. Listening to Balloon Boy’s content giggles in the background at the two fighting.
Maybe that time would’ve been different, maybe he would’ve been happy. Actually happy. And maybe the smile on his face wouldn’t have been be so forced.
But instead, he chose to run after the one person who didn’t care.
And look where that got him.
Buried beneath dusty old plastic of the ball pit—whilst the cracks on the door got louder, more intense.
Toy Freddy had always been so sure of everything—but right now, he wasn’t so sure he’d make it out.
Suddenly—the door shattered, and glass flew everywhere. The toy bear couldn’t see, but he could hear. Fragments of the door bounced off the floor tiles and walls as the bear choked down a terrified sound—one between a sob and a cry of fear.
His ears rang, and the shattering of the glass echoed throughout the empty rooms.
And stopped.
Everything stopped.
Toy Freddy froze. His brows furrowing in confusion.
What..?
He paused for a moment, waiting for sudden movement. A crunch of a foot on glass, a breath, a tap. Anything.
Nothing came.
A minute passed.
Nothing.
Two minutes.
Nothing.
Five.
Nothing.
Ten.
Nothing.
Toy Freddy then decided it was safe.
He shifted beneath the surface, plastic balls rustling as he rose. One arm emerged first, then the other—pushing aside the sea of colour.
His hands found the edge and he held on.
And with a soft grunt, he planted his feet on the bottom and slowly stood, the pit cascading off his shoulders as his head finally broke free and poked out above the sea of balls.
His eyes were squeezed shut as he caught his breath, trying to gulp in air as quietly as possible in case the threat’s presence lingered someone he couldn’t see.
He sighed one last time before he slowly peeled his eyes open.
What.
The room was nothing like it was before.
Darkness didn’t surround the bear as it did before.
Toy Freddy felt as if he had just mapped out the entire room moments prior, whilst holding back sobs as he failed to find anything.
But currently—looking at the room in light, he was wrong.
No.
No.
He had been so sure—so sure—!
But had he been recently?
He thought he was sure of how he viewed Goldie, was sure he saw him at the bottom of the stairs—had he?, he thought he had been sure of everything.
But Toy Freddy had been proved wrong on multiple occasions.
He swept his gaze across the room, taking in every corner—the lighting, the furniture, which he swore wasn’t there before. Across the room from the Ball Pit were four rounded benches, in the corner—a bookshelf full of board games and activities. Beside the bear and next to the ball pit, a small play structure with a slide that dropped into the pit.
Toy Freddy felt his mind race in confusion, he was stunned.
Had he been in the pit longer than 10 minutes?
He was so sure again—! That he’d been counting.
Had the room just changed when he wasn’t looking?
The bear growled in frustration as he pushed himself up, breath hitching as he struggled to swing one leg over the edge—and felt his arm about to give out.
Toy Freddy yelped as his hand slipped forward and flung the rest of his body back into the ball pit.
Great. Just great.
He sighed again, and he decided this time it’d be easier to take a step back and hop forwards.
Well.
It sounded better in his head.
The bear had confidently tried to initiate his plan, but he had then found out that propelling yourself forwards in a ball pit is much harder than it seemed.
He had jumped too soon and yelped as his stomach slammed onto the edge of the pit, before landing back to the start.
He lay sprawled out starfish style, as he slowly felt himself sink every time he shifted.
Bump.
His back landed on something a little higher than the flooring of the ball pit, and he lifted himself back up, feeling around with his foot, before coming to a sudden and frustrating realization.
There were stairs.
Of course there were stairs.
He inhaled as he hesitatingly crawled over the first step clutching his stomach in pain.
Without much effort—unlike before…his feet landed on a solid platform and he let out a sigh of relief.
He looked around the room once again, and he suddenly remembered the glass.
His eyes shot down first, unexpectedly not feeling any sharp pains in his feet, then he felt confusion.
His neck then snapped to the door.
No.
The bear rubbed his eyes.
Still there.
Rubbed again, this time harder.
And as his arms returned to his side, he opened his eyes once again.
Still. There.
Toy Freddy knew his expectations had turned on him negatively these past few days, but he HEARD the glass progressively crack.
He HEARD it shatter.
But as the bear stood there in shock, the door remained perfectly intact.
As if nothing had happened.
He wanted to laugh, then cry, then scream, and do it all over again.
Instead—he draw in a deep and steady breath.
He thought about what he should do next, the most responsible answer were to march up the stairs and into saftey, but if this room had changed, who knows what else had.
For now, the bear had decided on searching the room for clues or hints about what had just happened.
He tried the bookshelves first.
The bear sat on the puzzled playmat, the same ones they’d use for their kids in the toy’s section of the pizzeria. He sat crisscrossed as he pulled out trays on the first and second tier, fingers running through the blank and colouring papers as if he were scrolling through files.
As to be expected, nothing.
So he tried the third tier, the appearance the opposite of neat—clumsily thrown-in board games messily piled on top of each other. The bear thought he’d try his luck by quicking popping off the lids and checking inside, but of course—nothing.
He exhaled in frustration as if there were even a slim chance of finding something.
It’s not as if luck had treated him so kindly lately.
The rest of the bookshelf had been drawing and colouring supplies shoved in plastic containers, so the bear turned his attention towards something else to search. He found there was no point in checking the play set or the tables, and he told himself he’d never step foot in a ball pit again if there were all the answers to his problems hidden at the base of the pit.
Eventually—the bear quit the stalling and turned to face the door once again.
He stared hard, searching for any hints of cracks hidden in the corners or posing as dust streaks.
No luck as always.
Honestly the bear should be relieved he wasn’t walking on sharp shards of glass, wincing every step.
He hesitated, but eventually listened to his system in urging him to step forwards.
Toy Freddy gulped.
The last time—barely fifteen minutes ago—he’d walked up to the door was out of pure instinct and fear. Adrenaline coursing through his system as he fumbled to lock the door.
He reached forward ready to retreat his hand back to his side, as if the creature were going to slam its hand onto the glass door the moment he’d come in contact with the handle, like a trigger.
At least now there was a table to hide under.
With much effort, Toy Freddy reached forward and wrapped his hand around the handle, face scrunched—prepared for something to jump out at the bear.
Nothing did.
He sighed in relief—giving himself a minute to cool down, still holding gripped the handle.
The toy bear eventually regained his composure, and twisted the knob—which was unlocked this time—pushing with his shoulder as the door shuttered open, the glass echoing.
He closed the door behind him as he stepped into the hall.
Toy Freddy’s eyes scanned the hall.
It was tidier than it felt in the dark before.
His hand returned to the checkered pattern on the walls he’d stroked earlier whilst navigating his way through the halls.
The paint wasn’t chipped, the tiles beneath him weren’t cracked, and the bear realized—there was light.
A subtle light, somewhere in the distance—but it was there.
He rushed down the hall, footsteps echoing. Each step seemed to quicken with urgency as the bear ran, anticipation and uncertainty enveloping him.
His heart pounded in his chest as he chased the faint glow ahead. The hallway stretched on endlessly, dim and narrow—yet the light, soft and welcoming—urged him forward like a silent promise. A promise of an exit. A promise to be back with his friends.
Eventually, after what felt like an eternity of running, stumbling, and shocks of pain deep in his system—he began to slow, his legs heavy, his joints unwilling to move, his chest tight with anticipation.
He felt the air shift, warmer, gentler—carrying a strange quiet that soothed the bear, no longer cold and unwelcoming.
The golden glow stretched out across the checkered tiles, the black sections of the flooring now a deep muddy brown.
He stepped forward cautiously, his hand trailing along the wall for balance, eyes fixed on the staircase that emerged from the shadows it once hid in.
Light was pouring from above, flooding down the steps in soft waves that pushed back the darkness with every inch.
It wasn’t harsh or blinding—didn’t make the bear want to shield his eyes. It was calm and constant, like open arms waiting to be embraced.
It felt different from the light before.
Unfamiliar.
But not strange.
It was welcoming.
He inhaled in preparation—and his throat ached, either from the running or the sobbing.
He stepped forward, placing his foot on the first step, wood creaking below his weight. And for a moment—he just stood there.
Letting the warmth of the light wash over him, a feeling his system craved and yearned for in the cold depths of the basement.
Slowly, he began to climb.
The staircase creaked, soft and rythymic, echoing like a yearnful cry.
With each step, the shadows behind him grew thinner and farther.
Halfway up, the staircase turned sharply to the left—the corner he tripped on which felt like moments ago.
He continued, and his chest felt fuzzy in anticipation. Almost excitement.
He couldn’t wait to return to his friends. To see their warm smiles, and hopefully never feel cold again.
He neared the top, each stop slower now.
As he reached the final step, he grabbed the handle and impatiently pushed forward, the door flinging open with the bear behind it.
He wasted no time.
Without a second glance—at the walls, and posters that stuck to them, Toy Freddy bolted.
He knew his way well enough around the pizzeria, and didn’t even have to see, he knew these halls like the back of his paw.
His joints moved alongside his restless legs, his arms swinging beside him. And the bear fell into a rhythm.
He felt a smile uncontrollably creep up onto him, and the corners of his mouth lifted gently, his eyes lifting with them.
For once he couldn’t wait to hear Bon’s relentless teasing. He could already imagine his words.
“Wowww Eddy, I never imaged you to be the type to skip out on work.” He would say, slipping a small—“slackerrrr…!”.
“How was the walk? Do your joints burn as much as mine do from constantly bending over to pick up mess?” He’d complain.
And right beside him, there’d be Cheeks, clinging to the toy bunny. And Mangle hanging from above.
He neared the corner he’d turned earlier, and he saw the frame he had rested on.
His smile grew.
He slid across the remaining distance as his steps came to a halt—holding onto the frame so he swung to face the opening.
“Guys—!”
He froze.
His words cut off.
What..?
His eyes searched the room.
No bunny.
No chicken.
No pastel fox accompanied by a small boy with rosy red cheeks.
His home wasn’t his.
The memories he made here didn’t match the room.
Mangle’s vent had been screwed shut.
BB’s ballon stand was missing.
And their stage wasn’t theirs.
He felt his stomach drop, and something crept into his ststem—raw, vulnerable, and agonizing.
Unbearable.
He stared harder at the same stage him and his friends had sung together on.
The same stage they’d smiled, played, teased, laughed and cried on.
The same stage they’d grown together on.
Being used by someone else.
A flash of gold pierced his gaze.
But it wasn’t the golden hue of the light that soaked the room.
No.
This gold belonged to someone.
Belonged to two.
Standing on the stage, instruments in their grasp—were two animatronics.
A very much alive golden rabbit.
And an all-too-familiar golden bear.