Chapter Text
If there were anyplace accounting for half the insolent noise and health complaints crossing a sheriff's desk every other week, it was Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria. Toddlers wrestled in their mother’s laps while older children erupted into fits of shattering laughter, their presence pervading the building’s tacky foundation. All-Star Converses pounded the checkered flooring and verbose announcements ushered parents through the dining hall.
Planted between the hall and the entrance lay a vast river—staff assisting children into vivid yellow and red sailboats which rocked gently amidst freshly replaced chlorine water. At the epicenter, Freddy, Bonnie, and Chica robotically convulsed, entertaining whoever watched from screeching metal chairs.
However, sitting in a corner, meekly unaware of flailing children or boisterous animatronic anecdotes, was a little boy. His hair was short, cropped at the fringe. His eyes were squinted, focusing on a thin piece of paper carefully placed atop a dining table while his tongue protruded from his tight-lipped grimace.
Large stereo headphones muffled his ears, though its long, coiling cord attached to nothing in particular—only hanging from the boy’s metal perch. He scribbled light strokes from a baby blue crayon wedge. Although smudging prior blotches, he kept within the thick Indigo lines of his drawing.
He then switched out the crumbling blue wedge for another, pristine slab of scarlet crayon. The boy pressed it into his paper, scrawling within the perimeter of a bow tie. Resolved to only a few more finishing touches, he put aside his crayon.
Raising the sheet of paper, he grinned in pride. The vibrant blue animatronic—deemed Toy Bonnie, so affectionately by his father—cradled a large electric guitar and held a naive gaze.
As he stood, his stereo cable tossed to the checkered floor below, alongside his sneakers which shortly brushed the metallic surface of his perch. He scampered across the restaurant, adults and children alike barely paying any mind towards his stubby, rushing figure. Pressing past the crevice of tapered tables and obnoxiously rowdy women, he stumbled, nearly crashing into a wall if he hadn’t found his balance.
Adjusting himself, the boy wiped at his nose–which always ran no matter how often his mother pursued varying over-the-counter treatments (often to the dismay of his father, who thought of him as contemptibly frail).
His gaze lifted, mesmerised by the cacophony of drawings pasted together. Some were better than others. Most were of Freddy. The minority were of Pull-A-Part Foxy (he didn’t mind the lack of representation, he always hated the thing, especially when his father dressed him in pirate’s apparel and jabbed a hook in his palm the Halloween before). But, the checkered wall possessed a miniscule corner of drawings entailing Bonnie where he proudly exhibited his adoration for the animatronic.
Irises shimmering, the boy shoved a fist in his pocket, fingers oddly twisting against corduroy fabrics before he produced a plastic thumbtack from its depths. Juxtaposing his drawing adjacent to another he’d crafted a few weeks prior, he stabbed the tack onto the page’s top half. Stepping back, he couldn’t resist the rigid grin caressing his lips. Knuckles white, he clutched at the hem of his black and blue striped shirt.
A rush of adrenaline flushed his gut as blood sorted at the rim of his ears. Swift waves crashed the shore of his dull periphery. Only sensing habitual batches of breath–he counted them in 2’s–he didn’t quite register crammed screaming or the jostling of footsteps behind him. Of course, he noticed the floor reverberate underneath him, but it’d withdrawn, forming a muted symphony.
Eyes set on other scrawls of children’s portraits and fingers fidgeting absentmindedly, he hadn’t detected when his enormous, gray headphones were briskly apprehended with stout laughter striking his jagged awareness. His knuckles brushed the exposed cartilage of his ear and he hesitated, mouth ajar, searching for any sign of a thief.
He began dawdling, struck by an onslaught of snickers from one of several nearby tables. The flashing fluorescent lights, which had only just been unobtrusive, bashed his senses. Pink and green burned his retenas, tears creasing at his ducts. Palming his eyes, he choked back a somber sob.
A repetitive tune clamored overhead and the boy continued repetitively counting in 2’s, focusing on the melody of his suffocating breaths while he muttered memorised numbers instead of heeding intrusive rhythms thrusting from every direction.
Tears soon clung to his jaw. His vision blurred and remaining refrains petered out. He stood at the base of expansive, swinging doors. They adorned assorted window panes where the boy often envisioned soft sapphire dots peering beyond their abyss. Sometimes, he’d catch them glancing in his direction. He found consolation in that—nobody really paid attention to him, but the dots did.
Now, he sought solace in them as they appeared faintly behind smeared glass.
Robotic tremors swelled to a crescendo, capturing his attention. The steep twinkling eyes capered, lending themselves to tinted rabbit ears and a muzzle. Swiping stained tears, the boy giggled, enamored by this newcomer’s theatrics.
His joviality anything but fleeting, he smiled. The grand doors expanded and, reposed to chasms of derelict reminders, he recognised the rabbit—his father, armored by hefty paws and monstrous teeth. Yet it remained ephemeral, for he relished in inordinate spotlight once his plush friend offered him a wave of its hand.
Graciously returning the gesture, the boy gently stepped forward, sneakers clattering sleek boards underneath. He attempted to speak—despite how agonizingly dry his throat had become—but the rabbit sharply pawed the nape of his neck, tucking his plump face into its robust chest.
Dim illumination framed drab walls and a stench of rotten tomatoes aptly permeated, sticking to his shirt and nipping his nostrils. Arms flailing, his knuckles pricked matted fabrics, forging a nausea cramped in his cheeks. Snot oozed past his lip and he winced.
“Where’re we going?” The boy churned, words muffled. “Daddy?”
The rabbit grunted and loosened its grip, shoving him through a doorway.
Lurching, the rabbit jaggedly swiveled, its feet pattering harshly on cement. The boy wasn’t grinning any longer. No, any meager delight was replaced by utter panic. Frozen, he spectated the rabbit. Its dotted eyes scanned his scant frame, gradually trudging forward. Grasping at his corduroy belt, the boy hesitated. Those piercing eyes held no semblance of comfort for him; instead, they carried a morose glint, one that often spied him in bleak corridors.
“Oh, my child,” the rabbit choked, “you’ve been a very, very good boy.”
He flinched. Its voice, sodden with robotic tones, enveloped his shattered senses. Stepping closer, its leg dragged, ferocious clamor brutishly scraping the boy’s eardrum. Cringing, tears stained his cheek and he quavered, watching as the rabbit approached.
Its blemished fur caught hazy streams of malign light, exposing tattered segments and strikingly blue irises.
“But, I’ve been told,” it continued, raising a paw, “you must be taught a lesson.” It paused, towering over the boy, “For the better.”
The boy croaked. “Daddy?”
—
Eyelids buzzed and mucus sputtered, coating his taut lips. He shuttered, groaning as foreign breath skimmed his brow. His legs jostled, weightless, foot knocking staggered movement. Feebly, he blenched and cradling arms—gripping tightly—incited a festering itch smothering his tender chest.
Murky illumination suddenly teetered his duct. There, smooth velvet shaved his cheek, merely tousling his fringe. Drifting fragments of pitch locks tickled his jaw whereas laboured wheezes apprehended him. Squinting, he adjusted to a dazzling glare that varnished his hazy perception. He blinked once, then twice, swallowing a metallic tang lodged between his tongue and teeth.
Fingernails brutally clipped his sleeves, blemishing trite skin. Its throb dulled only when his ears rang, confined to vapid screams.
Everything was still. His eyes bulged, blinded by incubating fluorescence. Even as his heart pulsed, suffocating amidst the boiling moisture of his throat, nothing fazed him—not even the thick congealed perspiration mangling his hair and dribbling from his jaw.
His knees locked, shaking, but he never felt the hard concrete scraping past rigid corduroy. He only stood, glimpsing beyond fragmented locks.
Frigid hands tugged at his sleeves, hushed questions bombarding him. But, he withdrew, wincing. Tears sliced his cheek. He moaned, turning. The stage’s desolate pit gaped, exposing bitter darkness submerged below. The Marionette rose, christening his savior.
“Char,” he feebly mustered as visitors were ushered from their screeching metal chairs, party hats crushed in blanched fists.
His vision—blurred, submerged in stagnant tears—was unmoving until a hand unfurled upon his shoulder, firmly grasping it.
“Michael.”
He retched, gripping lush cotton. Blonde strands lightly coasted his shoulder. His older sister’s index drew circles upon his trembling back.
They exhaled, synchronized. Michael weakly muttered, lips parting at fuzzy threads, counting in 2’s.