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Preston trembled as the Prototype set down the mangled abomination of parts that was the latest experiment.
Everything inside him told him to bolt for the nearest exit but after already being caught so easily, and the fear that sent chilled needles through his veins, he could do nothing but watch and follow orders. All that he was good for, really. All his life had ever been.
Watch the people around him. Learn the right things to say. Learn the right way to do things. Don't speak out unless he truly thinks it is worth the consequences. Follow orders to the tee even if it makes him want to hurl.
Don't question the practices of Playtime Co. when they were the ones paying for his surgeries. Don't question them when one wrong move will have him on the sharp end of the scalpel and unable to return to his wife.
Oh, God, his wife. His song and dance of watch and follow orders seeped into his home life too. The only reason he bought that ring was because she talked about it incessantly. The house they bought was her idea too. Hell, if he thought about it, maybe the whole relationship was hers to decide as well.
“You can afford it, right? Playtime pays such a surprising amount! What is it you do, again?”
She didn't deserve this. A husband who could return to her, one who didn't lie boldly to her face everyday, one that wasn't trapped inside of a lab with a homicidal experiment that he had a hand in tending to.
His only consolation was that the Prototype seemed to genuinely appreciate him for being kind even while doing awful things to him. 1006 started referring to him as his good friend after he passed along word of what the End of the Rope Team was going to do on the 8th.
Preston had spent days hiding out with Jessica, with barely any food or water and an ever dwindling supply of hope for rescue. Jessica had seemed so sure but Preston knew better. What help would they send for the reason behind their downfall?
He really should have known better than to fall away from his rules. His rules were: watch and obey. Don't speak out unless it’s worth it.
Preston had tried to keep his voice down despite his growing anger, sorrow, desperation, resignation. But Jessica had no such restraint. Huggy Wuggy found them as a result and, shortly after, Preston had been delivered straight to the eager hands of the Prototype.
The first few seconds were filled with apologies, though Preston hadn't even been sure of who he’d been apologising to. His friends for disappearing? His coworkers for setting murderous experiments upon them? The children he’d played a part in massacring? Jessica, for starting the argument that got them caught? The Prototype for daring to exist under the weight of his one yellow eye?
“Do not worry, Preston.” The Prototype had said, as soothingly as he could with his ever-changing voice. “You are ᴍʏ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅ, you have done much 𝒻ₒᵣ ᵤₛ.”
Immediately after Preston had been deposited in the Prototype’s holding room, shivering on the barebones cot inside, 1006 had left. Ten minutes later he returned with a barely breathing, heavily bleeding, and very unconscious Jessica. He dragged her by the hand, smearing blood on the floor.
On the operating table was a selection of doll parts. All from different toys. The most recognisable being the CatBee head that stared emptily with eyeless sockets. Preston threw up bile at the implication of what was happening, making 1006 tut at him with Jessica’s voice.
He followed orders despite the trembling of his hands. The trembling of his entire body as it was. And by the end of the seventh hour, Dr. Jessica Newman was freshly a toy. Doomed to the same fate that she condemned countless other orphans like her.
“I’m so glad that you were there when I ₙₑₑdₑd yₒᵤ, ᴾʳᵉˢᵗᵒⁿ.” 1006 crooned. His spindly fingers clicked as he rolled his wrists. He set Jessica down on the surgery bed, 'proving' that he'd eliminated the 'threat' to Preston's wellbeing, and Preston could see her eyes dart around, trying to figure out where she was.
“I don't believe he knows where he is or what’s happened to him.” Jessica had said about Dr. Clarke. Preston hadn't been there for that particular experiment, but he had watched the tape before he’d recorded over it. He'd always been more focused on the fleshy, bigger bodies rather than the plastic, smaller toys. The way Thomas’ eyes had flickered in all directions, like he was trying to take in information but couldn't process any of it in his panic, had disturbed him.
Seeing it in person…
“Now ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿ be there for ʸᵒᵘ, always.”
1006’s perfectly circular, yellow eye left Preston’s face and he began walking down to the other end of the lab, humming along the main Playtime worker theme on the radio.
Preston shivered. He had backed up into a corner as soon as 1006 had told him that his assistance wasn't required anymore. He wasn't going to be leaving that corner for a very long time, if he had anything to say about it.
Most unfortunate for him because, after what felt like centuries and yet seconds all at once, 1006 heard Preston’s shrivelling stomach growl like Yarnaby did when his yarn was pulled too harshly.
“Are you hungry, ₘᵧ 𝒻ᵣᵢₑₙ𝒹?” 1006 asked. The points of his crab-like legs dug little divots into the solid ground in front of him.
Follow orders.
“Yes.” Preston answered, voice hoarse and shaky.
“Lucky for us, it’s feeding time.” 1006 lowered his hand into Preston’s field of view. In between the metal spines he called fingers was a large clump of… meat. Still dripping blood but slightly brown from oxidation.
The meat fell into Preston’s limp hands. He stared at it. He knew for certain that it was of human origin. Not because he knew what the experiments were fed, but because he’d taken apart many humans, enough to recognise the shape and texture. The gluteus medius, still attached to the rectus abdominis, with remnants of tensor fasciae latae attached to both. Taken from the lower side of the abdomen, where it met the upper thigh. The lower layers of flesh were still attached, the skin removed. About the size of a large steak. Left over from Jessica’s surgery.
He was supposed to eat this? How on Earth would he stomach this? How, how, how, why, why– no, don't panic, follow orders, say the right thing.
“I– thank you, but, uh, I– I can’t– I can’t eat this with– without getting sick.” He stumbled over his words.
“ᴼʰ.” 1006 hummed and picked it back up, click-clacking towards the exit. “It has been so long since I was like you that I 𝒻ₒᵣ𝓰ₒₜ. I will ᵇᵉ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ.”
Twenty minutes of imprisoned solitude later, he did indeed return. The (Jessica’s–) meat was now entirely brown but in a way that implied a dedicated sear from heat. It dripped fat onto the linoleum floor.
“Here. Better?”
Follow orders.
Preston stared down at it blankly. His heart pounded and his vision pulsed between focus and blur. His entire body felt damp, having worked up a sweat somehow. If he tried to think about anything then his mind would implode. He couldn't feel his body. His bones tingled and his tendons weren't responding. His muscles, his human muscles, oh God, those were human muscles, that was Jessica–
Apparently, 1006 didn't like his lack of response or movement and so took back the human steak.
Good. Preston would rather die of starvation than eat that. Maybe if the Prototype sees how useless he is, then he’ll let him fade into the background. He won't have to do another surgery ever again. He won't have to feel the texture of human flesh under his own, he won't have to keep track of the shelf life of human organs, he won't have to–
Something bumped into his mouth – hot, covered in fat, squishy – and he instinctively flinched backwards. His eyes flew up from his lap to the small piece of– of human steak that 1006 had torn off and was holding up to his lips.
“ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵇᵒᵈʸ isn't working. Shock, likely. Eat.” 1006 ordered, yellow eye peering down.
Follow orders.
A rush of shame and despair burned him and his face burned red and his eyes burned with tears, but he opened his mouth. 1006 ushered the piece inside and tapped his chin to close it. Preston chewed mechanically.
He hated, despised, loathed the fact that it didn't taste bad, that his body didn't automatically reject it so that he wouldn't have to be forced into eating it. He’d heard before that human flesh tasted like pork but a bit sweeter. There’d been debate over that claim but it was decided that it depended on the where in the body the meat came from. The piece (of Jessica–) that Preston was grinding between his teeth tasted like pork, but a little sweeter.
He would have continued to chew until he couldn't tell the difference between the meat and his spit or until he choked on it, but 1006 tapped his throat and he swallowed. Another piece was held up to his mouth and a metal finger tapped his bottom lip. Once again, he opened up and it was placed inside. A tap on his chin had him closing his mouth and chewing. A third tap on his throat had him swallowing.
Piece by piece, the Prototype hand fed him the cooked human flesh. When Preston had first seen the muscles he was presented with, his whole being had revolted at the idea of taking even one bite. The size had sent a faint flicker of a thought through his mind, saying that he wouldn't be able to eat all of that.
Ten days of near starvation had left more of an impact on him than expected. He’d expected a bit of stomach shrinkage, perhaps not a lot, but conversely, he was hungrier than ever.
Time blurred and all Preston knew was the feeling of metal stroking his skin, pork on his tongue and stares raising the hair on the back of his neck.
“All done. ᴹᵘᶜʰ ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ, right?” 1006 cooed, running the long fingers of his clean hand through Preston’s hair. He could wrap them around his head and rip it off if he wanted to.
Preston’s stomach weighed like a bowling ball and his eyelids drooped. He glanced around the operating room and found Jessica’s eyes boring into him. What he hated most about the smaller toys were their eyes. So clearly human. Hers darted between Preston’s hands, his face and the Prototype. She’d watched 1006 hand feed him her flesh and watched as Preston did nothing about it but obey.
Shame and disgust burned brighter than ever before. He squeezed his own eyes shut and lowered his head.
“I will take such good care of you, ᵐʸ ᴾʳᵉˢᵗᵒⁿ. Always.”
The days followed in such a way that left Preston disoriented.
He sometimes became trapped in his own mind, unable to think or do anything because it cost him too much energy. If he dared to try then it sent him down one spiral after the next. When that happened, 1006 would plod over and play with his hair until he was calm (nearly catatonic) again. Once a day, Prototype would collect a piece of human flesh, cook it painstakingly over a Bunsen burner, tear it into pieces and hand feed it to Preston.
The experiment didn't even try to allow him to eat on his own again. He seemed to live by the rule of ‘waste not, want not’. Even when Preston felt like he couldn't eat any more and let out pitiful protests, 1006 would force his mouth open and make him eat the rest of it.
One time it got to a point where Preston finally threw up. Whether it be from the force feeding, the stress, the abhorrent nature of his entire situation, he didn't know. The Prototype merely hummed and gave the last few pieces to Jessica, who sat in a far away corner, still unable to move.
Preston never saw 1006 eat anything. Not even when running tests in the past. He’d always assumed that the other scientists fed him when he wasn't around. Now, Preston couldn't help but wonder if he ate while collecting his food or if he didn't eat at all. 1006 hadn't deemed his question worth answering either.
Once his meal was consumed to the Prototype’s satisfaction, he would take Preston’s wrist between two fingers and guide him over to the cot in the corner. 1006 would dim the lights and sit next to him as he slept. If the nights were cruel to him, the radio’s thrum would make its way into his ears; usually playing a melody that the Prototype called ‘Are We Truly Alone’, over and over again.
The feeling of Prototype’s spindly fingers became a familiar one. There wasn't a day that passed where he missed out on an opportunity to play with Preston’s hair, brush his cheek while he fed him, and pull him around their shared space like a toy.
How ironic.
As the days passed, an earthy scent clung to his food. He didn't say anything lest his caretaker (prison guard? Friend? What was even the difference anymore?) get upset with him. That earthy scent followed him even hours after eating. It seemed to cling to his clothes, replacing the smells that came from the unwashed human body.
Eventually, Preston’s mind grew accustomed to his new normal. 1006 started leaving their room more to take care of fights or trouble that the other toys were having all over the factory. If he was gone for more than a day, then he would send a reluctant but devoted CatNap to deliver Preston’s food and he would have to cook it himself. 1006 would sit next to him for a handful of hours after he returned.
One day, perhaps two months after the Hour of Joy, Preston worked up the courage to ask.
“Are you–” He coughed, voice worn from disuse. “Are you putting– putting Poppy Gel in my food?”
“Yes.” Prototype answered promptly. “ᴵ ʷᶦˡˡ ᵗᵃᵏᵉ care of you, my Preston. I 𝒸ₐₙₙₒₜ 𝒸ₐᵣₑ for you if you are dead. ᴵ ʷᶦˡˡ be there for ʸᵒᵘ. Always.”
Preston nodded, not even having the energy to be outraged like he knew he should be. “Always.” He mumbled under his breath, having heard the word repeated again and again, the promise renewed at least once every few days.
1006 let out a digital rumble that Preston knew to be something of a purr. He only made that sound when he was pleased. The next thing Preston knew, he was being scooped up and cradled close. The action was gentle, despite everything about the Prototype suggesting it would be rough, sharp or generally unpleasant.
Prototype’s mechanical parts hummed with the warmth of a used car part. He smelled smoky, earthy. Preston gave in and leaned against his friend, cherishing the feeling of being held like he was important.
1006 hand fed him from inches away that day. The closer proximity became their new normal. He was thankful that Jessica had been moved to a different room. He didn't think he could handle living like this with her staring at him constantly. The shame would drown him.
But the Prototype would never let him die. For some reason, he held Preston higher than the other scientists, even the others who had helped begin the Hour of Joy.
“Why do you treat me like I’m special, Prototype?” Preston asked quietly. He talked more nowadays, six months in. The constant care had lowered his barriers and, although there was always a portion of his mind that warned him of imminent death, his desire for companionship won over his fear.
“Because you ᵃʳᵉ.”
“I don't understand why. I'm not the only one who helped, but you haven't told me about any of the others being kept alive. You're here with me, most of the time, so you obviously haven't got any others that you care for like you do for me. Why?”
“A sound observation. You are mine, ₘᵧ ₚᵣₑₛₜₒₙ. You have ₐₗ𝓌ₐᵧₛ ᵦₑₑₙ nice to me, even when the others breathed down ʸᵒᵘʳ ⁿᵉᶜᵏ. Even back when I could ᵒⁿˡʸ ᶠᵒʳᵐ simple sentences. The other ᵍᵘᶦˡᵗʸ ones were not. ᵧₒᵤ are special. You ʷᶦˡˡ remain mine.”
Preston leaned his head on his knees, legs tucked up to his chest, arms wrapped around them. He inspected his glowing veins; flowing from dark magenta to bright orange. They grew bright with each week of dosage. He wondered how he would turn out after a full year of Poppy Gel supplements.
He hummed softly. “Always.”
The Prototype purred as he always did when hearing Preston echo his promise. He dipped the tips of his fingers into Preston's mouth when feeding him, amplifying the earthy taste, tracing the curve of his bottom lip. 1006 folded in on himself to curl around Preston while he slept, completely encompassing him, gently playing with his hair.
Occasionally, Preston would be brought in to help with the finer points of whatever experiment Prototype wanted to accomplish. Afterwards, he would be rewarded with warmth and the soft drum of 1006’s heartbeat, arms wound around him gently.
“ᴹʸ ᴾʳᵉˢᵗᵒⁿ.” Prototype crooned.
“Always.” Preston muttered sleepily.