Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Cassie typed the last few lines of code. She checked it.

Error in a few of the lines.

Burning eyes scanned over the endless words. After what felt like hours of combing through lines and lines and lines and lines . . .

One more check.

Then another.

Then another.

Beside her, Jess didn't seem better off. Head in her hands, she screamed a muffled scream before taking a breath and getting back to work. Cassie stood for a moment, stretched her back, and marched in place for a bit to bring circulation back to her legs. Poe checked over her work in the meantime. They hummed contemplatively before nodding slowly.

"Looks good so far, Cassie." They strode over to Jess and murmured something to her. She heaved a sigh in response and stood, stumbling out of the room.

Cassie raised her arms and stretched from side to side. A week straight of working on this, and she finally saw the end. Under Poe's instructions, she managed to get rid of the virus's remains—and they were ugly remains, to be blunt. Garbled code attacking the personality, tearing it into tiny pieces so small that it felt like piecing together a puzzle was scattered everywhere, and the memory was something else entirely.

It looked like something targeted that specifically.

The one thing left untouched was a bundle of code she did not recognize—not in any modern work, anyway. When she'd asked Poe, they'd simply replied, "Old programming from way back when. Try not to touch it; it's sensitive stuff."

Kind of hard to do that when that programming tied partially into the personality and the memory, but she'd managed to thread that needle. She managed to tidy up the mess and put the truly broken stuff under blockers—she didn't want to delete anything just in case it erased some of the old programming.

"Does it look done?" Cassie groaned. "I'm ready to finish this."

"I'll give it one more check, but yeah, you're done." Poe waved her off with a smile. "Good job, Cassie. Bonnie'll be up and moving in no time. Go on, take a break. You've earned it."

"Thanks, Poe." She smiled tiredly, grabbed her laptop, and headed out to find Gregory.

~.~.~

Gregory hissed as the joints pinched his fingers again. Freddy mentioned Foxy's old biting habit, and it was like even in death, Foxy was determined to bite every finger that came close to him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rafa glanced at him worriedly. Gregory tried to ignore them—he didn't need their panic distracting him from the most dangerous set of wires and metal he'd met.

And that was saying something. He'd met Monty at his worst.

Taking a step back, he wiped his brow and checked out his progress. Not too bad considering he'd been working on this for a week. He managed to fix the endo, which wasn't an easy feat—the engineers insisted he recycle as much of it as he could, and a lot of the parts he needed to replace couldn't be easily found from Roxy or Monty's spare parts. On top of that, he needed to make sure he made allowances for the new design Fazbear Entertainment commissioned.

That design included a tail. He needed to build a tail into the endo.

As Gregory consulted the two sets of blueprints, he considered where to go next. The first one held the old, old designs dictating where each joint and pneumatic needed to go. The second one was newer, with instructions of how to make the new frame and additions. He glanced between them and Foxy and, deeming the endo finished and the frame complete, put the blueprints away.

Out of nowhere, Dianne appeared at his elbow and inspected his work before he could. She hummed thoughtfully, touching each part and testing the integrity with her hands and tools. Unstable parts received a critical grunt. Solid areas got him an approving glance.

He fixed what she criticized and checked over what she approved of. As soon as he was sure the endo and frame were done with, he took one last step back to stretch his hands, arms, and shoulders. All he needed to do was add the casing, which should be here any minute now.

"Mind if I take a walk?" Gregory called.

Dianne waved him off. "Knock yourself out. I'll ping ya when the casing gets here."

"Roger." Giving Foxy one last look over, he took his laptop and headed out the door. "See ya in a bit."

A grunt from Dianne. Rafa cursed quietly under their breath—seemed like Bonnie was giving them a hard time, too. Not surprising, considering the shattered state.

Well, wasn't his problem, so Gregory pushed the door open and stepped out. He didn't even make it ten steps away when he heard footsteps rushing to meet him.

"Greg!!" Cassie's voice rang through the halls. "Wait up!"

He stopped and waited. She caught up soon enough, and they started walking again.

"Done with the coding?" he asked, hoping he'd get a yes but knowing he'd probably get a no.

However, her smile was answer enough. "Poe says good enough!"

Gregory grinned back. "Good. I'm almost done with Foxy. Just need the casing."

"And then we'll tell Freddy and Chica."

"We should probably tell them now, so they're not blindsided. Ya know?"

Cassie pursed her lips and actually thought before speaking. "Yeah, that's probably for the best."

"C'mon. Let's check on the jesters, and then we'll see Freddy and Chica. They're busy performing anyway."

-.-.-

The shutters opened, and a sea of noise greeted them. Gregory and Cassie stopped in their tracks, eyes wide as a daycare worker—a human daycare worker—rushed to greet them.

"Good afternoon!" she exclaimed. A quick glance at her tag said her name was Jaime. "Dropping off?" Her eyes flicked around them, and her smile tightened when she noticed they had no kids to drop off.

"Visiting, actually," Cassie supplied, much nicer than Gregory felt at the moment. "Have you seen the Daycare Attendants?"

"Them? Not since yesterday. There was a huge commotion up in the loft, and . . ."

Jaime's voice faded away as Gregory scanned the daycare. He couldn't catch sight of Moon, and Sun was nowhere to be seen. He furrowed his brow and raised his eyes to the loft, but they didn't seem to be up there either.

All he could see were kids, kids, and more kids.

". . . do you need them for anyway?"

"We're their techs." Cassie's voice faded back into his hearing as he tuned back into their conversation. "We've been letting them sleep off the rest of the internal damage, but we still need to check in on them."

Jaime hummed. "Well, I don't know where they'd be. Like I said, I haven't seen them since—"

"Mind if we cut through the play area?" Gregory asked. "We're just headed up the loft."

"I'll need your names first. Can't have unknown guests entering the kids' place and all!"

"Yeah, I totally get it! Cassie Monroe and Greg Andrews, apprentice technicians. Here, our badges." Cassie presented hers, and Gregory did the same even as he buzzed with impatience.

This seemed to satisfy Jaime. She opened the double doors for them—wrong, this was so wrong—and watched them like a hawk as they cut through the screaming kids to the hidden door.

Gregory pursed his lips. He remembered Sun's first reaction to being around kids, and it hadn't been pretty. Despite their rocky start, he couldn't help but wonder how he was holding up . . .

A wave of Cassie's badge opened the door for them, and they slipped through before any kids could follow after.

"When the hell did they open the daycare?" Gregory hissed, finally letting his irritation show. "I thought they were waiting for Sun and Moon!"

"They were hiring," Cassie muttered back. She rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue. "Mag got tired of waiting, I bet."

"That worker said there was a commotion yesterday. Think they're alright?"

"Moon might be. Sun, though . . ." Cassie grimaced. Gregory agreed wholeheartedly.

The climb up wasn't as bad as he expected. Just one set of spiraling stairs brought them all the way up to the first room of the loft, one that was almost uncannily similar to when Gregory first saw it way back when. Unlike last time, this first room was full of pillows and some books already scrounged up from the lost and found.

It was a far cry—and a huge improvement—from the mess of STAFF bot scrap.

"Sunny?" Cassie called. "Moon? You guys here!?"

No answer. While Cassie stepped up to the balcony, Gregory eyed the tunnel on one of the walls . . .

He was taken back to that fateful night, when he first met Freddy, burned down the Plex, and ran off into the night with himself, Freddy, and Vanessa.

The emotions didn't hit as hard as they did years ago, but he still found himself clutching his fist tightly, as if he was holding his flashlight.

Crouching down, he expected to find a messy room with an arcade machine in the corner. As he crawled through to the other side, however, he was met with a nest of pillows, mats, and blankets. The only plush present was a DJ Music Man with weird fabric and stitching—it looked like a sensory nightmare.

But no Sun, and no Moon.

"Nothing?" Cassie's voice came muffled.

"Nothing!" Gregory called back. He awkwardly crawled backwards and managed to shimmy back out into the open room. "Where could they be?"

Cassie hummed. She eyed her watch thoughtfully. "Let me ping them." A few touches, a small beep, and now they waited.

Immediately, one of them pinged her back.

"The theater." Cassie clapped a hand over her watch. "Come on."

"What are they doing there?" Gregory muttered. Cassie didn't answer.

They took the back door out of the loft and made their way to the theater just one floor up. There were no shows going on, no people in there, though the map claimed it was open.

"Sunny? Moon?" Cassie called.

"Here!" Moon shouted.

They made their way around the movie screen and found the Daycare Attendants huddled up in front of the stage.

Moon smiled tightly at them. Sun wouldn't look at them.

"Hey, asshole," Gregory called as playfully as he could.

Moon clicked his tongue. "Hello, troublemaker." When he looked at Cassie, he beamed brightly. "Hi, Cassie!"

Cassie waved. "Hi! Um, mind if we sit down?"

Moon gestured in front of him with a nod. Gregory hesitated, unsure if Sun would yell at him or not, but Cassie didn't have any such reservations. She tiptoed closer and slowly lowered herself until she knelt in front of them. When neither of them protested, Gregory followed her lead and sat down right beside her.

"What are you doing here?" Cassie asked while Gregory gave them a once over.

Neither of them seemed damaged, physically speaking. Nothing to the arms, nothing to the face, and Moon's right hand seemed to be moving nicely without any glitches or stuttering—

Wait. No. Sun was missing two rays.

Gregory barely kept from groaning. When did he lose them!?

Moon hummed softly. "The daycare opened yesterday," he whispered. "I couldn't—I'm sorry."

Cassie furrowed her brow. "Why are you sorry?"

"Hurt myself." Moon blinked and hugged Sun closer. Unlike when he was talking before, his eyes held a new clarity—like someone was talking through him or something. It would not be a surprising turn of events. "Ripped his rays," he murmured. "Can't stand the daycare anymore."

Gregory sighed. "I can fix them if you want."

"No," Sun bit out, his voice heavy with static and lethargic. "I don't—want to. Right now."

"Right." Gregory cleared his throat and crossed his arms. "Anything we can help you with?"

Neither of them responded for a moment. Their eyes flashed a bit, like the loading screens on a computer, before Sun spoke up.

"Could you get us our bells back? It . . . it'd help. Maybe."

"But you have your bells." Cassie gestured vaguely at them. "Which bells do you need?"

"Wrists." Moon shook one of his, and—well, now that he thought about it, Gregory remembered hearing bells whenever Sun waved his hands around. Right now, it was just empty silence. "We miss them."

Sun's hands twitched. He kept them tucked tightly against his chest.

Gregory eyed the ripped-out rays. They missed them . . . right. Well, if they didn't want more attention on that, though, then he knew how to keep his mouth shut. So, before Cassie could say anything, he leaned back and said, "Sure thing. I'm sure we have some lying around here. I'll look for 'em next time I get a break."

Cassie eyed him curiously. He saw her eyes flick to the missing rays and to Sun and Moon's wrists, and he knew desperately wanted to assure them that it was okay and that this wasn't their fault. Even though concern practically oozed out of her, she didn't say anything about it. "Yeah, I think I saw some in a box in storage. Even if they aren't how they used to be, we'll get you some."

Moon smiled gratefully. "Thank you."

"Whatcha been doing?" Sun asked. He picked at the jagged remains of his rays absently. "We haven't seen you in a while."

"Cuz you're asleep all day," Gregory scoffed, but Moon snorted.

"I haven't seen you," he whispered. "And I'm usually awake. Why?"

Gregory glanced at Cassie. After their little . . . tussle that had Cassie bruised and Gregory a little shaken, they'd elected to give Sun and Moon their space. Aside from the visit to fix Moon's arm, they hadn't really visited much. He didn't think they'd notice . . .

"We, uh." Cassie grinned sheepishly. "We decided to give you guys some time to recover. I mean, I know we're not the most, um. Well, we like to help a little too much."

Sun looked away. Moon's eyes widened in realization. They darted down to Sun, who seemed to be doing everything he could to avoid Gregory specifically. "I already said sorry," he muttered.

He sounded like a petulant kid. Gregory snorted and coughed to hide his laughter.

"And I said it was fine," Cassie assured. "I mean, we kinda pushed too hard! Guess we all learned a lesson that day, huh?"

Gregory cleared his throat and composed himself a little. Fighting off his giggles, he managed a stern, "I didn't get an apology."

Sun sputtered. He shot up straighter and even pulled away from Moon to glare at Gregory. The remaining rays pulsed and spun in angry little patterns. "Oh-ho-ho, don't even start! I didn't even touch you!"

"Aww, but you hurt my feelings." Gregory put on his most pitiful look, and the heated glare he got in return was so worth it. "C'mon, I'm still banned."

"Oh my God, Greg, stop it," Cassie snapped, but he could see her trying not to laugh. She could hide it all she wanted—she knew this was funny. "This is serious!"

"Not till I get my apology and a banner saying I'm not banned anymore."

Static hissed out of Sun's chest, and his eyes narrowed. "Keep this up and I'll ban you more, Rulebreaker. I'll make another banner showing you just how banned you are!"

A snort and giggle echoed through the theater. Gregory grinned wider as Moon turned away and hid his face behind his cap. Sun also jerked, and for a moment, he could see very real fear in his eyes.

Okay, maybe trying to be funny was a mistake—

"Oh. Oh, no no no, Moon Moon, you are not siding with him!" Sun grabbed Moon by the shoulders and shook him. "You're supposed to be my friend!!"

Moon laughed loud and bright, though he desperately tried to stifle it. But the more Sun dramatically whined, the funnier Moon seemed to find it, and the harder it seemed to stop trying not to laugh. Gregory sat back smugly as he watched the two goof off. Cassie leaned in and poked him in the rib.

"That was risky," she muttered, but she didn't look angry.

"The mood was too down," he murmured back. "Felt like they needed a laugh."

Cassie hummed. She leaned in closer. "Should we tell 'em?"

"Tell them what?"

"Why we really haven't been visiting as much?"

"C'mon, Cass, it's not a lie."

"Yeah, but it's not the whole truth."

Gregory glanced between the two. Moon was signing something, which made Sun gasp dramatically in turn. "I dunno . . ."

"I mean, our next stop is Freddy and Chica. It's not like they have to keep it a secret."

"Mmm . . . your call, I guess. You know 'em better than I do."

"I think it'll cheer them up. They used to be fans, you know."

Gregory hummed and shrugged.

Cassie, seeming to take that as the okay, turned back to them. "So! Guess what?"

The two immediately turned to her with a little more life in their eyes. "What?" Moon said.

"Okay, so it's true we were giving you space, buuuuut! We were also working on something huge!" She grinned wide. "Bonnie and Foxy are coming back!"

For a moment, neither Sun nor Moon moved—but their jaws dropped, and their wide eyes seemed to glimmer in the low lights.

"We thought they were gone forever!!" Sun exclaimed at the same time that Moon's voice box gave a garbled, fizzled sound. "They're really coming back!?"

"We're working on it!" She puffed out her chest. "I've got Bonnie's chip pretty much up and running, and Gregory—"

"Just gotta put Foxy's casing on." He paused a moment, then added, "And I guess get him in costume. They've been putting the animatronics in actual costumes and not like . . . casing that looks like clothes."

Moon gripped Sun's arm, still speechless while Sun fidgeted with his fingers. "Are they going to be okay?" he whispered.

"They'll be fine," Cassie said.

"I mean with—you know."

"The virus," Moon supplied. He turned to Sun and signed something quick and small. Sun just shrugged.

"If that becomes an issue, then we'll help them. Don't worry too much, okay?"

Besides, Gregory didn't even think they were around for the virus. None of them were there when he burned the last Plex to the ground, and with the way Freddy had talked about Bonnie that night, neither he nor Foxy had been around for a while.

They would be fine, he was sure.

Eventually, they had to leave. With some assurances that they would take more breaks (Moon was especially insistent, and even Sun seemed concerned when Cassie told them just how much they'd been working), Gregory and Cassie left the theater to grab a snack and tell Freddy and Chica the news.

~.~.~

For once in the few days of her employment, Angela's door sign was replaced with "out of office." She marched through the tunnels until she reached Ms. Kelly's office and, after waiting long enough to receive the invitation inside, pushed the door open.

In the office sat Ms. Kelly, poised and composed now that Ms. Emily had gone back to her own building, and Mx. Hicks, the head of the first floor.

"Good morning," Angela said. "Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice."

"Good morning," Mx. Hicks said.

"I do hope you have a good reason for calling an urgent meeting." Ms. Kelly raised a brow. "You do realize that meetings must be announced five days in advance, yes?"

Actually, she was not because nobody bothered to give her a handbook. Not that Angela would have read it, but still.

Instead of saying that, though, Angela simply set her folder down and sat down across from Ms. Kelly. Mx. Hicks followed suit, tense and sitting at the edge of their seat. "I figured you two would want this as soon as possible, considering the severity of the situation."

"Out with it, then."

Two sheets of paper flipped onto the desk, one in front of Ms. Kelly and another for Mx. Hicks. Silence filled the office as they both took their respective papers and read them. Angela didn't bother bringing a physical copy for herself—she'd read that thing over and over, making sure it was coherent and absolutely not up for debate. Besides, she had already stored one in her filing cabinet and in her electronic records.

Patient name: Sun (Daycare/Playtime Attendant)

Patient age: —

Date of visit: xx-xx-xxxx

Attending therapist: Angela Cortez

To whom this may concern,

This note serves to confirm that Sun was seen and informally evaluated on xx-xx-xxxx. Due to concerns from both patient and attending therapist, Sun will not be expected to return to duties until such a time that goals have been met as listed below.

Tentative goals:

• Patient must be able to work seamlessly with Moon (Daycare/Naptime Attendant), including verbal and nonverbal communication.

• Patient must be able to interact with children comfortably, including physical and emotional interaction.

Goals will be tracked by attending therapist. Documentation will be sent to administration bi-weekly, compliant with patient privacy.

Signed,

Angela Cortez

She waited as they both read the note. She kept her practiced stony expression as Ms. Kelly's brow raised, as her mouth tightened and her eyes narrowed. She kept her hands folded on her lap as Mx. Hicks sucked in a breath through their teeth.

"This sounds . . . not ideal," they said after a moment of silence.

"This sounds like a waste of resources to me," Ms. Kelly huffed. "It sounds to me like this one isn't pulling its weight—and if it cannot do that, then it's scrap. We really only need one daycare attendant."

"And to me, that sounds like a domino effect waiting to happen," Angela snapped back—professionally, of course. "Think about it for a moment: Sun is, as bizarre as it may sound, burnt out and afraid. He cannot safely be around children, and he cannot reliably run the daycare alongside Moon. He needs a break."

"It's a machine, Cortez. It doesn't need a break. If it becomes a burden of resources, and a liability, we should—"

"And if we decommission him—" Ms. Kelly's mouth shut with a satisfying snap "—then you will have another animatronic who cannot do his duties. Sun and Moon have only recently been separated after nearly a decade of existing together in one body. 'Dependent' does not even begin to describe their relationship. Getting rid of Sun will no doubt cause intense emotional malfunctions in Moon, so unless you're ready to get rid of two animatronics—animatronics that took time and money to refurbish, I'm told—then you let me do my job and help them."

As bitter as it sat on her tongue, Angela did not lecture Ms. Kelly about their minds and their shocking similarity to a human being's mind. She did not sing ballads about the dynamic she saw in them through others' descriptions and her own brief observations. She did not talk further about emotions and mental health of these beings.

It would no doubt be lost on Mag Kelly.

May as well talk money and liability. Those were languages she understood well.

Mag Kelly folded her hands and narrowed her eyes. "Hicks, what do you think of all this?"

Mx. Hicks, who had shrunk into their seat throughout the exchange, jumped and cleared their throat. "I-I think it's, um. Well, scrapping the both of them would definitely put a dent in our budget. And, uh, if Cortez's input is reliable—"

"It is," Angela snapped. Calmly, professionally, of course.

"Right. Since her input is reliable, then making the Playtime Attendant work and, um, be around the daycare would definitely throw some lawsuits our way."

Angela relaxed marginally. There was one employee on her side, at least. "Which you don't want."

"Which I don't want," Mag Kelly murmured. She didn't look happy—not at all. "What's the timeline for this . . . goal."

"I would need more sessions to properly gauge. For now, think of this as an emergency doctor's note. Until I say he's ready, he will not be required to do his duties. That includes . . ." Angela ticked up a finger as she listed off the following: "No forced protocols, including demands to keep eyes on the daycare and requirements to care for children within the daycare's age range. No internal punishments of any kind. No expectations, implicit or explicit, that he takes as little time as possible to heal—because he is healing, that is what this is."

Hicks and Mag Kelly stared at her as if she'd grown another head, but Angela stared coolly back at them. She waited for them to make those mental justifications to accept her terms, and she took particular pleasure in the way Mag Kelly's face seemed to pinch into itself.

"We would need to turn off those protocols manually," Hicks sighed.

"Of course."

"And we'd need documentation that it's actually doing what you say you're doing," Mag Kelly added.

He, Angela mentally corrected, but she bit her tongue on that. "That is part of my regular job, of course."

She could see Mag Kelly bite her tongue against the retort. Good.

After another once-over of the document, Mag Kelly sighed and visibly relaxed her shoulders and jaw. "Alright. I'll allow this. As long as I see progress, I will allow this."

Angela sighed, relieved. But this was tentative, she knew. "So long as you understand that healing is not a linear process."

"Yes, yes, of course. Now, if there's nothing else?"

"Actually, I'd like to also discuss possible relocation." She turned to Hicks, who had gone back to practically hiding in their chair. "Mx. Hicks, I understand you're in charge of the lower floor?"

"Ah—yes!" Hicks straightened up again. "If you'd like to discuss this in my office?"

Angela took one look at Mag Kelly. She already looked so done with just the idea that their very intelligent, very sapient AI needed actual accommodations, so Angela nodded. "Sounds good to me."

~.~.~

One moment, he was dreaming about a night under the stars.

The next, a blaring alarm jolted him right awake.

Alert: New memo

Subject line: Maintenance

Text reads: "Come down to maintenance for protocol changes."

His sleepy processors took a moment to take in those words and turn them into something he could understand. The more they worked, the more he understood—the more awake he became.

Before he could stop it, a glitchy whine escaped him. Maintenance? Maintenance!? They were in and out of there so much—why did maintenance want to see him!?

A surprised sound came from above him where he was laying on Moon's lap, and a hand came down to grab one of Sun's. "Sunny?" Moon shifted, and the bell on his cap jingled a lonely little sound. "What's wrong?"

Did Moon not get it? Was it—

Sun jerked upwards. He pushed himself to his feet. He couldn't—he couldn't—sit still, not with his processors running a mile a minute and his core heating and heating and heating over—why did Maintenance need him?

Alert: Request input

> Please attach file

Without thinking, Sun attached the memo and sent it off. His feet moved without thinking, pacing and pacing as he tried—desperately tried to leave the remaining rays alone. Instead he gripped his forearms, scratching and scrabbling with blunt fingers against soft fabric.

The pads of his fingers caught on the seams. He picked at the stitches, but it wasn't—it didn't help. He tried stopping, tried tapping his foot so the bell there would jingle and jingle but it didn't help.

WHY DID MAINTENANCE—

"I'll go with you."

Moon's voice—that voice that voice that voice—cut through the wandering and rambling spiral. The tapping stopped, the fidgeting stopped, and for a small moment, The Nightmare smiled darkly in his head.

But the moment passed, and the frantic energy—energy he couldn't risk losing but more energy than he'd had in a long time—drained. Sun slowly turned to Moon and—

Stars, he was tired. Breathing a sigh, Sun plodded back to Moon and dropped down, and when Moon pulled him into a side hug, he didn't fight it.

"I'm supposed to be asleep," he whined instead. Moon hummed in understanding—and a shot of annoyance echoed in their communication line.

But with the kids and now this . . .

A line of text popped into their chat function. Do you want to be shut down?

Yes. Stars yes, he didn't want to be awake or aware for this! But—

"When we get there." He couldn't make Moon carry him down to maintenance. That wouldn't be fair.

He dreaded the walk, but he couldn't be unfair anymore. Not to his Moonpie.

So, dragging each other to their feet, they made their miserable way down to Parts and Services. An unmarked, unassuming door was their entryway, and a quick scan of the wrist (no unauthorized entry allowed) invited them in. Moon took the lead, and Sun was all too happy to let him.

Because while the tunnels were different now, the atmosphere was the same. Empty, clinical, but intimidating—especially when he knew what awaited on the other side was a series of near-torture to keep The Nightmare in line—

No. No, that was over. The Nightmare didn't exist anymore.

Just protocol changes. And—and Sun would be powered off this time, and Moon would be there to make sure nobody did anything they weren't supposed to, and—

Moon squeezed his hand gently. Sun's fans, which had been working overtime to cool him down, slowly quieted. Relax. This isn't then.

Jingling footsteps echoed down the hall. The further in they walked, the more people they passed by: custodians on their way to the food court, technicians taking their breaks, managerial workers doing whatever it was they did, security personnel doing their rounds. All of them spared them a glance, but none of them stopped to talk.

That was fine. Sun wasn't exactly in the mood to chat, and Moon seemed just as eager to get on with this.

Finally, they found themselves in Parts and Services. Immediately, Sun was met with a—a familiar scene.

Two technicians: one for software, the other for hardware. The imposing maintenance cylinder, open and prepped for restraint. Well-lit, so as to keep The Nightmare away. None of them were familiar. None of them smiling.

Sun stopped in his tracks. Moon kept going for a little bit but stopped as soon as their hands pulled taut. He glanced back.

Red eyes stared back at him. Sun stepped back—was it too late to say no thank you? Was it too late to run, to get away before they could bring out the controlled shocks and restraints and the searing searing code—

"There you are!" one of the techs called. "Let's get this over with."

Fear and cold, cold dread shot through him, buzzed through his systems, and with an instinct that had long since been buried, he sent out a harried, desperate alarm (a cry for help, please help me help me help) to Security.

Moon jerked. His eyes widened, and those lovely red pupils shrunk down to intimidating red dots.

His head swiveled to the technicians.

Alert: Request input

> Please attach file

'What is the danger.'

Sun jumped and tightened his grip on Moon's hand. He's still in my—

"Come on, let's get this over with!" That one's voice was aggressive.

("Get over here—no, stop struggling!")

Moon twitched. He stepped in front of Sun, and the wave of relief at a shield between himself and the perceived danger paled in comparison to the fear, fear, fear. Both hands grasped Sun's, kept him firmly behind him, and Sun grasped desperately with his other.

Alert: Request input

> Please attach file

Moon did not repeat his question, and this time, Sun was quick to comply because someone—someone was listening now, Security was responding as he should after a year of malfunctions and malicious compliance—video feeds several years old attached as proof of "danger," each one proof that Parts and Services was not safe and would never be safe, not with these people he did not know where's Cassie where's Gregory where's—

He couldn't see Moon's face. Sun could not see his face, but the minute tightening of his grip was response enough. Moon stood taller, rigid and professional despite the venom dripping in his voice—venom that should not have been there because security mode was not malicious and could not feel and yet he was, he felt and the anger pulsed hotly down their communication line—

'Not mad at you—never at you. I'll handle it.'

"Security compromised." His voice held a growled edge to it, reminiscent of The Nightmare—but not quite. Protective, not aggressive, and Sun found himself settling at the sound of it. He found himself pressing closer to Moon, seeking that comfort and protection he'd desperately needed so many years ago. "We will not proceed."

"Wh—" The technicians exchanged confused glances. "Look, don't make this harder than it needs to be. Just come here and let us do our job!"

'What specifically is the danger here?'

Sun didn't jump this time. Moon's voice settled like a solid boulder in his head, one he could hide under and ride out the storm of stress making his rays jitter and head twitch. It was calm and soft, a stark difference from The Nightmare's low growls and rasp. 'The straps,' he managed through whirling thoughts. 'I can't—don't wanna be trapped.'

'What else?' Moon asked at the same time he said, "Bodily restraint unnecessary. Remove them before we proceed."

The tech sighed, a frustrating and grating sound that only increased the sense of danger-danger-danger. "We can't do that—he's a flight risk! Just get in the tube."

'Unknown humans. No—no assurance they won't change more than they have to.' Sun kept his eyes on them. He couldn't count how many times he woke up with different permissions and settings and protocols until they settled on lights on and inside play area and security desk off limits—all to contain The Nightmare.

None of it communicated. All of it spoken around him instead of to him, and none of it guaranteed to be done or to stick or to be applied the way they idly talked about.

'Can't do that again, please—'

"Negative. Bodily restraint unnecessary—I will be here. Further request: Cassie Monroe is to perform the change." Moon's voice, for so long a source of stress and fear, was like a balm in Sun's cracked core. The way he backed them away ever so slightly, the way he kept himself between Sun and them—as unsettling and eerie as it was, Sun felt safe.

One of the technicians talked into their Faz Watch. Cold dread settled in his gut. "M-Moon—"

"No can do. This isn't an apprentice task. Now, come into the tube before we force you in."

("Get in. Or do we have to shut you down to do it?"

"Do not shut us down!!")

Sun shuddered. Sensing his apprehension, Moon forced them back a few more steps—but thundering footsteps behind them stopped them in their tracks. Sun could feel Moon's protocol processing rapidly through the communication line, and very vaguely, he could feel him flipping frantically through the cameras. Sun swiveled his head behind him and nearly fainted at the sight of several security personnel racing toward them.

Before he could say anything, Moon shoved them both into a corner, pressed as close as possible. Sun gripped Moon's hands tightly, and the world flickered in and out of focus.

This was a bad idea, this was a bad idea, he should have never come down here awake—

-.-.-

Sunny shook behind him. Moon kept his eyes on the maintenance team on his right him and his cameras trained on security to his left. Waves and waves of fear and danger flooded the communication line, and several pings from the Alarm rang in Moon's head in desperate succession.

He searched for people he could call.

Security personnel were out of the question—they were the threat.

Freddy and Chica—their offer to help stood out starkly against protocols. A ping went out to them—a cry for help.

Cassie and Gregory—out of the question. They were taking their break; they'd been working hard all week.

Who else, who else—

"Help us get them in here!" one of the technicians exclaimed.

"Let's get this over with." One of the security reached out.

Moon wrestled one hand out of Sunny's and batted hers away.

Silence.

Heavy silence.

The touch had been light, but even in security mode, the pure wrongness of the action flooded his system. But he did not care. A flare of protective rage welled within him, similar to the first time staff tried to cut their rest short. The glitched sobbing behind him fueled his rage, and when the guards took out their stun rods, he found he didn't care if he wasn't supposed to hurt anyone. Children didn't know better—but adults absolutely did.

Like hell staff was going to hurt them.

~.~.~

Cassie and Gregory were staring at them. Snacks and drinks in hand, they stared at Freddy and Chica expectantly. Gathered in the service tunnels behind Rockstar Row, all they could do was take in this information—this news they never even allowed themselves to hope for.

Chica stood frozen beside him. With her eyes were wide, her beak slightly open, she resembled an uncanny echo of their first sentient bodies. Freddy was sure he looked no better, if the young humans' nervous expressions were anything to go by.

"Um, Freddy?" Gregory's voice barely cut through the mess of thoughts and emotions running rampant through his system. "Chica? Could, uh. Could really use some kind of answer here . . ."

"It's—this can't be a bad thing, can it?" Cassie sounded as nervous as she looked. "They were your friends, right?"

"Yes . . ." Freddy finally unfroze his jaw and spoke, though his voice was deeper than the friendly one he put on for guests and friends (friends who had not been there through thick and thin, friends who did not balk at the old rage still running still contained). Gregory and Cassie flinched at the tone, but Freddy couldn't find it in him to care.

No, instead he locked eyes with Chica, and through the old link they'd stopped using since Bonnie's disappearance, shared his incredulous joy. Chica echoed it back wholeheartedly.

"And you're sure they'll work?" Chica asked, and her voice had regressed as much as his had.

Like the prospects of seeing their old friends again had broken something within them. Or healed it?

Freddy couldn't tell.

"We hope so," Cassie said, and oh, for everyone's sake, Freddy hoped so, too. If they revived with even a little changed . . .

Well, that's why they always kept extra copies. Just in case.

"Just—" Chica cleared her throat, and her voice glitched and changed modulation as she regained her composure. "Let us know when you activate them? We'd—really like to be there."

Because Bonnie was a kick-first-ask-later kind of guy. Because Foxy was prone to biting. Because although they'd been more relaxed in the years they considered themselves free, neither really lost that self-preservative instinct.

Because they would hate for Foxy and Bonnie to wake up alone—to begin attacking strangers simply because they were alone among the unknown with an old rage that told them that was what they needed to do to survive.

Because they were friends—and Chica and Freddy missed them dearly.

None of this, Freddy voiced. None of this, Chica said. And Cassie and Gregory did not ask why; they just nodded cautiously. "No problem," Gregory said, and Freddy relaxed with just that assurance.

These were good kids. He and Chica could trust them.

"Thank you, superstar," he breathed, also working to get his voice back to normal. "You have no idea how much that means—"

Alert [URGENT]—Moon (Daycare Attendant): Assistance requested

Location: Parts and Services

Text reads: "HELP."

With the way Chica stiffened, she received the same alert. The Daycare Attendants had not called for help before. That this was urgent—

"Excuse us," was all Freddy said before sprinting toward Parts and Services. Chica's footsteps thundered behind him, and Cassie and Gregory's shocked voices followed just behind.

If they were following, then that was their choice. Right now, Freddy had friends to protect.

~.~.~

They were relentless, but so was Moon. The more they tried to force them out of the corner, the stronger his resolve became—and the deeper his anger ran. He dared not move from where he'd planted himself and Sunny just in case any of them thought that was an opening to drag them into maintenance. Whenever one got too close, he swiped at them with sharpened claws—it made the humans back off, but their stun rods were long.

Behind him, Sunny had curled up on the floor, frozen and mute, unseeing and unhearing.

One minute, Moon's systems reeled from repeated shocks to the system.

The next, a SHRIEK tore through the service tunnels. It shook the air, sent Moon reeling with the sheer force of it.

Security scattered.

The shocks stopped as heavy footsteps shook the ground. One large, clawed hand swept security staff the remaining danger away, and the urge to collapse was only combated by the fact that he still needed to protect—to keep those menaces from laying a hand on either of them.

But Freddy's large, menacing form acting as a shield made that very hard indeed.

Chica arrived soon enough, and although her eyes glowed white with rage, her hands were gentle as she slowly coaxed Moon to relax against her. She just as carefully gathered Sunny into her other arm, though it was a little harder.

Through a voice box that didn't seem to know whether to be menacing or soothing, she whispered assurances that they were okay—that help had arrived.

Slowly, the rage bled out of Moon. Help came—help came, and he could relax now.

More footsteps echoed in. "What the hell!?" Greg's voice cut through the buzz like a knife.

"What's going on here?" Cassie's voice trembled—fear, or anger? Moon couldn't tell.

The toll on his body sent aches everywhere, and the world grew just a little muffled. He heard people yelling, felt Freddy's deep, mechanical voice shake the floor they knelt on, and tucked into Chica when it sounded like another fight would break out.

Even though he didn't need to be as on guard, Moon wrapped Sunny in his arms. If only for his own comfort, he wrapped Sunny in his arms.

Shaky, trembling arms wound around Moon's chest, and simulated breath finally started stuttering to life. Rays previously frozen twitched and sank in. Moon could have cried at the first signs of life in a while.

More footsteps came in.

"Stand down!!" A familiar voice shouted in the crowded maintenance room. "What are you, animals!? I said stand down!"

Immediately, the room felt a little more spacious. Security backed off, and when Moon peeked over Chica's arm, he saw

(the rabbit, he saw the rabbit with a habit of disappearing, delivering directives and instruction and punishment and)

one named Vanessa Andrews taking charge and shoving security away from Freddy. Behind her, Angela Cortez marched in with an incredulous, furious expression. Moon shuddered against Chica, though he didn't know why he was afraid. The danger was over—as far as he knew, Vanessa Andrews sided with Greg, and Angela Cortez had no reason to be angry at himself and Sunny.

But still, something told him to keep away from the rabbit someone, so he ducked back under Chica's arm and let the arguments wash over him. The last vestiges of security mode faded away—he didn't need it anymore.

-.-.-

The voices overlapped over one another, interrupting and interjecting, for a long time before they finally reached a conclusion. That being . . .

"For the love of God, communicate with them." Angela Cortez's voice was pure venom in her professional anger, and Moon would have applauded her if he had the hands to do so. As it was, he was busy trying to coax Sunny out of hiding, trying to bring life back to his rays by stroking the tips he could reach and trying to start some movement by nudging them. "Tell me exactly what went wrong."

The stammering techs were clearly going to be no help—they were clearly looking for excuses as to why everything turned on its head—so Moon took it upon himself to explain. "We said no restraints, no unknown personnel. They didn't want to listen."

Angela Cortez fell silent. Chica tightened her hold, but she did not make a sound. Instead, the silence lasted a little bit longer—and when Angela Cortez next spoke, it was directed to Moon. "Was the reason for this accommodation reasonable?"

'Don't—tell them.' Sunny's voice was muted and hissed with static even though the communication line, but Moon heard it loud and clear.

Still, he needed to answer, so he gave a very firm, "Yes."

Angela Cortez did not ask for more. She did not ask for details, nor did she provide any of the few details she had already. Instead, she said, "Those seem like reasonable accommodations to me. So tell me, why all the fuss?"

For a moment, silence. Then: "We're trying to work on Sun. He's labeled a flight risk, so we have to take all precautions necessary."

"And that is reasonable. However, I'm sure we can find a solution that does not include restraints, unknown personnel, and all of this mess. So, what suggestions do we have, hm?"

Once again, Moon spoke up before anyone else could. He already had a pretty reasonable solution, after all. "Cassie performs the changes. I will keep Sunny there."

A groan from the techs. "And this isn't work for an intern!"

"A moment." Tucked in as he was, Moon couldn't see her approach—but he could hear her. Freddy emitted a low, mechanical rumble, like a dog warning an enemy. "Easy, big guy. I just want to ask a question. It's quite personal."

A moment of silence—then, Freddy relented. He stepped aside just for a moment, allowing Angela Cortez to approach. Chica stared right at her, and her beak opened with a threatening hiss when she crouched down.

"Sun." Her voice was a low murmur, and the only response that earned her was a twitch of the rays. "Are you afraid they'll do something you don't like?"

The feelings that stuttered across the communication line were mixed and confused. Both yes and no pulsed along in contradictory waves, so Moon shrugged and said, "Maybe."

"Okay. I get it. Is it alright if she oversees the operation instead of performing it?"

Slowly, Sunny nodded. Good enough, maybe.

"Would it also help if Chica or Freddy make sure nothing goes wrong?"

Another nod, this time more resolved.

"Alright. Thank you, Sun."

Immediately, Angela Cortez stood and started directing. The technicians were moved out of the way as Moon made to get up. Chica released them reluctantly, and her eyes flickered back to their normal color. Freddy's eyes followed them as Moon led Sunny to the cylinder. Whispers sounded behind him, but Moon didn't pay them any attention.

They settled in front of the cylinder, where one of the technicians carefully attached the necessary cables to the ports in Sunny's head. He made a face while he did it, so Moon scoffed at him—he would have stuck out his tongue if he had a tongue to stick out.

Cassie took her place next to the technicians, and Chica took vigil behind her. Freddy stayed close by, and while Vanessa Andrews shooed the rest of security out of Parts and Services, Greg stuck around, fidgeting as if he didn't know what to do with himself.

"Can you shut me down now?" Sunny sighed. He sounded tired—exhausted, really, and Moon could only wonder just what kind of toll all this fear and panic this was taking on him. "I really don't wanna be here . . ."

"No can do," a tech replied nonchalantly. "We need you awake to confirm the changes are set."

Sunny giggled an unhappy giggle. "Great. Fantastic."

The process started almost immediately—Moon could tell by the way Sunny shuddered next to him. He quickly grabbed his hand and tried to think of a distraction—something that would keep both their minds off of this. Truth be told, though, distraction had never been his strong suit.

He'd only ever needed to get the children to go to sleep, and for that, he'd needed their attention on him via either songs, stories, or the music box. Play time was for distractions, Sunny had always been good at that, not Moon.

As the technician performed his tweaks and changes, Moon agonized over what he could possibly do as a distraction.

But nothing. Nothing came to mind as Sunny shivered and squirmed next to him, as the communication line glitched with agitation and stress. He looked to Cassie, but she was busy watching over the monitor—and with Chica behind her, her help was out of the question, too.

Freddy had moved to the entrance, back to them and eyes to any danger. Out of the question.

Angela Cortez kept her eyes on everyone and seemed busy making sure everyone was getting along—or at the very least, making sure the technicians are playing nice. She didn't seem available right now.

Greg had left shortly after the procedure. Out of the question.

Okay. Okay, that only left himself. That only left Moon himself, the one who could not think of a suitable distraction for this situation—

Come on, think! There has to be something I can do!

But distraction had been a play time process, something Moon did not need because distraction meant a bad nap time—

—but I can learn, I've been learning for a long time—!

An idea popped into his head. Hopefully, this wouldn't trigger any fearful memories.

Stars, if ever there was a time Moon wished he could remember that year . . .

Still, drawing Sunny close, he started an accompaniment on his music box. He let it play a simple tune while he looked through his library for something soothing. Something he hadn't improvised because Sunny asked him not to—something not too scripted because it would be disingenuous. So, while his best friend shook beside him and while the technicians conducted their little operation, Moon dug deeper and deeper into his bank until . . .

. . . Until he hit songs he did not recognize as either his own improvisations or pre-loaded songs from Fazbear Entertainment. These were . . . strange. Titled with labels Moon would not have thought of nor anything consistent with Fazbear Entertainment. When he played it internally, it sounded nothing like the mini movies and shows he would sometimes watch after his security rounds or during extended blackouts after hours. No, the quality was different—it sounded like a young girl had recorded herself singing to someone else. It was different, something from outside and from a long time ago.

Still, as irregular as it was and as sure as he was it would probably get him in trouble, he didn't care. It was marked important, and the title was promising, and it fulfilled the requirements to not set Sunny off—which was the main purpose here.

His music box activated in stops and starts as he mimicked the song. Sunny's hand twitched, and when the melody solidified, even Chica and Freddy turned their heads toward them just slightly.

The music box played a pretty accompaniment as Moon finally began humming.

(nothing's gonna harm you—not while I'm around)

He did not sing out loud; the words were private, meant only for himself and Sunny.

(nothing's gonna harm you—no sir, not while I'm around)

"Anxiety levels stabilizing," someone murmured. Moon didn't care who. All he cared about was the way his best friend relaxed against him, the way his rays slowly extended from their near-invisible state. "Alright, let's begin."

(demons are prowling everywhere nowadays)

"What exactly are you doing?" Cassie asked. "What were you asked to change?"

"Just some protocols when the daycare's occupied. Shouldn't take long."

(I'll send 'em howling—I don't care, I got ways)

From the Parts and Services entrance, Freddy's stiff stance relaxed marginally.

From behind the terminal, Chica's eyes stopped glowing that eerie white.

And sitting right next to him, Sunny's hand stopped shaking so much. His rays, fully extended, gave a few slow pulses to the melody.

(no one's gonna hurt you—no one's gonna dare)

And as if through instinct, Sunny started harming in harmony with the song. Neither of them truly knew it, but it felt like something that had been there all along.

Another attribution to their legacy programming, perhaps—something more solid, inherited from the Marionette.

Pulses and pulses of thank you and I love you raced down the communication line. Moon couldn't help returning the rush of affection tenfold.

(others can desert you—not to worry)

"Daycare occupancy alarm disabled," a tech said. "Sun, please confirm."

(whistle, I'll be there)

Sunny took a bit to speak. The hand squeezed tighter, the rays pulled in a little—but the grip loosened, and the rays sprung back with just the tiniest sway. "Confirmed." His voice shook, and their communication line lit up with disbelief.

(demons'll charm you with a smile, for a while)

"Mandatory surveillance disabled. Sun, please confirm."

"C-confirmed."

"Childcare protocols disabled from mandatory status. Please confirm."

". . . Confirmed."

(but in time)

"How's it looking, Cassie?" Angela Cortez asked.

"So far, so good," Cassie replied. "Nothing we haven't mention's been changed."

Relief pulsed strongly in the communication line, and Moon couldn't imagine just how many involuntary changes Sunny went through to elicit this strong a reaction.

More and more, his anger toward the staff of that time seeped into his frustration with many of the staff here—at least, toward the daytime staff. Night shift seemed fine, but considering everything he'd seen here, Moon wouldn't hold his metaphorical breath on it.

(nothing can harm you)

"Hey." Greg stepped into view and lowered himself until he sat right in front of Sunny and Moon. "Found something for ya."

(not while I'm around)

The song ended just as a small argument broke out at the terminal—something about keeping the internal shock system. Sunny tensed and desperately turned his attention to Greg, who presented two ribbons, each with two bells attached. The work was shoddy, a true testament to FazEnt's commitment to change their wardrobe—clearly, Greg had done this himself in the time the technicians took to make their changes.

But it was touching. The final notes of the accompaniment faded as Sunny desperately looked for a distraction, and Moon leaned forward just a little. "The bells?"

"Just like you asked for." Greg grinned with all the false confidence of a child presenting their first artwork. "I couldn't find any originals, so I made my own. How do ya like 'em?"

"It's messy," Sunny croaked—but he took one all the same. His voice was strained, and he twitched at every loud whisper. Still, he smirked even though the distress in his eyes was evident. "Who taught you how to tie a knot, huh?"

"Oh, don't lie to me, you love it." Greg handed one to Moon. "Go on, try it out."

Without really thinking about it, Moon turned to Sunny and tied the ribbon Greg gave him to his right wrist. Sunny watched with tired eyes, and when it was secure, he gave it a small shake. The bells rang cleanly amid the hushed argument (Chica bit out something mildly threatening—just how much trouble would she get in for that?).

"It's—fine." Moon snickered and held out his own wrist. Sunny took the ribbon he'd taken and tied it nearly around Moon's left. "Now, watch closely, little Rulebreaker, because this is the only time I'm showing you anything."

"Oh, what an honor." Despite the sarcasm, Greg did lean in, chin in hand, to watch.

There was nothing special about the knot. Something simple yet secure, with the ends tucked in to reduce snagging. Greg rolled his eyes and slowly clapped his hands.

"Wow," he deadpanned. "Fascinating. I coulda done that myself."

"And yet." Sunny snorted—but now that the distraction was gone, Moon felt his attention turn back to the terminal.

He turned his attention to the argument he did not need to listen to.

So, Moon did the only thing he could do in his quick, frantic logic. "Sunny, did you know we have other songs in our bank?"

Sunny blinked. Greg furrowed his brow. "Yeah, so do Freddy and Chica," he said.

Moon waved him off and searched Sunny's face. His eyes had that far-away look that said he was searching through their shared library. "Huh. These are—old."

Greg hummed, and his expression was far away and thoughtful, too. Within the moment, though, he smirked and glanced at the technicians at the terminal (still arguing pointlessly, and this time, Freddy joined in). "What's the most annoying song in there?"

Silence, for a little—silence that was broken up by two sets of mischievous snickering. Sunny sat up straighter and, trying to reign in his giggles, started singing loudly—

"This is the song that doesn't end! Yes, it goes on and on, my friend!"

Grinning, Moon joined in. "Some people started singing it, not knowing what it was. And they'll continue singing it forever just because—"

"THIS IS THE SONG THAT DOESN'T END!" It was nothing Moon would call singing—it was more like yelling in semi-tune. Yet it brought just as much joy, with the added benefit of annoying the mess out of the technicians. "YES, IT GOES ON AND ON, MY FRIEND!"

As he and Sunny continued the forever song, several annoyed glances were thrown their way—and when Greg joined in, the glances turned into groans.

"We're trying discussing something important!" one of the techs shouted. "Stop that!"

"Not until you change the settings," Greg sang.

The song looped again. Sunny sang just a little louder and shook his new bells in rhythm.

"I'm just saying, it's completely unnecessary right now, especially if it's connected to the daycare protocols," Cassie pushed.

"It's a contingency—every animatronic has it. We can't just shut it off for one of them! What would the others think?"

"This is an exception supported by his therapist." Cassie pointed to Angela Cortez, who nodded sagely. "I think we can do it."

"Ms. Kelley already approved," Angela Cortez added. "I will handle the fallout should anything happen."

The song looped again. The volume went up a little louder, and Moon started singing a harmony.

The technicians visibly grew more frustrated—and more worn down. Sweet vindication settled in Moon's circuits as one of them yelled, "Alright, fine! But we're not responsible for anything that happens from this!"

Sunny immediately stopped, as if the words were the permission he'd been waiting for. He wobbled in place, and when he swayed a little too much, Moon wrapped an arm around him to keep him upright.

The technicians still needed their confirmation, after all.

The typing went on in silence. All the energy from before, both frantically manic and violently protective, had been sucked out of the room. No one spoke or move, not until the technician said, "Alright, they're offline. Confirm?"

Sunny's fans whirred a little louder. "Confirmed . . ." he whispered. Slumped against Moon, he was the very picture of pure exhaustion.

He needs to sleep.

Moon shot the technicians a glare. They really couldn't have done this at a worse time, could they? They couldn't have waited until the twelve hours were up, could they?

Inconsiderate.

they deserve to

"Alright, then. That does it. You're free to go."

As soon as that sentence was finished, Sunny ripped out the cables and made to stand. However, he didn't even make it to his feet before he lost balance and nearly fell over—Moon caught him in time.

"Oh, dear!" Chica's voice, now normal and the way he remembered it, drew closer as she knelt in front of them. "You need help, chickies?"

Heavy footsteps stopped behind her, and Moon spied Freddy hanging back slightly. There was an odd look on his face, but when he caught Moon staring at him, he smiled his normal friendly smile. They both looked so genuine now—but truth be told, Sunny wasn't the only tired one. They'd both had enough excitement for today, and Moon found he wasn't . . . too partial to company right now.

Especially since—well, one couldn't just forget how terrifying Freddy and Chica could be, not before a nice, long nap.

So, with his own little smile—one that felt like a grimace, he said, "We'll be fine. Thank you."

"You sure you don't want us to walk you back?"

Moon shook his head. "We'll be fine."

Freddy and Chica exchanged a look. Whatever communication it was, it resulted in them stepping back and Freddy saying, "Alright. Call us if you need anything."

A nod. Oh, Moon would not forget how quickly they came when he pinged them. "Okay."

With one last glance at each other, they made their way out of Parts and Services.

Greg shifted in front of them. "Anything I can do?"

Moon scanned himself. Aside from the slight damage from the shocks, he couldn't complain. he was tired, and it could wait, so he just shook his head.

"Want me to fix those rays while we're here?" Greg asked, his voice a quiet murmur so the other techs couldn't here.

Sunny shook his head. "I wanna go home . . ."

"Yeah, that . . . sounds good to me, man. Want us to come with?"

This time, Moon answered. "No. Go, take your break. You earned it."

"Right." Greg nodded resolutely and smiled grimly. "Ping us if you need us."

Sunny huffed and managed a small, genuine grin back. "Thanks, Gregory. Guess you're not that bad."

"Oh, whatever, man." Greg rolled his eyes, but his smile was a little less bleak. "Still expecting that banner."

"In your dreams."

With those very loving and caring parting words, Greg stood up and headed out with Cassie. Angela Cortez checked on them one more time and, after affirming that all they really needed was some peace and quiet, shooed the other technicians out of the maintenance room.

And they were alone.

Moon sighed and made to stand, but a hand in his kept him from doing so. He glanced at whoever it could be, and—

Well.

Sunny laid his head on Moon's shoulder and gave his best puppy eyes. "Carry me?"

Moon snorted. He wanted to tease, but he could see that under the veneer of trying to act normal, genuine exhaustion dogged his best friend. Besides, it was better than letting him collapse on the way. "Okay, fine."

He crouched in front of Sunny, who wrapped his arms around Moon's neck and held on tight. He stood as soon as he knew Sunny was secure and made his way down the hall. He didn't bother talking or trying to make conversation—neither of them were up for it—but he played the accompaniment to the song he'd found earlier.

Sunny nuzzled Moon, and a wave of affection crossed their communication line in tired pulses. Moon basked in the warmth of it and sent his own wave back, humming a little more the further they got from maintenance. For a while, their walk was calming, and the steady motion of Moon's footsteps slowly lulled Sunny to sleep.

Lumbering steps shattered their peace, and when Monty turned the corner and marched toward them, Moon would only ever admit to himself that dread shot through his systems. He tried to keep it from crossing the communication line, but Sunny was already rousing and lifting his head. Frustration swept across the line, softening when it encountered the dread.

Moon took a step back. He consulted the map—maybe there was a way around, where they could avoid Monty. If they were lucky, he hadn't seen them yet—

"Hey! You two!"

Or not.

Moon swallowed the dread and stood straighter. Sunny straightened up, too, even though exhaustion was evident in the way he clutched Moon's shoulders. "What?" Moon whispered.

Monty made a sort of growling sound in his throat and stopped right in front of them. His tail thumped behind him angrily, but he didn't make another move toward them.

No, instead, he thrust his arm out. Moon flinched back, eliciting a dark chuff from the gator.

"I ain't here to do nothin' to ya," he growled. "If it were up to me, I wouldn't see ya at all today—but Rox wanted me to give this to ya. Fuck knows why."

Moon eyed Monty warily before slowly looking down at his hand. In it was a small, folded up piece of paper. Carefully, as if the hand would bite him, he shifted Sunny on his back and took the slip.

Monty made no move to grab or hurt. He retracted his arm as soon as Moon grabbed the paper.

"This better not be a joke, Montgomery," Sunny huffed.

"Psh." And he said nothing more as he turned back to storm away.

Moon pocketed it and started searching for another route to the theater when—

"Oh. Guess I gotta give ya another message." When he turned around, Monty's grin was full of danger, all sharp teeth and promises of violence when next they crossed paths. "DJ says y'all can visit it any time. Ain't that somethin'?"

Moon furrowed his brow. What was Monty's deal? He said nothing as he watched Monty stomp away for good, and only when he couldn't hear him anymore did he start back to the theater.

Sunny slumped back against him with a sigh. "Big meany."

Moon hummed. "I don't get him."

"He thinks we had something to do with the virus." A snort—incredulous and angry. "He wishes it were that simple."

"Did we?"

"Only as much as everyone else." It came out in a mumble, reluctant and sour. Sunny hugged Moon's neck a little tighter. "Let's go home?"

"Sure." And they made the rest of the trip in silence.

-.-.-

Arriving at the theater, they entered through the door that led backstage. Good thing, too, because a few teenagers were already seated and watching whatever nonsense was in the projector. Moon tip-toed behind the screen and set Sunny down.

He was already sleeping. The whole Parts and Services ordeal really had done a number on him, and Moon committed the faces of those technicians to memory. Even if he couldn't hurt them, he would make sure to make their jobs as difficult as possible.

Well. No use dwelling on it right now. Instead, he focused on making Sunny as comfortable as possible before sitting down next to him. After all that, he probably needed a nap, too, but—

Oh, but he couldn't right now. He needed to keep watch in case something happened. Maybe he would ask Chica tonight if she could help out—he hadn't really slept at all yesterday.

In the meantime, Moon took out the note and unfolded it. Whatever Roxy wanted to say, it couldn't have been too important if she felt a note would—

Oh. His eyes locked onto the words, and—

Oh.

"Moon," it read, "Sorry about the other night. It was shitty of me to lash out like that. Don't know what the fuck's wrong with me, but" A few lines were scratched out, all illegible through the harried scribbling. "I'll be the best feel-like-shit pal you could have. Can I try again?"

She didn't sign her name, but that was okay. Moon read it a few more times, and . . . maybe . . . he could visit tonight. Maybe.

He would have to think about it. After all, he'd been so close to tearing her casing apart—he'd only just held back because of her anger and the suddenness of her kicking him out. But he would consider it.

Folding the note again, he slipped it back in his pocket and considered her invitation—her invitation and DJ's.

But as he considered, his thoughts slowed . . . and slowed . . . and his eyes fluttered closed . . .

And in the relative quiet behind the screen, amid boxes of props and costumes, Moon slowly nodded off.

He did not dream, nothing he could truly remember—just the impression of music and a feeling of warm safety.