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There was something wrong with Moon. Sun repeated this fact to anyone who would listen—and even to everyone who wouldn't listen, to be frank. It started with the maintenance crew that saw them every once in a blue moon. He made sure to mention it every time they were scheduled for maintenance (and whenever they could actually get serviced). Of course, there was always "nothing wrong" whenever the techs checked, but obviously they were wrong.
Sun felt uncomfortably warm. He lost moments of his life during nap time and the hourly blackouts. More and more every day, he grew more irritated with the kids.
Most importantly, though, Moon would not respond to him. Or at least, not in the ways he used to.
"Are you okay?" Sun would whisper.
Yes, Moon would normally say, but what came across was a hum instead. Soft, of course, as was his demeanor, but unusual.
He'd said as much to the tech, but the tech hadn't so much as given a possible explanation.
Those hums turned into grunts turned into leave me alones turned into silence.
Moon wasn't responding, Sun was losing time during lights out time, and their tech wasn't worried—said, in fact, that nothing was wrong when something very much was.
So Sun took to telling the security guard on staff. Eventually, when the company let some guards go and there was no one monitoring the security desk, he would tell the STAFF bots that came around.
He never told the kiddos, but they somehow got wind of it. Maybe it had to do with the bruises and fear after nap time.
And when the kiddos knew, their parents knew.
And when the parents knew, they complained.
And when the parents complained, things got fixed.
Sun found himself called down to maintenance, and he could only feel mild annoyance and itchy desperation that maybe this time, they'd find what was wrong.
That maybe they'd acknowledge that something was wrong and not just attribute it to petty complaints.
Sun entered the maintenance room. Moon was silent in his head, radiating waves and waves of pain pain pain that translated into a very unpleasant full-body ache.
He was directed into the tube. He complied easily, not expecting much to come out of it as usual but hoping something would. The straps buckled themselves in, and he settled himself in for a session of nothing.
"Alright, initiating shutdown sequence," the attending technician said. Sun perked up a little. What in the world were they going to do that needed a shutdown?
Everything grew dim and heavy before he could properly ask. All he could truly hope for was that they finally, finally found a way to fix Moon.
~.~.~
Initiating start-up sequence . . .
Initializing . . .
Eyes opened. The uncomfortable warmth was gone.
Temperature optimal.
His head was quiet, and the pain was gone.
No abnormalities detected.
Was it done? Was Moon fixed?
"That oughta do it." A voice next to him—someone outside the maintenance tube. Sun tried to call out to them, but he couldn't get his voice box to even hiss out static. What was happening? Was Moon fixed now?
Moon was silent in his head, but Sun wasn't too worried. Being sick for so long and undergoing a presumably intense operation was a good enough excuse to sleep in, in his books. Heck, he'd accept any excuse at this point so long as it meant Moon was okay.
The world flickered in stops and starts, glitches and static covering his vision until it cleared and solidified. He was still in the maintenance tube, still strapped in and looking up a little under the light. The world was much too bright for Moon anyway. He wouldn't like to be awake right now—he was such an odd duck like that, but it was one of the many reasons he was Sun's best friend.
He drifted his optics down to the people tending to them. Two techs, both talking about something Sun should probably be listening to. He tuned in—
"—n's gone now. It should have fixed the issue. Maybe now it'll stop bothering everyone."
Someone's gone? Who's gone?
A cold pit shuddered through him. Who was gone that fixed the issue?
He needed to ask them. He needed answers.
After a bit of struggle, Sun's voice box finally fizzled to life. "Is Moon okay?" he asked through thick, thick static.
That finally caught their attention. The one working the terminal cleared her throat and said, "We've removed the issue, so everything should be fine now. You can go back now."
Removed the issue. Moon was quiet in his head. Sun's head clicked lightly as he tried to process these pieces of information that just wouldn't cement themselves despite the connection being clear.
Moon had an issue.
The issue was removed.
Moon is quiet.
Was Moon gone?
"What do you mean?" he asked, quieter than he'd ever been. "Is Moon okay now?"
The technicians shared a glance, and that glance seemed to share some rude thought between them. The technician at the terminal replied, "Moon was the issue. He's gone, now."
Moon was the issue. He's gone now.
No, that couldn't be right. They were Sun and Moon, Day and Night. It—it was just wrong! You couldn't have one without the other, so Moon couldn't be gone and Sun couldn't be alone!
The maintenance tube opened. The straps unbuckled and retracted.
It didn't make sense. None of this made sense.
They had him perform checks and calibrations. He performed in a dull, confused haze because Moon couldn't be gone, that didn't make sense. Distracted as he was, he had to do some several times before the techs were satisfied.
Eventually, though, he made his way back to the daycare.
-.-.-
This didn't make sense.
This didn't make sense.
Sun and Moon, Day and Night, no one without the other—they were a packaged deal. Always had been, always would be. Sun had made this clear as crystal when he first met the Glams, and the kids had never questioned this in the first place.
So, Moon couldn't be gone. No, he must have been tired and sleeping too deeply to hear anyone calling for him. That had to be it because that made sense.
He didn't immediately turn off the lights since he suspected Moon was busy recovering, so he sat on the bridge, feet dangling over the edge and hands clasped tightly together, and waited for the first hourly blackout. The kids were already gone, closing time was almost here, and so all he had to do was wait.
Briefly, he considered visiting one of the others, but what if the blackout happened while he was with someone else? Surely, Moon wouldn't want to be with other people while he was still recovering! He'd barely made friends with Freddy, after all, and even that was a bit of a stretch.
Sun hummed and tapped his fingers together. Click, click, click. He hoped maybe now that Moon was better, he could make more friends or connect a little more with Freddy or do anything at all. He'd always been too shy, watching the others from afar and only truly acquainting himself with their personalities through Sun's interactions with them. Some in-person socializing would do him some good—after he got fully better.
Click, click, click.
Jingle, jingle, jingle.
Sun shook his wrists out. What was taking so long?
Jingle, jingle, jingle.
He shook his foot slightly as his hands wrung tightly. Impatience ate at him, but he could be patient for Moon.
Click, click, click.
Jingle, jingle, jingle.
Okay, no, he couldn't wait. Moon might have been tired, but Sun really, really needed to make sure everything was really okay. So, hopping off the bridge, he hurriedly made his way to the light switch behind the security desk, which was blessedly empty. Thank goodness this wasn't one of the rare days a security guard actually showed up.
"Okay, I know you're really tired," Sun said, "but I'd really like to talk to you for a minute! Okay?"
Moon didn't answer—not even a smidge of acknowledgement. He must have really been tired.
Sun nodded resolutely to himself. "Okay. I'm turning off the lights now." His hand hovered at the switch for a beat. ". . . Please don't be mad."
He turned the switch off.
Immediately, a sense of foreboding fell over him like a thick blanket. A dreadful heaviness suffocated him, thickening the air and leaving him heavy and slow. His rays spun slowly, and his head twitched, clearly wanting to spin the rays away but unable to—or, no, not unable to. Sun was stopping that from happening.
That wasn't supposed to happen. That wasn't supposed to work.
He quickly let go of the tension and let his rays spin away—but they didn't. They landed in their normal spots.
He tried to feel the numbness that came with releasing control, tried to remember what it was like to be awake and aware while Moon took the front, but all that came of it was a dull ache where Moon was—or should have been?
Was he still there?
Something in him told him there was nothing where there should be something, but that couldn't be right, could it?
Could it?
The world was dark—or was that just Sun shutting his eyes? He quickly flicked them back on and looked out to a dark, dark world and looked down at himself, hoping to see—
He'd changed. Of course he did! That's what they were made to do, him and Moon! They switched places with a flick of the switch, relieving one another at the beck and call of the clock and the lights.
Bringing his hands up to his face, he wasn't surprised to see Moon's blue and gray.
He wasn't surprised to find the red and yellow stripes were replaced with blue with yellow stars.
But Sun was surprised it was him that made the arms move, that it was his eyes that took in the uncanny appearance of Moon's colors on his person.
This . . . this wasn't right. Why was Sun still awake when it was supposed to be Moon? The lights were off—it was night time—it should have been nap time—
"Moon?" Sun whispered because to talk loud felt wrong just like the heaviness pressing into him. "Are you there?"
No answer. Not even a leave me alone, not a grunt, not a hum, not a yes. Just nothing.
Dread settled like a heavy, scratchy blanket. This wasn't right. This was wrong, so so wrong.
"Are you still sleeping?" Sun whispered even though he wanted to shout because to shout when the lights were off was wrong.
No answer. Nothing in character, nothing out of character. Nothing.
Sun turned the lights back on. Once again, his rays spun, and a sense of right lifted the blanket of wrong as his colors went back to normal. Maybe Moon was more tired than he thought—so tired, in fact, that he just didn't want to come out yet. Maybe he couldn't wake up because he was so tired.
Yeah, that had to be it! They'd needed to be shut down before the operation, and if any of the stories the little ones told held any merit, then people tended to be tired after operations! Moon just needed time to sleep off the effects, that was all. Sun was happy to give him as much time as he needed.
With that in mind, he mimed a sigh of relief and pulled away from the switch. He had some cleaning to do before security rounds, so he figured he better get to it.
As he worked, he found himself going back to the light switch again and again. And again. And again.
Just to make sure. Just to check that Moon wasn't awake or ready yet.
He still wasn't ready when the first security round came, so Sun volunteered himself to do the rounds for him.
The dreadful heaviness haunted him for those ten long minutes.
~.~.~
"Something's wrong."
The tech rolled their eyes, but Sun didn't care. It was maintenance day, and a fairly quick one to come after having been serviced only a few short days ago. It was now or never—who knew when he'd get this chance again?
"Oh, yeah?" the tech droned. "What's wrong this time?"
Sun scowled. "Moon's still sick."
"How so?" Boredom. This tech was bored while Moon was sick.
"He's still not answering, and he won't come out!"
To this, the tech just shrugged. "That's what happens when you take a program out. It tends to not respond."
Something hot roiled through his core. "Moon isn't gone," he snarled. A growled edge caught in his voice box, startling the tech.
When they lifted their eyes from the terminal to him, their expression was drawn and their brows furrowed. Sun knew what anger looked like, but this didn't seem like anger. It looked more like
(pity sorry for your)
"He's gone," they said. "You reported the issue, and the issue has been fixed."
Sun scoffed. That hot something curled around him and kept him warm through the chilliness of their words. He slammed his fist down against the maintenance chair as hard as he could. There wasn't much force to it due to the straps, but the tech's eyes still widened, and they still flinched. "He's not gone," he snapped. "He's probably hurt because you did something!"
To this, the tech said nothing. They ran him through final calibrations and sent him on his way.
-.-.-
The kids ran circles around Sun, giggling and shrieking to escape since he got tagged. He didn't mind being it, though—so long as he tired the kiddos out before nap time, he would be it as much as he needed to!
Soon, after many rounds and minutes of chasing and tagging, hiding and seeking, a light tune echoed throughout the daycare. Nap time was only minutes away; time to prep the little ones.
Stopping in place, he jingled the bells on his wrist to grab the children's attention. "Oh, you know what that sound means!" Sun exclaimed. The familiar faces either sighed in relief or grumbled unhappily. He brought them all in a circle so Moon could corral them easier, skipped to the light switch, and announced nap time was in session.
Good night, sun.
Hello moon!
The lights flicked off.
Again, that dread settled heavily over him, and he shuddered when the energy he was so used to drained into something slower and quieter.
Again, he should have taken a step back while Moon took over. Sun should have sunken into numbness while Moon took the reigns and made sure everyone had a good nap time. Instead, Sun was still there, frozen to the spot as his rays spun but did not retract. Shocked silence followed as even the children seemed put off by this irregularity.
He could see it on their little faces. Confusion warred with concern clashed with fear. In the heavy, suffocating silence, he felt the night cap settle into place, the bell thumping softly against his back.
The fire from before stoked up again, muted like everything else but still there. Was he seriously doing this still? The children were here; what in the world were they going to think!?
Sun could see them shifting uncomfortably out of the corner of his eye. He quickly turned to the side, keeping an eye on them but giving himself and Moon some semblance of privacy.
"Wake up," he hissed. "The kids are waiting for you—wake up!"
Nothing. No answer, neither in character nor out of it.
Despite the muted, slow emotions, ire boiled and bubbled straight to the surface. "Oh, don't you go ignoring me! I don't know what's gotten into you lately, but you will not do this now!"
Still nothing.
Pure fire, hot and crippling, shot through his circuits. Without thinking, Sun slammed his hand on the light switch and snarled. "Moon, I swear—!!"
He grabbed his left arm and squeezed. Horrible screeching sounds reached his audio receptors as he pressed and scratched to grab Moon's attention—so loud was the screeching that he didn't hear the concerned little voices calling out to him. No, he needed Moon to hear him, and he needed to listen well because he couldn't just flake out like this!
The children needed him—Sun needed him, so why would he just up and disappear like that!?
He only noticed the children again when several little hands reached for him, tried to hug his legs and grab at his hands.
What was he doing? Why was he fighting Moon in front of the little stars?
The rage quelled as quickly as as it rose, leaving behind simmering embers. Sun let the children take his hands and bring him down so they were all sitting.
"What happened, Sunny?" Eli, a sweet little boy, asked. "Where's Moony?"
This question was echoed by other sleepy little voices. Sun tried to keep up his cheerful demeanor, but
(that's what happens when you take a program out)
it was hard not to show a little worry. "Moon's just sick. I—he'll be back soon!"
"Are you two fighting?" a little girl, Kiari, gasped. "Please don't hurt each other!!"
Sun waved his hands reassuringly. "Don't you worry! We aren't fighting or any—"
"Then why did you yell at him??" Another little voice, interjecting and indignant. "Friends don't yell at friends!"
Friends also don't leave each other behind.
friends also don't kill each other—
Sun smiled tightly. "Of course, thank you so much for remembering that! I'll make sure to apologize when he gets better, okay?"
Several teary eyes looked up at him. "And no more fighting?"
"No more fighting! I promise!"
-.-.-
The next day, fewer kids checked in. His most frequent regulars, of course, along with a few who hadn't seen yesterdays debacle. Sun made sure to keep his promise.
Despite his efforts, however, when nap time came and Moon still couldn't refused to come out, he lashed out. First at the wall, then at his arm. The children were quick to scold him, to tell him that he'd broken his promise—
—and he lashed out at them too.
He didn't think he would ever forget the crack of bone nor just how quickly a neck could snap.
-.-.-
The first time he violently touched a child was also the last because the parents complained—and as they both knew, when parents complained, things tended to get fixed.
Nobody came by to tell him, and nobody came by to switch the fix themselves. No, instead, as Sun struggled to bring Moon out for security rounds that night, he received an alert for a patch on their code.
Perimeter lock active: play area.
As slow as he felt right now, even being in his lights-on state wouldn't have made processing this fix any easier.
When it finally clicked that this might mean they were trapped, Sun flicked the lights on and sprinted to the door.
His body stopped before reaching it. He couldn't move toward it, couldn't reach out to it—all he could do was stare or walk away. Without his permission, his circuits and CPU forbade him from touching the door.
Trapped.
Fire licked up his core as he stepped back, slowly and purposefully. His hands shook even as he clenched them into fists, and the unsteady beat of unfair unfair unfair pounded an aching hole in his chest.
Walking turned to running, and when he reached one of the play structures, he didn't hesitate to slam his fist into it.
He couldn't recall how many times he'd punched the plastic piping, nor could he remember when he got into the stuffed animal box and shredded as many as he could reach. The tantrum passed in a blur of screaming and violence until, blowing hot air through his vents, Sun was surrounded by a gruesome sea of stuffing and fabric.
~.~.~
"Come on, you can't still be ignoring me!"
Sun paced along the moat. With the daycare closed until forever further notice, he had no one to talk to but Moon.
(if he was still there, was he still there, he wasn't there anymore)
The fact that Moon had died stopped talking to him was the icing of horrible on this cake of bad. Stuck as he was, he couldn't go find someone else to talk to, to take his mind off the fact that Moon was gone ignoring him. And with Moon dead ignoring him, Sun had nobody to talk to—not unless one of the Glams decided to come visit, but he had the nagging suspicion that they were as locked out as he was locked in.
That had to be it because if it wasn't—if they had no issues coming in—then that meant—
Don't think about that.
Focus on this.
On me.
Focus on the doll in his hands, a mid-sized Moon plush that he'd pulled from the nap time closet. It felt a lot better talking to this and pretending Moon was alive listening than to feel like he was going crazy. At least this way, it felt like someone was talking back, responding to his questions and demands, posing some of its own.
"Is it something I did?" Sun asked. He shook and squeezed the doll when he got no answer. "I—I know I was a little mad, but—I'm—"
A little mad? You wanted to hit me!
"No—never! I—"
Friends don't hit each other, Sunny.
"I'm sorry! Please, just—I need you back!"
No answer.
Sun shook it again, freezing at the edge of the moat and trembling with fear, cold fear that froze his hands tight and numbed his senses. "C-come on, Moon Moon! I—what can I do, huh?" He smiled at the doll, hoping that somewhere, somehow, Moon could see and would come back. Because he wasn't gone—he wasn't gone—he wasn't gone—! "I'll do anything! You want me to run nap time for a day? I'll do it! You—you want me to organize the storage closet?" A shaky laugh escaped him. It was the best he could do. "It's a big ask, but I'll do it for you, friend!"
Nothing. The doll didn't answer, and Moon absolutely didn't.
Desperation settled in his core. A desperate sob rose up from the depths of his emotional center as he hugged the doll to his chest and begged, "Please. I—you can't be gone! I—"
You killed me.
"I'm sorry!"
You tattled.
"I didn't mean to ki—" He choked on the word. It couldn't—he couldn't speak it into existence. "I need you back . . ."
Never coming back.
"Please, tell me how to bring you back . . ."
He's never coming back.
In the silence of the daycare, settled in the isolation of several weeks, Sun dropped to his knees and rocked the doll, whispering and begging and getting no response.
~.~.~
The lights flickered off. Sun let his rays spin away as nap time protocols replaced play time protocols. The cold heaviness settled as uncomfortably as always, but in the numbness of his core, he found it didn't bother him anymore. Sat under one of the play structures, hugging the doll close but loose, he found nothing much bothered him now.
he wanted to cry he wanted to scream but he'd spent all his energy on that already please come back—
He focused on the texture of the doll, on the differences between the fabric body and the smooth pants and cap.
He let out a soft, numb laugh. He supposed they matched now.
how would moon look with sun's colors, he wondered—bad thought bad thought bad thought—
His fans sped up. They were the only sound in the deafening silence. He focused on them, focused on the doll's texture, focused on anything except his thoughts or else—
The lights flickered on. Not a normal blackout, then. Not the hourly nap time.
Or had it been the blackout?
What time was it?
When did he last try to coax Moon to—
He nearly missed the door creaking open, but the sound of a child's voice was impossible to miss.
Again, Sun laughed softly and shakily. Stars, if there was ever a time he wasn't ready for guests, now would be it.
"I'm in," the child whispered. "Where's the badge?"
The badge, the badge, the one by the security desk that was technically off limits, but there was no barrier between it and Sun unlike the door, the door, the door.
"It is somewhere on the security desk," someone else said. The voice was tinny and a little staticky, but Sun would recognize Freddy Fazbear's voice anywhere.
For a third time, a tittering laugh bubbled up and escaped him. The first voices besides his own he'd heard in a while, and they were Moon's second and only other friend and a literal child.
He hugged the doll tighter.
Moon would never befriend the others again. He would never put another child down for a nap again. He would never experience life again, and it was all because of Sun.
he was gone he was gone he was dea—
"Someone's here with me," the kid hissed. "Freddy, you said I was safe here!"
"You are, I can assure you! If I am right, then the only one in there should be . . ."
Footsteps walked around the play area. Sun ignored the steps, and he ignored the fact that Freddy knew he was here in favor of focusing on the doll's texture and the sound of his fans whirring away.
He knew he would scream if he didn't.
He knew he would tear the doll apart if he focused on anything else, if he focused on the hollow spot in his head, if he focused on the loneliness and heaviness weighing him down, down, down . . .
"Uh, Freddy?" The child was closer now, standing right next to the play structure. Sun could see his scuffed shoes, and all he could focus on was how worn they were. Poor thing probably had holes in the soles, or maybe they were falling apart in a way he couldn't see yet. "Who's this?"
Moon would have tutted in his head and suggested a look in the daycare's lost and found. That thought alone sent another wave of heaviness that crushed him and kept him frozen to the spot.
Yellow and gray fingers fiddled with the pom-pom at the end of the doll's cap. What he wouldn't give for Moon's worry . . .
"That is the Daycare Attendant . . ." Freddy's voice was soft and sad. Sun curled into himself further and tried to focus on the textures, on the whirring, on anything that wasn't external grief and pity. "I . . . I have not been able to see him since . . . How is he doing, superstar?"
To this, the kid came closer and stepped under the play structure with him. Now, he could see worn shorts and a relatively clean shirt. More than the lost and found, Moon would have said, poor thing needs a bath.
Sun's caretaker protocols sluggishly started up. Eyes drifted heavily up and met the kid's gaze.
He looked hungry. Scans started up slowly, as if they were as numb and tired as Sun.
"He's not moving," the kid said. "Hey, you alright?"
It took a while for Sun to realize the words were directed at him—and only when the kid's brows drew over his eyes in an annoyed pout.
". . . Are you?" Was that rude to ask? Scans showed injuries and exhaustion, hunger and filth, an uncared for child he would have called social services for if the daycare were opened. As it was, what was the point?
The kid scowled. "Seems fine to me," he huffed.
"No, he is far from fine," Freddy rumbled. He spoke a little louder. "Sun, are you alright?"
Can you please leave? The numbness slowly receded in favor of uncomfortable warmth, very much unlike the sickness that took Moon but vaguely reminiscent of it. Distantly, Sun hoped it would take him, too, so he could join Moon again.
He said none of this. Instead, he hummed a dull affirmative and went back to staring at the floor. What did he care about this child? Without Moon and without the daycare, life had lost its luster, so why bother caring anymore?
Better to sit here and focus on the doll's texture than think about how he'd ki . . .
The watch said something. The child said something. He moved away, and Sun didn't bother keeping track of him. If the kid wanted to make a mess, he wouldn't stop him.
Whispered voices started up a little ways away.
"What gives?"
"I am worried. If you can, take him with you."
"What?? Why should I?? He'll just slow us down!"
"Gregory, please. He lost someone very . . . very dear a while back, and I was unable to reach him while the perimeter locks were up. None of us could."
"Then he wouldn't be able to get out, either, so why bother?"
"Because you can lift the perimeter locks from the security desk. I cannot go into the play area, but I will be able to join you outside of it. Please, I do not want to leave him alone right now."
". . . Fine. But only because you asked, not anything else!"
More footsteps, going further away. Some childish cursing and sounds of struggling. Fingers played with the pom-pom and stroked the night cap.
Something lifted. Sun couldn't be bothered to check what it was. He just wanted the kid out so he could be alone again.
By the sound of those footsteps coming closer, Sun figured that wasn't going to happen.
The kid came back into view. He looked stern and frustrated. "Come on, we're leaving."
Sun didn't bother looking at him. "Why?"
"Because Freddy's worried."
"Mm." Any other day, he would have hopped up and gone to see Freddy immediately. The hollowness weighing him down kept him rooted to the spot, though, and he didn't want to get up even if it wasn't.
He was fine here.
The kid grumbled. He fidgeted. Finally, he spoke. "Look, if you come, then . . . um, I'll be safer?"
At this, Sun raised his head. Another scan showed hunger, exhaustion, and mild injuries. Caretaker protocols sluggishly came to life, and . . .
Help him.
Somewhere in the back of his head, he knew Moon would have wanted him to help. At the very least, he would have been disappointed if Sun left this kid by himself, and that thought alone stung. With a heavy sigh, he scooted out of the play area and, making sure to keep the doll secure, sluggishly lifted himself to his feet.
The kid held out his hand. Sun stared at it for a little bit before reluctantly taking it.
They approached the door. He readied himself to freeze in front of it, but it opened easily, and they passed through easily.
"There," the kid sighed. "We should probably wait for Freddy, shouldn't we?"
Sun hummed in response. He didn't have the energy to offer much more.
"Yeah . . ." The kid looked around—
—and then something growled.
Sun's head snapped down to the child, who was hungry and tired and injured. Still holding onto his hand, still keeping the doll close, he moved his heavy feet and dragged the kid to the snack area.
It probably wasn't stocked. He wouldn't be surprised if it wasn't.
But it was. Bags of chips and fruit snacks still filled the drawers, and bottles of water and Fizzy Faz still sat untouched in the cabinets.
He stared at the snacks and drinks absently. To grab one meant letting go of either the child or the doll, and neither prospect seemed appealing right now. Stuck with indecision and numbness, he could only stare at the contents of the cabinets and drawers.
"You had food here the whole time!?" Decision made for him. The kid yanked his hand out and shrugged his backpack off, stuffing as many snacks as he could inside it. Sun watched him, and a flicker of . . . amusement sparked within him.
Voracious. Hadn't eaten in a while. He would have thrown a fit if any child had come into his care like this when the daycare was still open.
He couldn't help it. He laughed softly, numbly.
The kid jerked and stopped. His face was flushed, but he didn't look apologetic. He didn't even apologized, just huffed and took a few more snacks and water and sat himself down at one of the snack tables.
Sun joined him. He silently made sure the kid didn't eat too fast or choke.
All the while, his hands carefully traced the stars on the doll's cap.
The door opened. "Gregory!"
The kid—Gregory?—perked up and waved. "Over here!"
Freddy, good old Freddy, turned toward them and hurried over as fast as he could. He exchanged quiet words with the Gregory before turning to Sun.
"Sun . . ." He reached out and placed a hand on his arm. Without thinking, Sun leaned into the touch. "I—how are you feeling?"
Numb. Hollow . . .
. . . Sad. Broken.
The simple presence of a friend chipped away at the hollow wall that had built itself around Sun's core. Suddenly, the haze he'd been under gave way to grief, choking and overwhelming.
He couldn't get his voice box to work. He couldn't make himself say how horribly empty he was inside without Moon, without their connection and his voice. He couldn't voice how this was all his fault—
Freddy seemed to catch on. He knelt down and hugged Sun tightly, murmuring words of understanding and comfort. All Sun could do was sit in his hold and shake, hugging the doll with his best friend's face. He cried, in his own way. Static spilled out of him, and his rays withdrew as he buried his face in Freddy's shoulder.
-.-.-
They found their way to the maintenance room several times that night. Sun accompanied Gregory everywhere, of course, especially during times Freddy could not join him, and he made sure to yoink him out of danger whenever possible, but the kid was sneaky. Several times, he managed to snag a new upgrade, which mysteriously came with a new damaged friend.
Sun couldn't bear to look at them. He took a small comfort in the fact that Chica, Roxy, and Monty still seemed to be alive, even if they were broken.
Sun waited beside Gregory as he installed one of the mysterious upgrades. Still, his eyes wandered even if his body didn't, and they landed on a laptop sitting innocently on a dolly.
He said nothing as his feet carried him straight to it, as his hand reached out and flipped it open. Unlocked—it was unlocked. Why? Wasn't that some kind of breach in security?
Well, whatever. Mild curiosity begged him to look, so he grabbed a cable from the side of his head and plugged in.
For a while, as Gregory worked on Freddy, Sun looked through the laptop. There wasn't much on it save for archived files set to be scrapped permanently. Maybe that was why there wasn't a password? No use protecting something that was going in the trash anyw . . .
Sun squeezed the doll tightly. Was that—? Yes, it had to be, it had to be—
A folder labeled "Moon," zipped and filed in the "permanently delete" folder. Could he still be saved? Oh, Sun didn't even care if he was still sick, he didn't care if it came with losing some time when the lights were off—so long as he got Moon back, he would take everything that came with him!
He would do better. He would keep the wrongness to himself, just as long as he came back—!
Sun unzipped the folder and eagerly dove into its contents. He rifled through them, finding files and files of security footage, files labeled "journal entries," and what looked like silly memories, but—oh, but where was Moon's AI? It had to be around here somewhere, right? This was the Moon folder, so it had to be here!
But it wasn't. It wasn't here, and tearing through the other folders, Moon wasn't anywhere else either.
Someone was screaming—wailing. His ears rang, and his chest vibrated violently. Static filled his vision, and though it, he could only just make out a view of the floor he was kneeling on—and the Moon doll staring accusingly up at him.
You killed me, it hissed. You killed me!
Arms wrapped around him. Sun clung desperately to Freddy as he screamed and wailed and finally, finally acknowledged that Moon was dead forever and it was all his fault.
~.~.~
Night passed slowly. Sitting against the makeshift bed, Sun closed his eyes and hummed a soft melody as he replayed one of the silly memories in his bank. It was during a security shift, Sun remembered, and Moon was out. In a bid to shake things up a bit, he played this one from one of Moon's memory files.
It still stung, even years later, but it stung less each time.
His hands gently stroked the Moon doll's crescent, and he smiled softly at it.
"Hey Moon Moon!"
"Yes, Sunny?"
"You ever heard of a baseball team with really funny names?"
A snort. "No? Tell me about them."
"Well, they've got Who on first, What's on second, and I Don't Know is on third—"
"What?? Sunny if you're going to tell me, then you should know their names!"
"I do, silly! Who's on first—"
What followed was a comedic back and forth that Moon had unwittingly fed into, much to Sun's delight back then. Sun chuckled quietly as he relived the memory from Moon's eyes, and even though it still ached, he still filled with warmth at their foolish exchange.
On the makeshift bed, Gregory shifted and murmured in his sleep. Sun watched him quietly for a bit, fiddling with the bell on Moon's night cap until the kid finally settled.
With a sigh, he turned off the memory and looked down at the Moon doll. Quietly, quietly, he whispered, "I think you'd like him, Moony. He's a good kid when he's not running for his life."
Moon didn't answer, of course, but Sun didn't expect him to. He'd been gone a long time now, and even though it still hurt, he found he could deal with the hurt a little better every day.
Gregory shifted again. Maybe a nightmare? Sun activated Moon's music box just in case, and it seemed to settle him a little easier.
"I still miss you, you know?" he whispered. The Moon doll didn't answer, and Moon couldn't hear him anymore, but it still felt good speaking these feelings aloud. "Vanessa and Freddy say it wasn't really my fault, but I'm still sorry I brought their attention on you. I only wanted you to feel better."
Gregory mumbled something. He sounded troubled, but he settled after a bit. With all his tossing and turning, one hand ended up dangling off the side of the bed.
Sun reached up and took it gently. "Kid's twelve now, you know? Vanessa's got guardianship over him, so that's good." Gregory tensed. Sun rubbed his thumb up and down the back of the hand softly, softly. "He still gets nightmares, poor thing."
Silence, now. No more tossing, no more turning, no more sleepy grumbles.
Sun smiled, satisfied. "I think I'm getting the hang of this, too. Not as hard as keeping track of twelve playful kids, but not as easy as I thought." He giggled quietly, but Gregory still twitched. "I wish you were still here, Moon Moon. I really think you'd like him. And . . . I miss you. Always will, I think."
With nothing else to say, the silence stretched comfortably on. Sun kept an eye on Gregory as he slept, staring out the window at the night sky. Stars dotted the dark expanse, but what captured his attention the best was the crescent moon hanging among the stars.
Animatronics didn't get an afterlife, but Sun liked to imagine it anyway. He imagined Moon's afterlife in the sky, soaring above everything just like he used to love doing when he was still alive. Seeing that crescent was a comfort, in that regard.
Closing his eyes, leaning his head against the makeshift bed, Sun hummed Moon's favorite lullaby again as he kept quiet vigil over Gregory's dreams.