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It’s probably unsanitary, laying in the ballpit like this. But he’s staring at the ceiling amidst the glowing cloud lights with a dull sense of curiosity. Rett has always thought that all of the detail that went into the surroundings of the daycare never made up for the decrepit state it was left in for the attendant to clean constantly. But it was still nice to look at.
He closes his eyes. Well…closes isn’t the right word. He shuts off his eyelights, and tugs his bandana over his eye screens to cover them. It blocks out the lights. His head hurts. It’s been a long day of screaming children and irritated parents. One toddler had jumped from the playstructure, and Rett had run to catch them for Sun. The kid was fine. Though they always were. Just a little startled at the sudden scolding coming from the attendant. Rett had held them the whole time, rubbing their back to soothe their embarrassed tears.
He sniffs, sensing the robotic jester creeping around somewhere near the storage bins. He was so good at cleaning. Sun always had things in just the right place, and it helped. Not having to search so much. Rett wishes he could clean instead of making a mess of everything.
Humming, sounding of the daycare theme (of course), comes closer to him. Sun’s ribbon bells jingle as he seems to near the ballpit. Rett can envision him on his tiptoes, peeking at Rett starfished in the ballpit. The dog is half buried, probably only his limbs and face poking out.
Humming comes closer to him to the tune of the Daycare theme. But otherwise quiet. Sun must be talking to his counterpart. His thinking and his ‘talking to the other guy in his head’ pose are almost always the same. It’s nice. The jester is usually readable.
They stay like that for a few minutes, the mechanical clicking and whirring soothing to Rett. He doesn’t have to think. It’s white noise.
He wonders if Jeremy programmed that into him. The liking of something sounding monotonous. Was it another dog thing? Was it learned? It’s hard to tell anymore.
Soft chiming echoes away from him as Sun seems to leave, tiptoeing towards his next destination.
The Daycare theme is always loud. But Rett only ever seems to notice when he’s alone in here. It fades to the background most days.
He’s had a handful of kids ask if he’s the barking dog in the song. He always just shrugs and says “Probably.” Because what else is he supposed to say? It’s probably his same voice. It sure sounds like it. He wonders if his creators just re-used the barking cue for him. Fazbear is cheap. It wouldn’t surprise him.
A switch flicks somewhere, and the daycare theme fades away. The gears of the Jester’s stage click, before rotating to put the sun away and switch out the moon.
Speaking of which.
“Don’t drown.” Moon rasps above him, the whirr of the wire bringing him closer.
Rett doesn’t bother moving his eye cover. He knows the lunar animatronic is hovering right above his nose. “It’s a ballpit, not a pool. Can’t drown.”
“Still.” His bandana shifts a bit, a blue finger tugging the top. “You seem to be drowning.”
Moon slides the fabric back down his face, settling it at his neck once more. His eyelights settle upon Rett’s once the pup flicks his back on. Moon hums, “Thought retrievers were supposed to be good swimmers.”
Rett sighs. “Maybe.”
“Maybe.” Moon returns.
His faceplate clicks back and forth, studying the dog. Something he does often.
A lot of children think Moon is frightening. Many parents complain that their children cry over having to see him. It isn’t fair. Especially when it’s in front of Moon. He didn’t ask for his design. It’s not fair to him.
He thinks it’s the eyes. The ones studying him right now. The red seems to startle children when they awake in the middle of their nap. They’re too little to understand it’s how he sees in the dark. Moon has to have the infrared to do so. But children think they’re evil looking.
Moon won’t admit it, but Rett knows it hurts. To know that some children wish for him to just go away. That they always want the Sun. They want the warmth of his laughter and the joy of him springing around to play with them.
Rett hums, reaching a paw up to adjust Moon’s cap before it slips off their faceplate. The red eyes bathing light over his arm and bracelets as the attendant’s gaze follows his movement. He tugs the hat down Moon’s forehead gently. “Careful. Wouldn’t want you to lose your hat.”
“So kind.” Moon rolls his eyes, “Making sure you won’t be put to searching.”
The canine watches as Moon hovers, flipping upside down to wrap his legs around the wire. He got his aerobatics from his time as the theater bot. Rett is still fascinated by the stories Moon has managed to remember.
They share that trait, unfortunately. Rett doesn’t remember his training. Just feelings of it. Just places he shouldn’t have been. Moon and Sun can’t remember their brief time as the Theater Bot. Just bits and pieces one of them had managed to save to another memory slot before Parts and Service wiped their main memory card. It was nice to share a sorrow with another. It felt less alone.
It’s too bad they’re still both having memory issues now.
Moon seems to have it worse. Rett has found him on multiple occasions wandering off of patrol routes. The canine always finds him. Always leads him back. Always looks out for his pack. He just hopes he doesn’t ever forget to do that.
A poke disturbs his thought, right to his snout.
“Thinking too much. Heavy thoughts.” Moon squints. “Don’t drown.”
Rett blinks. He can’t help the smile that manages to wiggle onto his face. Maybe it’s the way Moon looks so serious, or maybe it’s the fact that someone cares, but it makes him feel better. He sits up slowly, the ballpit shifting around him.
“Okay, okay. You that eager for patrol?” Rett stands, Moon hovering beside him once more.
“Pshh.” Moon dismisses, now right side up with his arms crossed behind his back. Doesn’t he ever get dizzy?
The attendant smooths out his cap, twisting the bell between his fingers. Moon doesn’t make eye contact, looking to his side. He’s quiet. He must be talking to his headmate.
“Sun wants to know if you’re okay.” Moon continues to play with the bell.
“Oh. Just sun does?” Rett hums teasingly, tilting his head. It gets a nod and a chuckle out of Moon. Rett is almost sure Sun is yelling at his other half for lying. “Well, let Sun know that I'm alright. I’m ready to go on patrol.”
Rett steps out of the ballpit and onto the carpeted floor. He’s not surprised to find that he’s covered in old hair ties and plastic scraps and no longer sticky stickers. The pit only gets cleaned once a week, after all.
The dog looks up to Moon, who looks as disgusted as his faceplate will let him. Rett narrows his eyebrows, grinning mischievously.
“No.” the Attendant says instantly, already exasperated.
“Absolutely, yes.”
“Sun just cleaned.”
“It’s already happening.”
“Rett.” Moon narrows his eyes, dropping to the floor. “Don’t shake.”
“I’m shaking.”
“No. No shaking.”
He knows he can get away with it, so he does. Full body shaking all the grime off. Rett’s ears flopping wildly as he does.
When he finishes he grins at Moon, who is doing his best to still appear pissed off. But it’s clear he’s too busy fighting laughter.
The attendant settles on, “Sunny is throwing a fit.”
“He’ll get over it.” Rett shrugs, amused at himself. He knows his tail is wagging. He can’t help it.
Rett elbows Moon on his way past, the attendant following him to the doors. They’ve started taking patrols together. It’s easy to help each other out that way. Less lonely. It gives them more time to spend the rest of the night doing whatever they want to.
Moon steps through the threshold of the daycare, bowing dramatically for Rett to pass through.
“Monty invited me for golf tonight.” Rett offers. “Want to mess with him? Move the ball around while he’s not looking.”
Moon chuckles, throwing his faceplate back with his giggles. “Oh, absolutely.”
“But first,” The attendant raises himself a foot or so off the ground to hover once more. He readies himself. “Race you to the doors.”
And then the gremlin takes off on his wire. Rett counters immediately with a “Hey!!! No fair!” and takes off after him, paws slapping against the carpet as they engage in a chase. He can’t help the laughter bubbling up in his chest. He finally feels at home.
Moon wins the chase that night, but he doesn’t mind. Rett feels like he’s won anyway.