Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You pace back and forth in your tiny studio apartment, circling your couch and coffee table in a figure eight. You know you’re working yourself into a panic, but you feel it’s justified. You have an interview at Freddy Fazbear’s Mega Pizza Plex in an hour, and you know damn well you’re going to bomb it.

You don’t know why you applied in the first place. You’re underqualified for the position in every way, but you needed a new job after quitting McDonald’s and fifty dollars an hour was impossible to turn down. They needed someone who could work both as a technician and as a counselor for an unnamed robot, and you did a bit of fibbing on your application in order to fit their requirements. You did know a bit of everything they were asking for - you were wonderful with repairs and mechanics thanks to having a lot of experience repairing other’s discarded electronics, you had picked up programming a long time ago to make some games for yourself, you knew how to paint well enough that you were sure you could restore the chipped paint of whoever you were assigned to, and your “experience in mental health clinics” may have boiled down to actually going there after a battle with depression but at least you had something . The last thing Fazbear Entertainment required was that you were good with children, and while people seemed to get along with you just fine, you were terrified of kids. It wasn’t a phobia, per se, but more of an innate fear that you were doing everything wrong. The only thing you really had going for you was the fact that you were one of the artists they commissioned for the posters, so at least you had worked for Fazbear Entertainment before. In essence, you aren’t exaggerating when you say you’re underqualified. 

As you pace, you think of all the things you could say to not get thrown out on your ass at the interview. Kids love me! I have experience with electronic maintenance and repairs! I am  a compassionate person who has experience in clinical environments! All of it sounds hollow and fake to you. As time marches on, you eventually convince yourself that this will at least be decent interview practice for higher paying jobs. You stomp over to your pillbox and take the meds your psychologist said were for especially anxiety-inducing events, put on your favorite jacket, and check yourself over for any inconsistencies in your “I’m a real professional” attire. Once you’re satisfied, or at least too caught up in your misery to care anymore, you step into your shoes and out the door.

The drive to the Pizzaplex is tense. You play your loudest, most confident music, drowning out your own emotions to power ballad pop and rock. When you arrive, Kesha is fading into Queen, and you step out of your car. There’s a moment where you think you’ve locked your phone inside the car, but as you reach to open the door you find your hand is occupied by said phone. Right. You laugh nervously to yourself, and a mother with three children sends you a nasty look for your incompetence. You swallow your fear.

You march into the Pizzaplex like you’re on a mission, only to be frozen in place by the bright colors, neon lights, and the sound of screaming and running children. You’ve taken enough medication that, rather than terrifying you, it inspires awe. You’ve been to Meow Wolf in Sante Fe and Los Angeles, and this reminds you of the interactive art museum. You spot a few posters and are surprised to recognize your own work. You vaguely hope you will get to see the posters for the daycare. You had been particularly proud of your drawings of the Daycare Attendants, having the most fun with their colorful and charming designs, and you’d like to see how the posters held up. 

You promptly exit your reverie when a white robot rolls up to you, holding a stack of paper that suspiciously looks like your resume and all ten pages of your cover letter. It gestures at you with them, and a paper slips out of its grasp. As you bend down to pick up the paper for it, it begins speaking.

“Good morning Valued Potential Employee,” it says in near monotone. You stand and offer the paper to it, but it doesn’t take it, staring blankly at you. “We appreciate your timeliness in arriving fifteen minutes early. Please, follow me to the backstage office.”

“Of course,” you reply, shifting nervously from foot to foot as you hold onto the page it dropped.

It stares at you for a moment, before saying, “Thank you. Please, follow me.”

You do as you're asked, and as you walk with the robot, it explains each and every location inside the Pizzaplex to you. You find yourself genuinely intrigued by the attractions. Roxy’s Raceway in particular is calling your name, and if you had any friends you would love to go to Monty’s Gator Golf. There’s a brief lull in conversation after the staff bot mentions the independent artists Fazbear Entertainment hired to do the posters, and you’re so excited you forget for a moment your companion isn’t capable of a back and forth conversation.

“Did you know I made a good chunk of the posters?” you ask excitedly. 

The bot stares at you for a moment. You become self conscious immediately, but try not to let it show. “Fazbear Entertainment appreciates your hard work,” is all it says before moving onto the next thing, which is the history of the franchise. You awkwardly continue to follow the staff bot.

Eventually you arrive at the stage area, and then backstage. There you meet a man who looks like every manager you’ve ever had, a bit stocky, balding, and his skin has a faintly greasy sheen. When he shakes your hand, he smiles, and his teeth are yellow. You smile back, and the two of you exchange names.

“I’m surprised you showed!” he says, which immediately sets off a red flag in your mind.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, was I late? The instructions said to some fifteen minutes early but I could have misread it, I’m so sorry-”

He waves his hand dismissively. “Oh, no, you came on time! Don’t worry about it.”

You take a deep breath. Right. Now you have no idea what you did wrong. “Of course,” you say uncertainly, following him to your seat at the opposite end of a white plastic oval table. 

He grins at you, and it feels like a leer. “So, tell me about yourself!”

You remember your training. “Well, I have a background in repairs, robotics, coding, art, and mental health, and I’m good with kids. I have experience with customer service work in the past, and I’ve been told I have a voice and personality fit for television.” You smile uncomfortably. “I’m taking a gap year from college to focus on my career.”

“Wow!” he says, all fake cheer, “That’s quite the resume! I suppose that covers your strengths. What about your weaknesses?”

You swallow thickly. Time to find an inoffensive truth. “I find that I often overcompensate for the failures of my fellow employees, doing the work they’re meant to do so that our collective work doesn’t fall behind. I’ve been chewed out by managers for this before.”

He laughs. “Oh, we won’t do that here! You’d be a breath of fresh air compared to some of our other workers! Now, why do you want this job?”

You smile slightly, relaxing at the slightly easier question. “I’ve always found this place amazing,” you say honestly, “It’s like an interactive art museum for kids. Plus, I’ve always wanted to see where all those posters I made went.” You chuckle nervously. “I also can’t deny that the pay is a factor.” Your eyes light up slightly. “I’ve also always wanted to help out robots - they do so much work for us, you know?”

He laughs, but he’s the one uncomfortable now. “Well, Fazbear Entertainment prohibits relationships between our animatronic entertainers and staff, so don’t get too carried away. I’m surprised to hear you worked on the posters. If I may, which are yours?”

“I’m not sure,” you say honestly. “I recognize my work on a Freddy poster in the lobby, and I did a lot of stuff for the Fazbear Theater and the Superstar Daycare.”

“Good, good,” says the manager absentmindedly. “Do you have any questions for us?”

Huh. That was an unusually short interview. You must not be getting the position. “Oh, uh, I was pretty thorough with reading all the material you sent me, so I guess not,” you say carefully.

He grins. “Then how would you feel about starting today?”

You blanch. “Today? I mean, of course, but what about the other interviewees?” Or the fact that you’re still underqualified?! Did this man do nothing to check you on your bullshit?

He makes a dismissive gesture. “Oh, no one else came. Bad rumors circulating, you know how crazy our fans are.” He chuckles. “You’ll be assigned to the Daycare Attendant. I’ll go out - check the drawers for the yellow and blue uniform and get changed. I’ll show you to the daycare.”

You go pale. The Daycare Attendant? The one caring for the youngest kids in the Pizzaplex? Oh god. You’re going to fuck this up immediately. “O-of course,” you say. “I’ll get right on it.”

He stands from where he sits at the opposite end of the plastic table. “Good! See you in a moment.”

You nod, and soon enough he’s gone. You scramble over to the drawers dotted around the room, looking for the uniform. You find Mr. Hippo magnets in droves, merchandise scattered around, a moldy piece of pizza next to the keys, and finally, uniforms that you presume are for the other Caretaker positions, each themed after a different animatronic. You finally find the ones for the Daycare Attendant tucked into the last drawer, all duckling yellows and baby blues over soft sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Huh. It’s cute, and seems to be much more comfortable than what the others wear. You check for security cameras before getting changed as quickly as possible, putting your clothes (including your favorite jacket) in your bag. 

You step outside, where the man seems to be fiddling with a Freddy Fazbear branded watch. You wave to him, and he smiles at you, looking over your body in an uncomfortable way. You shudder. 

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re ready! Sun, the daytime animatronic, is currently out. I’m sure he’ll be glad to meet you!” You nod nervously, and he chuckles. “You’re not much of a talker, are you? I’m sure Sun will make up for that. Come along.”

You follow the man to a staff stairway not far from the office, before being taken over to some nondescript hallway. You follow your manager to a door that clearly has screaming children behind it, the scent of sanitizer and something indescribably kid wafting through the door. He opens the door and steps through, and you follow.

You stand, frozen, completely stunned, as you experience the strongest wave of jealousy tinged with regret you’ve ever experienced. Why wasn’t there a place like this when you were a kid?! It’s all bright colors, ball pits, foam toys, blankets, stuffed animals, and best of all, a play structure made of foam and soft-coat metal and filled with excited children. There doesn’t appear to be any other adults down here besides yourself and the manager. Something very familiar to you from your time as a poster illustrator pops out from behind a corner and waves, before stepping out with a child in one arm, another hanging off of his leg. 

“Helloooo!” he calls from across the daycare. You step out to greet him halfway, but your manager puts an arm out in front of you to prevent you. You frown at him, as clearly the animatronic shouldn’t have to trek all the way over with little ones in tow, but he whispers something to you about “safety precautions for new hires”. The animatronic, Sun, makes it over fairly quickly even without your help, grin perpetual.

“Hello again,” he repeats, “So glad to see you, Mr. Jackson! And who is this new friend with you? I hope they aren’t as loud as the last one, as little Chrissy’s sleeping!” Sure enough, when you glance, the child in his arm is sound asleep. You wave politely as your manager begins to talk.

“Well,” says the manager with clear disregard for watching his volume, “This is your new Caretaker! I’m sure their name is already in your system. They will be assisting you with your duties today, as well as completing their intake.”

“Lovely!” declares Sun, without ever turning to look at you. “And when were you going to inform me about this?”

The man laughs uncomfortably as the seven and a half foot robot looms over him. “Well, we have to replace each one we fire, as per company policy!” 

You catch on quickly enough - Sun doesn’t want you around. You can work with that. Maybe. “Apologies for the disturbance,” you say genuinely, softly, “What can I do to help you out?”

Sun looks over to you, his faceplate twisting as though he’s cocking his head. “Well, you could start by setting dear Chrissy to bed! She’s exhausted, poor dear, and it’s not quite naptime yet, and do please be careful!” He then offers the sleeping child to you.

You feel a little cold sweat coming on, but if this is your job now, you may as well start getting used to kids. “Of course,” you whisper, and take the little girl, one who can’t be older than two. She shifts in your arms but otherwise doesn’t react, and you begin to skitter away to a visible pillow fort constructed in a foam castle when your manager grabs your shoulder. You flinch when you jostle the girl slightly, and she begins to stir.

“Now, we need to review your work area! Can’t have you run off quite yet,” he says with a nervous laugh. You turn back to him and muster up your best customer service smile. 

“Oh, I’m certain I can find a place to let this kiddo rest! I’ll be right back!” You whisper cheerfully.

The man seems to grimace, but only for a moment, and it passes so quickly you’re not sure if you saw it at all. “Of course, go on. I’ll just speak to Sun.”

Sun laughs, and it has a bitter edge. “I believe I have some very important, time consuming tasks I should be doing right now! If you’ll please excuse me,” he sing-songs, but before he can twist away, the manager grabs his arm. You wince sympathetically before scampering off to set the child in a safe place to sleep.

You dart around sprinting children, moving stiffly as to not jostle the little girl any further, and push aside the blanket covering the entrance to the foam castle. There’s another little boy sleeping inside, and you set the girl on the mats, making sure she can rest her head on a foam block. You find a blanket and tuck her in, glance her over to make sure she’s not about to wake, and step back outside, jogging back to where Sun seems to be having a terse conversation with your new manager. You overhear some of it as you approach.

“I told you before, Mr. Jackson, I am not in need of a Caretaker! I can do my own repairs, and I don’t need human assistance with the kids! I appreciate your help!” says Sun as though he's trying to usher your manager out with words.

“And I must remind you again that as per Fazbear Entertainment company policy, all animatronics must have a human technician specifically assigned to them. Yours is right behind you,” replies your manager.

Sun spins on the heel that just a few minutes ago had a child clinging to it, clapping his hands together in front of him. “Well hello for the third time, friend! I didn’t see you there!”

You scratch at the back of your neck. “Ah. It’s no biggie. Hey,  would you like to do the facility tour with just me?” you ask, carefully trying not to offend your manager while also helping the clearly frustrated animatronic usher him out. 

Sun claps his hands together once more. “Why, I’d love to! No need to worry, Mr. Jackson, I’m sure I can handle yet another Caretaker!” The animatronic goes so far as to pat your shoulder in a friendly way, and you smile nervously, the tension in the air choking you.

Mr. Jackson sends a look between the two of you for a moment, before sighing as though he’s dealing with a great irritation. “Alright. So long as they put their bag behind the security desk,” he says. You nod, carefully stepping out from under the Sun animatronic and circling around the desk until you can put your bag under it. You return to stand politely next to Sun as Mr. Jackson seems to weigh his options for a moment longer. He lets out a slimy smile. “Well, good luck,” he says to you, before slinking off to wherever he came from. 

You turn to look up at Sun, and he does the same, looking down at you with blank white eyes. You remember drawing him with blue irises, even photos of him with the same, but now probably isn’t the time to ask about the design change. He comes to life suddenly, turning you by your shoulders to face the inner Superstar Daycare and the at least thirty children happily running about inside.

“Come on, come on! The children can’t wait forever~!” he says, pushing you along by the small of your back. You nervously wave to a  few kids you pass, and they giggle. “These are the two jungle gyms,” he says, gesturing to either side of you as you walk through the center of the daycare, both of you ducking under a bright red bridge connecting the two. “In front of us is the Palace of Slumber, then the Ball Pit Moat, and finally, a private area you are to never ever EVER go to!” He says, gesturing finally to a balcony you’re pretty sure you couldn’t reach even if you wanted to. A kid trips in front of you two while she’s being chased, and Sun easily reaches down and picks her up so she can keep going without breaking eye contact.

“Oh,” you say when you realize he’s expecting something to be exchanged, “Thank you. Where should I start?”

“You can start by preparing snacks for the little ones!” he declares. “There’s boxes of fruit snacks, paper plates, plastic spoons, and a mini fridge with applesauce back behind the security desk, and of course each kid will need their own plate! Hurry up, because snack time’s almost here and then it’s naptime and then you meet Moon, and I’m sure neither of us will want to talk to you while all the children are sleeping, and of course by that time we’ll need you to clean everything up! Don’t forget that Tabitha likes the carrot flavored gummies and Erin hates them, so swap them out if you can, and Gemma’s favorites are the apples, so if you could pretty please take everything out of the little packets and divide them up, we would very much appreciate that! Don’t want the little ones choking on any plastic, do we?”

You swallow. “Right,” you say, like you’re taking orders from a commander. “I’m on it.”

“Good for you!” he declares. “Now please do hurry! You only have so much time!”

Knowing for a fact that this guy is going to exacerbate every aspect of your anxiety for the rest of the time working here, you take a deep breath and turn on your heel. “Got it. Be right back,” you say, before stepping behind the security desk. 

You find the fruit gummies quickly, do a quick head count on the children, pull out about forty bags just to be safe and start preparing a paper plate for each of them. You recognize the faces on the plate as a cut-out of the Sun and Moon posters you worked on and absently think of how odd it was that your art was now on paper flatware. Regardless, you also set out individual servings of applesauce and four carrot sticks on every plate, noting the insane amount of sugar you’re about to give a bunch of children before their naptime. Finally, you steal a few apple and carrot gummies and resort them so that there is a plate with no carrots, a plate with all carrots, and a plate with all apples. It takes you about five, maybe seven minutes, but you know you likely don’t have time to praise yourself for your competence. You get up and then immediately realized an issue - you had made 40 plates of food. How in the hell were you supposed to carry all of that efficiently? You sigh and mentally condemn yourself to your fate before picking up six plates by balancing them very carefully on your arms and walking across the foam mats. There are children seated around a very animated Sun animatronic as he tells stories that sound very exciting, though the children look rather sleepy. He spots you and grins. It reminds you of a shark.

“Welcome new friend! Everyone, this is my Caretaker! Just like how you all have people who watch after you and take care of you, so do I, despite everything! Oh, do you have plates, Caretaker?” he asks. 

You nod awkwardly. “Yes, I-”

“Wonderful!” he says, interrupting completely. “Why don’t we both hand them out?”

You nod again, more as a way to show your obedience to your apparent animatronic boss, and as he hops and skips away you pass out the food to the nearest children. One has the manners to say ‘thank you’ as she takes her plate, and you smile and gently, clearly say ‘you’re welcome! My, don’t you have good manners?’ back. Sun (probably his name, right? It has to be) returns and passes out a whopping ten plates, and you jog back over to the security desk to gather more. 

You gather another six plates, but by the time you’ve done that Sun is back. “Well aren’t you a slowpoke!” he cheers, and you take a deep breath. Okay, this job pays you fifty dollars an hour to not cry about an animatronic being mean to you. You can do this.

You come back to the children with a soft smile and voice and pass out more food, and Sun has already made another trip in this time. You mentally note which child is Gemma, Erin, and Tabitha by their allotments of specific fruit gummies, and return to the security desk to get a box of spoons for the kiddos. You return, pass them out as Sun gives out the last plates, and come back to see that you definitely overestimated by a good eight plates how many children there were. You’re almost relieved, though - better more than less. As Sun seems to coach the children through eating, you pack up the excess, bagging up the extra gummies for later, and grab a washrag or three before stepping into the bathroom behind the security desk. You soak the rags in warm water, squeeze them out, and mentally prepare yourself for the task of cleaning tiny hands and faces of applesauce. Who gives toddlers and kindergartners applesauce, anyways? Fazbear Entertainment must be staffed by some sick bastards. 

When you come back out, there is a child crying for unknown reasons, but they’re quickly calmed down with soothing words and the chiding of another inaudible child. You come over with your washrags to the circle of small children and stand awkwardly at the edge for a moment, not sure where to start with cleaning the kids up, but Sun looks up at you and interrupts your train of thought.

“What did you bring rags for?” he asks.

“Sorry,” you say immediately, automatically, “Just, uh, thought we’d have some sticky faces after all that.”

He seems to stare just a second longer before jumping back into action. “Why, thank you, Caretaker! Now, my little sunbeams,” he says, addressing the children, “who’s ready to get all clean?” The response is not enthusiastic. “Oh? Is no one ready for the cleanup song?” he asks. This is met with protests - of course they’re ready for the cleanup song! You feel the ghost of a smile tug at your lips. “Well, then I suppose I can sing it!” Sun says, and then bursts into song and dance. 

You choke back surprised laughter, stepping back as Sun circles the children and takes a rag from you, gently wiping their faces and hands as he sings. The children who know the song are quick to join, Gemma, Erin, and Tabitha being particularly enthusiastic singers. The others confidently mumble through the music, and you note that Sun’s voicebox can play music and sing at the same time. Neat. And then he notices you.

“Oh, caretaker, why aren’t you singing along~?” he teases during a break in the lyrics, wiping down Tabitha’s face as his voicebox plays some kind of keyboard solo. 

You pale, blood running cold. Oh god, you’ve got to think a way out of this, and fast - you haven’t sung in front of someone in years . Singing was more of a shower thing for you at this point, and even then it was rare. You open your mouth to make some excuse when an idea strikes you. You clear your throat and begin to sing along in your best impression of an operatic baritone, which causes the kids to burst into giggles as the song starts back up. You don’t know the words very well, but as Sun cycles through the chorus and then to the verse, you manage to keep up by adding syllables that shouldn’t be there whenever you lose the melody. The children seem to love it , and you can only be relieved that they do. The song comes to an end, and you laugh with the kids as they point at you and begin to do their own high pitched operas. Your laughter is cut short when Sun tosses the remaining rags at you, which likely gets some applesauce on your brand new uniform. You do your best to not grimace and send a thumbs-up to Sun to let him know you’re heading back to the bathroom to clean the rags. 

“Everyone say thank you to Caretaker for singing along with us!” says Sun, and the children enter a chorus of thank-yous.

“You’re all so welcome!” you call back, before retreating to the security desk and then the bathroom.

Once you’re inside the bathroom, you dump the rags in the sink and run the water, grabbing some paper towels to scrub off the applesauce on your brand new uniform. You take big, deep breaths. It’s okay that the animatronic you’re supposed to work with doesn’t like you, that’s fine, you’re medicated enough to handle this. Your job is just to make sure that his job goes smoothly and that he stays in good mental and physical condition. You can do this.

You step back out of the staff bathroom to see the lights going out in the daycare one by one. Sun waves from where he sits in the center of the children, and as you wave back, the lights go completely out. The children make gasps of surprise and no small amount of fear, and as your eyes adjust to the light, you see that Sun no longer has his rays. This makes you curious, so you step out from behind the counter and catch the white eyes with red pupils. You jump a good few inches into the air as your eyes adjust enough to see the grinning Moon animatronic crouched where Sun just was, chuckling at your display of fear. He turns to the children and begins to talk to them, and the children don’t seem to be afraid, but you think that whoever designed the Moon animatronic should be under review because he is terrifying. You’re a bit surprised to find that he’s sharing a body with Sun, or maybe is just the same animatronic with a built-in costume change, but you simply take a deep breath and walk across the mat.

Moon is telling a story to the children, something much more subdued than what Sun was telling, and his voice is much gentler, albeit with a sinister edge. You’re shocked that anyone leaves their children around someone with such an off-putting design, but then again, you’ve never heard a bad thing about the Daycare Attendant(s?). Maybe they’re just that good.

As you come to the edge of the circle, Moon stops his storytelling and slowly turns toward you. You freeze under what feels like a wrathful gaze, and his head cocks to one side with a few loud clicks.

“It’s rude to interrupt,” he hisses, “Isn’t it, my little stars?” The kids laugh and agree readily. Your face burns with shame as Moon speaks again, tone flat. “Go away.” When you don’t immediately move, shocked by his bluntness, he makes a shooing motion, which causes the kids to burst into a fit of giggles. “Everyone say ‘bye-bye, Caretaker’!” The children do their best to follow his instructions, saying goodbye to you with various levels of enthusiasm. “There. Now you can leave .”

You nod once, turn around, and march back to the desk, reminding yourself of how the job pays fifty dollars an hour for what feels like the hundredth time. You take a seat, lean into the desk, and hide your face. Don’t cry becomes a mantra in your mind. You’re pretty sure Sun and Moon can sense weakness at this point, and you’re not about to willingly show it more.

A few minutes pass, and you feel a good bit better now that you’ve shoved your emotions into a dark pit in your heart. You look up to see Moon tucking in the kiddos and tell yourself that at least you don’t have to help him right now, as he made it very clear he doesn’t want anything from you. It’s a small comfort. You look back down and note the scratch marks in the linoleum desktop, counting them idly. It’s impossible to count them all, but you focus on the four largest gouges in the linoleum and count them over and over. One, two, three, four… one, two, three, four… over and over again. When you look up, it’s because you feel a presence in front of the desk. You scoot back in your rolling chair slightly when you see Moon literally looming over you, grin static and eyes unnerving. 

“Are we playing heads up seven up?” he asks.

You shake your head mutely. “Sorry, no, I-”

“Then are you sleeping?” he asks, and there’s a cutting edge to his words.

“No, I’m sorry, I was just-”

“You were just what , then?” he asks, all bite.

You look around nervously for an out, but give up quickly. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again,” you try, not wanting to admit you were fighting back tears for at least fifteen minutes. 

Moon says nothing for several moments before he jumps onto the desk, situating himself so he can sit and watch the kids. You sit and watch him , half because you’re nervous he’s going to snap at you, half out of fascination. You haven’t seen an animatronic since you were a kid and they were still using the “toy” models, and even then it was only once or twice. He’s much more advanced than the stiff models you had seen last, more fluid, thinner, less bulky, probably stronger, too. He looks a little more terrifying, but what is an animatronic without its horrifying and uncanny features? You look back out to the daycare, thinking about your next duties after the kids all wake up again, about how you’re going to even get close to convincing Sun and Moon to talk to you about their feelings of all things, when Moon lets out a chuckle.

“You know,” says Moon in a falsely casual manner, “We don’t need you here.” You don’t respond, so he continues. “We have managed ourselves alone for a long time. Maybe the others need a babysitter, but we’re different.”

“... I believe you,” you say, huffing a sigh of defeat. “You are clearly competent and good with children. I’m just here to offer whatever help I can. If the biggest help I can offer is getting out of your way, I will do so.”

Moon is silent for a long while, still staring at you as he sits at the desk. Then, “It is.” You look up at him in question, and he rolls his eyes. “It is the biggest help. Don’t get in our way.”

You nod, defeated. “Right.”

☀︎𖤓⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆𖤓☀︎

The rest of the day passes by. After an hour, Moon begins to wake the children, and Sun replaces him as soon as the lights come on. Sun is as passive-aggressive as ever, and after another good three hours of play, the parents appear again to pick up their children. You help Sun gather the crying kids from the playground and ball pit, and he doesn’t say a word to you as he hands them back to their respective parents. You do your best to memorize which children belong to which parents, and once everyone is gone Sun finally turns to face you with his static grin. You vaguely remember from a description of the animatronics you drew that he is supposed to be able to make different expressions, and you wonder if corporate took away that feature or if he just never uses it. 

“Orders from the top!” says Sun cheerfully. “You’re to complete your orientation back in the office you came from! Lots of paperwork, lots of assessments, but I’m sure you can handle it! Go on!” he says, and you get the message.

“Right. Thank you,” you say.

“For what?” he asks, and you fumble over your words.

“For, uh, letting me know. Thanks for relaying, the uh, the message. Thanks.” You scamper off to where you left your bag behind the security desk before exiting the Daycare, waving to Sun as you leave. He just stares at you back as you exit.

You hurry back up the staff stairs as soon as you find them in this ungodly maze of a pizzeria, rushing back to the office out of a misplaced sense of urgency. You find an impatient Mr. Jackson waiting there, checking his Fazbear watch. He smiles when he sees you, and you smile back.

“How was your first day?” he asks.

“Oh, it was great!” you lie, and his smile grows. “The kids were very well behaved.”

“And how well behaved were Sun and Moon?” he asks.

You want so badly to grimace, but you’re keeping this job if it kills you. “They were fine,” is all you can manage to say.

He laughs. “I’m glad! They must have taken a liking to you if you’re not complaining!” he cheers, and you hold in a wince. “Come now, let’s finish your intake."

Chapter Text

Orientation was hell. You spent three hours filling out forms, taking an in-house drug test, doing assessments about repairing animatronics and feeding children and bandaging injuries, and by the time you realized that this job should probably pay you more with how many things they expect you to do, you have to read through the map of the entire Pizzaplex to find every fire exit in the building just in case. Which you’re alright with, but you wish your new manager would’ve let you spread out the work a bit because it’s near morning by the time you finish and you’re exhausted. Mr. Jackson lets you go, and you drive home blasting your loudest and most energetic music just in case your body decides it’s about time for lights-out in the middle of you driving. It’s fine. You make it home.

Only to wake up at five in the morning because your next shift starts at six. Did you forget that you’re on a rotating shift? Because you are. Monday, Wednesday and Friday you work from six in the morning to three in the afternoon, and on Tuesday and Thursday you work from three in the afternoon to midnight. The daycare closes at ten, but you’re pretty sure the remaining two hours are for just you and the two animatronics… or one animatronic. You’re still not sure how that works. Regardless, you’re up at five in the morning and regretting it. The sun has barely risen outside of your window as you begrudgingly rise from your bed like a vampire from a coffin, swinging your legs over the edge and putting on one of the four spare uniforms Fazbear Entertainment had provided you. You had washed the applesauce-covered one with some leftover laundry last night, but you didn’t feel like digging through the dryer, so you decided on the brand new one.

After you put on your uniform, you look around for what you’re going to pack for the day. You had a lot of free time (that was spent trying to not cry) yesterday, so it’d be good to bring an activity. You pick out your sketchbook, which just so happens to be covered in yellow and orange stickers on one side and blue and white stickers on the other. Your mouth twists in a grimace. You were beginning to lose your affection for the color choice, but you weren’t about to waste your valuable sticker collection covering them up. Besides, it felt a bit too petty to cover up some old art because it matched an animatronic’s color palette. You shove it into your bag with your preferred pens, pencils, and even some colored pencils and alcohol markers in rainbow colors, before dragging your bag to the kitchen, where you wolf down some cereal. You ran out of your favorite kind, so it’s just some sugarless junk that’s just about as unhealthy as the sugary kind.

After that, you rush through the rest - brush your teeth, fix your hair, worry over your complexion, resist biting your nails to the quick with nerves, take more of the emergency anxiety meds, the usual. You’re ready to go with thirty minutes to drive to the Pizzaplex, and despite your reluctance to see the Sun and Moon animatronics, you get in your car and head on down to Freddy’s. When you arrive, the parking lot is empty, but you park in the back regardless, as company policy states you shouldn’t inconvenience a guest EVER. The all caps seemed like a bit much, but it’s not too far of a walk, only about a quarter mile. This lot is huge.

You arrive at the employee entrance and step inside after a young man in a cook’s uniform and a young woman dressed in similar colors to Chica, who seem to be happy talking to each other. You slip past them and further into the Pizzaplex. It’s dim inside thanks to the lack of windows, and you idly wonder if any of the animatronics have ever seen a sunrise. You don’t see your manager anywhere as you march toward the backstage office and assume he’s already inside.

Once you enter, you are proven wrong. The backstage office has a good five people inside, four of whom seem to be locked in a heated argument and the fifth seems occupied with an iPod. You don’t remember the last time you saw an iPod. You freeze in the doorway, not expecting there to be so many people inside, and the one dressed in the same color palette as Freddy snaps at you, exclaiming that you’re letting a draft in. You enter and sit down at the oval table, carefully setting your bag beside you as the remaining four continue to berate each other before your eyes. You tune out their conversation carefully. You don’t want to overwhelm yourself with needless stress before your shift with Sun and Moon, and whatever they’re arguing about doesn’t seem to involve you. Instead, you look over at the person with an ipod. They’re dressed in hot pink polo and white slacks and are wearing a white hoodie over their uniform with matching headphones, and seem to be jamming out as quietly as possible. They must be DJ Music Man’s caretaker, and the rest of these strangers must be the caretakers for the other animatronics. You notice idly that everyone has that stupid novelty watch and wonder if you’re going to be forced to wear one. And then Mr. Jackson enters.

Everyone shuts up immediately, the four caretakers who were just arguing simultaneously attempting to look completely innocent and also send each other sly glares. You resist the urge to giggle at your fellow adults in corporate costume. The Caretaker for DJ Music Man doesn’t look up from their iPod.

“Well,” begins Mr. Jackson cheerfully, “Good morning! I’m glad to see you all made it here early as I requested, as we have a new employee to welcome!” Everyone slowly turns to look at you, except the one with the iPod. You squirm under their scrutinizing gazes.

“You’re the reason we all had to come in early?” asks the one dressed in the colors of Glamrock Freddy, her gaze brimming with disgust.

The one dressed like chica rolls his eyes. “Whatever. This one will quit too. I don’t understand why we have to keep meeting Monty and the Daycare Attendant’s new Caretakers if they’re just gonna quit or get fired within the week.” You pale. Within the week?

“Hey!” exclaims the woman dressed like Montgomery Gator, hair buzzed short and nose pierced. “I’m not quitting anytime soon, asshole.”

“Right,” says the young man in Roxy’s colors. “You’ve lasted a total of three weeks.”

Monty’s caretaker flips him off, and Mr. Jackson clears his throat awkwardly. “We have work to do, ladies and gentlemen,” he says. “Today there are five separate birthday parties. Does everyone know when they’re scheduled for?” Everyone nods but you and DJ Music Man’s Caretaker. “Good. Now, reports! How are your animatronics holding up?” He asks.

The one dressed like Chica groans. “It’s being less obnoxious, which I have to give it credit for, but it reeks of pizza and birthday cake. It needs to go down to parts and service for cleaning.”

“Mine is fine, though it still doesn’t listen to me,” gripes the woman in the Freddy attire.

“Can’t complain,” says the man in the racing tracksuit.

“He’s a fucking asshole, but he hasn’t broken my arm or anything, so workable,” says Monty’s Caretaker.

Then everyone turns to you. You swallow, take a deep breath, and speak. “They’re alright. I don’t think anything has gone particularly wrong for them, and they’re in good condition,” you say, internally wincing at the distant language you have to use. “Both of them seem a little stressed, I think.”

There’s a moment of silence as everyone stares at you before Mr. Jackson jumps to life. “Well, thank you for giving a report on their emotional state! And Kacey?” he asks, looking over to the person with the iPod.

“He’s well,” says Kacey without taking off their headphones. “Says the vents need to be cleaned, and he’d like a wider selection of music. Vent repairs downstairs are still required.”

“Thank you, Kacey,” says Mr. Jackson, sounding strangely relieved. “I appreciate you coming in early today.”

“Mmhmm,” replies Kacey.

Mr. Jackson looks back around to the rest of the Caretakers, and introduces you by name, before introducing the rest. Lucy is the name of the middle-aged woman in charge of Freddy dressed in tan slacks and a blue shirt with a brown blazer, Ron is the name of the slightly younger man in charge of Chica who wears a bright neon green polo and white slacks with a pink puffer jacket, Milton is the name of the young man in the checkered jacket, purple polo, and black pants, and Odile is the name of the woman in the green polo with purple slacks with a shaved head. You feel like you and Odile are either going to be best friends by the end of this or hate each other, and you’re not sure which is more likely. Kacey sits alone, and they have a pin that says they/them. You find yourself kind of charmed by them.

After everyone is introduced to you, Mr. Jackson hands you a schedule for the rest of the week. There’s a birthday scheduled at the Daycare for Friday, which you’re immediately dreading, but there are a few things outlined for you that seem a bit more manageable. Tomorrow you’ll be doing maintenance checks on Sun and Moon in the morning, cleaning their chassis and making sure everything is working, and Thursday evening you will work with them to do their weekly check-in after the Pizzaplex closes. You make a mental note to be thorough with each task - it’s going to be the first time you’re doing each, and while the videos you watched on how to conduct the check-ups didn’t go into much depth, you’re certain that you need to get everything listed done over the next two days. After all, you don’t want to leave Sun and Moon with any damage or grime, and you certainly don’t want to go into all the next check-in sessions without an emotional baseline, as weird as it is that the animatronics have an emotional baseline. As your manager exits the office, as everyone crowds around the coffee machine and microwave to get their breakfast for the day and as Kacey sips a matcha latte and slips out a croissant, you pull out a notebook and begin to furiously scribble down your plans for the next two days, breaking every activity down into hour-by-hour time slots, each time slot having its own instructions on how to do each task. You’re interrupted five minutes in by Kacey tapping your shoulder. You look up to see that everyone else has left, and Kacey is the only other Caretaker in the room.

“What’re you doing?” they ask simply.

You feel your nerves begin to seep in, but beat them back with a stick. “Oh! Um, I’m just writing down my tasks for the next few days. Don’t want to forget anything, you know?”

Kacey stares for a moment, their brown eyes boring into yours. “No one does that,” they eventually say, and when you don’t immediately respond, “Nobody cares that much.”

You find yourself a little offended, both at the implication that you’re doing too much work and at the implication that the Daycare Attendants don’t deserve that kind of care and effort. “Well,” you say, using your best customer service voice, “I don’t mind the extra work! I don’t want to forget anything, right?”

Kacey doesn’t reply for a moment, before saying, “Right. Good luck.” They seem to just wander out of the office, making it look like they found the door by chance rather than by any other cue. You watch them go for a moment before going back to your notebook.

☀︎𖤓⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆𖤓☀︎

When you come down to the Daycare, it’s quiet. There is no music playing from the overhead speakers, no jingling bells as the Daycare Attendant moves, and absolutely no screaming children. You’re caught between being relieved for the lack of assault on your ears and being disturbed by the absolute silence. You settle for disturbed as you walk in through the employee entrance, setting down your bag and leaving your sketchbook open on the desk. You tread carefully out onto the playmats, head swiveling to try and get a glimpse of either the Sun or Moon animatronic. It’s dark - does that mean Moon will be out, or are they independent of the light level?

“Hello?” you call into the darkness. There’s no response, and you realize belatedly that you’re playing the part of a horror movie protagonist to the tee. “Sun? Moon? Do you need any help?”

“Be quiet,” says a hushed and sinister voice behind you. You turn abruptly to face the desk, only to see Moon crouched on its edge, flipping through your sketchbook. Your face burns with mortification. You haven’t shown anyone the contents of your sketchbook since… well, it’s been a while.

You scamper over, a terrified little jog, and Moon turns back to look at you with red dot eyes. He says nothing as you come to stand beside him, suddenly unsure if you should take back your sketchbook.

“These are good,” says Moon, voice completely emotionless.

“Oh,” you say, a bit surprised at the kindness of it, “Thank you.”

“Sun usually destroys any art by our Caretakers,” warns Moon. “I don’t think he’d go for your sketchbook, but when you do the Monday calibration, don’t put too much effort into your art.”

You swallow, the thought of any of your art being destroyed unsettling something inside of you. “Right. Thank you. Do you need any help?”

Moon turns back to the sketchbook, waving a hand dismissively. You nod, even though he likely can’t see you, and you send a nervous glance as he turns the page. Right. You’re on your own.

You walk out into the Superstar Daycare’s center, taking stock of everything that could possibly need your help. You decide to crawl around inside the play structures, because what could possibly go wrong? It’s not like the jungle gyms were never designed to hold an adult human. You assure yourself that it’s not going to break, head back to the cleaning closet, and get some rags and disinfectant. You crawl into the first one as Moon continues to look through your sketchbook.

It’s cramped, certainly, and you can’t really turn around once you’re in a tube, but you manage. You use a pen to get out the grit between tunnel sections, wipe down every surface you can get to, and by the time you’re done with the first play structure it’s been an hour. Moon still seems to be strangely enthralled by your sketchbook, and while it still makes you nervous, you feel a bit… proud? That someone would be so captivated by something you made? You’re not used to the feeling, so you dismiss it and begin working on the next play structure.

As you finish the second structure, the music begins to play, and even from where you’re working you can hear an irritated sigh from Moon as the lights come on one by one. You crawl out of the structure as everything finishes booting up, and when you look over, Moon is no longer looking over your sketchbook, replaced by a grinning Sun who is enjoying your sketchbook in his stead. You brush yourself off to make sure you’re not still covered in goldfish cracker crumbs and jog over to his side.

“I didn’t know you were an artist!” he says, tone approving.

“I, uhm, I know it’s not perfect,” you say nervously as Sun looks through your pages.

“Now that we can agree on,” says Sun, devastating you in an instant. Right. He destroys art made by caretakers. You should probably take back your sketchbook now. “The way you draw faces is too basic for the detail you put into the bodies. You’re clearly skilled, albeit a bit…” he trails off into muttering. Is he… trying to give constructive criticism?

“Thank you,” you try, “Is the daycare opening soon?”

“It’s thirty minutes ‘til eight!” he says cheerfully.

You know the daycare opens at eight in the morning, so you settle for that as an answer. “Right. Well, uh, is there anything else you need help with?”

“If you want to sanitize all the individual balls in the ballpit, be my guest!” he declares, and it takes you a moment to realize he’s teasing you. You tense, but you wrestle with your anxieties privately, heading over to the supply closet and putting away the sanitizer. You return to see him holding your sketchbook aloft, trying to see it from new angles if the way his head rotates separately from the sketchbook. Fear seizes you as the vivid imagery of him tearing your precious sketchbook in half by the spine plagues your mind. You walk over to take it back, reaching for it, but he begins a game of keep away.

“Ohoho, you want it back?” he asks.

“Please,” you beg.

“Wow, good manners. I suppose I could give it back,” he says, tucking it under one arm as he taps his chin in theatrical thought.

“I beg you,” you say, only half serious now that it seems he’s not going to tear it to shreds.

He shrugs. “I guess it is yours… oh, but the drawings inside are just so pretty! Are you sure you don’t want us to put the pages on the walls of the daycare, where everyone can admire them?”

Your blood runs cold in an instant. “Please no,” you beg, voice small. There is anatomy practice in there. He turns to you, seemingly surprised.

“Oh?” he asks, like he barely heard you, “Well, then I guess I can give it back. Just this once.” He hands you your sketchbook, and you take it back, clutching it to your chest. “Perhaps don’t leave it out where everyone can see if you don’t want it to be seen.”

You swallow your nerves. “I guess I was alright with you seeing it,” you say, “just not everyone.”

Sun, who was walking away, spins on his heel to face you again. “Oh? And what have I done to gain this trust of yours?” he asks.

You blink. Is he offended? You honestly can’t tell. “Well, I mean, I didn’t intend for you and Moon to see it, but Moon was nice about it, I guess. If you’re not going to be mean about it…” You were about to offer to let him peek anytime, but you realize that you barely know him, and Moon did warn you that Sun has artistically destructive tendencies. “Well, then I don’t mind that you looked.”

Sun stares at you for a moment, and you stare back, the whites of his eyes not as intimidating as the whole human set up. Maybe that’s why they got rid of the pretty blues? Regardless, Sun turns back around and heads into the Daycare.

“I’m so honored!” he says, and you can feel the acid sarcasm in his voice. You wince. “Well, chop chop! The Daycare will be opening very soon and there’s so much to do!”

You pale. There’s more to do? But Sun and Moon hadn’t pointed you towards any particular tasks. Something must be wrong. Was he not joking when he said to sanitize the ball pit? No, no way, there had to be a more efficient method to cleaning that cesspool. Sun sends a confused glance your way as you stand there, frozen.

“... I was joking,” he says.

You slump into yourself with relief. “Oh. Okay,” is all you can manage, before heading over to the supply closet just in case. You think you hear suppressed snickering behind you, but you don’t bother to confirm it - that will just stress you out more.

You find clean rags and a less harsh disinfectant and set about spot cleaning any place in the playmats that feels a little sticky with your remaining time. There’s only a fistful of spots that need your attention, but they manage to take long enough that the Daycare starts to open before you can finish. You dry up the last spot of stickiness, stand, and watch as the first five or so energetic children come down the slide and into the ball moat with squeals of pure delight. You smile softly before heading back to the supply closet and putting everything away.

You can hear Sun welcome the children as you lock the closet door and head back to your desk, sitting to watch the kids. Sun asks them if they’ve all had breakfast, and there’s a chorus of “yes” from the children. Sun laughs and asks if they ate all their breakfast. Besides one enthusiastic “Yes!” from a little girl who’s eager to please, the response is thoroughly mixed. Sun gently chides the children about how they need to eat a full breakfast, says something you’ve heard before regarding the “most important meal of the day”, and looks over to you. You understand what he wants at once, getting up and heading to the mini fridge, crouching to sift through it. You find some cheese sticks, apple slices with Monty’s face plastered on them, and a few apple juice boxes. You stand and jump out of your skin when you see Sun looming over the edge of the desk, apparently watching you.

“Oh my-”

“We do not say the lord’s name in vain at Freddy Fazbear’s Mega Pizzaplex, friend! It’s against company policy!” he sings.

“Goodness,” you end lamely. “Hey.”

“Hi,” he echoes.

You carefully step out from behind the security desk, sidling up next to him as the gaggle of children walk over. You kneel down to their level, smiling at them sweetly. “Are any of you hungry?” you ask. “We’ve got lots of snacks!”

The children stare at you for a moment, but soon enough most are saying yes. You pass out one of each snack to the children, even the little girl who said she ate, considering how she ravenously eyes the cheesesticks. The children dig into their snacks, and Sun watches them for a moment before sitting down with them and beginning to talk to them about their mornings so far. Three of the kids complain and find mutual solace in the fact that none of them are big enough to play in the main Pizzaplex, and Sun pouts and says he’d miss them, which causes all the children to rush to comfort him. You laugh lightly, also amused, and none of them pay you mind. You turn to go back behind the security desk again, when you feel an inhumanly large hand wrap around your ankle. You shudder in a little fear, turning back to see Sun smiling up at you.

“How about a game?” he asks. “Why don’t we play Hide and Seek? Just to warm everybody up, of course!”

You blink. “Of course!” you say, putting all of your confidence into your words. Wouldn’t want the children to smell your weakness.

“Wonderful! How about you all hide, and I seek? Any friends that come in late will join me in looking for you!”

You look down at the hopeful eyes of the children and can’t help but acquiesce. “Sure thing! Count down from thirty, okay? I’m too big to hide quickly.”

“Twenty,” he says.

“Twenty-five?” you try.

He laughs. “Maybe! Go on, everyone go hide! I’ll come looking in just a moment!”

With that, the children giggle and run off into the jungle gym as Sun closes his eyes and covers them with his hands. You stare at him for a moment longer as he turns his back to the rest of the Superstar Daycare, and then reluctantly skitter away when he starts counting.

Okay. Hide and Seek. It’s not like there’s many places to hide, really, not for someone your size, but you manage to squeeze into the smallest play structure. You hear the children laugh as you wiggle in, and you can hear Sun clearly counting past ten. You find it easier to navigate and stow yourself inside than the first time, finding a nice little dead end tunnel to curl up in, bringing your knees to your chest. He’ll probably find you pretty quickly, hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if he could see through the cameras for security purposes, but you feel safe enough here. You hear him count to twenty, then to twenty five, and finally to thirty, and you can’t help but smile. He was just messing with you.

The music plays from the speakers, and you can hear the children laughing and shushing each other. One of them lets out a terrified “he’s coming!”, and they begin to chatter. You quietly chuckle at the kid’s antics as you can hear Sun’s bells approaching. He seems to be going for the kids first. You can hear the terrified squeal of the little girl who ate all her breakfast, and then the roar of terror from the little boy with the Freddy tee shirt. The third child screams, and Sun audibly begs for her mercy when she stops, as she must be the banshee of myth. She laughs. There’s only two children left as you listen to the sound of Sun crawling through the complex maze of tunnels, foam, and coated steel, but when he finds them he’s in for a surprise. They appear to have teamed up, a boy and a girl, and they scream and tackle Sun just out of view. You can hear an “oomph!” from Sun before he laughs and declares the two children to be very fierce. They children laugh and one even asks if he’s okay. He tells them he’s just fine, and to please wait with the others.

You don’t hear Sun after that, and you silently wait to be found. You half expect that he’ll stop looking entirely, that this was just a ploy to get you out of his way for a while, and you begin to worry when it takes longer for him to find you. You haven’t even heard his bells, and for all you know he’s back with the kids, all of them laughing quietly while you’re stuck in perpetual hiding.

And then you hear something large and plastic skitter across the foam and steel. Your heart leaps to your throat, you push yourself further into your tunnel, and you chose the dead end for a reason but now you’re regretting it because something is coming at you, and you see the Sun animatronic rush toward you on all fours like an amputated spider and you close your eyes, raising your arms to your face as a memory resurfaces, a tall tale at your middle school of a security guard who had his frontal lobe eaten by an animatronic. You don’t scream.

The sound of skittering stops, and you dare to peek with one eye out from your makeshift shield of raised arms. Sun is on all fours before you, smile dropped and head cocked. You open the other eye and lower your shield.

The first thing you think to say maybe isn’t your most intelligent or thought out. “Are you okay?” is all you can manage.

“Am I okay?” he asks, incredulous. “That didn’t scare you at all?”

You frown. “Oh. Was this a scaring game? I heard the children screaming, but I assumed they were just making a lot of noise. I mean, that was terrifying,” you say with an uncomfortable laugh, “But what was I gonna do? Kick you or something? I can barely move in here, and you’re a seven foot tall robot.”

“Seven and a half,” he says.

“Seven and a half,” you correct, “And very intimidating when you want to be.”

“Right,” he says, “and you could have kicked me.”

You frown once more, stretching out one leg to nearly touch Sun’s chest. “Right, I guess I could have, but why would I want to?”

Sun huffs, crawling backwards. “Right, I forgot that I was so valuable, friend! How could I?”

You crawl after him. “No, it’s because it’s rude to kick people, and we were playing a game. And did you want me to kick you?”

He doesn’t answer for a moment, but he does eventually let out a hesitant, “... No.”

You burst into a fit of giggles as he emerges from the structure first, the tension and fear leaving your body. You come out after him, kneeling on the floor for a few moments as you collect yourself. “You - you seriously wanted me to freak out? Why?” you ask between laughs. Sun grumbles something as he walks away. You get up and are beside him soon enough. “Is it more fun if I scream?” you ask. He sends you a puzzled expression despite his smile.

“Why would it be more fun if you screamed?” he asks.

“Well, we were playing a game, right?” you reply.

He stops walking for a moment before making a dismissive motion not unlike Moon’s. “Right. A scaring game.”

“Scaring game?” asks one of the little girls. You’ve arrived at the group of children.

You nod. “It’s a game to see who can be the most scared the most quietly,” you say.

Her eyes widen. “Ooooh! Is that why you and Sun were so quiet?”

You smile down at her. “Yeah! We were just playing.”

☀︎𖤓⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆𖤓☀︎

The morning passes by as more and more children pour in, and you count them all. Twenty four. That’s a lot of children for one person to handle alone, animatronic or not, so after the last few children arrive you get on your feet to help him. You walk up to a gaggle of children large enough that it should take a load off of his work but small enough that you’re not afraid they’re going to jump you, and you sit down with them. You open your sketchbook to one of the pages that is firmly NOT anatomy practice, showing the kids your drawings. Most are stunned by the drawings, and a few ask if you’re an artist, and you jokingly reply that you wish you were. You ask if they’d like to see you draw anything.

The first boy requests a monster truck. You’re not so great with vehicles, but you make an honest attempt, quickly scribbling down the wheels and body of the truck, constructing the suspension from rough memory. When you’re done, you tear out a page for the boy. You ask them if they have any other requests, and you go from there. Some My Little Pony Characters, a few animatronics, dinosaurs and obscure animals later, everyone has a drawing, and more children are gathered around you, waiting for their turns. Most of the children with drawings have run off to who-knows-where, but a few stay behind to watch you draw.

You’re content to draw for the gremlins for a while longer. It’s the one thing you're markedly good at, or at least that’s what you tell yourself whenever you feel self doubt creep in, and it’s relaxing in a way. At least, it’s relaxing unless the kids get it in their heads to fight over their drawings. That happened with some younger cousins once, and the fear of your artwork being destroyed has kept you from making more art for children. But now, you need to help Sun wrangle these kiddos, and you are determined to do so by drawing as many cartoon dogs as the kids need.

You feel someone standing over you as you work, and assume that one of the six-year-olds is looming nearby. After all, there’s a little crowd around you as you work. Then you feel that six year old crouch down to your height, which, yeah, that should be impossible, and tap you on your shoulder. You turn to face Sun with only mild surprise.

“I see you’re hard at work, friend!” he cheers.

“I thought it’d be helpful,” you say uncertainly.

He laughs. “Well, the time for arts and crafts usually comes after the first nap time, but who am I to stop you?” You’re about to apologize, get to your feet and retreat back to your desk, when Sun stands again, looking over your shoulder at your sketchbook. “Why don’t you do a drawing for yourself?” he asks. “Show off your skills!”

A few kids chime in with excited “yeah!”s, and you laugh along so that your nerves don’t show. “Oh, I can do that,” you say, and push all of your withering confidence into your voice. “What do you guys think I should draw?” you ask, and the children jump to provide answers.

You pick out a call from the crowd from the eager-to-please girl. “Sun and Moon!” she calls, as everyone else requests characters and vehicles and animals.

You smile. “Sun and Moon, yeah? I can do that,” you reply, before turning to your sketchbook. You’re nothing if not experienced in drawing animatronics, making them cutesy and marketable and whatever else the management of Fazbear Entertainment requested.

You sketch two circles, then draw the anatomical guide you made up back in highschool for poses and decide to show Sun and Moon holding hands. You decide quickly that Sun is going to be laughing in this image, hand held politely to his mouth as he chuckles, and Moon is going to be telling the joke, whispering into Sun’s ear. It’s easy enough, and it feels in character to you. You quickly thicken the lines with your pencil, wishing you had your fine liners, and finish by decorating the animatronic’s outfits as best you could. They look remarkably cute.

You turn your sketchbook over so that the kiddos can see the end result, and they all begin chattering and giggling, and they generally seem to approve. You smile. Kids are a tough crowd, so you’re surprised they like your work. You turn the sketchbook back toward yourself before handing it to Sun, who seems to be staring burning holes into the back of your head.

“What do you think?” You ask, a touch proud of yourself. It’s been a while since you’ve drawn these particular animatronics, and you’d like to think you’ve still got their basic forms memorized. It’s a little hard to forget anyways, considering that one of the two animatronics (or maybe both?) are with you right now.

Sun takes your sketchbook into his hands, and you belatedly remember Moon’s comment on Sun’s destructive tendencies. He cocks his head this way and that as the children quiet down, equally curious about what his plans are for your drawing. When he begins roughly tearing the page out of the sketchbook, the kids gasp in horror, and you can’t help but get to your feet to try and put a stop to whatever he’s doing. Sun easily steps out of reach with a twirl, handing you your sketchbook in one motion and clutching the page to his chest in another. You watch him as he casually dances away, a pulley lowering from the ceiling, and your horror turns to confusion. What is he…?

“This is wonderful work, you know!” he cheers, attaching the pulley at the waist before - woah - soaring over you and the children, flying up to the balcony that he told you was off-limits. He waves from the balcony like royalty looking down upon his subjects, and you can’t help but smile as the children wave back. “I’m keeping this in my collection~!” he calls from the edge of the balcony, before bowing deeply and dramatically, appearing ready to tumble over the edge but just barely keeping perfect balance. He then ducks behind the curtain. He’s gone for a few moments before he returns without the drawing.

Huh. He’s really going to keep it. You feel a little… charmed? Proud? That such a picky person would want to keep your art.

Sun dives from the balcony into the ball pit, and you gasp, half expecting him to be severely damaged and in need of a rescue. He emerges from the pit completely intact in just a moment, however, and crawls out with a surprising amount of grace and speed. You can’t help but let out an amused laugh.

☀︎𖤓⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆𖤓☀︎

Naptime comes sooner than you expect, and sure enough Sun is transitioning to Moon. As soon as he's back in his body, a transition you have been unable to make out in the darkness, Moon is mildly terrorizing the children with a bedtime story you're not sure is safe for children. The kids seem to love it, however, so you decide that Moon is likely the expert on these matters. You remember when you were little well enough to know that children love to be given something "mature" to prove how cool and smart they are, that they can handle it. You're pretty sure that was the entire point of the movie Coraline.

You slump back in your seat as you watch Moon convince the children to get under their blankets so he can tuck them in, and you watch as he carefully tucks in each kiddo tightly, even going so far as to give a little forehead kiss to one of the kids when she requests it. This, unfortunately, leads to everyone in the room absolutely needing kisses, which leads to Moon having to dart around, tucking kids in and giving out quick pecks. You snort behind your hand, trying to cover up the impolite noise, before you see it at the same time as Moon realizes it - one of the kids, the little girl who was so eager to please, is missing from the gaggle of children. Moon quickly stands and surveys the room, but you've already spotted her - she's hiding in one of the tunnels, laying low so that the cameras and Moon won't catch her. She must have wanted to see what was happening and peeked her head, or else you would never have spotted her.

You trot across the play mat and right up to her tunnel as soon as Moon seems to catch on, and you gently knock on the plastic casing. There's a surprised hitch of breath, but no other answer. You briefly wrack your brain for her name before remembering.

"Hailey?" you call gently through the tunnel. You hear the sound of her breathing pick up - she's trying very hard to stay hidden, even once discovered. "Hailey, it's okay, you can come out," you coax softly.

"No," she mumbles back. You sigh, having a feeling getting her ready to nap isn't going to be an easy task. You consider your next words carefully.

"Don't you want to get a kiss from Moon?" you ask, adding a surprised note to your voice.

You can hear the sound of Hailey shifting in her tunnel before sitting upright with her arms crossed over her knees, where you can see her. Her eyes dart to something over your shoulder, but she quickly focusses back on you. She worries her lip before responding. "... yeah," she admits, pulling her knees to her chest.

You pause again, working out the best thing to say. You eventually come to, "Is there a reason you haven't come out to nap?"

Hailey makes a despairing expression, a frown so deeply set it mars her face. "I don't want to have a nightmare," she admits, crossing her arms over her chest and rubbing her hands over her shoulders in a self-soothing gesture.

You hum in sympathy. "You know," you start carefully, "Moon can wake you up if you start having a nightmare."

Her eyes lit up in surprise, her frown disappearing. "Really?"

You smile. "Yeah, really. He's a very advanced robot, you know," you say, hoping that you're not violating some sort of "Fazbear Magic" ordinance. "He can sense when you're having a nightmare and wake you up right away!"

"I eat them, too," says a voice behind you, and you nearly jump. Moon steps up next to you, and you shuffle to the side. You don't want to get in his way. "I gobble them right up!" he says, a small grin widening on his face, his red eyes alight. "They're delicious. That's why I look so scary - so I can eat nightmares better."

Hailey blinks, before she lets out a relieved smile. "Really?"

His smile widens. "Really. Now why don't you come down for your nap?"

Hailey nods and begins crawling out of the play structure at once. With that settled, you let out a mental sigh of relief before turning to head back to your desk when Moon gently grasps your wrist.

"You should go on your lunch break," he says, and you blink. What time is it? Is it noon already? "You need to rest," he adds, like an explanation is needed. He lets go of your wrist as soon as he's said his piece.

"Oh," you say, coming back to reality. "Thanks."

☀︎𖤓⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆𖤓☀︎

You wander out of the Daycare like you would wander out of a desert and into a village - dehydrated, hungry, and a little out of touch with reality. The contrasting bright neons and dark walls of the Pizzaplex hurt your eyes, the endless screaming and sounds of Arcade machines and Fazbear Phazers hurt your ears, and the parents giving you weird looks hurts your mind. You check over your uniform, even going so far as to look at your face in the reflection of your phone screen, but you don't find anything wrong with your appearance minus the, oh wow, *massive* eye bags you're sporting. You smile wryly at yourself - you're not looking so hot. No wonder Moon wanted you out of there - you were probably going to fall asleep with the rest of the kids. You feel dead on your feet as it is.

You manage to stumble over to one of the food courts, the one nearest the Superstar Daycare and the little apartments they gave Freddy, Chica, Roxy, and Monty. You sit down at a random little three-seater, trying to make yourself as small and unassuming as possible, and pull out your wallet to count your bills as you size up the various menus. You haven't had the time to get groceries since you were hired, like, yesterday, so you don't have anything to pack for your lunches yet, but as you see that a basket of chicken tenders costs $20 you realize that your measley pocket change of $14 isn't going to cut it. There isn't an employee discount as far as you can tell, but you *can* afford a medium fry. You get up to pay when you see someone standing over you, cutting an imposing figure over you. You nearly fall out of your chair when you kick back in surprise, but the woman catches the back of it before you can get tipped out.

It's Odile.

"Hey," she says, voice gruff.

"Uh," you start eloquently. "Hey. What's up?"

She releases your chair, and you fall back with an "oomph". "'Your wallet tight?"

You're not used to such direct questions about your finances, but to hell with it, it's not like she can shame you more than your parents have. "Yeah, I suppose," you agree.

She lets out something like a snort, but with a completely stone face. "Damn. The training money comes at the end of the first week, if that helps. I'll get you something in the meantime though. You like pizza?”

You blink. "Thank you," you say sincerely, and then, "Sure."

"We'll split a small vegan cheese, then. The dough and sauce are surprisingly great here, and the cheese is pretty great for dairy-free, you'll probably like the stuff." She grins, breaking free from her impassive face, and it's shark-like. "No complaints, okay?"

You smile back, and it's genuine. "No complaints."

Odile holds out a hand, and you take it before being hauled to your feet. You follow her up to the counter, where she places her order for the two of you. She then turns back and lets you sit as she kicks back in her chair.

"So," she starts conversationally, "How're things going with the Daycare Attendant?"

"Fine," you say, half honest and half making it sound better than it is. "They've been kind today."

Odile's eyebrows rise into her hairline. "That's the nicest thing I've ever heard their caretaker say about them."

You frown. You know they're not the nicest to you, and you know that it likely isn't you they started this trend with, but were the last caretakers just badmouthing Sun and Moon or something? "They're alright, really," you insist, wanting to give them at least some good press.

She shrugs. "I'm surprised, I guess. Their last Caretaker quit a week ago, and he she was *furious* about how they treated her. Tried to get them decommissioned by Jackson."

Your eyes widen. "What?" You know somewhere deep in your mind that these aren't people (or, at least, they're not supposed to be), but that doesn't mean you can stand the thought of them being shut down completely. "They don't deserve that," you protest.

Odile sighs. "You're the first to think so. I don't want any of our robo-buddies put down either, but most of our coworkers want their own to have a personality reset and for the Daycare Attendant and Monty to be completely scrapped. They say mine's too aggressive and yours is too scary and hates adults. It's a whole thing."

You don't know exactly what expression you're making, but Odile winces sympathetically. "Hey, on the bright side, it's pretty much impossible to get these guys decomm'ed without, like, a murder or something. Monty and the Daycare Attendant will be fine." She pauses for a second, before making a face. "I mean, probably fine. Margaret can be pretty persuasive."

"Margaret?" you ask.

"The lady who micromanages Freddy. She's the worst," conspires Odile, and you can't help but attempt to smile. A Ding! comes from the front counter of the mini pizza parlour, and Odile stands to get it as you soak in the new information. As much as Sun and Moon don't like you, that doesn't mean you hate them or want to see them harmed. The thought of those two getting scrapped because of a few complaints is…

"Yo," says Odile, sliding the pizza box between the two of you. You watch her pop it open and grab a slice, taking a massive bite. You take some initiative and grab one of the paper plates she brought before taking a slice of your own. You eye it warily for a moment - vegan cheese is very hit or miss - before taking a bite of your own.

You don't know if it's the fact that you've barely eaten in the past 24 hours, if it's because you haven't been able to afford hot food made by someone else for a month, or if it's really just that good, but this is on of the best slices of pizza you've ever had. The crust is bubbly, crunchy, and almost buttery, the sauce tastes like it was made from real crushed tomatoes and olive oil, and the cheese is divine. You scarf down your slice as quickly as you can, and take your second slice after only a moment of polite hesitation. There's only four slices, but you're pretty sure Odile intended for you to go halfsies. Maybe. Probably.

Odile finishes her first slice as you're halfway through your second, smiling at you as she scrubs a bit of sauce off her cheek with a napkin. "I know the girl who runs the pizza place in this part of the 'Plex," she says, "And she's a total angel. Name's Missy, and you would not believe her skill with a pizza oven. It's like she's all psychically attuned to it, knows exactly when it's done baking. Totally lost it at corporate when they replaced the stone ovens with steel ones. Still, she cooks like a madwoman and has the patience of a saint. Wanna meet her?"

You, who has just finished your last slice of pizza, nod enthusiastically despite typically loathing meeting strangers. The extra meds are definitely helping.

Odile grins. "Great. Maybe you can be my wingman down the line. I've got to get this girl's number."

Odile stands, and you follow her to the front counter, where Odile makes an attempt to lean suavely against the counter, jutting her hip just so. It looks fine, but the setup is comical. Out comes a woman in a cook's uniform, apron and all, colored in the same palette as Glamrock Chica. She has star-shaped pigtails that bounce as she walks, and she smiles when she sees Odile.

"Odie!" she cheers, "What're you back here for?! And you brought a friend! Oh my gosh, hi!" She waves enthusiastically at you as Odile seems temporarily stunned speechless. Her cheer is practically infectious, and you smile and wave back. When Odile seems caught up in smiling sweetly at Missy, you elbow your coworker. Odile comes to life at once, introducing you properly to each other, before attempting to lean back on nothing.

"So, did you get it yet?" Missy asks, and Odile's eyes widen.

"Get what?" you ask.

"Oh shit," says Odile, and you snicker. That's not exactly Fazbear Friendly according to company policy, but you suppose there aren't many people around. "I totally forgot today. We'll go get that right away," she promises.

"Get what?" you ask again.

"A Monty signature on one of his plushies, of course!" says Missy, practically radiating excitement. "I want one for my little brother's birthday, but to be honest I'm a little mechanophobic and I can’t afford to get the signature myself. Odie said she'd get one for me!"

You grin. "I'm sure we can get something arranged before our break is up," you agree, and by then Odile is dragging you away by your arm.

"Good luck!" calls Missy, before she disappears back into her kitchen just as you round a corner.

You and Odile stop in one of the many gift shops, pick out the Monty plush with the straightest eyes, and check out in short order. Soon enough Odile is racing through the Pizzaplex to wherever Monty is, and you're following close behind, resisting the urge to laugh like a maniacs you dash past judgemental parents and their screaming kids. Soon enough you're at the private rooms the animatronics get, and you look observe them as your rush past. They seem... rather small. More like cells than rooms.

Odile takes a sudden turn, and you're now both behind the rooms in some sort of staff hallway. You follow her as she uses her watch to open up the backdoor to Monty's where the gator is reclined on his couch. There are drawings pinned to the wall, guitar picks in a bowl on his mirror, and gouges in the wall. There are bits of indeterminate plastic trash littering the floor, like he found a plastic toy and crushed it to bits. You go from feeling carefree and ready to conquer anything to suddenly very, very small.

"Hey Montgomery," Odile says, coming up to him as he tunes his guitar. You step inside as well, hovering near the door. Monty glances at her but does nothing more. "Can you do me a favor?"

"Why?" he says, voice deep, tone irritated.

"It's for a kid, Monty. His sister can't afford the signature price, but she wants to get it for him for his birthday." Odile shows Monty the plush form of himself. He glances at it.

"Why do you care?" he says, gruff.

Odile sighs. "Listen, Mont, I know every other human adult you've met is an ass, but I swear on my mother's christian name that this is out of the goodness of my heart. ... And because I have a bit of a crush on the sister. Anyone would."

Monty glances up, sets down his guitar, and pulls a sharpie from between the couch cushions to sign the toy with. He hands it back to Odile before sending you an irritated look. "What're you doing here?" he demands.

You startle. "Uh, you know,"

"Stop gawking," he adds.

Odile whacks him with the plush. "Monty, I swear to god. Even you have to admit the whole metal-gator-with-giant-claws-thing can be intimidating. They're the Daycare Attendant's caretaker, they're used to the baby-proofed designs."

Monty blinks, before huffing despite having no breath to exhale. "Sure. Whatever," he says, turning back to his guitar.

"Moody teenager," gripes Odile.

"Pesky human," he grumbles right back.

You turn and exit with Odile.

You both rush through the Pizzaplex back to the food court, so much so that you run out of breath by the time you're back at Missy's part of the food court. You double over on the counter as Missy comes out laughing, passing a Pizza to a waiting man and his daughter. She says something sweet to the girl before turning toward Odile and yourself.

"I suppose you were victorious this time?" she teases lightly, the neon lights dancing in her warm brown eyes.

"Hell yeah we were," replies Odile, producing the toy once more. Missy squeaks and gently takes it from Odile before jumping up and down with the toy held tight to her chest. Odile just watches with a grin on her face.

"Oh my gosh, thank you so much! This means so much to me! How much do I owe you?"

"Oh," says Odile, like the thought of a monetary exchange just occurred to her, "You don't owe me jack, Missy. It was a favor, ya know?"

Missy's grin widens, and she puts the toy down on the counter before lunging across the counter and wrapping Odile up in a hug. "Thank you so much for the help, Odie! You're awesome!"

Odile visibly blushes a deep red before wrapping her own arms awkwardly around Missy in turn, patting the smaller woman’s back. “You’re welcome, Miz. Don’t say I never did ya nothin’!”

Missy releases Odile and laughs openly. You can’t help but snicker too - you’re not sure what phrase Odile was looking for, but “never did ya nothin’” does not seem to be it. Odile scratches at the back of her neck and chuckles along.

“Well, we, uh, have to get back to work, right Odile?” you say, trying to give Odile an out.

Odile just grins. “I’m sure the mean green gator can handle himself. He’s on break for another twenty and I don’t want to babysit him during his “me time”.”

“Huh,” you say, wondering when Sun and Moon’s breaks are. “Well, I need to get back to Sun and Moon.”

Odile gives you a look that communicates a certain doubt, and asks you, “Are you sure? In the few weeks I’ve been here it seems like they don’t exactly want anyone’s help.”

You smile in awkward reassurance. “It’ll be fine. Besides,” you say, turning back to the table to dig around your bag and find your sketchbook. You produce it, flip it open to the last page, and continue, “There’s really not much scheduled for today. I should be fine.”

Odile shrugs. “It’s up to you, buddy. I’ll see you later, alright?”

You grin at her, and wow, those extra meds are working miracles. “Yeah! Can’t wait, see you soon!” you cheer, before taking off towards the Daycare.