Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

ugh the writing is really bad in this first chapter please just bear with me y'all,,,, this will also hopefully be the shortest one cause I guess me from a year ago couldn't fathom writing more than 800 words in one sitting

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Tick tick tick tick tick went the hands on one of the twelve clocks.

Little hour hands- delicate things. Pressed brass and tin turned by cute little copper gears.

Tick tick tick tick tick went the machinery inside him. Little bits of metal and plastic all working together- crude things.

Thin copper wire strung along a metal skeleton and between swaths of leathery pulp.

The ventilation alarm blared.

A confusing mess of circuits- temporary things. A slab of metal and glass fastened to the wall on a hinge. Everyone who passed through here used it.

The guards, they were.

What curious creature, a guard. Springtrap had long forgotten the title’s implications. Of course. He just enjoyed the attention they gave him. A little wave in the main window here, a little look at the left hall camera there- most would suffice.

But the guard didn’t like it when Springtrap watched. Staring made it uncomfortable, so he stared on. In fact, his mere presence seemed to startle the poor thing; its fear was tangible through the thick plexiglass.

But there was nothing to fear, really. Soft and docile, he held no ill intent.

Springtrap also wondered if the guard could speak. He was very jealous of those kinds, and jealousy was a very, very bad thing. It spelled danger in bright bold letters for the guard, and if it didn’t take the hint in the first few hours Springtrap would gladly let it know. But in a cruel twist of fate, every time he managed to nab one of the speaking ones it’d go silent, as if someone had wrung the words right from its tongue. Couldn’t it just comply? Even a little? Really, how far out of its way does it have to go to make a little noise?

Well, correction- there was noise- shouts and cries, of which Springtrap had no use for. Any beast with half a brain could make out a scream. No, he craved for the guard’s voice, its thoughts, its attention- even if only for a bit at a time. Even if only temporary. Screams, as he’d found, just couldn’t convey the same amount of substance. He wasn’t sure where this fascination came from, though. As far as Springtrap knew it was innate. He didn’t seek to go though the exit door that he’d witnessed the guard come and go from- why he was perfectly happy here in his own little world of tiled darkness and paper masks. Nobody to nag, nobody to scold, nobody to care.

And yet something still surged inside him when the guard complained out loud to no one in particular about sleep, or when the training tapes were played; warning of days long gone. He wanted and wanted and wanted- no, needed and needed and needed its attention. He needed its sound! Its sweet, sweet distraction that it took for granted all too often.

That, and rain. And he liked storms. Maybe not as much as when the guards would come around, but still a fair bit. He got to watch the steam from the warm pavement outside as it rose and turned glossy windows translucent, and listen to wonderful drop after drop after drop as it hit the roof above. The rain had continued into the early hours of the morning, and he sat in a heap next to the yellowed glass, legs spidered under him on tiled floor. That way, he could enjoy the sound of the rain at maximum volume while still keeping dry and warm.

But this guard despised the rain. Springtrap watched from the glass as the poor animal fumbled with a whole slew of coats and umbrellas and hoods to try and avoid the downpour. It always parked its car that it came and went from next to Springtrap’s window in the back lot outside- probably to cut down on time spent running to the building. What a waste of such a lovely and complex experience, rain. This guard seemed to treat it as if he knew for certain that there’d be more rain to come back to, that there’d be more rain to cower and run from.

There was a click and a heave of the sturdy exit door to his right. Squeaky, messy footsteps followed. They were small steps, uncoordinated and that of a different guard from last night. Springtrap wanted a better look at it, and clambered up into the vent to his right, following silently from above the sound of the guard’s keys as they jingled on its belt. The sound grew fainter as it rounded the corner, but with no more vent to follow in that direction Springtrap would have to trust his memory to discern where the guard would be headed. He turned back, and was faced with an intersection. Reasoning that because the left vent lead to an area above in the building that he hadn’t ever heard anything walk, right was his best bet. Springtrap had gotten very good at avoiding the creaky, weak bits of the vents as to best follow the guards without raising suspicion. That, or he did make noise and they just chose to ignore it.

Either way, they both lead to the same outcome which was really all Springtrap had the capacity to think about.

Chapter Text

Cain’s shoes were slick with fresh rain on the dirty linoleum, squealing like pigs with each step. But that wasn’t the worst of it- the air in the building itself seemed to cling to his body, dragging him down and heaving with incredible breath- cold and wet. Tangles of loose wires and party streamers polluted the narrow hallway, creating a mesh over each door. Now, Cain’s never considered himself to be much of a technical person- he’s got no idea how to even begin going about jumpstarting a car, and PCs freak him out beyond imagination- so maybe he shouldn’t talk, but he reasoned that those were some kind of fire hazard and most certainly were not necessary to the function of this facility. Honest to God, most of them didn’t even connect to anything and just hung some type of frayed-naked-coppery-mess at their ends where their plastic had been chewed away.

Stopping to look more closely at the clusterfuck that hung down over a doorway to his right, Cain took great care in focusing on only the wires and not what lay in the inky black behind them. You know, that funny thing that your eyes do where they auto-focus really really hard on something to keep your monkey brain in check when you’re in a situation that makes your blood run a bit higher than normal. Nevertheless, whoever set up this place did a knock-up job at making him feel like he was looking in on something he wasn’t supposed to see. Although that was the point of the attraction, he supposed. Crowded and dark and claustrophobic and fake. All thrown together by some dumb college kids on summer break who’d heard about the original Fazbear’s. Kids? Really? Christ, he’s really not that old either. Shaking his head slightly, he brought himself back to where his shoes were planted firmly on the tile. Cain wasn’t being paid to wander around a bunch of dark hallways like he was beta-testing some sort of game, so he pulled himself away from the nest of streamers and wires (and simultaneously his thoughts) and carried on down the hall.

He quickened his pace to a brisk walk as he rounded the corner, pleased to see a well-lit area of the building. Of course it was still bathed in what he could only describe as a cross between piss and D.C. metro light, but it was a bit brighter and a bit warmer than what he’d been greeted with on his walk in. The office was kind of a strange design though- the fact that he double checked the map he’d been given of the building just in case he’d stumbled across some kind of guest waiting area was telling enough. It was simultaneously much too open and much too claustrophobic as Cain settled into the single swivel chair with a creak. There was a gaping, black vent to his right that seemed to woft wet air into the room, and another gaping doorway to his left. The tile that plastered the walls was cold and breathed with the building, making him feel like he was sitting on the floor of a slick subway tunnel. But at the same time, it was also equipped with two mighty big tablets that allowed him to toggle through all the cameras and building functions, and a giant window made of a yellowing sheet of thin plastic. He felt like a rat in his own little, personal panopticon. The old, gross soda on the desk was also a nice touch. Christ- he was surprised he could hear his own thoughts over the deafening hum-buzz of the lights.

“Now what do you do-” Cain thought aloud as he prodded the tablet that swung out from the wall, cutting though the sounds of the building. His ears were much too stuffed with white noise, feeling fibrous and heavy on his head. His fingertips left oily tracks on the screen as he flipped through the cameras aimlessly, looking in the rooms that he’d walked past in the front hall. He hadn’t missed out on much, it seemed. Just more fire hazards and old Fazbear memorabilia. Cain knew he was going to have to confront this thought at some point or another this night- it was kind of strange to see his estranged uncle’s creations tacked on the walls, all of the masks of the mascots. He’d tried to ignore the feeling when he’d applied for the job, and then again when he’d interviewed, and just now when he’d entered the building. It had been more of a pride thing than anything else, the irony of the offspring of William’s least favorite sibling being the one that guarded what remained of his legacy. Well, ‘guarded’ in loose terms. Cain was pretty certain that this job wouldn’t entail any kind of real danger- the building was full of trash and the only people he could think of who’d want to mess with it would be teenagers, and that was manageable.

The building tore him out of his thoughts once again- creaking somewhere above him. It was an awful, loud, burdened kind of creak that made Cain grip the sides of the tablet with the conviction of a thousand men. A few more followed, like the rhythm of a crawling possum, and Cain slowly lifted himself from the chair, tablet still in hand. He took one more look at the window in front of him before ducking his head down, sandy hair tickling his forehead as he flipped through the cameras. Nothing seemed to show. Cain whipped his head back up, standing straight as an iron rod and contemplating his options.

a) The creak just came from normal building noises. Buildings make noise and that is completely normal and expected. It’s only scary because I’m a piss baby and I feel like I’m trapped in a cursed bathroom.

b) The creak was caused by something external- raccoons or rats or the storm or a bunch of kids throwing rocks outside because there’s nothing to do at 12 AM.

c)The creak came from the manifestation of my worst nightmare brought into reality by the restless spirits that the marketing for this place claims to harbor and I am most definitely certainly dead and William is going to beat my ass for being so stupid once I die and ascend-

A horrible screeching sound filled the office as Cain let out an equally horrible squeal and let go of the tablet, jumping back and looking at the screen to his left. The entire room glowed a bright red from the alarm as he scrambled for the tablet, noticing that the air in the office had gotten quite a bit heavier than before. Actually, it was nearly suffocating, burning his throat and making it harder to fix the problem because his hands were slick with sweat. Cain looked up, expecting to regain himself and instead being greeted with some type of hellspawn that lunged itself directly onto him. All he could see was its gaping maw as he screeched and threw himself back against the wall with a crack, sinking down to the ground and covering his head with his hands. Out of the corner of his eye he could make out a single foot, sickly green-grey and riddled with burn marks, it abruptly slid back as the thing bent down, its fox-puppet head taking up Cain’s sight. And for a moment the searing white rings of its eyes stared back, seemingly reaching into his skull and pulling back out. The feeling was that of having one’s brain ripped out through their eye sockets and with it all of their false-truths and meandering thoughts- violent and violating and horribly intimate.

Cain screamed again and covered his eyes with his arm, stumbling past- or through- the creature and to the tablet, reaching like a starving child. His hand hit hard plastic and glass, looking for only a second to locate the ‘reset vent’ option. He stood, shaking and cowering for a few more seconds until he heard the alarm go off. He took in a few deep breaths and lowered his arm, looking to his right and jumping around, checking for any evidence of what had just happened. He could see the yellow light reflected on the now shiny surface of his skin, and he wiped his forehead- brushing the wet and itchy hair up and out of his eyes.

He glared at the vent to his right expectantly.

“Do your damn job! You’re literally sat there, not obstructed or- or hindered or distracted or having to deal with some stupid piece of dangerously archaic technology in any way. For Christ’s sake, buddy!” Cain heaved as he sat back down in the swivel chair, the force pushing it away from the desk as its wheels made a clacking sound as they passed over the grout in the tile. He looked at the ceiling and half-kicked himself for forgetting about the monitors and half-kicked himself for yelling at an inanimate object. He wasn’t sure where to start with whatever he’d just seen, other than the rising feeling of unease from his gut that it had something to do with his uncle.

“But William made, like, robots and stuff for kid’s parties- like birthdays and soccer tournament celebrations and shit-” Cain paused as he muttered to himself, contemplating the hilarity of the entire situation. “-he wouldn’t, I mean, it just wouldn’t have been good business practice….”

Not sure about how to process what he just went through, Cain took a deep breath and ran his hands over his face. He was going to get back to work, pay attention to the monitors, leave, take a nice, hot shower and go to sleep for a very, very long time. He lifted his head back into view of the window, and pulled the chair back up to the desk with a couple quick shuffles of his feet. A bit shaken, he checked the cameras another round, growing bored by the minute. There was no way to satiate his curiosity about the thing that had attacked him unless he wanted to expose himself to another round of what would surely manifest itself in the form of PTSD later down the line. It just bounced around in his mind, unchecked and really, really annoying.

Cain sighed and looked up from the tablet, expecting to be greeted with the same window that overlooked an empty hallway. Goosebumps appeared up and down his body as his throat dried, unable to look away from the eyes that were staring back at him. Currently kicking himself for wishing for such a stupid thing.