#protective animatronics

 Were it not for your perilous position, he might have snapped at the bear and chased him out of the room. Yet, for the first time, the resentment he harbours for Freddy plonks itself into the back seat in favour of letting your safety take precedence on the list of Monty's priorities.

From the top of the ladder, you pitch a wave over your shoulder and call out, "Evening, Freddy!"

Down below you, the bear has his head tilted way back on its axis to stare up at you, one, impressive paw clutched fretfully around an ear. You've never seen one of the animatronics look so close to shutting down before, not even Sunnydrop that time you almost took a tumble off his balcony.

"Miss Y/n! I must – Oh, good evening - I must ask you to come down at once!" Freddy urges, clasping his paws together and stepping further into Monty's space, though he doesn't pay any mind to the gator's territorial growl.

"I'm just fixing the curtain," you reply and turn back to the task at hand so that he doesn't catch the petulant roll of your eyes.

There are only a few more hooks to go.

“But – but you are not wearing the proper safety equipment!” Below you, the bear's ears now lay flat against his head and he drags his enormous paws down the front of his muzzle before bunching them into tight, imploring fists. "Please, I must insist that you come down before you get hurt! The rules and regulations are in place for a reason - to keep you safe!”

“Now you're starting to sound like Sunnydrop!” you say with a breezy laugh.

Montys' optics remain glued to the jut of your heel where it hangs over the side of the ladder rung, but to Freddy, he huffs, “Don't bother. Already tried convincin' her down.” Well.... He hadn't so much tried to convince you as he had shouted at you to get off the ladder before you broke your stupid neck. Funnily enough, that method hadn't worked.

Darting his gaze helplessly between you and his fellow bandmate for another moment, Freddy's optics finally settle on you and a strange look falls over his once jolly features, not unlike a cloud drifting over the sun. “Y/n,” he says in a clipped tone that you assume is meant to be stern, if it didn't fall so woefully wide of the mark, “I do not wish to file a report on this incident, but for your own safety, I'm afraid I may have to!”

The gator beside him bristles visibly at the threat. “Hmf, snitch,” he sneers, garnering a disapproving frown from the bear.

You, on the other hand, remain unhurried and nonplussed. Minor threats like Freddy's no longer frighten you quite so much as they perhaps ought to, and you've grown fairly good at being able to tell when someone's threat is genuine, and when they're bluffing.

The pinched apprehension leaking from the animatronic's voice box is a dead giveaway. He isn't lying when he says he doesn't want to report you, so, he more than likely won't. But regardless of whether you think he'll actually file a report on you for reckless endangerment, you're only really nonchalant because you've finished your arduous task.

“No need to worry, Freddy Fusspot,” you tease as you slip the last hook into its loop and exhale, satisfied with a job well-done, “I'm finished. I can come down now, if you'd like?”

The bear doesn't even seem to register the new nickname, too busy shifting from stabiliser to stabiliser and giving his head a vigorous nod. “Please! I would like that very much!”

Truthfully, you aren't quite sure what you're supposed to do with the palpable concern that has apparently overcome the famous animatronic. You're just the nameless, nearly faceless cleaning lady who disappears into the background, leaving behind no evidence of your existence except for a polished floor and the lingering scent of citrus. People simply don't notice you, which is perfectly fine. You didn't take this job to be noticed, you took it because you can do it, and because you need to make rent each month.

So to suddenly find yourself the subject of concern for the face of the company, as well as his reptilian bass player, you aren't really sure what you're supposed to be feeling.

Embarrassed?

Perhaps.

Smothered?

More-so.

It took you a long time to grow accustomed to Sunnydrop's worry, something you learned to brush aside with a disarming smile and a touch to his sensitive chest plate. Both are usually enough to distract him. Moon's fretting too, you attempted to assuage, though he was always trickier to distract. You always just put it down to a quirk in their programming, the same that kept them so fiercely protective of the children who came to the Plex.

Freddy, it seems, isn't dissimilar to Sunny – both vocal and insistent when they're unhappy in a situation. Monty, however... You aren't too sure about Monty...

He vocalises, sure. But less with coherent words and more with growls and agitated huffs through his silicon nostrils.

It had taken a Herculean effort to keep yourself from trembling when he tried climbing the ladder to fetch you down after you'd shot to the top of it, only remaining on the ground – albeit reluctantly – once you pointed out that the ladder wouldn't hold his weight, and that you needed him to keep it in place so that it didn't slip backwards.

The irate grumbling had mostly ceased after hearing that you needed him, yet each time you took a peek down under your outstretched arms, you found his optics trained unwaveringly on you, his large, clawed feet planted firmly into the carpet as though he really thought the ladder would get away from you if he wasn't there to stop it.

That noticeable restlessness still hasn't really diminished, even though nothing terrible has happened. And so, rung by rickety rung, you start to ease your way down the ladder.

The bear's ears swivel to and fro at every creak of the rungs as you carefully descend. Even Monty grows uncharacteristically still, watching you totter down the ladder until you're halfway between the floor and ceiling.

In hindsight, it's probably a little mean, but you can't quite help yourself.

Without warning, you suddenly give the railings beneath your hands a rough jerk and let out a loud, jocular, “Woah~!” pretending to wobble precariously in place.

Two things happen at once.

The first, you're almost deafened by a pair of voices belting out your name in alarm.

The second, a large, warm fist curls around your ankle, presumably to hold you steady on the rattling ladder.

“R'you okay!?” and “Don't worry! I've got you!” overlap one another, frantic enough that you almost feel bad for deliberately scaring them.

Almost.

Twisting your neck over a shoulder, you meet Monty's crimson gaze, wide and alarmed behind his star-shaped sunglasses, his hands crushing dents into the ladder's legs. Then, your eyes dart down to your leg and find that it's Freddy who has leaned in front of the alligator and stretched up to trap your ankle inside a huge, golden-brown paw. He's staring up at you with his jaw dropped wide open, giving you an uninterrupted view of the back of his mechanical mouth.

Peering down at them both, a slow, mischievous grin worms its way across your face.

Monty seems to catch on to the joke first, his expression darkening into a fearsome scowl that sends a shudder up your spine.

“Not funny,” he rumbles out from between clenched teeth.

Freddy's comprehension arrives a second afterwards. “No,” he agrees through a static-coated sigh, easing his paw away from your ankle, “I concur. That was not funny.”

“Well, it'd be funnier if you could see your faces from my angle,” you quip.

Glowering up at you, Monty gnashes his teeth together and barks, “Would you get down already, 'fore ol' Fazbear here blows a gasket!” In truth, it isn't Freddy's gasket he's worried about.

Sparing a longer glance at Freddy's pinched, plastic brows and clasping hands, you suddenly feel the playfulness drain out of you, the smile on your lips shrinking right along with it until your expression turns adequately apologetic. “Okay, all right,” you soothe, descending another step, “No more jokes. I'll come down. Sorry, Freddy...”

The bear's relief shows at once with the way his frame sags like a puppet cut from its strings, the movement accompanied by an exasperated sigh that comes from somewhere deep down in his chest cavity. “Apology accepted. But please–“ he urges, getting his hand swatted away when he tries to take your wrist and help you down, “- do not do that again...”

Once you reach the bottom rung, you try to step off, but your foot clangs against a metal surface behind you, giving you pause. Turning to look, you realise that while Freddy has moved back, Monty remains in the same position as he'd been in before, keeping a tight hold of the ladder so that it doesn't slide backwards. Bemused, you quirk an expectant brow at him.

“Hmph,” he grouses. And then, for good measure, he stretches his neck out and shoves the flat of his snout between your shoulder blades, giving you a tame, but pointed prod that he hopes will convey his displeasure. “Yeah. What the bear said...” he gripes.

“Got it,” you swallow thickly, “Lesson learned.

With a final snort of hot air against your blouse, he at last pries his claws from the ladder and moves backwards, allowing you the space to hop down onto solid, safe ground.

To your credit, you do have the decency to look thoroughly admonished as you turn to face them.

Far be it from him to ever say as much out loud, but Monty had shared in Freddy's palpable worry.

Adult humans, in his finite experience, are under the impression that they're sturdier than children. Perhaps they are, in most regards, but adults don't bounce back like children do. Their skin is still just as flimsy, they still get sick and hurt and bruised, their bones still break under impact force... Child or grown up, a fall from any height could prove devastating.

It's... odd. Until you climbed up that damnable ladder, Monty had never really given much thought to all the various ways a human could get injured.

Freddy, on the contrary, has never stopped thinking about them.

“Thank you for coming down,” the bear almost wheezes, stepping up into your space and giving you a hasty once-over, unaware that his bandmate has started bristling at his proximity to you, “I'm sure I do not have to tell you that forty three percent of workplace falls occur from the top of a ladder!”

“So, the odds are in my favour,” you chime casually, brushing down the front of your skirt.

Freddy's expression at once turns comically horrified at the idea that you could be quite so blasé about such a worrying statistic.

“Miss Y/n,” he starts, “Your tone indicates jest, but I find nothing funny about self-endangerment.” The bear's eyebrows slowly ease apart until his expression is less severe, and far more imploring. Montgomery's burning glare goes unnoticed as Freddy lifts his arm, gradually eating up the space between you until his clawed fingertips come to rest on your upper arm, a gentle touch meant to further convey the sincerity behind his words. “If anything were to happen to you, a lot of people would be very distraught, myself included, I hope you know that. You are a valued member of the Fazbear family. We look out for our own.”

Ah. There it is. You're professional enough not to let your expression fall flat.

You suppose it makes sense that the company would program their jewel in the crown to encourage the safety of corporate assets. Who could say no to Freddy, after all?

Not you, evidently – just another victim of the bear's effortless charm.

You have no way of knowing, however, that Freddy Fazbear means what he'd said to you. He means it with every optical fibre that runs through his frame.

Even when he was first brought online in that white, sterile room surrounded by strangers, he'd known that family was important. He knew it because it was all right there in his code. He was the face of the franchise, the leader of the band – and what was a leader's role, if not to protect those around him?

'Freddy. Welcome to the Fazbear family,' were among the first words his audial receptors ever picked up when that initial spark of confusing but scintillating sentience flickered to life in his processor.

But you don't know that. To your cynical ears, the bear is just spouting pretty rhetoric, and so, resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you sigh, offering him an appeasing smile. “Alright, alright. I promise not to climb anymore ladders...”

“Thank you,” he beams, squeezing his optics shut.

“... in a place where you can see me.”

Behind you, Monty lets out a surprised bark of laughter as Freddy sputters, his muzzle dropping into a frown.

“Y/n,” he attempts to gently admonish you, large paws planted firmly on his hips.

“I'm kidding, Freddy, I'm kidding,” you chuckle, holding your hands up in a placating gesture.

The bear's ear twitches once on its pivot and he moves his arms, folding them instead across his broad chest and subjecting you to a very uncompromising look. “You promised me, no more jokes.”

You very nearly point out that you hadn't technically promised him anything, but then... You suppose you've riled that poor bear up enough, and you're not willing to test your luck against a bot you're still relatively unfamiliar with.

However, before you can apologise again, a heavy, green arm slings itself across your shoulders and you stiffen instinctively at the unexpected weight, incapable of relaxing even when you remember that it's just Monty, and you'd done much the same thing earlier, leaning carelessly against him outside the daycare. Although come to think of it, you hadn't encroached quite so brazenly on his personal space there.

“Ah, lay off, Fazbear. Like the lady says, lesson learned. 'Sides, she weren't gonna fall with me lookin' after her.”

Although he tries, not even the gator can inject enough surety into his own voice to convince Freddy – or himself – otherwise.

The presence of Monty's arm around your shoulders feels far more encompassing than it should, tightening around you little by little as he bares his fangs into a wide grin and aims it right at the bear, oblivious to how you've frozen beneath him.

You... hate the feeling. You hate it. Because you know it.

You've felt it – a long time ago in retrospect, yet not long enough that you can forget how it was to have that wretched arm slung over your shoulders, stopping you mid-sentence as you spoke innocently with friends from University.

'Who's this, babe?'

A strong arm flexed, barely increasing the pressure that sat far too close to your neck.

He'd stake his claim.

Every damn time, every person you tried to have a harmless conversation with, he'd appear and press you close to him, his smile lax and friendly, but his startling, green eyes hard and sharp as flint.

'Hunter. Let go...'

Defiance was rewarded with a smack to your insolent mouth after he brought you back to the house. After the third incident where you came out worse-for-wear, you'd just... stopped asking him to remove his arm. Following that, you even ceased trying to remove yourself from underneath it. You spoke to your friends less and less, until you left them behind altogether. It simply wasn't worth the argument.

The guilt still eats you alive from time to time. It had felt more like you were admitting that your friends weren't worth the argument, which could not have been further from the truth.

But, god help you, you were so tired. You'd have done most anything to make your life just that tiny bit easier...

“-etecting high levels of cortisol in her bloodstream.”

“I got it, Fred. Back up. You're scarin' her...”

There's a muffled hum of indignation.

Suddenly registering that the weight across your shoulders has disappeared, you wrench your eyes open - wondering when they'd slipped shut - and find yourself blinking up at the snout of a scowling gator.

'Shit, how long have I been...?'

“Hey, you okay, Princess?” Monty coaxes, his jaw moving up and down frightfully close to your face.

Old habits die hard. And without a thought, you fall back on the one you always rely on whenever someone asks if you're all right in that tone of voice.

You laugh.

It seems you've been laughing a lot these days.

“What? Oh, yes! Yes, I'm fine,” you smile up at the pair of animatronics, “Sorry, did I zone out?” You can almost hear Shannon chewing you out for lying, but you shove aside her admonishing voice to remind yourself that you need to get a damn grip.

He's not even here anymore. He's in another city, far, far across the country. Not every man who tosses an arm across your shoulders is like him.

It ought to concern you really, how easy it is to throw on a disguising smile as easily as you used to throw on a silk scarf that hid those hideous 'tokens' Hunter left on the flash of your throat.

'Love bites,' he'd call them, something akin to affection lurking like a sea monster under the surface of a black, placid lake.

'Funny,' you remember thinking, 'I was just about to say the same, damn thing.'

You shake him roughly out of your head, lips curled in distaste.

Monty is still standing snout to nose with you and staring unblinkingly at your face whilst Freddy hovers over his shoulder, trying not to be obvious as he lifts his head to see a little more of you behind the alligator's frame. The stern severity in the bear's expression has fallen away completely, replaced once more with that tight, gut-churning concern.

It's certainly strange, to say the least, to have the pair of animatronics watching you with hawk-like attention, as though they half expect that you'll suddenly burst into tears or something else equally embarrassing.

You won't, of course.

You've had more than enough experience with bad memories, and the more time passes, the easier it becomes to bear their ruthless weight upon your weary shoulders.

And besides, you're certainly not about to unload your baggage onto two well-meaning, but ultimately inexperienced automatons. So, you opt to simply tell a harmless white-lie, spilling the first excuse that springs to mind.

“Sorry,” you say again, pressing your fingertips to your forehead, “Just, uh, had a dizzy spell. Whoo~! Probably should have had more than a banana for breakfast, huh?”

…

In hindsight, you probably should have sprung for a different lie.

Somehow, Freddy's look of utter distress manages to grow ever more prominent, his jaws pulling tight with a grimace whilst his ears clunk dully against the side of his head.

“You ain't eaten anythin' else all day?” Monty utters, his voice even, but flat and low, carrying a gravity you'd rather it didn't.

Between calming down that woman in the bathroom and trying to perform your duties whilst being tailed by one of the four, main animatronics, lunch had frankly slipped your mind.

You certainly remember that you haven't eaten now though, especially when your stomach suddenly gives a miserable lurch, reminding you of the neglect.

“Eh,” you shrug, giving your wrist a dismissive flick, “I'll just have a big supper when I get home. Pizza, or something.”

Freddy's brows slant into a disapproving glower and he steps around Monty to look you in the eye.

“That explains the cortisol spike...” he mutters to himself before raising his voice and giving you a pointed stare, “You should not be exerting yourself without proper nourishment.”

Maybe it's just the natural, fatherly air that Freddy seems to have been made to emulate, but you suddenly find it extremely difficult to meet the bear's eye. You've only met a handful of people who have perfected the knack for the 'I'm not mad, just disappointed' face. Andy is one of them, and now it appears as though Freddy is as well.

“Oh! I know-” The jarring shift in his demeanour and his sudden exclamation catch you by surprise and you jump, daring to raise your eyes up to his once more, then up again, to the unexpectedly keen prick of his ears. “I have no further responsibilities this evening,” he continues, “Perhaps you would allow me to fetch you something to eat from the kitchens.”

The wording implies that he's asking for your permission, but you can tell from the determined glint in his optics that you really don't have any choice in the matter. You'll be getting food before you leave, one way or another.

You don't take note of Monty's gaze snapping sharply in Freddy's direction.

Holding up a hand to stop the bear's eager-to-please processor from overheating, you give an awkward laugh and reply, “That's very good of you, Freddy, but I'm really okay. This isn't the first time I've gone without a meal.”

Another daft confession that only serves to push Freddy's ears back again and leaves Monty humming low in his chest, giving you a flinty glare.

The alligator must have been telling Shannon and Bianca the truth earlier. His protocols are extremely sensitive today.

“...I'm afraid, once again, that I must insist,” the bear tells you gently, easing his muzzle into a tender smile, “What kind of a friend would I be if I cannot even bring you food in your time of need?”

You'd hardly call this an 'hour of need,' but regardless, you're so touched by the sincerity that you don't even see how Montgomery's frame has gone eerily still and rigid, his hands balling gradually into crushing fists.

Freddy leaves you with no further time to argue as he promptly straightens his bowtie and begins marching purposefully towards the door, declaring, “No friend of Freddy Fazbear's will go hungry on my watch. You just wait here, ma'am, I will be right-”

“Woah, woah, woah! Hold up there-” Monty cuts in with a sudden shout, stalking right past you and approaching the bear, his yellow chest pushed out until it almost collides with Freddy's, as clear a challenge as you've ever seen, “I'll get 'er the food. I know what she likes better'n you do!”

If Fazbear thinks he can win his way into your favour by bringing you food when you're hungry, he's got another thing coming.

If the gator ever stopped to consider his actions, he'd likely be perturbed by the level of care he's unwittingly showing.

The bear's amicable grin drops at once and he seems just as surprised as you are by Monty's unexpected helpfulness, raising his big, black brows and sharing a look of bemusement with you over the gator's shoulder.

Now that he knows you need sustenance, Monty's protocols have begun to shriek at him, and he shoves roughly past his bandmate, stepping into the open doorway and pausing to glance back at you as he raises a hand, gesturing for you to stay put. “Don't go nowhere. I'll be right back.”

“Monty..”

'This is ridiculous,' you almost groan aloud.

Catching yourself, you instead tell him, “I really have to get my duties finished. I can't-”

“Just five minutes,” he interrupts, pointing a clawed finger at you, then at the ground – the universal signal for 'stay' - before he turns and lumbers off down the concourse, leaving you and Freddy to stare at the door as it slides shut, the pair of you equally as bewildered as the other.

“Goodness,” the bear chuckles after a moment or two of awkward, oppressive silence. Beaming, he turns to peer down at you and happily exclaims, “I have not seen Montgomery try to be so helpful in...” His words taper off and he hums, propping his chin on his knuckles. “Hm... Come to think of it, I'm not sure I've ever seen him this helpful.”

“I take it he isn't usually like this, then?” you ask, rubbing a finger up and down the side of your nose to try and alleviate a dull throb at the back of your head.

Freddy's ears swivel towards the sound of your voice and he drops his hand, his optics suddenly widening in alarm. “Oh, no, please do not get me wrong! He is a most wonderful friend and entertainer. He would do anything for the children... But...”

“~But, not for grown ups, right?” you hazard a guess.

The bear grimaces guiltily and swipes some imaginary dust from his chest plate. “I have never known him to go out of his way to assist a member of staff before,” he confesses softly, turning his brilliant optics onto you and adding, “You have made quite an impression, it seems. I believe you will be a good influence for him.”

You have to snort at that kind of optimism. The very concept of you being a good influence on anyone, be they human or hulking animatronic is laughable. Especially given that you've proved that you're far from responsible twice now. Using a ladder unsafely and forgetting basic self-care. Truly, you're the quintessence of responsible professionalism.

But, after almost frying his circuits by not following standard procedure, you suppose poor Freddy deserves to be humoured.

“Well, hey, I'm glad you think so,” you shrug, casting an absent glance down at your watch and wincing at the time, “Stop me if you think I'm making him worse, okay?”

And because you're busy doing mental calculations and deciding which tasks you could feasibly complete within the next hour, you miss the utterly fond look that Freddy is giving you.

“Oh, I do not believe for a second that you could do something like that,” he returns, though his dulcet tone soon pitches into that of apprehension when you click your tongue and start making your way towards Monty's door.

“You're leaving?” he blurts.

“I have to, Freddy. I'll get in trouble if I don't do my job.”

“I can appreciate a strong work ethic, young lady, but it'll do you no good to push yourself – especially on an empty stomach!”

Your face scrunches up into a comical frown. 'Young lady?'

You think you prefer it when he calls you ma'am.

“Oh, I'll be fine,” you tell him with a flippant wave of a hand.

“But...” He reaches towards you with one paw, but then seems to think better of it and pulls his arm back against his side with an objectionable whine from the hydraulics, “But, Montgomery asked you to stay.”

You hesitate briefly to look over a shoulder at the ladder before giving a quick shrug, electing to put it back in storage before you leave for the day. “Well, cleaning up Monty's room – again – has waylaid me a bit,” you try to explain, feeling Freddy's footsteps quake the ground below your shoes as he moves to follow, “I want to make sure I do a sweep of the atrium before I leave. Throw away some of the rubbish that the S.T.A.F.F bots might've missed. They never seem to get it all.”

Still, you're not ungrateful. It keeps you in a job.

Scanning your card by the door, you step out into Rockstar Row with Freddy sticking close to your heels.

“Well, I'd best get to it,” you say pleasantly, appeasing the bear with a small wave, “I guess I'll see you around. Bye, Freddy,” Leaving the strangely silent animatronic in your wake, you continue on down the row, heading in a weary bee-line for the Atrium.

It's been... a long and hectic day. You're fairly sure you've had more excitement in the last twenty four hours than you've ever had in your yearly history working for the Plex. You'll be glad when you and Stella can just collapse onto your well-worn sofa at home with a slice of greasy pizza in each hand, and watch cartoons until one of you falls asleep where she sits and the other has to declare that bedtime has long-since come and gone. With the way you're starting to drag your feet across the linoleum, it's becoming more and more apparent as to who will be unconscious first...

Dreams of well-deserved leisure are dashed seconds later as you start to grow increasingly aware of the ground below you quivering in a languid, two-beat thud that follows your shadow slowly down the concourse.

You're struck by a bout of deja vu... Is Monty back already? Surely not...

The brief glance you pitch over your shoulder is enough to bring you to a dead halt, nearly tripping over your own foot as it catches awkwardly on the sticky surface below you.

You should have been clued-in when he didn't return your farewell... Freddy looms behind you, tall and unavoidable in the space he takes up, even more so than Monty, and he's staring down at you in that hopeful way that makes you think you're meant to know why he's still in your vicinity.

First the gator, now a bear... You're starting to feel like you missed your calling as a zookeeper.

“Freddy...? You okay?” you ask as you turn around to face him, wracking your brain for anything you might have forgotten to do that would warrant the bear's pursuit of you down the concourse.

Freddy, for his part, appears cheerfully oblivious to your confusion. “Oh, yes! I am quite well, thank you,” he says with a smile pulling at his shiny jaws.

“... Right. Good.” When he makes no move to leave your side, you click your tongue and try, “Is there... something you need?”

His heavy shoulders lift into an easy shrug and he replies, “No? I do not believe so.”

… And that's that, apparently. The bear's head has tilted sideways again and he's staring down at you through those startling, blue-glass optics, almost as though he's waiting for you to do something. The only problem is, you aren't sure what.

You're beginning to wonder if Freddy really is as clueless as the staff make him out to be, or if he knows precisely what he's doing.

“Well, that's... good?” you nod, pursing your lips and stiffly turning around again, though not before you try to pacify the persistent animatronic by lifting your hand and offering him another friendly wave. “Okay... Um, bye?” You don't know a thing about robotics, but you reason that he might simply need a dismissal before he can return to his scheduled rounds. That's twice you've had to say goodbye, however...

The bear's round ears prick attentively and he returns the gesture with a sweep of his own paw, head still tipped as he watches you drag your eyes forward and away from him.

You barely make it three or four strides before you hear that telltale thump of heavy, metal feet clomping after you, growing louder and closer until you can feel the vibrations through the soles of your shoes.

Perhaps, you muse, he merely happens to be going the same direction as you. A bit awkward, but ultimately a non-event. Just because Monty, for some reason, adhered himself to your side after you gave him that figurine doesn't mean Freddy is going to -

- The enormous animatronic suddenly appears in your peripheral vision and doesn't move beyond you, matching your gait step by tiny step.

All right. Now you can admit that this is getting a little bizarre.

Montgomery trailing after you is one thing. But Freddy Fazbear? The Freddy Fazbear following after a cleaning lady on her rounds, when he could be tending to the piles of fan letters cluttering his vanity, or sifting happily through colourful drawings that children have handed him throughout the day? Something doesn't seem right.

“Uh. Freddy?” you clear your throat, stopping once more to pivot towards him on your heel and tip your head back, looking up into his optics. He's closer than you expected him to be, halting mid-step and peering straight back at you, his gaze alive with little else but calm curiosity and a private objective that he won't swerve away from.

“Not... that I mind the company, of course,” you say diplomatically, “But, why are you following me?”

The apertures in his optics click and whirr as they expand. Apparently, Freddy is surprised by your question. Are you missing something?

“Well, I... I thought...”

You're astonished to hear the eloquent animatronic stumble over his words, and that astonishment only doubles after he glances sheepishly at the ground.

To think... A bear, looking sheepish.

Wonders will never cease.

“I hope you will forgive my boldness,” he hedges carefully, “But you were disregarding your safety in Montgomery's room. And you have neglected to eat.” Hesitant, he raises his eyes to give you a pointed stare. “I would feel a lot better if you would allow me to accompany you on your tasks.”

There it is again, the not-quite-a-question, posed as though he's leaving the decision in your hands. And yet, that look he's levelling at you – not unkindly, not in the slightest. He's Freddy. You don't know much about him, but you've heard enough from Andy to know that the bear doesn't have an unkind wire in his body.

Still, you can't help but wonder what he'll do if you refuse. Firstly, you're a little offended that he assumes you're a magnet for trouble just because he happened to catch you up a ladder without a helmet on. You don't need a titanic, metal watch-bear on your case while you're trying to do your job. Secondly, it just doesn't seem right for the city's beloved celebrity to eat into his battery power by tailing you aimlessly around the Plex.

You can say no... It can't be that hard... Anxious fingers twist up into the fabric of your skirt and you suck down a steadying breath, letting it settle in your lungs before you release it all in one fell swoop. “That's really not necessary. I don't plan on climbing any more ladders tonight. But thank you.” The lack of authority in your voice is shameful. But then, you've never been authoritative in your life, so why on Earth would you suddenly start now?

There's the telltale sound of Freddy's little, red earring clinking softly against the casing of his skull...

You shouldn't have looked up - you really shouldn't have, because once you do, you're immediately slugged in the stomach by a pang of guilt at the sight of his ears sagging dejectedly on either side of his head.

Now that hardly seems fair.

Perhaps it says something about your strength of character that you accept defeat without really trying to put up much of a fight.

All too easily, you exhale a subdued sigh and bring your hand up to rub at the bridge of your nose, offering him a simple, listless smile before gesturing with the same hand to the path ahead. “Then again,” you amend, cursing yourself for the heart bleeding meekly in your chest, “It would be nice to have some company...”

As if some flip has been switched in his processor, Freddy perks right up and positively beams at you, leaving you to resolve that it's hardly the end of the world if you sate his desire to watch over you, just for one evening. Perhaps, now that the Plex has almost emptied of guests, his complex AI is searching for the second-most helpless human in the vicinity. Figures.

Trying very hard not to tut at the eager spring in his step, you recommence your journey down the concourse, this time with a bear-bot glued to your side.

“Do you usually babysit the staff?” Unable to retain a smirk, you roll your eyes as Freddy rushes ahead of you to hold open the red door that branches off into a long, narrow stairwell. He sucks in his broad chest for you to squeeze by, and you absently thank him as you pass through, inadvertently causing his optics to sparkle brilliantly in response.

“I prefer to think of it as taking care of my friends,” he hums warmly, letting the door swing shut behind him and wandering up the stairs after you, unable to stop his eyes from settling on the safety banister that you're neglecting to use.

Ahead of him, your mouth tugs into a lazy smile.

Freddy Fazbear – a friend to all, big or small. You can't say you're too surprised that he's lumped you in with the masses.

“You know, you really don't have to shadow me,” you tell him, already feeling your bones sag wearily and you aren't even halfway up the staircase. “I'm sure you have far more exciting things to be doing than litter-picking.”

“On the contrary,” he counters, “I've always thought the activity looked quite mellowing. I'd be grateful if you'd let me help you.”

For his sake, you hold onto a sharp bark of laughter. Only Freddy could make it seem as if you were doing him a favour by asking for his help.

At long last, you reach the top step and make a valiant attempt to keep your breaths even and quiet lest he start suggesting you take up Mazercise with him again.

You decide to give him one last chance to back out. “Well, I guess if you don't have anything else you'd rather be doing...”

The fact still stands - you've never spent any sort of significant time around Freddy, and anything you do know about him, you've heard from Andy and your colleagues, or you've caught in snippets of conversation from the guests. So, you can't be sure whether it's simply in his programming to be so helpful, or whether he really is just that excited to pick up litter with you. 

Then again, maybe it's nothing more than a handy excuse to keep a close optic on you, just in case there are any wayward ladders laying around for you to get your mitts on.

But when you pause in front of the doorway that will take you out onto the Atrium's central floor and shoot a glance at the bear, you're taken aback to find that he's tipped towards you a little, optics wide and shining blue like the sky in June.