Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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   H E L P   W A N T E D

Fazbear's Pizza

Family Pizzeria looking for a security guard to work the night shift. 12 am to 6 am.

Monitor cameras, and ensure the safety of equipment and animatronic characters.

Not responsible for injury/dismemberment.

$120 a week.

To apply, call:

1-888-FAZ-FAZBEAR

or inquire within.

765 W State St, Hurricane, UT 84737

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Stan read over the newspaper clipping again and again, chewing the inside of his cheek in thought. Night guard, huh? Didn't sound too bad. Sitting around watching cameras, drinking soda, and eating snacks, with no one around to bother you– sounded kinda perfect, actually. Hell of a lot nicer than what he'd been doing, which involved drugs and guns and the like. The whole injury and dismemberment thing was weird, but hey, things can happen when you work with machines, right? So long as he didn't go sticking his hands in any gears, he'd probably be fine. He glanced at the phone number, and then at the phone sitting on the nightstand next to his bed. Should he call? He didn't have many other options for work. He wanted to try and make an honest living for himself, which meant he couldn't mess this up. Despite himself, a memory from years ago resurfaced of Ford, standing in front of the mirror as he tied his tie, shuffling nervously.

"Relax, Sixer! You're applyin' for a job, not goin' to your own funeral." Stan said, popping a toffee peanut into his mouth.

"I need to look professional, Stanley. I really want this job, and I want them to see that! It'll look good for me to inquire about the job in person." Ford explained. Stan shrugged.

"You say so, Sixer. Can't imagine why you want a part-time at a bookstore so badly. Actually, it's you, so I can imagine." He chuckled. 

Ford smiled, rolling his eyes. "Whatever, blockhead."

Right. Stan (needed) wanted this job, and he had to show them he wanted this job. So, best to go in person. He'd need to steal some nicer clothes though, and maybe a toothbrush and some shampoo, too. He'd start the whole honest living thing after he started making some money.

Putting the Stanmobile into park, Stan glanced out of the window at the run-down restaurant, eyeing the weed-filled parking lot, dirty windows and brick walls, and the broken Freddy Fazbear neon sign that was hung above the front entrance. Nice place, he thought dully. Who'd even want to break into a place like this? Leaning back in his seat, he adjusted the rearview mirror so he could see his reflection, running his hand through his freshly washed hair. It was still a mullet, but it was clean, and that would have to be enough. He stepped out of the car and smoothed the wrinkles of his new t-shirt and jeans, taking a deep breath. He could do this, he was a grown man. He'd fought off crackheads and gang members, dealt with people like Rico– he could handle this.

Stepping inside he was greeted by the sight of way too many flashing lights, the sounds of music, and various arcade games making his ears ring. It was overload city, though he'd expected as much. Arcades didn't tend to be quiet. The carpet was black with rainbow squiggles all over, and his boots stuck to it slightly with every step. He didn't even wanna know how many soda pops had been spilled on it over the years. Despite the lively interior, it was devoid of any people, all of the tables barren, the play-place empty, and the games sat waiting for someone to insert a token. The sign on the door said open, so why was no one here? It was winter break, wasn't it? Business should be booming.

"Hey, you need something?" Stan turned to see a man approaching, tall and broad-shouldered with blond hair and a bored look on his face. He was wearing a blue uniform with a badge on his chest that said 'Security.' Fuck, had someone already got the job?

"Uh, yeah, I'm here to ask about the night guard gig?"

The man perked up, intrigued. "Really? Damn– Well, the owner isn't here right now, but I can get you taken care of. Follow me." 

They exited the main room and went down a hall, entering an office. The office, Stan noted, had two doors on either side of the room– the one he just entered, and another across from it that led to a different hallway. Weird.

"Well, this here will be your castle, and this," The man patted the swivel chair. "will be your throne. Nothing fancy, but it's pretty comfortable. This monitor here is where you access the cameras." He gestured to the behemoth of a computer sitting on the desk. 

"The cameras aren't hard to figure out, just press this button to switch from one camera to another, push this button to exit the cameras, and push this to bring the cameras back up. Three buttons. Simple." Stan nodded, wishing he could write this all down. As simple as it was, he had a feeling he'd forget. Wait, what was he even talking about? He didn't even know if he'd get the job– What was this guy yammering about?

"Wait, why are you showing me this?"

The man blinked. "You wanted the job, right?"

"Yeah? But– You said the owner isn't even here. Don't I need to talk with them? Get an interview or something?" Stan asked.

The man laughed dryly. "We don't really do that here. The owner is desperate to find a night guard because no one wants to do the work, including me. I put in my two-week notice two weeks ago. He isn't picky, and the job isn't hard, you don't even need prior experience."

Stan frowned. "I feel like I'm still confused."

"Ok, how about this, then; You're hired. Here," The man unclipped his badge and handed it to Stan. "Welcome aboard. Can you start tonight?"

Stan nodded dumbly. The man smiled. "Great. See you at 12."

Holy shit, holy shit, he got the job! Lying on his motel mattress, springs digging into his back, he thought about how this might just be the start of something good. He'd work for a while, build up a bit of savings, find an actual apartment, and eventually, he could get a better job. He'd be able to get food and clothes without having to shoplift, he'd be able to make an actual life for himself. And maybe, once he was settled down more, he'd be able to muster up the courage to talk to Ford. He sighed, closing his eyes. Yeah, things were gonna be good. He was sure of it this time.

Chapter Text

Stan just had to jinx himself, didn't he, he thought as he stood in the office alone. It was 12:10, and the former night guard had yet to show up. He was supposed to show Stan the rest of the ropes, but it seemed like he wasn't gonna show, and no one else was around. On the swivel chair, neatly folded, was a uniform much like what the man had been wearing. Wearily, Stan went to the bathroom to change. The bathroom was much like how Stan expected it to be– brightly colored and a little nasty, with a moldy smell that hung in the air, the dim lights buzzing loudly overhead. It wasn't any worse than the motel bathrooms were, though, or the bathroom in any gas station. Dressing quickly Stan was pleased to find that the uniform was only slightly too large, his belt needing to be sinched somewhat tightly to keep his slacks from sliding down. Dressed for success (pft), he went back to the office and sat down, getting comfortable as he messed with the camera, happy to note that he hadn't forgotten the three buttons that operated it. Small victories and all that. 

Show Stage, Dining Area, West Hall, West Hall Door– the door to his left that led from the hall to the office-, Supply Closet, East Hall, East Hall Door– the door to his right-, Backstage, Pirates Cove (Stan couldn't see anything but a purple curtain covered in stars, though), Kitchen– this camera wasn't working, it was just static– and finally the Restrooms. 11 cameras total. It would take some getting used to, but Stan was sure he'd get acquainted with the layout of the place quickly enough. That said, he needed to find his way to the kitchen to check out the camera and figure out why it wasn't working. Grabbing the flashlight that was on the desk, he walked down the east hall to the dining area, taking a moment to sweep the light over the room, just to check. All of the tables were still empty save for the chairs that had been stacked on top, the arcade was now dark and quiet, and the three animatronics were still standing on stage, looking freaky but otherwise fine. All was well as far as Stan could tell. Satisfied, he turned around and saw the entrance to the kitchen right next to the hall he'd just come from. Perfect. Pushing through the swinging double doors he entered a typical restaurant kitchen, with checkered tile flooring and steel cooking equipment, a pizza oven in the center of the room. Stan wondered how hard it would be to find all of the ingredients and make himself a pizza, before pushing that thought aside. Focus, Stan, you're on a mission here. Checking all four corners of the room he found the camera in the far right of the room, hanging slightly crooked, its lens cracked, looking like someone had tried tearing it down. Great, well, he had no idea how to go about fixing that. He'd just need to try bringing it up to... someone in the morning. 

A shrill ringing broke the silence of the night, Stan nearly dropping his flashlight as he spun around, startled. What the fuck was that? He followed the noise back to the office, coming from the phone next to the monitor. Willing himself to relax, Stan picked it up and put it on speaker, wondering who could possibly be calling.

"H– Ahem– Hello?" He muttered, swallowing thickly in an attempt to dislodge his heart from his throat.

"Hello? Hello– Hello? Uh, I wanted to record a message for you to help you get settled in on your first night. Um, I actually worked in that office before you– I'm finishing up my last week now, as a matter of fact. So, I know it can be a bit overwhelming, but I'm here to tell you there's nothing to worry about. Uh, you'll do fine. So, let's just focus on getting you through your first week, okay?" 

Stan's brow furrowed in confusion as he listened to the shaky recording of a man who kinda sounded like he was being dangled off of a cliff– voice high and nervous and, at moments, sounding like he was seconds away from bursting into tears. Who was this guy? He mentioned working in the office before Stan, but this wasn't the voice of the security guard Stan had met earlier.

"Uh, let’s see, first there’s an introductory greeting from the company, that I’m supposed to read. Uh, it’s kind of a legal thing, you know. Um– Welcome to Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza, a magical place for kids and grown-ups alike, where fantasy and fun come to life. Fazbear Entertainment is not responsible for damage to property or person. Upon discovering that damage or death has occurred, a missing person report will be filed within 90 days, or as soon as property and premises have been thoroughly cleaned and bleached, and the carpets have been replaced. Blah blah blah."

There they go again with the whole damage and death thing. Did that stuff just happen a lot here? How?

"Now, that might sound bad, I know. But, there’s really nothing to worry about. Uh, the animatronic characters here do get a bit quirky at night, but do I blame them? No! If I were forced to sing those same stupid songs for twenty years and I never got a bath? I’d probably be a bit irritable at night, too. So, remember, these characters hold a special place in the hearts of children and we need to show them a little respect, right? Okay."

What the hell did he mean by quirky? As the recording went on, Stan turned on the cameras, eyeing the three robots on stage– A brown bear in a tophat, a purple bunny with a guitar, and a yellow chicken with a bib that said 'Let's eat,' a pink cupcake in her hand. They were standing still in the same position as before. Flicking through the other cameras, all seemed normal.

"So, just be aware, the characters do tend to wander a bit. Uh, they’re left in some kind of free roaming mode at night, something about their servos locking up if they get turned off for too long? Uh, they used to be allowed to walk around during the day, too, but then there was The Bite of ’87. Yeah. I-It’s amazing that the human body can live without the frontal lobe, you know?"

Stan felt his skin prickle uneasily. What the fuck? What did that even mean? The Bite of '87? That was only a year ago. And what did this phone guy mean about the robots walking around? This had to be a joke, right? Pulling a fast one on the new guy. Typical. 

"Uh, now, concerning your safety. The only real risk to you as a night watchman here– if any– is the fact that these characters, um, if they happen to see you after hours they probably won’t recognize you as a person. They’ll pr-They’ll most likely see you as a metal endoskeleton without its costume on. Now, since that’s against the rules here at Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza, they’ll probably try to… forcefully stuff you inside a suit. Um, now, that wouldn’t be so bad, if the suits themselves weren’t filled with crossbeams, wires, and animatronic devices... Especially around the facial area... You could imagine how having your head forcefully pressed inside one of those could cause a bit of discomfort and... death. Uh, the only parts of you that would likely see the light of day again would be your eyeballs and teeth when they pop out the front of the mask. Heh. Yeah, they don’t tell you these things when you sign up."

Stan huffed a laugh. He had to hand it to them, this was a pretty creative story they were spinning, and it might've scared him if it weren't so obviously made up. Crazed animatronics roaming around looking for people to stuff into suits? That was the premise of a cheesy horror flick. Cycling through all of the cameras a few times, Stan paused, his finger hovering just over the button. He squinted, rubbed his eyes, and blinked a few times before surveying the image again. Something was... off. What had changed? Looking closely, he noticed that the bear's arms, which had been raised, were now lowered to its sides. The other two characters remained the same. Ok, stay calm, Stan– the arms probably just fell or something. Animatronics weren't made of solid titanium– they were mostly a mix of metal, wood, and fabric. Maybe its joints were a little loose, resulting in the arms swinging down. See? Nothing to panic about. 

"But hey, first day should be a breeze. I’ll chat with you tomorrow. Uh, check those cameras, and remember to close the doors only if absolutely necessary. Gotta conserve power. Alright, good night."

The call finally came to an end. Stan snorted. Well, that was unnerving. Leaning back in his chair with a sign, he glanced around the room, not that there was much to look at besides the children's drawings on the wall and the poster that said 'Celebrate' on it along with a picture of the three animatronics. Overall the room was pretty underwhelming and small, with cobwebs hanging in the corners. Looking to his left he suddenly realized that there was a window next to the door. There was a window next to both doors, actually, upon turning around. Weird. The phone guy had mentioned something about only closing the doors when necessary. Stan hadn't even realized the doors could close.

Getting up, he found two buttons on the left of the door that led to the west hall. He pressed the bottom button and a light turned on above the door, illuminating the hallway. The top button caused a heavy metal door to drop down, sealing the entrance off. Shit– seemed like overkill. It was like the door to a bunker or something. As soon as the door closed a loud buzzing started, the computer bleeping. Looking at the screen he saw a green battery icon in the top left corner. Huh, so that's what the phone guy meant by preserving power. What happened when the power went out? Wouldn't be able to do his job, he figured. Pushing the bottom button again the door opened, and he turned the hall light off too. The buzzing stopped. Glancing at the clock he saw it was already 3:00. Well, at least the night wasn't crawling by.

At about 4:30, he decided to do a few rounds of the place and map it all out, and maybe grab a soda from the kitchen, too. Whistling a tune Stan shone his light around each room he entered, seeing nothing out of place. At least– not as far as he knew. Technically he had no idea what any of these rooms were supposed to look like because no one had shown him around, but it looked about right to him. As he walked past the stage he heard something ahead of him, and he paused to listen, wondering if it was just his imagination. Sure enough, however, the noise continued, sounding like muffled whispers. Was someone here? Had this place actually been broken into on his first night? That would be his luck. Following the voices Stan crept toward a door that said 'Backstage: Employee's Only.' Well, it just so happened that he was an employee now, Stan smirked as he turned the knob– only to find it locked. Damn it! Were there keys in the office? They had to be somewhere, right? Unless that other security guy was supposed to give Stan keys. Sighing, Stan knocked on the door loudly.

"Hey! I know you're in there, I can hear you! Open up!"

To his surprise, the door clicked, and when he turned the knob he found it unlocked. Huh, that actually worked. Inside he was met with a dark room, a shelf against the wall to the right that was full of spare animatronic parts. In the center of the small room was a table, more parts scattered about, including a faceplate that looked the same as the purple bunny, and a freaky metal robot body– which was probably what all the animatronics looked like inside. What really hit him was the smell, which reminded him of the time he'd found a dead rat floating in a bucket as a child. It was a mildewy, rotten smell. Of course, the scent wasn't quite as pungent here as it was with the rat, but it was there nonetheless– like something had died a long time ago and the smell had clung to the very fabric of the animatronics outer coverings. Investigating further, Stan searched for anywhere someone could be hiding, under the table, next to the shelf, and behind some of the cardboard boxes in the corner. Nothing. He even looked inside the spare torsos, just in case someone had crammed themselves in one. The room was empty. But if the room was empty...

Who the hell had opened the door?

Chapter Text

Beep Beep Beep Beep

Stan groaned as the motel room alarm clock blared, grabbing his pillow and pulling it over his head. Was it really already 1:00 pm? It felt like he'd gotten no sleep at all, despite having snoozed for six hours, which was more than he typically got. He'd had weird dreams all night, not necessarily nightmares, per se, but just– Weird shit. That was the best way to describe it. He couldn't really remember it all now, but he did remember the sounds of cheering, then screaming, children crying, flashing lights– He rubbed his eyes, sighing. Whatever, he needed coffee. Rolling out of bed, back popping, he rummaged around the messy room for his jacket and jeans, pulling on his boots before leaving. Christ, it was cold– Where was he, Antarctica? Shuddering, he opted to walk to the small diner he remembered seeing rather than try to start his car. He didn't wanna push the ole gal too much. 

The diner was a nice, clean, cozy little place, with chrome accents, checkered patterns, and red leather booth seating. It was also probably the busiest place in this town, with a whopping six people sitting inside– the most Stan's seen since coming to Hurricane. He sat closest to the exit and grabbed a menu, eyes immediately going to the kid's menu, where the food was cheapest. He didn't have much to spend, and he couldn't risk skipping out on the bill, not while he was staying and working in town. He was gonna get a coffee, though. A sweet-looking lady approached, with blue eye shadow and bright red lips, her mousy brown hair flipped up at the ends. She wore a blue dress with a pink apron and held a notepad in her hand. She smiled. 

"Hey there, handsome, how're ya doin'?"

Stan grinned back, taking a quick glance at the nametag on her dress. "Doin' a lot better now that I'm talkin' to you, Susan." Flirting with waitresses didn't always go well, and he tried not to push too much– if flirting wasn't wanted, it wasn't wanted, end of story. He wasn't a creep– but luckily Susan laughed along good-naturedly, her green eyes twinkling. 

"Hah! You're a funny man. What can I getcha?"

"I'll take the Little Cakes and a coffee, black."

Susan quirked a brow. "Little Cakes? You sure? The Pancake Platter is the same thing, but the cakes are bigger. Would make a better breakfast."

Stan shook his head, flashing an easy smile. "Nah, thanks though, Doll."

Susan wrote down his order, an odd look on her face, but she still smiled and told him she'd bring it all out shortly. Stan let out a long breath as she left, shoulders sagging. Yeesh, that was awkward. He was just glad she hadn't pushed it. She returned about ten minutes later holding a large plate of pancakes and a steaming mug of coffee, sugar and creamer on the side. He blinked down at the food. 

"These are the Little Cakes?" He grunted incredulously. Susan snorted.

"No, silly man, this is the Pancake Platter, the one meant to feed an adult." She joked. Stan felt his heart drop. Damnit, he'd spoken too soon with the whole not pushing it thing.

"Ah, not that I don't appreciate it, Doll, but..."

"If you're worried about the price, don't be! It's on the house. You didn't mention you're the new security guard!"

"How'd you know?" Stan asked, a little unnerved. 

"Word travels fast, and people tend to gossip a lot, especially inside of diners. The old security guard was seen packin' his bags and riding the night bus out of town, and you were seen hanging around the restaurant yesterday, too. Most of the towns put two and two together. We aren't wrong, are we?"

Ok, so the townsfolk here were weirdly perceptive and kept a close eye on the happenings of an old pizza restaurant. Weird. He shook his head.

"Uh, no, you're not wrong. Last night was my first time on the job. I'd wondered why that security guy never showed up to teach me the ropes... You say he booked it?"

Susan nodded. "Drink your coffee before it gets cold. And yeah, he left– He's been planning to leave for months! He'd finally put in his two weeks' notice and was just waiting for the day he'd be done with the job. I guess once you showed up, and with his two weeks' done, he didn't see a point in staying any longer."

Stan did as told, gratefully adding a little cream and sugar before taking a healthy swig. It was good, and he felt himself waking up more. "Why'd he leave so fast? Seem's weird."

"Sean's a weird guy, and that restaurant's always given people the creeps. And after all the disappearances, and what happened last year, well... Everyone in town is on edge about that place. I can't imagine what it's like working there. I think Sean just needed to get away from it all."

"What happened last year?" Stan asked. Susan frowned.

"Guess I forgot you're not from here! There'd been an accident at the restaurant with one of the robots. Some kids were messin' around, playin' an awful prank. That poor boy... He was lucky his head hadn't been bit clean in two! 'course, he probably doesn't know that. He's been hospitalized ever since." Susan shook her head. "Terrible, and not the first accident to happen in Freddys. Soon as I save up enough money, I'm moving too. Maybe I can find another quiet town to settle down in."

"I-It’s amazing that the human body can live without the frontal lobe, you know?" Stan thought back to the message from Phone Guy, dread pooling in his gut. So the Bite of '87 was an actual thing? That happened? What else from that message had been true? Stan didn't want to know.

"Wow..." He said. "Y'know, you aren't gonna ever save up enough money if you give out free meals all the time."

Susan winked. "Not all the time, just for you. More coffee?"

"Thanks," Stan said, holding up his mug. He was gonna need it.

He tried leaving a tip, though it was only five dollars, but Susan wouldn't allow it, so he settled on writing 'Thank you' on a napkin along with the number to his motel room phone. He left the diner feeling awake, alert, full and unnerved all at once. He also felt like he'd just been handed more questions than answers. The whole Bite of '87 business was still shrouded in mystery– Who'd been bitten, and how? He also still had questions about the former security guard, and he still didn't know who Phone Guy was. On top of all that, he still hadn't seen hide or hair of the restaurant owner, his boss. Something smelt fishy, and it was coming from Freddys. He sat in his car, debating whether or not he should go back to the motel when he heard a knock on his window. He jumped and looked out, seeing just the top of a child's head peeking up at him with wide eyes. He rolled down his window.

"Uh... Hi?" He greeted hesitantly. The boy stared at up him.

"You're the security guard at the haunted arcade, right?"

Haunted? "Yeah, sure, I guess. What, uh, what's up? Your parents around?"

The boy wrinkled his nose, which was pink and leaking from the cold. "You gotta be careful, ok? My sister Susie went in there and never came back out. She's still there, though, I think. When me and my parents were searching the place for her, I heard her voice. She sounded really upset. I couldn't find her, though. No one could. No one but me could hear her."

"What? What do you mean?" Stan asked, confused. The boy shrugged.

"Just be careful, and be nice to them, ok? I think something bad happened and they're just sad. Bye!" The boy turned tail and ran, disappearing down the street as if he hadn't just rattled some poor stranger to his bones. Stan took a calming breath. Relax, you're way too old to be spooked by a kid's ghost story. That said, however, Stan's curiosity was piqued– Maybe he could find more information somewhere. Didn't libraries have junk like that? Newspaper clippings and old records and stuff? Maybe he'd start there, do a little research. 

Hah, him doing research at a library willingly. Ford would be so proud.

"Freddy's?" The librarian asked, lifting a thin grey eyebrow.

"Yeah, the pizza place nearby. With the robots?" Stan clarified. The old man nodded slowly.

"We got some stuff archived for that place, sure. Mind if I ask why you're lookin' at 'em?"

Stan shrugged. "Just curious, y'know?"

"Right, well, take a seat at the microfilm reader. I'll grab the film." The librarian said, shambling away, walking with a slight limp. Stan did as instructed, sitting at a table that held a huge, fancy-looking machine. He remembered Ford blabbing about microfilm and microfinch or whatever– He used to love visiting the library in Glass Shard and using the microfilm reader even though there was always a real newspaper available to read at home thanks to Pa. "But Stan, it's not as cool! Look at this thing!" Ford said, smiling widely.

"Alrighty, here we are. It's not much, just some newspaper clippings and court cases. A lot of our archives were destroyed about a year ago in a fire. Too bad, really." The man said, returning with a blue reel in his hand. He loaded it onto the peg, opened the lid, and slid the film down the chute with nimble fingers. He hit the 'load' button and the machine came to life with a dull buzz, the film reel spinning before coming to a stop, a newspaper clipping projected onto the screen. Stan may not be a nerd, but even he had to admit the thing was as cool as Ford always said it was.

"Spin the dial to go forward or back on the reel, move this lever to go side to side. This button rotates, and these two dials zoom in and focus. Blue is zoom, brown is to focus. Not too difficult, but if you need any help with anything, just holler."

Stan nodded, sliding his chair closer to the table. "Thanks." He said. It took a few minutes of fiddling, but Stan was able to adjust the image until he was able to read it.

━

MISSING CHILDREN!

As of February 23rd of this year, two children– Susie Waller and Fritz Peck– have gone missing from the local pizza arcade Freddy Fazbears, located in downtown Hurricane. The pizzeria was founded by Hurricane Utah native Henry Emily and his business partner, ███████ █████. Authorities are searching high and low, but there are no known suspects as of yet. 

"This is far from the first problem Freddy's has been the cause of." Chief of Police Clay Burke said in an interview. Freddy's has seen its fair share of accidents, from injured employees to food-poisoned guests. One thing is for sure, the people of Utah won't rest until the children are found.

━

This article was from 1985. Susie... That was the name the boy had mentioned, wasn't it? He said she'd gone into the arcade and never came out. And Henry Emily– that guy was Stan's boss if the article was to be believed. Who was Henry's business partner, though, and why was their name blocked out? What was going on?

"Moses, what the hell did I get myself into?" Stan mumbled, turning the dial.

━

LOCAL PIZZERIA THREATENED WITH SHUTDOWN OVER SANITATION

Freddy Fazbears Pizza has been threatened again with shutdown by the local health department over reports of a foul odor coming from the much-loved animatronic mascots. Police were contacted when parents reportedly noticed what appeared to be █████ ███ █████ around the eyes and mouths of the mascots. One parent likened them to "Reanimated carcasses." The police have not yet confirmed nor denied these reports. 

━

What the fuck? Stan turned the dial and the reel spun, showing the next slide.

━

Chapter Text

Five missing kids in total- no bodies found.

'His head was bitten by an animatronic.'

"My sister Susie went in there and never came back out."

Stan found himself continuing to mull over all he'd learned late into the night, even as he was buttoning up his work shirt and tucking it into his pants, tying his hair back into a low ponytail. Armed with this new information, Stan began forming a rough list of things he needed to do. Number 1: Search the restaurant for whoever had been there yesterday. Number 2: Get a hold of his boss. Number 3: Find out who Phone Guy really was. Number 4: Find out more about the old night guard. Number 5:... Stan would figure it out later. He grabbed his duffel bag– which was full of printed copies of the newspaper clippings and court cases, as well as water bottles, sodas, and snacks– and left the motel room, headed for Freddy's. Thankfully the Stanleymobile started up with not even a splutter, the stubborn ole gal, though the heaters refused to do their job. At least the radio worked, Stan shrugged, turning up the dial as he pulled out of the parking lot.

"You're listening to 98.9 Kool FM. Don't even think about touchin' that dial. This next song is "When The Going Gets Tough, The Tough Get Going", by the Billy Ocean. This song kicks off a long list of the best hits, so buckle up.

It's gonna be a doozy."

"Alright, let's do this," Stan muttered, cracking open a pitt cola and taking a swig as he flicked through the cameras. Everything was just as it had been before, which was good, but also... Bad wasn't the right word. Frustrating, maybe? Confusing? Someone had been here yesterday, he'd heard them, so where had they gone? The restaurant looked untouched, not a speck of dust disturbed. To Stan, this could mean only one thing; Someone was still here, likely still in the storage room, and so that was exactly where Stan was gonna–

Ringa ringa ring!

The phone went off on the desk, making Stan jump. He picked up the phone from its cradle and pressed it to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Uhh, Hello? Hello? Uh, well, if you’re hearing this and you made it to day two– congrats! I-I won’t talk quite as long this time, since Freddy and his friends tend to become more active as the week progresses. Uh, it might be a good idea to peek at those cameras while I talk, actually, just to make sure everyone’s in their proper place, you know? Uh, interestingly enough, Freddy himself doesn’t come off stage very often. I heard he becomes a lot more active in the dark though, so, hey, I guess that’s one more reason not to run out of power, right?"

The recording. Stan bit his cheek as a chill crept up his spine, turning on the cameras as directed. Phone Guy sounded even more shaken than before, which was saying something, but why? Why was he so nervous? How did he know so much about the animatronics? Had he once been a night guard?

"I-I also want to emphasize the importance of using your door lights. Uh, there are blind spots in your camera views, and those blind spots happen to be right outside your doors. So if you can’t find something – or someone – on your cameras, be sure to check the door lights. Uh, you might only have a few seconds to react. Uh, not that you would be in any danger, of course. I’m not implying that."

"What the fuck are you talkin' about...?" Stan mumbled. Everything was normal on the cameras; all three animatronics were accounted for.

"Also, check on the curtain in Pirates Cove from time to time. The character in there seems unique in that he becomes more active if the cameras remain off for long periods of time. I guess he doesn’t like being watched. I don’t know. Uh, anyway, I’m sure you have everything under control! Uh, talk to you soon."

Wait... What? The character? There was another animatronic? Stan clicked through the buttons rapidly, looking for Pirates Cove. He found it, the screen showing a closed purple curtain with silver stars. There was something behind the curtain? Something that also moved? Stan's skin crawled uneasily. Phone Guy said to keep an eye on the cove... So how was Stan supposed to check out the supply room? He flicked back to the Main Stage– everything was still normal. He swallowed thickly. The supply room door was unlocked now, so he'd be able to get in quick. He wouldn't be gone long. The animatronics wouldn't move that quickly, right? 

...Right.

He flipped between Pirates Cove and the Main Stage one more time before turning the cameras off and running down the hall, using his flashlight to illuminate the dark ahead of him. He found the supply room and stepped inside, closing the door behind him just in case. Ok, be quick, in and out. 

"Hello? Hey, if you're in here, you better come out now. We– We don't have long." He whispered loudly, shining his light onto every shadow. The room was empty of anyone but him, still full of random parts. But that didn't make any sense!

"C'mon, I know someone is here. Where are you? I want to help."

"𝙷𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙..." A whispered voice, seemingly from nowhere. It sounded like a little girl.

"𝙷𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎. 𝚆𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖." Another voice piped up. A boy.

"You can! You can trust me, I won't hurt you." Stan called out.

"₮Ⱨ₳₮'₴ ₩Ⱨ₳₮ ⱧɆ ₮ØⱠĐ Ʉ₴." 

The lights flickered overhead as the voice cried out loudly, the sounds of the arcade machines outside ringing out. He backed up toward the door, fiddling with the knob and opening it. To his left there was a metallic clanging, and his heart lept to his throat.

"R̴U̴N̴.̴"

Heavy metallic footsteps came screaming towards him, and Stan booked it, dropping his flashlight as he tripped over himself down the hall. The footsteps were right behind him as he entered the office, spinning around and slamming the top button. As the door dropped down, he caught the barest glimpse of an animatronic snout filled with gold teeth and glowing yellow eyes. There were three loud bangs on the door, each one making him jump, and then there was silence as the thing retreated. Stan gasped for breath, hands shaking, his heart beating so hard he thought it would burst through his chest. Despite his panic, he willed himself to stand, turning the cameras on and immediately flipping to Pirates Cove. The curtain was shut. Flicking to the Main Stage, Stan released a shaky breath when he saw the chicken was gone and the bunny had moved to a different position. Fuck it all. The computer beeped as the door drained power, and Stan hesitantly pressed the button, opening the door. Nothing was there. He slowly peeked out of the other door. Nothing, but there was the clanking of pots coming from down the hall. The kitchen, but the camera still wasn't working, so he couldn't check. Glancing at the clock, he saw it was 3:32. 

"Ok, Stan, you can do this. You can do this. Easy." He mumbled, ignoring the sweat that beaded along his brow. The battery percentage was at 47%. That would last until 6:00, right? So long as he was careful. Something shifted to his right, and he turned, seeing something standing in the window that he couldn't quite make out. Shakily, he clicked the bottom button, the hallway light flaring to life and revealing the chicken staring at him with watchful eyes. 

"Shit!" Stan yelped, hitting both buttons at once; the door came down as the light shut off. This was insane– The animatronics were actually moving. They were–

They were hunting him.

The clock read 3:37, and Stan tilted his head back. He needed help; He couldn't handle... this alone.

He needed someone in his corner.

He needed someone who'd know how to handle this.

He needed Ford.

The phone rang, making Ford's hand twitch slightly, but he managed to still himself easily enough, his tongue stuck out between his teeth as he carefully listened to the gnomes' heartbeat. They were much softer and quicker than humans and were very hard to hear over the incessant ringing.

"Don' worry, Stanferd, I got it!" Fiddleford called out sarcastically, answering the device. Ford sighed, thankful for the silence. He leaned back from the gnome, writing down a few notes.

"Your pulse is much faster-paced than most humans, it seems. Do you know if all gnome heartbeats are like that?"

"Shmebulock." The gnome shrugged. Ford hummed.

"I'll need to do further research then. Alright, on to the teeth–"

"Ah, Ford, hate to interrupt, but it's fer you," Fiddleford spoke up, receiver in hand. Ford frowned. 

"I'm not expecting any calls... My mother and I already spoke this month. Can it wait?"

"I really don't think it can. Sounds– Ah hell, Ford, just see fer yourself." Fiddleford handed the receiver to Ford, who fumbled with it before holding it up to his ear and clearing his throat.

"Ah, hello? This is Stanford Pine–"

"Ford?!" A gruff male voice shouted. Ford blinked.

"Yes, this is he. Who–" There was a series of loud bangs on the other line, the man cursing colorfully, sounding panicked. There was movement, and then silence save for the man's heavy breathing. Was this a prank call of some sort?!

"Ford, thank Moses. Some other guy answered, and I thought maybe Ma gave me th' wrong number or somethin'. I–" There was another bang. "FUCK OFF! Shit. Ok. I need'a make this quick. I'm in Hurricane, Utah, and– I dunno, Ford, something weird is going on. I didn't believe it at first, but the animatronics really do move, and they are not happy right now."

"Wha– Anima– What are you talking about? Who are you?!" Ford demanded, confused and, frankly, annoyed. He didn't have time for... whatever this was.

"Ford, it's me, Stan. Look, I'm sorry, ok? I didn't want this to be our first time talkin' after all these years, but I need your help! I don't know anything about ghosts or whatever– GAH!" 

There was a series of deafening bangs which drowned out Stan's shouting, so loud that Ford had to pull the phone away from his ear with a wince. It stopped after what felt like forever, the silence broken only by Stan's stuttering breath. 

"F-fuck. Ford, I can't explain everything over the phone, but I need your help, ok? The address is 765 West State Street in Hurricane Utah, 84737, ok?" Ford hurriedly grabbed a pen and began writing the address down. An incessant beeping began to chime, and Stan cursed again. Then, the beeping stopped, as did all other white noise coming through the phone, and there was a sound like a metal shutter being drawn up. 

"Stan? Stan, what's going on?" Ford asked, his heart beating in his chest. There was silence. Then, a soft song began to play, something that sounded like some sort of lullaby. Stan's breath hitched.

"Please come, Ford..." Stan mumbled, and then the line went dead. Ford stood, frozen, listening to the drone of the disconnect tone before shaking himself, dropping the phone, and grabbing the scrap of paper he'd scribbled on, reading over it a few times. Utah... What was Stan doing in Utah? Getting attacked, by the sounds of it, oh Moses–

"Ford? You ok? Ya look like ya'd seen a ghost! Who called?" Fiddleford asked, stepping into the room. 

"Stan– My brother– He– I think he's in danger? He asked me to go to him..." Ford said breathlessly. Fiddleford's eyes widened.

"Hol' up– Stan? I thought yer brother's name was Shermie?"

"That's my older brother. Stan is my... my twin. We've been estranged for years, but now..." Ford fell silent, thinking back on the call. Stan had apologized and had practically begged for help. The Stan he knew would never do those things unless something was really wrong. "I'm going to Utah. I know it's last minute–"

Fiddleford placed a calming hand on Ford's shoulder. "Don't sweat it none, Ford. Family comes first; you know I know that. I'll help ya pack– Lord knows you'd try drivin' off with nothing but the clothes on yer back otherwise."

Ford stared at him, then nodded. "Right. I– Thank you."

"Nothin' to thank me for. Now c'mon, let's get ya ready."

Chapter Text

Ford's fingers tapped uneasily along the steering wheel as he drove along the uneven road, his eyes peeled for a sign to let him know he'd arrived in Hurricane. He'd driven for hours all through the night, anxiety keeping him from stopping for anything more than gas and the occasional restroom, and he knew he wouldn't feel at ease until he got a chance to speak with Stanley again. But would he get that chance? Was Stan even– 

"No, nope; I will not let my mind go there. Stanley is fine." Ford grit aloud, gripping the steering wheel so hard that his joints creaked.

That's what you've been telling yourself for years, he thought darkly, and look how wrong you were. 

I wasn't wrong! Stanley has been fine until now– He just got caught up in something!

Do you know that for certain?

I–I... 

Ford bit his cheek. No, he didn't know. He had no idea what Stanley had been up to all these years because he'd been so adamant about keeping Stan out of his life. And now Stan could be injured or worse, and the last words Ford said to him would be "What's going on?" 

"Stanley is street smart and resourceful. He's been fine. He is fine," Ford said finally. The voice in his head stayed silent. Finally, a sign welcoming him to Hurricane came into view, and Ford breathed a sigh of relief. Not much longer now.

When he pulled up to the address Stan had given, Ford was certain he was in the wrong place. The children's arcade and pizzeria sat weary and ran down, looking like it wasn't open. It was the parking lot full of police and an ambulance, however, that had Ford feeling like this was precisely where he needed to be. Parking Fiddleford's car, Ford ran to the ambulance, relieved and horrified by who he saw sitting in the back.

"Stanley?!"

Stan's head snapped up to look at him, eyes wide and mouth agape. His hair was a mess, there was a nasty bruise blooming on the right side of his face, and his right wrist was in a brace. Overall, Stan just looked worn out and bruised.

"Ford? You came."

"I– Of course I came! Stanley, what on earth happened? What's going on here?"

"It–"

"Seems like an accident with one of the animatronics," A voice spoke up before Stan could answer. Both brothers turned to see one of the police officers approaching. "We're looking into it now, but I have a feeling it was some kind of glitch."

"It wasn't a glitch," Stan grunted, staring at her.

"Who are you, exactly?" Ford asked. Something about her rubbed him the wrong way, but he couldn't yet figure out why.

"Sorry, I should have introduced myself—I'm Officer Shelly of the Hurricane Police Department. We came after receiving an anonymous call about an attack within the pizzeria."

Stan's brow furrowed. "Anonymous call? You have no idea who it was?"

"No, we don't, and I'm afraid I can't discuss any more details of the call. It was thanks to them, though, that we showed up when we did. You could have been injured far worse otherwise."

"Some glitch," Stan said testily. Officer Shelly had the decency to look slightly embarrassed.

"Sorry, I suppose that came off the wrong way. I'm not trying to downplay what happened, and I assure you that we will hold the owner accountable. In fact, we've already called Mr. Afton–"

"Afton...? Wait, you called the guy who owns this place? Meaning, my boss? Is he coming here?" Stan asked. Ford quirked a brow at the unusual reaction. Did Stanley not know who his boss was?

"Well, yes," Officer Shelly replied, looking similarly put off. "He said he was on his way, so he should be into the station shortly to answer some questions."

"You think I could get a chance to meet him? I haven't had a chance to speak with him yet." Stan asked. Ford blinked. So Stan didn't know his boss? That was... Strange. This whole thing was strange.

"That could be arranged, I'm sure. I need a statement from you about the incident anyway. You could come to the station to get that done and then wait for Mr. Afton to arrive. Of course, you'd need to wait to speak with him until we're done questioning him."

"Sounds like a deal. Ford, you... D'you think you could come with?"

Ford nodded. "O-of course, yes." 

Officer Shelly nodded. "Right then, I can drive you both to the station now if you'd like?"

"Let's get this over with," Stan said, standing, his face set with determination. 

Stan recounted what had happened at the pizzeria as best he could, considering even he didn't know for certain what the fuck happened. He explained how he'd seen the animatronics moving on the cameras and how they got rowdier as time passed. He left out the part about how he'd gone to investigate the storage room and the disembodied voices, so he had to twist the story a bit. Rather than explaining how he'd been chased down the hall, he lied and said he heard footsteps approaching the office. The rest of the story remained the same: The animatronics moved sporadically around the cameras, beating against both doors until finally the power was drained, causing the doors to open, the bear animatronic waiting on the other side.

"And it lunged at you?" Shelly asked, notepad in hand. On the table, the reels of the tape recorder whirled softly. Stan nodded.

"I jumped out of the way and landed hard on the ground; that's probably how I bruised up my face. When I tried to run out the door, I was stopped by the chicken–"

"Chica?"

"Does it matter what its damn name is?" Stan grunted. Shelly cleared her throat and gestured for him to continue.

"Anyway, I ran into it, and it grabbed my wrist. Felt like it was gonna crush my whole arm, but I guess it only managed to break my wrist before I was able to worm free."

"How did you escape them?"

"There's a big vent in the office, and the cover on it was only held in place by two tiny screws. Adrenaline made it easy to rip the thing off the wall so I could crawl inside. They couldn't reach me in there."

"I see. When we arrived, you weren't in the vent. You were sitting on the floor next to the east hall door." 

It wasn't phrased as a question, but Stan knew it was one.

"The animatronics stopped moving when the clock struck six; I have no idea why, but I ain't complaining. I crawled out when I realized it was safe. I was gonna call for help, but I guess I was just, I dunno, in shock or something."

Shelly nodded. "Completely understandable. Well, I think that's all I need from you unless there's anything you'd like to add?"

"Nah, that's it." 

Shelly stopped the tape recorder and shut her notepad.

"Perfect. In that case, I'll escort you back to the waiting room. You can stay there with your brother until Mr. Afton is finished. I'll file your report and make sure to get some answers on why any of that happened." Shelly said, leading him from the room. "I'll warn you now, you may be asked to give your statement again to a different officer, or to read over the statement and make sure everything checks out."

Stan nodded along, not having listened much after the part about his boss. "Is he here? The Afton guy?" He asked.

"I'm not sure, but I'll ask the guys up front." 

They entered the waiting room; Ford patiently sat on one of the chairs. He looked at Stan expectantly when he saw him, but Stan averted his eyes, tipping his head at Shelly. She went to the front desk to ask about Afton, who confirmed he had shown up some ten minutes ago. She relayed the information to him and Ford– who nodded– before leaving again. With her gone, there was nothing to stop Ford from unleashing a slew of questions of his own.

"What in the world is going on, Stan?! What happened to you? Are you a- a security guard?"

Stan huffed through his nose. "Yes, Stanford, I'm working as a security guard at that pizza place."

"How did you get injured? You'd mentioned something about animatronics and ghosts–"

"Shh!" Stan hissed, moving to cover Ford's mouth. No one in the station seemed to notice. He pulled back.

"Not here, Ford, ok? I'll tell you what I can later, but not here."

Stan could tell Ford wanted to ask why, but thank whoever was up there, he kept his mouth shut. 

"Can I at least ask about your boss?" Ford inquired.

"Sure, but I wouldn't be able to tell you much. I never met him. I showed up for the job interview, and the only person there was an employee. He basically hired me on the spot, and when I showed up the next day, a badge and uniform were waiting for me."

"That's it? You were just... given the job?"

Stan shrugged. "Basically. I figured I'd meet the big guy eventually since I'd need to get paid, but there was no sign of him."

"Why did you even interview to begin with? Pizza arcade security guard doesn't seem very... you." Ford asked honestly. Stan glanced at him sideways, then looked away to a random window.

"...I was desperate."

They left it at that.

It was nearly two hours later– during which time Stan did indeed need to re-read his statement and clear a few things up– that a man entered the waiting room, looking at Stan with a large smile. The man was tall and lean with a slender face, his skin pasty pale and his hair curly and dark. His eyes, hooded and glinting, looked almost black even in the well-lit police station, and his smile was full of far too many teeth, a couple of which were slightly crooked. There was an air of power resonating from the man that immediately set Stan on edge. Simply put, the guy was freaky-looking, and he was headed straight for the two brothers. 

"You're my newest employee, I understand?" The man asked with a slight British accent. Stan's gut clenched. This was one of his bosses?

"Ah, yeah, seems so," Stan replied. Afton held out his hand, which Stan took, surprised by the strength of the man's grip.

"Pleased to meet you. My name is William Afton– Terribly sorry to have not spoken with you until now. I've been so busy these last few months."

"Yeah, I bet, with all the boomin' business and all." Stan snorted. William squeezed Stan's hand painfully tight before letting go, his face darkening slightly, though his smile never slipped.

"Yes, quite. I don't believe I caught your name?"

Stan swallowed thickly. For some reason, the question felt like a threat, but it was one Stan couldn't avoid. "Stan Pines." 

"Wonderful to meet you, Mr. Pines. And you are his brother, I presume?" William looked to Ford.

"Ah, ahem, yes. Stanford Pines. I don't work for you, though."

"Understood," William smirked, glancing down at Ford's hands and back up. Ford shifted uneasily, bringing his hands behind his back with an awkward cough. Stan frowned, familiar anger bubbling up in him.

"Well, I'm sure you've got places to be and things to do, what with those glitchy animatronics and all. You think we could schedule a time to talk later?"

"Of course, I'm free tomorrow; we can meet for lunch. We have much to talk about, I'm sure." William smiled. "Have a good day, gentleman." Stan watched the man leave, feeling uneasy. The man knew more than he let on, Stan could tell. He'd dealt with guys just like that. The question was, what was Afton hiding?

Shelly offered to drop Stan and Ford off at the pizzeria so Stan could get his car, but Stan turned her down, opting to walk instead for reasons Ford didn't know. It wasn't a long walk, but it was cold, and Ford was glad when they finally got into the Stanleymobile. The car was a bit dirty inside but was in remarkably good condition.

"I'm surprised you're still driving this car," Ford said, buckling up. Stan turned on the car and pulled out of the parking lot, easing back into his seat.

"She's all I got. I wouldn't replace her for a Fairlane Thunderbolt." 

A few minutes later, they pulled up to a rundown motel and climbed out, Stan patting the hood of the car lovingly as he fished the key to his room out of his pocket, swung the door open, and walked inside. Ford followed, glancing around the tiny, sparsely decorated room. 

"This is where you've been staying?"

"Since I arrived in Utah, yeah."

"I see. Ma had told me at some point you were in New Mexico– Is that where you lived before?"

Stan took off his coat, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I guess."

"It seems like a big change to move all the way from there to here. What caused you to move?"

"Like I said– I was desperate," Stan answered ambiguously. 

"But what does that–"

"Ford, that doesn't matter, so just drop it. I'll explain the animatronic stuff once I get this damn uniform off. Ok?" Stan snapped suddenly, disappearing into the bathroom. Ford stood frozen, taken aback by the reaction.

"...What did I say...?"

Chapter Text

He shouldn't have done that.

Stan sighed, resting his forehead against the cool surface of the mirror. It wasn't Ford's fault, none of it, so why did Stan feel so angry towards him? Ford didn't break his wrist, Ford didn't send evil robots after him, Ford didn't force him to flee from New Mexico-

Ford didn't kick him out of the house.

Stan sighed again. 

His shower was long since finished, the steam nearly cleared from the room, and his hair and teeth were brushed. He was dressed in his uniform, too (that had taken forever to do with his wrist in a brace. The belt, tie, and buttons were all left undone, though. Shit, he looked like a mess.) which meant there was nothing stopping him from stepping out into the main room. Steeling himself, Stan unlocked the door, spotting Ford sitting on the side of the bed looking like a kicked puppy. Guilt swirled in Stan's gut again. 

"Ford..." Stan began. "Ah... You thirsty? I probably got some sodas here somewhere." 

"No, thank you."

Stan nodded, both twins descending into awkward silence, which was so much worse than anything else so far, so Stan cleared his throat.

"We need to talk."

"Yes, we do," Ford replied, looking at Stan expectantly, and yeah, that was fair. So Stan started at the beginning. Not the complete beginning– He left out Rico– but otherwise he told Ford most everything else. The job, the former security guard, the recorded messages, the townsfolk, the missing children, the voices–

"And that's about the time you showed up." Stan finished lamely. Ford nodded, having been silent the whole time save for a couple of questions here and there. Stan worried that maybe Ford didn't believe him, which meant he probably thought Stan was insane. 

"Robots possessed by human souls? Fascinating. I've never experienced anything like that in Gravity Falls, though it does make sense. I did once see ghosts possess taxidermied animals."

"That sounds... horrifying."

"Yes, it was."

"So you... Believe me?"

Ford blinked owlishly. "Well of course. It really doesn't sound all that crazy, at least not to someone like me, who has a lot of experience in the supernatural. And even if there weren't ghosts here, there is certainly something off about the town as a whole, and especially the missing children and your boss..."

Stan let out a small breath of relief. "That's– Good. I... kinda needed someone in my corner, Sixer."

Ford tried to be subtle, but Stan noticed the little glance around the room he made as he said, "Yes, I can imagine." 

"So... Um... Gravity Falls, eh?" Stan spoke up. He desperately wanted to change the subject. Ford brightened, and Stan realized it was the perfect topic to bring up. Whew.

"Yes! Oh, Stanley, it's fantastic! A supernatural hotspot like nothing I've heard of before! I'm sure Ma has told you a bit about it."

"Not about anything supernatural, unfortunately," Stan smirked, which set Ford off on a twenty-minute-long word vomit session about gnomes, scampfires, a giant tree that ate his car, something called a multi-bear(?), and a slew of other crazy things that Stan would never have believed had it been anyone else. 

"That... Wow, that place sounds insane. Perfect place for you." Stan said honestly with a small smile. Ford chuckled.

"It really is. Perhaps you could stop by and I could show you around?" It was phrased as a question, and Ford glanced over to him, clearly awaiting an answer, and Stan stared back dumbly, silent. Ford was... Inviting him to visit? To, what, go to his house and stay for awhile? He wanted to stay in touch? It was... Too much, honestly. Stan didn't know what to say (say YES you idiot!) 

"Uh– I– Shit, I gotta get to work." Stan blurted out, moving to tie his hair back automatically before realizing he couldn't do that one-handed. He went for his hat instead, plopping it on his head. Ford stood, taken aback.

"Wait– Stan? Stanley, you aren't honestly going back there, are you?!" 

"Gotta work to get paid," Stan said.

"Stan, your pants are falling down because you can't even tighten the belt! You barely managed to drive here!"

"Hey, I managed just fine!"

"You could only use one hand! You couldn't even signal!"

"Psh, I don't signal anyway," Stan said, rolling his eyes. Why did Ford care so much?

Ford sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, his glasses getting pushed up. "Stan, just– You called me here to help, right? You said you needed someone in your corner. So let me help."

Stan swallowed thickly, his wrist twinging slightly. Finally, he nodded. Ford sighed in relief.

"Good, ok. Now get over here before your pants fall off– No one wants to see that."

Stan still stubbornly insisted on driving to the restaurant, because no one drove his "baby" except for him– Some things never change, Ford thought. Still, he felt that they'd made some progress in mending their relationship. Not a lot, but some. Ford would take it for now, but he wasn't giving up on prying more information from his brother, specifically information about his life after being thrown to the curb leaving. Stan was so tight-lipped about everything that it made Ford worry just what, exactly, Stan had gotten involved in. Was he a... murderer or something? Surely not! But...

"Earth to Dr. Dork. Come in, Dr. Dork." Stan said, making his voice sound like it was coming from a walkie-talkie. Ford jumped.

"Ah, sorry. Are we here?" He asked, looking out of the window. Doing so answered his question; the creepy restaurant lit up with neon signs. 

"Yup. Listen, you sure you wanna do this? Just– These things are kinda dangerous."

"All the more reason you shouldn't be in there alone. I'll grab my things from the van." Ford said, climbing out. Ford went to Fiddlefords car, which he'd left parked at the far end of the restaurant parking lot, and pulled out his ghost hunting equipment from the back. He'd brought it so that they could better communicate with the spirits. Perhaps they were only hostile because they had something to say! Or, they could be bloodthirsty demonic entities. Either way, the gear would help sort them out. Black bag in hand, Ford waited for Stan to lock the doors before following him inside. The interior of the building was exactly what one would expect of an arcade, but somehow it still felt menacing. If these walls could talk, they'd probably say nothing good, Ford thought. He eyed the animatronics on stage as Stan led him to the office, and a chill ran down his spine. Those things were meant to entertain children? They were terrifying!

"Alright, here we are. Safest place in the whole building, not that that says a lot... Uh... Set your stuff down wherever." Stan said lamely, sitting in his chair. Ford put the bag on the ground and opened it, pulling out the spirit box and flashlight. Glancing at the clock on the desk, he saw it was 11:58.

"You said things start after 12?" Ford asked. Stan nodded.

"Yeah, that's when my shift officially starts. S why I wanted us to get here a little early, so we'd have time to prepare."

Ford nodded, sitting crisscross on the floor and preparing for everything to start. The clock eventually struck 12, and Ford stiffened, listening for anything that sounded like a haunted robot. There was nothing.

"... Nothing's happening." 

Stan shrugged, flipping through the cameras quick before exiting out of them. "Nah, they haven't moved yet." He cracked open a soda. 

"How long will it take?"

"Hard to say, they sorta do their own thing. Sometimes they aren't active for hours."

Great. Well, perhaps he could still try reaching out to them. He turned on the spirit box, a static sound filling the room that made Stan jump.

"The hell? What is that thing?" 

"A spirit box, to communicate with the spirits here. This will allow us to hear their voices."

"I already could hear them..." Stan grumbled. 

"This will make it easier. Uh, hello, my name is Ford. Is anyone here?" 

There was nothing but static. Stan pulled up the cameras again.

"Two of the robots are off the stage." He alerted. 

"Please, if you're here, say something. Tell us your name."

"Fr-itz," A voice came through, gravelly and soft and distinctly childlike. Stan gasped.

"I heard this voice before!" He said. From down the hall, Ford heard metal creaking. Stan checked the camera and paled.

"So that's th' other animatronic..."

Ford's brow furrowed. "What?"

"I– That phone guy, from the recorded messages, he mentioned a character in Pirates Cove. I didn't know what he meant. I thought there were only three robots, but–" He pointed at the screen, and Ford moved closer, seeing the eerie face of a fox peering out from between purple curtains. He gulped. A crash came from down the hall, like pots being clanged together, and both brothers jumped.

"What was that?!" Ford yelled. 

"This is what I've been dealin' with for the past two nights..."

Ringa Ringa Ring!

Stan groaned. "Ugh, this guy–" He answered the phone without even looking at it, a scowl on his face. Who–

"Hello, hello! Hey, you’re doing great! Uh, most people don’t last this long! I mean, you know, th-they usually move on to other things by now... uhh, I’m not implying that they died. Tha-that– That’s not what I meant..." 

"Yeah fuckin' right." Stan ground out. This must be the phone guy his brother had referred to, Ford thought.

"Uhh, anyway, I better not take up too much of your time. Uh, things will start getting real tonight."

What, like they weren't real already?!

"Uh, h-he, listen, I had an idea. If you happen to get caught and want to avoid getting stuffed into a Freddy suit, uhh, try playing dead. Ya know, go limp. Uhh, then there's a chance that... maybe they’ll think you’re an empty costume instead. Then again, if they think you’re an empty costume, they might try to... stuff a metal skeleton into you. I wonder how that would work...?”

"WHAT?!" Ford gasped, going a little green. 

"...Y-Yeah never mind, scratch that. I-It’s best just not to get caught. Um, well, okay. I-I’ll leave you to it. See you on the flip side."

"Spectacularly unhelpful once again!" Stan said. Metal footsteps sounded in the right hallway, and Ford gulped, daring to peek just around the doorframe. He spotted white glowing eyes illuminating the face of the animatronic chicken, and he gasped, reeling back.

"Stan! The– A– One of them is–"

Stan stood up and hit a button on the wall and a metal door slid down, a buzzing sound filling the office.

"W-what is that?"

"Its the door. It uses a lot of power, or whatever. S why I can't keep them down all night. The power goes out, we're sitting ducks."

"Shouln't– Have come– Here." A voice spoke through the spirit box. A girl, this time. Stan seemed to recognize her, too.

"Who are you? What do you mean?" Ford questioned. 

"Su-sie," She answered.

Stan's eyes widened. "Susie... I– I spoke to your brother. He misses you."

"Danger. Killed– Here. Knife. Pur-ple– Man."

"Who killed you, Susie?"

"HIM." The lights in the office flickered slightly, the cameras fading to static and back again. Ford could hear the arcade games going off loudly, echoing through the building.

"What's going on?!" Stan asked.

"They're angry... Something bad happened to these kids, and they're vengeful."

"What does that have to do with me?!" 

"THE YELLOW RABBIT." The voices shrieked.

“Yellow rabbit? Is there another animatronic I don’t know about?!” Stan hissed, fists clenching. How many robots did this place have?

Suddenly, all of the lights stopped flickering and shut off completely, plunging the restaurant into eerie darkness and silence. Ford and Stan froze, unsure what would happen next.

“Is it over?” Ford whispered. Stan glanced at the clock. It read 3:05.

“I think it's just getting started…”

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG

“SHIT! The door, Ford, THE DOOR!” Stan yelled, pointing. Ford threw himself to the left, slamming the button and causing the door to come down just before the fox could enter the room. Stan sucked in a trembling breath.

“Who the hell made that one able to run?!” He asked aloud, checking the cameras. Ford peeked out of the right-side window.

“The, ah, chicken is still out there.”

“Great, it’s draining all our power. Looks like the fox is gone at least. Open the left door.”

Ford did as asked, the left hallway clear for now. Stan shut off the cameras quickly to conserve power. The chicken had finally walked off, so Ford opened the right door as well. Stan blew a breath out of his nose, taking a swig of his soda.

“Strap in, Ford, S gonna be a long night.”

Ford and Stan stumbled out of the pizzeria and into the Stanleymobile, Ford panting for breath while Stan sat silently, his broken wrist held protectively against his chest.

"...What the hell just happened?" Ford asked finally. Stan snorted, starting the car.

"Been askin' myself that since I got here." 

"Well, the place is certainly haunted, and the ghosts seem very upset."

"I know. I wonder what the whole yellow rabbit thing meant... You think you could do me a favor?"

Ford blinked, surprised. "Ah, yes! Of course."

"While I have a chat with my boss, see if you can find out more about the pizzeria. I went to the library before and found some information, but there's gotta be more. I was told that a lot of records got destroyed in a fire or something, but people in this town know more than they let on. I'm sure you can find out more information if you do some diggin'."

Ford nodded. "Yes, I can do that. When are you meeting with your boss?"

"We're meeting for lunch, so probably around 11. I... don't actually know where we're supposed to meet up. Guess I'll just come back to the restaurant."

"Is that safe?"

"The animatronics ain't active during the day."

"That's not what I'm worried about," Ford said. Stan smirked.

"Yeah, well, don't worry 'bout me. I know how to handle myself."

"Right. What do we do until 11?"

"Sleep," Stan said, stressing the word with a sideways glance in Ford's direction. 

Stan sniffled, his nose burning slightly, as he sat in his car, the window rolled down. Freddy's parking lot was empty, as it had been every day since he'd arrived in town. Neither he nor William had actually planned where to meet, but Stan had a feeling his boss would know where to find him. Sure enough, after sitting for about ten minutes, another car pulled in beside him. 

"Mr. Pines, wonderful to see you again." William greeted with a smile. Stan smiled back.

"Call me Stan– Mr. Pines is what folks call my Pa."

"Stan, then. I assume you'd rather not eat at the same place you work every night?"

Stan shrugged. "I don't care much, usually, but I can't say I'm in the mood for pizza."

William grinned. "How's the diner sound, then? I'm afraid our options are rather limited as far as restaurants go. Small towns and such."

"Sounds good to me." Stan agreed.

"Perfect. I'll drive?" It was phrased as a question, but it didn't feel like one. Stan smiled. 

"Sure, thanks."

Chapter Text

Riding in the car with Afton had much the same feel as being stuffed in a trunk- uncomfortable, stifling, and claustrophobic. It was like the man's sheer presence filled the small space of his hatchback, making it hard to breathe, and even harder to relax. Stan did his best not to let his discomfort show, though, his face carefully blank as he focused on looking out the window, taking deep and measured breaths. William kept both hands on the wheel, deathly silent as he stared ahead. Luckily, the drive was short, only seven minutes before they were parked in front of the local diner. Stan tried not to unbuckle too quickly, getting out of the car and mentally practicing how to insist he walk back to the motel. They entered the diner and sat at a booth at the far end, both men grabbing the plastic menus and giving them a once-over.

"What can I get ya?" The waitress asked, the same one Stan had spoken to earlier in the week. She brightened once she looked up from her notepad.

"It's you! Hello! Oh my, are you alright?" She asked, noticing the brace. Stan waved it gently.

"What, this thing? You should see the other guy." She laughed, then her eyes flicked to William, and she wilted, the smile on her face faltering. "Ah, Mr. Apton, haven't seen you around in a while!"

"It's Afton," he corrected blankly, then smiled. "Breakfast is all day, correct?"

"Huh? Oh! Yeah, what would ya like?" 

"Two eggs, sunny side, with bacon and toast, and a coffee. Black." 

Susan wrote the order down with a nod. "Alright, and what about you, handsome? Pancakes again?" She teased playfully. Stan laughed.

"Sounds good to me, Doll! A cup'a water too, if ya could."

"Coming right up. You want any pie? It's on the house." She winked. Stan grinned. 

"How could I refuse?"

"What flavor?"

"Surprise me." 

"None for me, thank you," William said primly. Susan bustled off with the promise of being back soon, and silence descended once more upon the table. William leaned back in his seat, staring at Stan with his hands folded on the table in front of him.

"So, Mr- Ah, my apologies. Stan. Tell me about yourself."

Stan shrugged. "What's there to tell?"

"I think everyone has something to tell. Everyone has a story."

"Well then, what do you want to hear, specifically?"

"Where did you come from? How did you end up here, working for me? It's all rather curious." William asked, reaching to pluck a napkin from the dispenser on the table and folding it neatly. Stan watched him, brows furrowed slightly.

"Not to be obnoxious, but why are you so curious? I'm working here because it's a job. I needed a job. What more is there to say?"

"Ah, but it's not just a job, is it?" William tutted, a knowing look twinkling in his eyes. Stan opened his mouth to respond just as Susan appeared, a cup of ice water in one hand and a steaming mug in the other.

"Here ya go! Food will be out shortly. Do you want me to wait to give you the pie until after you're done eating?" 

Stan shook his head. "Nah, in fact, could you give it to me in a to-go box? I'll share it with my brother."

"Of course!" She replied before leaving again. Stan took a sip of his water, Afton doing the same to his coffee.

"So, as I was saying, why did you choose this job? I'm aware it is an unglamorous job with equally unglamorous pay. Surely there were better options?" 

Alright, so this guy wasn't letting up. Stan squinted. What was it Afton was fishing for? "Sure, I guess I coulda been a pizza delivery man or something, but, I dunno, I mean- Tellin' your family you're a security guard sounds a lot more impressive, right?"

Afton hummed, staring at Stan from over the top of his mug as he took another long drink. That was a look Stan had only ever seen before from Rico. Knowing. Calculating. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, but he made sure not to fidget. Never let them know they're getting to you, he thought. 

"Y'know, since we're asking questions, I've got a few of my own."

"Go ahead." William inclined his head. 

"Who's Henry Emily? I did some reading, and unless I've got things wrong, you two are business partners, right? So where is he?"

William's expression darkened, though it passed a second later as he leaned back, trying to appear relaxed.

"He left a little over four years ago, pulled away from the restaurant and the animatronics..." He sighed. "Such a shame. He's truly a very bright man... He was the engineer between the two of us. But after what happened to his daughter..."

"What happened to her?"

"She was murdered outside of the restaurant. They never found who did it, and Henry... Well, he was hardly the same after that. And then the children going missing two years later was just the cherry on top. He was furious, we fought about what to do with the restaurant more than once. He wanted to get rid of it all, tear the place down completely, but that wasn't going to bring Charlotte back, was it?" William sighed again. 

"He came and went for years, though when he was doing his work, it was distractedly. Finally, he left one day and... never came back in. I went to check on him, of course, but he'd holed himself in his home, insisting he was busy. Eventually, it became clear he wasn't coming back. So, in short, I'm the only boss you'll need to worry about."

Well damn... "How come I'm only just now seein' your face? I got hired by some random guy I met once, who then up and vanished right after, no sign of an actual boss or anything, no interview- It was all pretty weird."

"Mmh, yes. I'm afraid things at Freddy's have been rather... unorganized for quite some time. I'm sure you've done your fair share of digging into the establishment's past by now."

"How did you-?"

"Please, Stan, I'm no fool, and you'd hardly be the first of my employees to do so. Jeremy- the guard you'd spoken to- had done the same, and even Ralph had gone around town asking questions, though he did seem more inclined to remain ignorant and simply do his job."

"Ralph?"

"Yes, he worked as a security guard as well as a manager, though he's no longer on night shifts. I believe he'd recorded messages to train new night shift guards, or something of the like."

Phone Guy, Stan realized.

Susan appeared again with the food and boxed-up pie, and Stan flashed her a small smile even as he worked to file away all the info he was being given. William began cutting into his eggs.

"Anyhow, yes, the restaurant has a difficult past, one that has made business... slow. I've been doing my best just to keep the place afloat, which means I haven't had much time to visit the building itself, nor introduce myself to new employees. But I trusted Jeremy's judgement, and it seems I was right to do so." William smirked, leaning forward on his elbows and resting his chin on his clasped hands. "You've done well so far, the situation yesterday, besides."

"Right. Thanks."

"As such, I'd like to offer you a small raise. It's not much, as I mentioned, times are hard."

Stan blinked. He hadn't expected that. "I, uh, appreciate it."

"I'd also like to offer some advice: Don't go looking too far for answers to every mystery."

"Is that a..." (threat) "warning?" 

"Not at all," William said, taking a bite of bacon. "It's just that some things are better left buried, aren't they? The past can be a messy place." Dark eyes peered sharply into Stan's own, as if looking right through him and into the very messy past he spoke of. In that instant, Stan was convinced that William knew far, far more about him than he had any right to. 

Stomach flipping, the pancakes in front of him were now utterly unappetizing, but he forced himself to eat some of it anyway, the rest of the meal passing by in a blur. William dominated most of the conversation from there, talking about how buggy the animatronics have been since he's been struggling to keep up on their maintenance, and how ridiculous some of the rumors in town were. Stan nearly leapt for joy when William took a look at his wristwatch, plate empty.

"My, would you look at the time. Well, Stan, I'm pleased to have finally met you, but I'm afraid I have some matters I must attend to."

"No problem, I should get goin' anyway, I've got some errands to run." Stan fibbed.

"Oh? Will you be needing a ride?"

"Thanks, but I'm good. It ain't far from here."

William nodded. "Very well. I look forward to seeing you again." 

Yeah, that makes one of us, Stan thought, waving.

Stan had already left to meet with his boss by the time Ford woke up, blinking blearily and fumbling for his glasses. After eating some of the protein bars Fiddleford had packed for him, Ford got dressed and set out to begin his work of finding out more about the pizzeria's history.

Ford decided to go to the library first, despite Stan having already been there. A second look never hurt anyone, after all, and it seemed the most obvious place to begin. However, Ford quickly learned that Stan hadn't missed much- The library had very few records left, though what they did have painted a rather disturbing image.

"Excuse me?" He spoke, approaching the librarian who was placing books on shelves. The man glanced up at him. 

"Are you certain that these are all you have about Freddy's? There's nothing else at all?"

The man shrugged. "Like I told you before, the fire destroyed most everything. What I have here is all that survived. Not sure what you hope to find, looking at them again."

Ford blinked. "Ah, that was my twin brother, actually. I just hoped perhaps I could find a bit more. Some different news clippings, perhaps, or photos, or-"

"Well, like I told him, nothing else survived the fire." The man shrugged. 

"I see," Ford hummed. "Could I ask more about that, then?"

"What, the fire?" The librarian asked, surprised. At Ford's confirmation, he placed the book he was holding back on his cart. "Well, not sure there's much to tell. No one knows for sure how it started, just that it was sudden, but there are rumors..."

"Oh?" 

"Yes, but," the man looked around as though fearing they were being watched. "I shouldn't say... I'm not one for gossip, you know."

"I understand," Ford nodded. "But perhaps you could think of it more as sharing a potential theory?" 

"Hm, I suppose... There are numerous rumors, some of them downright ridiculous, but the most popular one is that the owner of the creepy restaurant is the one who started the fire. On purpose."

"What, Mr. Afton? Why would he do that?"

"Who knows? You ask me, I'd say he was tryin' to cover some things up. The fire destroyed several items, but the majority of them were related to Freddy's. That business of his has been the scene of a lot of tragedies over the years- you saw those court cases and such, and those were only a handful!" The man shook his head. "I dunno how he'd have done it, exactly, but if I were to find out one day it was him, I wouldn't be surprised." 

"I see..." Ford muttered, scribbling in his notebook. "Thank you for the information, at least."

"Glad I could help!"

Ford left the man to his work, feeling only slightly accomplished. Learning that only certain things had been destroyed in the fire was an interesting detail, but it didn't give him much to work with, and the accusation against Mr. Afton was just that- an accusation, with no proof to support it. It was interesting to learn that there were, supposedly, many more court cases against the business, but they weren't much use to him if they were burnt to ashes.

"Hey," 

Ford jumped, startled by the voice, and turned to see a woman standing off to the side. She was tall, with tanned skin and black hair falling straight down to just under her chin. Her dark eyes were watching him intensely, and Ford felt himself lock up nervously.

"Um, hello?"

She strutted over to him with a deep intake of breath, her hands at her sides clenching into fists every few seconds. The expression on her face began to falter the closer she got, flooding with uncertainty, until she was standing in front of him, looking very similar to Stan every time he was called into the principal's office. 

"I'm sorry to bother you, I just... I wanted... Your brother is the newest security guard, right?" She asked.

"I- Yes, but, sorry- How did you know that? Who are you?"

"Everyone in town knows about the new guard at Freddy's. When I saw you enter in here, I thought you were him, until I overheard you telling Mr. Clark about your twin brother. So, you aren't the guard, but your brother is."

"Uh, yes, he is. Stan. I'm Ford. And you are...?"

"Call me Amelia," She smiled softly. "Sorry, I know this is strange. I'd meant to come in here to talk with your brother. I've wanted to do so for a couple of days, but..." She trailed off, then shook her head. "It sounds like you're helping him, right? You're both looking for answers?"

"Yes, we are. Do you know anything that could help us?"

She gripped her arms tightly, curling in on herself slightly. "I might..." She muttered. "Can we go somewhere to talk? Somewhere more... private?"

Stan, if he were here, would likely smack Ford over the head for what he did next, scolding him for having no survival instincts. As it was, Ford only nodded, bewildered. "Yes, of course. Lead the way."