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you must be mad, coming here like this. / burntrap 😇

RANDOM DIALOGUE PROMPTS (1/?)

★ — He's made a mistake.

A horrible, idiotic, stupid mistake, the realization running through him like ice in his veins the moment the thing speaks. He didn't know it could speak.

He's alone beneath the pizzaplex ; Michael had insisted he stay away from the place entirely, while Freddy attempted to keep him close to the front doors whenever he did visit. It was pure stubbornness that had led Gregory to sneak into the depths without either of his defenders nearby, a need for answers, to understand just what had happened the night he'd been locked inside.

But Gregory hadn't cowered then, despite his fear, and he refuses to now. Wide - eyed, he takes in a deep breath to steel his nerves. Doesn't move any closer, but doesn't back away either.

It's just them, down here together. No Freddy to be possessed, No Michael to pull him away as quickly as he can manage. There's nowhere for Gregory to run, either, hardly anywhere for him to hide ; though he wonders if it can give chase in its current state. Last time, the other animatronics had acted as some sort of proxy, but it's been some time since Gregory has seen them. Heard them, occasionally, lurking in the shadows, but they don't seem to be here, not right now.

Gregory can be brave. He's been brave — took care of himself, even without Michael and Freddy. And maybe he can finally get some of the answers Michael refuses to give him.

"What .... are you?"

★ — Gregory feels his stomach begin to churn as the thing moves. It's hard to watch, a combination of both fear and disgust washing over him ; it's like watching one of those horror movies he knows he's far too young to have seen, but would sometimes sneak and watch if someone else in the house were and they didn't notice him lingering. Perhaps this is how all those stupid protagonists felt, when faced with the unholy ; the dread of not knowing weighed against the fear of facing it again.

There's a deep despair sinking into his lungs, one that can't be easily exhaled. With every step forward it takes, Gregory takes one further back — maintaining distance, out of reach, just in case.

The answer ( while sending a chill up Gregory's spine that he can't quite explain ) isn't enough. It doesn't explain. He thinks he's maybe heard it before — in whispers, the kind of urban legend that gets passed around a place with the intention of scaring kids into behaving lest the boogeyman get them. But the boogeyman isn't real, and this is. However much Gregory wishes it wasn't.

"Okay. Springtrap. What're you doing down here?"

He tries again, with furrowed brows and a tremble slipping into his voice that he tries his hardest to keep at bay. The fazerblaster ( kept from that terrible, terrible night ) he brought for protection is held close to his chest, index finger pressed against the trigger. He doesn't know if it'll work against this, but it was better than nothing. ( Michael had let him keep it to protect himself, after all ).

"Are you the reason the animatronics were trying to kill me that night? Freddy said they weren't acting like themselves and I — I believe him. There was something behind that. Why? What did I do?"

Spoken as if he has any authority in this situation, any right to demand answers, any control. As if he weren't entirely alone, his whereabouts unknown to the very people who try to protect him from this.

𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜. awful. horrible. like someone had just flipped a switch, only for his eyes to spark violet. lips peeled against gums. fleshy abomination is a skeletal graveyard, yet far more menacing than he had ever been before. 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚝, 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑. hard, now that his salvage is double. he's difficult to look at in more ways than one. something from a cronenberg film.

code slinks through the ruins of the mall, through any system that remains even somewhat online. through eyes of busted robotics, each vein running through this place thrumming with his essence. 𝚐𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎. the amalgamation hadn't been enough to snuff him. rebuilt again from torn shards ripped from pure revenge.

he's seen him. the boy. how curious. 𝚏𝚊𝚜𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚍. why would he return? agony of pain, knows it's his fault. on both ends. threadbare body even more textured with dark colored ash. even less muscle and flesh stuck to endoskeleton. 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎, 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚍. until curiosity got the better of him.

being so close to a child's fear again, is enough to make him giddy. his claws scratching against the wall, as he pauses his heavy and clunky gait. 𝚊 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚞𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗. some fluid or another perhaps got into his voice-box. no matter. his wires thrumming with adrenaline and excitement. the former salvage's head tilted dramatically to one side in its twitching.

he regards the boy with a low humming of mechanics. what a loaded question. 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍. voice a low, and gravelly snarl. "i. am. springtrap."

💨 (i'll accept burntrap holding him by the scruff or william plucking local homeless child from ball-pit)

send 💨 to put my muse in air jail bonus points if you add a reason

★ — Gregory yelps as he's lifted into the air ( a rather undignified, embarrassing sound that makes him seem much more like the child he is ), helpless wriggling in an attempt to get his assailant to drop him. Of course, it has an inconsequential effect — he's just too little.

His uncoordinated flailing begins to slow down after a long moment, as the initial panic begins to pass and he actually looks towards the man that grabbed hold of him, seeing one William Afton.

Uh oh.

Panicked gaze immediately scans the surroundings ( looking for anyone he could run to, anywhere he could hide ), quick before turning his attention sheepishly back to the man currently holding him like he's nothing more than a stray pest in the establishment. At least Gregory has the common sense to not meet his eyes with the stubborn defiance he feels swelling in his chest, instead hoping he'll be able to play this off as a clueless interaction.

( he doesn't have any proof the william's the center of all of this, and yet .... something tells him he needs to get away as soon as he possibly can ).

" I — uh — sorry, I was just ... curious, about the backrooms. I thought maybe this is ——, where you guys kept the birthday cakes."

where did you get that ? (ballpit / will)

◜ 𝐈 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ◞ : a collection of prompts from the 2023 animated film 𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐀 based off the graphic novel by nd stevenson .

★ — The sudden question causes Gregory to freeze — a deer in the headlights. Veins feel as though ice is suddenly coursing through them, heart lurching into his throat, overcome with a vague panic that he forces himself to swallow down.

He's come to hate being singled out by an adult in his own time, would much rather be left entirely alone than the punishments he almost never deserves that he's come to associate those moments with. Here, in this now, it feels far more dangerous than it ever has before. He's out of place ( out of his own time ), and all it would take is one person to pay him more than a sparing glance, to actually pay attention to him to grow suspicious.

"Its ——. I- I just found it."

Imperceptible wince as he speaks ( he can feel his throat starting to close up, struggling to force the words out ), but he pushes himself to keep going. To keep up the act.

"Is, uh — is something wrong?"

★ — It's — startling, almost, to see the digital rabbit so plainly, to hear it speak to him. Gregory pushes that aside quickly. There's no time.

"I don't want her to be here either, okay? That's why I'm here. I'm trying to catch up to her before she gets to the sinkhole. I want to get her out."

🔧 @braveburned (𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚊 𝟸.𝟶)

"𝚢𝚘𝚞 - this is why i couldn't let you out of my sight. [...] i should have never let you leave this god-forsaken place. now that little friend of yours will be all of our undoings." [...]

★ — "Sure, cause sending them after me wouldn't just slow me down more. Helpful! For both of us!"

Huffed response, rolling his eyes from beneath the mask. He's tempted to temporarily rip the thing off, give himself a moment of peace away from the entity — but he knows that would be counterproductive.

It's a necessary evil ; the mask, the temporary truce.

"How's shutting you down a bad thing for me again?" ( now he's just pushing his luck ).

𝚑𝚎'𝚍 𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚗. he needs to speak with him. needs his cooperation. [...] or they're all doomed.

"i've given you the proper tools. d̴o̶n̸'̶t̸ ̴ ̸g̴e̵t̷ ̸ ̷d̵i̶s̴t̶r̶a̸c̸t̸e̷d̸.̵ [...] or i'll send your little friends after you, all over again. try and hurry you up, a bit"

the entity laughs. [...]

"if she shuts down security, so too, will she cut off our contact. [...] cut me off entirely, from this place."

★ — "Could've fooled me. I didn't think you ever had a sense of humor."

Truly can't help himself from jabbing back at the entity — just because they're working together ( something he hardly believes himself ) doesn't mean his animosity towards the rabbit has vanished. The chuckle sends a chill down his spine, but Gregory does his best to ignore it.

"Yeah, right, eyes everywhere but y'need my help."

Conveniently ignoring the fact that Gregory also needs his help. A situation neither of them enjoy. Gregory's moving as quickly as he can through the rubble ( his small stature actually an advantage for once, allowing him to fit through spaces that would have been impossible to navigate otherwise ).

"Do you know how close she is to the raceway? She hasn't made it there yet, right?"

"𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢, 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚘𝚛𝚢 -- unlike you i've retained my [...] sense of humor." he chuckles again, with a deep and unsettling sound.

unless he decided to go against him. then they will be fair game. but he need not say that. genie in a bottle slithers closer to the wearer. holds his cards close to his chest, even now.

"because, i have eyes everywhere." he responds. a hand coming up in gesture, with a tilt of his head. "and i can show you things that most people can't see." [...]

it is a necessary evil but, that doesn't diminish the man's warped hatred of children from the moment his second son died, and his first reflected all the worst parts of himself. like he'd given life to something made to eternally mock him.

★ — Gregory's expression twists into an over - exaggerated show of annoyance, fully prepared to throw another snarky response back at the digital rabbit before it speaks once more — and all of Gregory's scrappy attitude gives way to pure surprise and confusion.

"Juggling? But aren't you stuck in the files?"

( he may be michael's charge, but that doesn't mean michael has told him anything about the past ).

Does his best not to focus on the way it follows him, looming always just beside him. It's unnerving, intimidating, but Gregory refuses to let that show. Focuses on moving ahead with no distractions, nothing to slow him down. Bites into his lower lip, considering his companion's words.

"Okay — we've still got time to get to her. Hopefully ... Moon's not active. I didn't ever see what happened to the Daycare Attendant after I left."

𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚛 -- "you didn't know me." he makes a point to remind with gravelly tone. [...] "and might i remind you -- snot nosed little brat -- you also need my help."

doesn't need to explain himself. his hatred for children turned from steadfast adoration. turned sour by the fruits of his own planted seed. yes. [...] "if i can recall - i was quite the skilled juggler, in my time." is all he adds. sure if this child knows michael, he has no idea of all the good that was once william afton

floating form trails him -- before the rubble. staying within view as a large heightened presence. moving with gregory's line of sight, instead of remaining transfixed.

"no." [...] "i believe your dastardly counterpart has just welcomed her to daycare."

★ — The way in which he's currently being held ( several feet off the ground at that ) makes it impossible for Gregory to escape the man's cold scrutiny. Even so, the boy finds he's subconsciously curling in on himself, arms pulled in towards his chest, legs curled beneath him and shoulders rounding forward as his head practically ducks down into his neck — making himself as small as possible, as if a meek, mild mannered response might aid him somehow.

( he's long since learned that when adults are angry, it's best to keep to yourself as much as possible, lest you make things worse for yourself by talking back. even if he didn't follow his own advice often ).

Gregory feels like a mouse who was smart enough to avoid the trap itself, but not clever enough to look for the thing that set it out in the first place.

He doesn't know. He doesn't know — and that's the scary part. There's still so much that remains unanswered, too many possibilities beyond Gregory's certainty that someone close to the Fazbear restaurants is the start of everything. William Afton had been a suspect, along with what felt like a dozen others.

The man certainly wasn't doing anything to prove his innocence, though.

" .... figured the kitchen would be, uh, too obvious. All the kids would be sneaking in there. But — maybe I got ahead of myself."

Sheepish laugh, and Gregory timidly lifts a single hand towards the man's grip on the back of his shirt, a silent plea to put him down. If he's to be stuck in a predator's den, he'd at least like the opportunity to run.

The question catches him off guard — his parents? Nonexistent, even in his own time. Shock flickers into his expression only for a brief moment ( blink and you'll miss it ). Please, god, don't let him be caught in his own lie.

"They, uh, both work. All day. So they let me come here. We .... live close enough to walk. That's probably why you've never seen them."

𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚝𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝, 'round his large knuckles in order to hoist the child up in the air. nobody around. clearly he had to be more careful. children are curious, and who knows whether he would have noticed the break in the wall [...] that which was left out of all building plans.

he doesn't look happy. 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘. fingers tightening around unwashed fabric, as he contemplates. as upper lip jumps. -- his scowling features accompanied by an even lower descent of his eyebrows. though he doesn't look any more than slightly confused, or perhaps annoyed.. further perpetuated as one ridge peaks with a large inhale.

the child is high up off the floor, from the height of william's grasp. what would happen if he just [...] "oh? -- i would have suspected you'd be clever enough to guess the kitchen, first."

he believes the boy as far as he could throw him. that reminds him.. 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎-𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚠... but it wouldn't be near as enjoyable. without bonnie. without the knife.

the clatter and chatter outside enough to steal his gaze, whilst watching staff pass by the corridor. will clenches his jaw with a visible wince - expression tightening with the burn of his headache. looking from behind his red-tinted glasses. one hand on his hip, while he shifts his weight.

he twists the child to view him.

the boy suspected him. 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝? sniffing about back here. was that his paranoia talking? or.... "now that you mention it." [...] he tilts his head, with his still bouncing lip tilted the opposite direction. upward into a lopsided, subtle smirk. if he wanted information, he'd just have to play unfair... "--- where are your parents? surely they're looking for you, by now."

★ — Gregory lets the forefront of his attention wander, shifting from navigating the ruins just ahead of him to the rabbit himself, lurking in the periphery — letting himself truly consider the entity for what may be the first time. He had never given much thought to the potential origins of Glitchtrap. It hadn't seemed necessary. ( he hadn't known computer viruses could be something before they were code ).

"You weren't always?"

Questioned before he can catch himself, though he doesn't seem inclined to walk back on his own curiosity. Subject changes ; and Gregory finds himself biting his lower lip, brows furrowing in concern.

"So they're — glitching, I guess? Can you tell if it's dangerous? Only Moon wanted to hurt me last time."

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚎 on the rabbit's face is mostly always present, with a twitching of his head a mere constant. he'd had to change, and adapt with the new vanni network he was stuck within. though it was still reminiscent of his chosen form's perpetual grin, beforehand. always in front of gregory -- yet adjacent, to allow his field of view. 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢. keeping himself in sight but not an entirely distracting presence. bound like a leash at the moment to the boy's momentum.

"i am. though i wasn't always." is the entity's response. his glitched form splitting more noticeably in his twitching.

𝚝𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕? to know would be a twitch of annoyance to a part of him long buried.

"it is a peculiar situation, indeed. it seems neither are active, but both still are in some way or another. [...] i still cannot understand it, entirely."

★ — Every moment spent within the walls of the pizzeria feels like a carefully composed act. A precarious tightrope that he must walk perfectly. Gregory is to play the part of the wide - eyed and innocent new child, enthralled by the whimsy of the animatronics and oblivious to the dark cloud that overhangs Fazbear as a whole.

But he mustn't be too innocent, fall into the trap of this masquerade he's performing. Cannot afford to let his guard down for even a moment. Lest he fall victim to the very thing he's trying to discover the roots of.

A careful balance. Too suspicious, too unfocused, both run the same risk. And he's already failed at not bringing attention to himself.

That much is obvious as one of the owners comes striding towards him — a man he's ( unfortunately ) found himself already acquainted with. Gregory doesn't trust William Afton, though he can't say he trusts anyone within the establishment at the moment.

( except michael. michael is the only one whose innocence he is assured of ).

Gregory subconsciously shrinks as the man leans over him, letting the wrench slip from his hands with little resistance. The truth is, he had been snooping around the off limits areas ( as he was apt to do ). The tool had been sitting out. Not out of place, per say, but not entirely where it should be either. Gregory hadn't thought before taking it, wandering back out to the main area before he could be caught sneaking about.

"I'm ten, not a baby. I know how to use a wrench."

Muttered response, attempting to duck away from the hand that musses up his hair and swatting vaguely at it. He's too wary to allow such casual contact without a fuss ; though the mention of Michael does cause him to perk up somewhat, a slight hope. Regardless of their slightly antagonistic relationship, Gregory can't help but feel safer around the teen.

"Michael's gonna be there?"

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚢'𝚜 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚞𝚙 𝚒𝚗 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛 - it's like william can feel that same ice like liquid nitrogen. [...] crawling through his veins, only to heat up into something he can only revel in.

a child's fear is something he often holds in his hands as of late - can manipulate it like it's made of matter. felt in the tingling of his fingertips even now. [...]

his brows are narrowed, while the side of his cheek pulses on either side. resulting from a steady grinding of teeth, that the man was unaware that he had been engaged in. [...] stopped a bit awkwardly, as he looks over the child. holding the wrench turned weapon, that he'd lashed out with more-recently in anger.

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚐𝚞𝚝 -- 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚎. compulsions resulting in a need to take out his anger on the one thing he had used to adore in the most wholesome of ways. now turned to bitter hatred. killing his former self, killing michael, killing the children who still got to breathe. all while his own son lies in the solemn grave he drunkenly visits each night on the way home from the bar.

his hair still about his cheeks, hand comes up to push through the strands. as if that re-started time, for the both of them. tilting his head minutely in the meantime.

he starts forward with long strides. loafers rolling heel to toe with each step, laxly and fluidly -- natural.

𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚊 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚋𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚠.

"no, not at all. [...] i simply wonder where you might have gotten that from." he half mumbles, bending at the waist to take the instrument from the boy's hand. giving him an off-putting smirk while he gives his hair a ruffle.

"you could have gotten yourself hurt, running around with that."

he stands, tossing the heavy wrench in the air before catching it. still wearing his smug, quirked little grin. a shadow of one, though present nonetheless.

"are you ready to go back, with us? michael should be home from school, if we're lucky enough to be graced with his presence this evening."

POST - IT NOTE (ballpit will)

send “ POST - IT NOTE ” for what my muse would leave yours in a post - it note message !

★ — It's a squarely folded piece of paper, one which the child hands directly to the man. Unfolded, the handwriting is scrawled but still slightly better than one would expect from someone so young. It reads:

' Mr. Afton,

We're sorry we haven't been able to come by the pizzeria ourselves, but Gregory has told us he's been spending time around you. We wanted to thank you personally for looking after our son during the day when we're both so busy. We hope he's not causing you any trouble.

Regards, The Morrows '

★ — It isn't that Gregory is surprised to receive such a straightforward and honest response from the rabbit in this situation — but it's a comfort none the less, a reminder that despite the ever present tension ( gregory is more than certain neither of them are happy about the arrangement ), they are not enemies for the time being.

He nods in acknowledgement, a small breath of relief slipping past his lips as the knowledge that Cassie isn't in the presence of dangerous animatronics. At least, not yet.

"Right. Is there — can we get to the front of daycare, without going through it? Y'know, cut her off?"

𝚊 𝚏𝚎𝚠 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚘𝚛𝚢'𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚎 earns a static sound, with a multitude of notable glitches of the digital form. switching rapidly between a higher pitch, to a quieter one. pixelated squares taking his form apart, and putting it back together again.

he certainly feels the sort of consideration he is receiving. 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚜 𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛. [...] though he has little control of himself at certain times, due to the network's --- unstable condition. mostly from the damage procured.

"honestly? [...] no. they do not seem to be dangerous in this state. though -- perhaps unpredictable."

he will not lie to the boy. no reason to, at this point. still a mutual benefit to their working together.

★ — Every moment of time that this interaction stretches onwards feels more precarious than the last — Gregory's heart racing, a heavy, thrumming staccato in his ears, against his ribcage, beating so furiously ( like the wings of a scared bird ) that it's nearly painful ; trapped, trapped, trapped.

This is the edge of a cliff. One wrong move, and everything comes crashing down. Gregory will fall with the rocks and rubble, only to be buried. An afterthought, not even begetting of a footnote in the list of tragedies. Even in his own timeline, there's no one looking for him, no one that cares enough to make sure nothing happens to him. Hell, he'd been living on the streets for a week before he'd stumbled into the pizzaplex, found himself out of his mind and out of his time. Here? There is no one who will care — no one to notice.

Avoiding eye contact ; it's too much, the realization, this horrific game of cat and mouse he's found himself trapped in. All at once he feels much too small, too much of a child overwhelmed and in over his head.

Then Mr. Afton starts laughing, low and quiet but he's so close that Gregory has no choice but to hear. It's enough to snap him out of his head and back to reality ; the sound akin to ice - water being forced through his veins. His eyes go wide.

" i think you don't have any parents. "

It's a familiar taunt, one he's heard dozens of times from anyone who thought he might make an easy target — bullies in the form of other children and adults. However many times he's heard it doesn't make it sting any less, still clouding his reason and rationality as he begins to kick and shift his weight under Afton's vice - like grip, a hand reaching up to claw at the hand holding him aloft.

"Why do you care?! It's none of your business! I'm here and I leave and nothing else matters! Put me down ——! Put me down or I'll start yelling and all the people out there will come in here to see what's wrong!"

𝚆𝙰𝚂𝙽'𝚃 𝙳𝙾𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰𝙽𝚈𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙾 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝚅𝙴 𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙸𝙽𝙽𝙾𝙲𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴. . . . perhaps he didn't have to. somewhere within his charming visage is something dark -- somehow simultaneously screaming out both his innocence &. his guilt. to a degree in which if you saw him in the right light, every explanation would fall into place. henry was arrested, first. next he'll be put through the ringer, though he doesn't yet realize this. the police's lack of evidence was shocking enough as it is. confidence not allowing any sort of worry to live outside general paranoia. if nobody found out, they couldn't prove it. end of discussion.

he would not let this little shit be the end of him. pounding, pulsating compulsions pushing blood against veins . . . hearing the rush in his ears, in the twitches of curled fingers . . .

knows better. you think you're safe to put one down &. off they go crying to the police, or their parents. even if this one didn't have parents around, there were many concerned patrons outside ripe for the picking. no . . . he wouldn't go down so easily. needed to be ensured of silence.

" -- quite amusing, yes. perhaps you have." more than you know, little one. more than you know.

his brows were still lowered in scrutiny, lip curled a bit with jumps in twitching fits. the desire to mangle the child's spine is so unbearably hard to control, but he must. cameras, business. it was a horrid combination. besides, it just wasn't right . . . none of it was right, &. it stank like shit &. suspicion.

yet explanation sends his lowered brow in an arch, grey eyes flickering back &. forth over their shared eye contact. however, all of a sudden, all at once . . . features come alive with manic amusement. curling smile like a bow, with dark chuckles slipping from between the cracks in his teeth. "surely . . ." he replies.

"would you like to know what i think? i think you don't have any parents -- whether that means they've croaked, or that they just don't care about you enough to stay sober for an iota of their pathetic lives. now, would i be right about that?" he asks, hoping to use this as a bargaining chip . . . yes, with an eleven year old.

★ — The symptoms of a dance that is met in step ; the monster ( for really, Gregory has no other way to describe the thing. a decaying, decrepit creature hardly resembling anything he has ever seen before that awoke to meet him here, in the pit of earth that sits beneath cursed ground ) moves forward, and in turn the child moves backwards, never letting his eyes stray from Springtrap for fear of what may happen if he were to lose sight for even a moment, hardly allowing himself the luxury to blink. The sight of it causes a steady pulse of fear to thrum through him, one he does his best to keep hidden beneath a brave facade. Even so, he is far more scared of what it might do if he let his guard down for a single moment.

Answer isn't what he'd hoped to hear — childish naivety had thought that things would end in the pit, finally, if he were able to face the very thing that haunts his nightmares, the ultimate unknown from that night. That somehow, finding himself back down here would make all the puzzle pieces fall into place and paint a perfect picture.

( some part of him knows it was foolish, the part that rings with disappointment now. but it's too late. Gregory has already placed himself in the maw of the beast ).

"You —— live here? Why? For how long?"

His questions no longer ring like demands, instead falling to curious intonation that sounds softly throughout the sinkhole. Child - like. A need to question, and a need to understand. Even so, his grip never loosens on the fazerblast in hand ; holds it close to his chest, like a lifeline.

A pause — his head shakes in response to Springtrap's question. He didn't look capable of much, but even so ....

"How do you know about the guard?"

He'd seen the writing, in the old office. Graffiti that read Vanny, a signature bunny mask drawn crudely next to it. But it still wasn't adding up.

"Do you .... know what happened to the other kids that went missing here? If you live here, you must've seen what happened, right?"

𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚠 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚍 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕, haunting gait turns the rusted thing about with two distinct clashes of metal against flooring below. ears swinging with creaks, as finger twitches. the hissing, fluid-filled breath echoes like a never ending death rattle. turning to face the child as a tongue comes out to lap over yellowed teeth. the nerves and tendons within singing with the 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 of proximity to that which his body is kept alive with. fear. haunting, bone chilling childhood fear. something his disgusting form elicits in spades. a one and only perk of being.. [...] this. though for better or for worse, he is home.

he cannot think of himself as the child does. 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚐𝚞𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚎𝚝 𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐. hard to see himself. shell of how far he has fallen.

keeping his pace with gregory, springtrap finds himself stopping as his head falls into a series of monstrous twitches. shoulder brought up towards the side of his face. even more in disrepair than last time they saw each other. albeit not this close.

he was not asked for explanation. afton always one to keep his cards held close. a man who had been recording his family since before he'd murdered a single soul in secret. a man whom had an operation built beneath his home. [...] 𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚊 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝.

purple eyes bore into the child and being still allows his body to calm in twitches, though the rattling doesn't cease. as if he's attempting to haul air through the holes in his body. though tremble causes it to hiss, and crackle into a low chuckle. trying to decide what he should say, and what he should not.

"why -- i live here. [...] this is my home." he responds. [...] his head coming to tilt more-so. "not i, certainly." it's true. (to an extent). he is also his counterpart, though not the body that stands before him.

"does it look like i could have such an affect, in this state?" [...] "perhaps it was the guard. [...] i recall she was looking for you, was she not?"