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fishm0ther · 3 days ago

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To the Bone

if you haven't been able to tell by now most of the stuff in my drafts is because of citrus, my evil enabling muse... actually screw you @cozycircuits hits you in the face with this one again

this is a piece for her evil autocannibalism au, it's very good but also fucked up and evil SO:

Content warning: blood, graphic depictions of gore & violence, reader discretion heavily adivised, not for the faint of heart

Word count: 4036

You liked rainy days.

The water pitter patters against your roof, filling the silence of the room, save for the bubbling of the kettle on your stove.

You fiddle with the cup in your hand, unsure of what else to do. You've struggled with that a lot lately, you think it might be because of the lack of sleep. Tired eyes stare out the window, into your empty yard, watching the rain fall.

You liked the peace that came with days like these, the serenity. They put the world into a lull, almost in a dreamy state, but not quite. Nobody went outside on rainy days, keeping cozied up in their homes instead, much like yourself. Rain also meant you were safe.

Because most machines can't go out in the rain.

Like a flash of lightning, memories appear to you then.

Cruel, twisted laughter echoes through your skull. A state of breathlessness encapsulates your lungs, making your chest tight. Your entire body aches, like it's just fallen a story or two—which, at the time it had—limbs on fire as you sprint with all your might.

Your head feels light from the blood you've lost, the cuts on your chest bleeding not terribly but combined are leading to a deadly outcome.

You can't believe you'd been so stupid. Let them lure you in like that. Fallen for flirting comments, small touches, warm gazes.

Honeyed words, snaking holds, a trap of your very own making. You'd been a fool, and now, it may very well get you killed.

You should have noticed the signs. The way people always seemed to go missing around them. The way they would look at you. The smell, god that awful smell. Even now just the thought is nauseating, much less the imagery of so much gore—

It had been bad enough for Sun to simply berate you when you'd woken up, tossing around the knife in his hands like a toy.

"Silly little Sunshine. You played right into our hands. It was all so simple." He has no hesitation dragging the knife down into your chest not reacting as you scream in the gag across your mouth.

If anything, he seems annoyed. "I don't know what you're making such a fuss for. This isn't anything, not yet." He giggles, then sighs. "I expected you to be tougher than this, Starlight. It's really disappointing, considering we handpicked you. Thought you would at least put up a fight."

Tears burn your eyes as you glare at him with all the might you can, though it's difficult as he digs the knife back in a second time, making you practically jolt in pain.

Sun notices your look and chuckles. "There it is, that's what I was hoping for~" He steps back, reviewing his handiwork, then the knife, still dripping with your blood. "Oh, if only I could taste you. I bet you would be divine."

You close your eyes, squinting against the pain. You have to survive. You don't know how the hell you're going to get out of here but you have to survive. You won't die like this. You refuse.

A hand grips your jaw, tight. "I'd open up now if I were you. He doesn't like it when he can't see you. Neither do I."

You obey, if only because you hope it'll keep you alive that much longer. When you do, Sun tilts his faceplate, eyes narrowed in uplifted crescents. Then, he leans in and presses his smiled to your clothed mouth.

"You know. We do love you, Sunbeam. So very, very much."

It's then that the lights cut, Sun fading into his nighttime counterpart. Upon seeing you, Moon starts to chuckle.

His hat jingles as his faceplate spins. "Hello, Little Star. Fancy seeing you here. Are you having fun?" He drawls, giggling.

You just stare back at him, trying not to tremble from the pain you're in.

"We're having sooo much fun. And it's only going to get better from here~"

You wince as he suddenly lunges toward you, then become embarrassed as he starts cackling at you for it.

Your face burns but not for long as searing pain returns to your chest, awakening from the dull ache it was prior. As you scream, Moon hums a tune, carving into your flesh without a care in the world. As his hand pets your cheek, other hand thumbing over his finished mark, one would think he sees you as a lover and not as prey.

With the way he swipes his finger over the knife, then over his smile, you think he just might.

"Sunny's wrong. This is just as good." Another snicker, he turns away from you, setting the knife down on a nearby box.

You realize he's leaving the room as he leaves your line of sight, hearing a door jingle somewhere to your left.

"Now be a good pet, and stay still. I'll be right back with something to clean you up." Suddenly, he's right beside you, voice a purr in your ear. "Wouldn't want anything happening to you when we've just gotten started."

Another moment, and you can tell he's gone. You strain against the binds tying you up. You have little time to work with, having no idea if he'll be five seconds or five minutes.

Be it pure luck or a mistake on the attendants' part, you feel a bit of slack in the tie around your left arm. Sure enough, with a bit of wiggling, you come lose. Shaking, you hurriedly untie your other arm, and remove the gag over your mouth.

With labored, quick breath, you creep over to the door, and slip out of the room.

You had gotten relatively far, despite your circumstances, now all you had to do was just make it through those doors and you'd be free.

Behind you, there's a sound you can only describe as a mixture of pure anguish and rage. A combined noise of voices that chills you to the bone.

There's crashes and bangs and the ripping and scraping of metal upon metal behind you, and you're not sticking around long enough to let it catch up to you. You keep going, keep fighting, even if it absolutely destroys you.

You burst through the front doors with a screamed sob. Anger and determination cumulating in your body all at once and releasing in that moment as you fall to the concrete ground.

You choke out at sob, feeling such a sense of relief and pain all at once. Gasping breaths leave you as you try to regain control of yourself. You made it out. You made it out.

As you finally reduce your crying down to sniffles, finally calm down, a pounding noise directly behind you fills your ears.

You whip around, finding red eyes beaming down at you. Despite the static smile of his faceplate, you can feel the rage peeling off Moon in waves. He pounds again, and again, and again. But even if he breaks through the glass, you both know he can't go beyond the walls.

Even as the glass cracks and you flinch, you can't sense the anger in him never lowers in the slightest. Further, you see Sun's rays jabbing out and in from his faceplate, eyes flashing before settling on one white and one red. The pounding stops.

You just stare at each other for a moment. Unmoving. Then, you catch your own reflection in the pane of the door.

You can't see much, warped and darkened because of the twilight, but you can make out the dark outline present on your chest. There, through your torn and bloodied shirt, is a carved heart.

A clap of thunder jolts you back to the present. The abrasive whistling of your kettle becoming unbearably noticeable, the cup in your hands shaking from how much you're trembling. It takes several deep, controlled breaths to come back to yourself. But you manage.

You remove the kettle from the stove, pouring your cup of tea. It warms your hands as you look back out the window, watching as the rain pours from the sky.

Machines can't go out in the rain.

You quit your job as soon as you'd become aware enough at the hospital. Not wanting to deal with Fazbear, the only reason you gave was simply that it wasn't the right fit for you. They surprisingly let you go without a fuss.

You got a bit of therapy for your little... incident. Keeping the details of things to yourself for the sake of not sounding insane. Despite that, it proved helpful. Though you still had your moments of doubt and struggle, such as now.

Especially after finding out that the Plex has burnt down.

You'd been a bit paranoid ever since then. Even if they couldn't leave the Plex because of their programming, that didn't mean they wouldn't try. And you know, they'd tried.

You remember hearing from former coworkers about the attendants' incessant badgering about where you'd gone, why you'd left, when you'd be back. Thank god they all kept quiet, not intentionally, but it had worked in your favor still. Regardless, it still haunted you how others described their actions after you managed to escape.

"Yeah, sometimes after hours, you can just catch them standing at the doors, like they're waiting for you. It's honestly kind of cute." An elbow to your side. "You should visit someday! I think they miss you."

You're upstairs in your room, cozied up with a book, when a creaking groan, then crash sounds from downstairs. You freeze, ears straining to listen. There's glass crunching, footsteps. You hold your breath.

"Honey! I'm home!" A staticy, warbled voice calls out. It's warped, corrupted, a bit of a mixture of two, but it is still, completely and undeniably, the Daycare Attendant.

Your body moves slow, cautious. Despite the pounding of your heart and the urge to curl up in a ball and cry, you won't. You take a deep breath, one after another, and look for something to defend yourself.

Luckily, your paranoia is here to save you. You'd bought an aluminum baseball bat the second you'd gotten out of the hospital, you pick it up from it's location at your bedside.

Based on the sounds of thrashing and thumping, they're tearing apart your downstairs looking for you. Taking their time to search every nook and crevice. You don't know how long you have before they make their way upstairs, you need to think up a plan.

Your best bet is to flee, but not on foot. You know they're fast, but not enough to outrun a car, you'd hope not anyway. Your keys are downstairs in the kitchen though, and you don't have an open path at the moment to get them.

Waiting it out isn't wise either, you need to get moving, hide, and then wait for your chance to dash. The bat may help you, but it likely won't do much. With a panicked plan in mind, you ease off your bed, into a stand.

Each step you take is calculated, precise. The sounds from downstairs scare you, but you don't let it discourage you. You make it across your bedroom and out the threshold.

You think they've moved into your living room now. It's only a matter of time before they decide to head upstairs. You decide to slip down the stairs, taking them one at a time so as not to make a sound. You're praying this old house of yours won't betray you, giving away your location with a muted, but loud enough creak.

You make it to the lower level, bat gripped tightly as you scan the space in front of you for them. Nothing.

A loud bang and clattering from your dining room gives away their current location, and you almost sigh in relief, though you have a long way to go. You take soft steps over to your kitchen, never lowering your guard but trying your best to be quick.

The keys are in your line of sight, hanging right beside the entrance. Just two more steps. You take them, and slowly, slowly, lift them off the hook. You nearly cry with relief, now you just have to—

A jingle, barely audible. But it's enough.

Loud stomps from the dining room, you whip around in time to find them standing in the entryway. And they look... terrible. No, terrible doesn't fully describe it, they look horrifying.

Time, and assumedly something much worse, has not been kind to your former friend.

Their casing is beaten and broken, dented in or simply completely torn away, exposing endo and wires like muscle and nerve. Half of their chassis is simply gone, an empty void of space with any visible machinery looking ready to fall apart.

One of their legs is nothing but a stub, rusted, functional but certainly not practical by any means. All of the casing is gone from there hands, nothing but a skeleton at this point.

Every so often a spark emits from them, you're guessing due to the water that drips off their decaying form. And that's what it was, damaged of course, but decaying as well. The smell of gore mixed with burnt electrical surrounds you, curdling your stomach.

And that's before you notice the viscera still sitting inside their chest cavity, more than likely added to since your last encounter. You notice besides the rain, there's blood and, something else, dripping off their partially exposed arms.

"Made a w-wrong stop on our way in. Not to worry, as you can see, we man-managed to figure it out."

Sun. You finally look up.

The state of his faceplate makes you gasp. Shattered and missing. His rays are broken pieces of what they once were, stuttering whenever he tries to spin them. One optic is cracked, the other is fine but resides in the half of his face that's simply missing.

You'd say it's like seeing a ghost, but that's not quite it. It's like looking at a corpse.

A living corpse.

Sun tilts his head, the eye that's capable of it narrowing. "What, no, no hello? After it's been so long? It's rude to not greet a guest, St-starlight. Much less a friend."

"Friend's a bit of stretch, don't you think?" You try to keep your voice steady, hold your ground.

He doesn't seem to like that. Taking a step forward, you take one back. "Now, now. After all w-we've been through is that re-really what you have to say?"

"I think it's more than fair, considering the... circumstances of our last encounter." Your eyes scan for any sort of means of escape, your best bet being to dash out the kitchen door, though that would mean having to turn away from him to do so.

Sun tsks. "You know, we waited for you. We've been waiting a long time for this." Another step forward. "You just had to make things difficult, complicate our fun, fun, fun little game. If you'd gone quietly, maybe this wouldn't be so painful for you."

"I trusted you, that we were friends. That you cared about me." You can't help the hurt that leaks into your words.

A chuckle. "Aw, but we are friends, Starlight! In fact, we're arguably more~ You just seem to misunderstand how this littler relationship of ours works." With him being closer, you can see how sharp his digits are, sharp enough to tear you apart. "Not to worry! We're happy to teach you."

It's only a matter of time before he lunges at you, you need to think, decide. Fight or flight. Live or die.

You notice Sun staring at your chest, more specifically, at the scar that remains there. Based on the way his rays click back and forth you'd argue he's... enticed by the sight. That settles your decision for you.

You're walking out of here with your life, if only for the sake of being able to flaunt this mark of their failure.

You adjust your grip on your bat, eyes locking with the bot.

You move before you can risk him getting the upper hand. Swinging the bat in his direction and just barely nicking him as he steps back to dodge.

Sun laughs, it's mocking, yet haunting. Sounding all wrong with the distortion and utter delusion lying underneath. In turn, he swings at you and you quickly step back. You desperately desire to flee but don't know if you'd make it if you tried.

So, for now you decide that distracting him and coming back for your keys later may be for the best. You make a break for the other side of the house, Sun following behind you.

Your dining room is a disaster, trying to navigate it is a challenge that only heightens your heart rate. You try anything you can to slow Sun's advance, any plate or decoration is batted away without much effort at all.

If anything, he seems to grow irritated by your dodging and avoiding, seeming to confirm that they want you to fight back, but on their terms.

You think you might get lucky enough to use that to your advantage.

It's a massive risk, but you make a break for your basement, tumbling down the stairs into the dark. Using what knowledge you have of the space, you find a hiding spot they're incredibly unlikely to check; the crawlspace hidden behind your boiler.

In any other situation, with anyone else trying to kill you, hiding away instead of trying to escape to the outside might be stupid. But you know these two, to a point. The chase is the best part for them, and if you end the chase, they'll end you.

But, if you extend it, to as far as you possibly can, maybe you can make it through this.

And based on the sinister chuckle that comes from the top of the stairs. The slow, calculated steps accompanied by broken bells. The glow of red eyes that slink through the basement, lethargic, non urgent, you'd say you hit the nail on the head.

You don't know how long you stay back there in that space. More than an hour for certain. Your body aches from the wrong angle, and from the wetness dripping down your forehead, it occurs to you that you must have gotten nicked after all. And since you're essentially stuck for the time being, all you can do is hope it clots up on its own.

It's only when you can hear them pacing around upstairs that you let yourself relax a little. And only a little. If anything, based on the sounds you should be more concerned.

Hesitantly, you creep out of your hiding spot, quiet, quiet. Straining, you realize that Moon is talking to someone; his counterpart.

"No-no time, no time. Need to find them, now, now, now."

A growl. "Trying, you're not hel-helping. So stay quiet and let me w-work."

"Not going to make it in time. All for n-nothing."

"Shut up, Sun!" Moon snaps. "Shut up, shut up shut up shut up—" A mixture of a scream and a snarl, it sends a spike of fear into your stomach.

It clicks what they're saying. No time. Running out. Their battery. They're probably nowhere close to full power. Based on what you've heard, they're far from it.

A wave of nausea overtakes you, hand going to the back of your neck and pulling away darkened. You need to make a choice. Stay in the basement and wait out them powering off, and risk passing out yourself. Or, trying to fight your way out, on the most level playing field you'll ever get.

You'd rather die brave than as a coward.

You take the softest steps you can back to the main floor. As you do so, the loud pounding of the rain still occurring outside gives you an idea. Again, it's risky, but you're not exactly in a position to think logically now are you?

Based on the noise, they're in the living room. You'll need to slip by them to get to the kitchen. You exit the basement, the light outside is much lower now, meaning you're stuck with Moon for the time being.

You're inching along the wall, making your way back to the kitchen when the living room comes into site as you exit the hall. As you expected, Moon's pacing, seemingly a bit out of it, you're guessing due to his low power.

You've almost made it, you're right beside the doorway. Suddenly, Moon whips around, and your eyes lock. Shit.

You bolt into the kitchen as he vaults over your couch to grab you. You almost trip and stumble but you make it over to your sink. You almost rip the sprayer out of it's socket, turning the water on and whipping around in time to—

The breath leaves your lungs as you choke, the clawed hand stabbed into your guts feeling like nothing and everything all at once. It quickly leaves as soon as it comes, the spray of the water causing Moon to flinch away from you, glitching and sparking and smoking as he flees.

Your hand holding the sprayer drops it, coming up to clutch at your throat as blood drips from your lips. Another cough and a wheezed breath filled with fluid. The room spins around you for a moment, but you collect yourself with a shout of anguish.

Firm grip on the bat, you stomp back into the living room, finding Moon hunch near your couch, still glitching and dysfunctional. You don't hesitate when he looks up to you as your bat swings down.

The sound it makes is almost sickening with the crunch. He scitters away before you can make another direct hit, instead smashing against one of his legs.

You yell again, swinging and hitting where his lower body connects to his torso. This in turn seems to break his hips, or the equivalent of them anyway. His legs seem to shut down then, dropping him to the floor and reduced to dragging his upper body away.

You don't stop, a few coughs interrupting your cries as you swing again, beating against the back of his faceplate, smashing apart the delicate remaining circuitry there. Moon falls completely to the ground then, optics flickering before going dark.

You stand there for all of two seconds before you fall to your knees. You glance down, finding there's blood soaked through most of your shirt.

With slightly panicked breathing, you crawl over and lean back against the wall, trying to take deep breaths and failing. Tears fall from your eyes, but not much more. You don't have the energy for it.

Your eyes close for a moment and you sigh, listening to the rain outside.

At least it's over, you suppose. At least you won—

Your eyes shoot open as five sharp pricks claw into your chest, finding yourself face to faceplate with what remains of Moon.

His red eyes are shattered, remains of his face clinging to his endo like shreds of skin. He seems shorter than he should be and you realize it's because he's missing the lower half of his body.

He dragged his dying form, leaking oil and coolant, wires exposed like organs, over to your dying form, to get one last blow in. One last cut. One last lick of steel to bone.

You come to the conclusion in these final moments that there was never any other way this was going to end.

Weakly for him, but still much stronger than you, he shoves his free hand back into your stomach, digging around, then up, up, up until he finds what he's looking for.

As his optics start to grow dark for a final time, he looks you in the eye, really looks at you. The hand in your skin starts tracing the heart-shaped scar marred into it. While the one under your skin squeezes the organ itself.

He snickers, it's slurred and off-pitch, dying before you do, but he gets the last word.

"Mine."

as a self-shipper you all know i love to kiss the dca, but there's also something so inherently beautiful about them being fucked up and twisted, that's all, thanks for reading!

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#oooo lots of gore #this was sick midnight #>:)

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