#osd dream stares through your soul

[papple]

callback.

this seems very familiar... doesn't it?

there's no chessboard this time around.

...isn't it time to face your past?

Vote here

Edit: Sister post

[ponds-of-ink]

Post-FNAF 3 Piece: “Those Green Eyes”

This was the piece I mentioned alll the way back when I finished what’s currently there for @calcium-cat’s One Small Dream. Lost some steam at the end, as you’ll see, but at least I got this done. Tried to emulate the OSD style as well for an extra challenge. Anyway, here it is!

—

Springtrap hobbled, his only working arm using the brick wall as a crutch. The usual pain pumped through his body, but he only grimaced a little. After what he went though… some time ago, it didn’t really matter. Nothing did apart from his current survival.

Well, all right. There were other… concerns.

For example: Michael still being alive. Granted, it was a nice surprise to “hear” from him again. But, from what Springtrap could tell, this little plan of sending his eldest son out to go see what happened to Elizabeth went horribly, horribly wrong. And now said eldest son is out for revenge, no doubt. What else could “I’m going to come find you” mean in such a grim context? Especially after all that this (pathetic excuse of a) wicked soul had done?

A shudder rattled the rabbit’s charred remains. He stopped in his aimless tracks. A nearly-voiceless sigh escaped his rotten vocal chords. He really had to get his act together soon. No more reminiscing. No more William Afton from thirty— no, forty— years ago. It was just Springtrap now… Or, whatever he was going to call himself after some (much-needed) repairs. 

Footsteps, light and quick, triggered Springtrap’s ear to lift. A ghostly-hued, child-like vision rushed past him. The animatronic rolled his eyes before shuffling forward. He just had to say something about ditching the past, didn’t he? Nevertheless, he had to let whatever this “scene” was play out. He had no choice.

Second by second, more details came into view. The ghost turned into a well-dressed girl with hair done up in a bow. Another robot, imposing yet child-like, came into view. The back of the night-covered alley almost merged into a dark room much like a backstage area. The little one glanced left and right, then turning to “stare” at Springtrap, before finally resting her attention on the transparent newcomer. She approached slowly, like a robber towards some great museum artifact. If she was really there, she would’ve heard Springtrap’s knees quaking viciously at this maneuver. 

But, obviously, she didn’t. Her focus was dead-set on those two blue eyes glowing down at her. “Daddy isn’t watching,” she piped up, her Londoner’s accent strong and pronounced. She paused, as if trying to gauge the response of the pigtailed clown before her.  

Springtrap’s posture relaxed. He stifled an incredibly hoarse chuckle. Heh. How beautifully, painfully ironic. 

“Don’t tell Daddy that I’m here,” the girl insisted, gingerly taking a step closer. “I wanted to watch your show too.”

Of course she did. Elizabeth always loved Circus Baby just as much as he enjoyed playing Spring-Bonnie (that is, back when he was truly alive). Although these bittersweet remarks made his insides feel warm, they couldn’t prevent the ever-increasing anxiety surging through him. Whenever she took a step forward, he followed suit. He just had… to get… close enough…

“I don’t know why he doesn’t let me come see you,” the girl remarked, completely blind to the robot blinking and twitching right in front of her. “You’re wonderful!” She almost reached out to touch one of those huge, chrome-shined hands, but something stopped her. Her head tilted. Her open hand lowered. She looked behind again, causing Springtrap to halt. From what he could see, her expression contorted into something like a youth’s version of skepticism. “Where did the other children go?” she asked aloud, her green eyes darting this way and that.

A pause came between Circus Baby and Elizabeth. Battling his pain, Springtrap positioned himself as if he were William Afton standing in the doorway. He signaled for her to come with him, since he didn’t want to stress his already-ruined voice.

As if to defy him, Circus Baby sprang to life. Servos whirred as a music box played some sort of brief, nondescript tune. Elizabeth quickly turned around with a gasp. By the time she saw Baby, a claw was sticking outside of the now-open stomach hatch. This would have frightened the already-confused girl, but the sight of a single ice cream cone in said claw interrupted her fear.

Oh no.

Springtrap inched closer. “Lizzy…” he strained out, forgetting himself.

Once again, Elizabeth had that posture of wanting to reach out. She hesitated. Her eyes met those blue, lifeless marbles now fixed on her.

“Elizabeth…!” came a somewhat stronger growl. It took all his strength to not go into a coughing fit between any of those syllables.

She looked back down at the ice cream.

What remained of his throat formed a lump. 

She grabbed it by the cone, then tried to yank it out.

He tried to get as near as he could, but his shaking body had to stop short.

She made one wrong pull. Something in Circus Baby clicked.

No… No… NO—

A loud, freakish shriek rang in Springtrap’s ears alone. Like a toy in some twisted claw machine, the little girl was harshly pulled inside the robot and sealed in with a shut. Whatever might’ve happened after, he couldn’t tell. The sheer impact of it all caused his knees to buckle and his body to give way. It was bad enough, hearing the prior memories he actually had with her. But this? 

It broke him. 

How could he do this to his own daughter? 

Never mind her part of the incident. That was just childish curiosity.

But what he did? That was foolish negligence. Even worse than Michael’s impudence during… that day. Mike was still a boy back then. He was jealous, but not actually willing to hurt his brother. Springtrap? A full-grown adult with, at that point in his life, a kill streak that could rival heinous horror villains of his day.

And what did he have to show for it now?

A broken, twisted body.

A grim fate, caused by the one remaining son he hurt (accidentally or not).

And… the daughter he loved most… probably hating his rotting guts, if Michael wasn’t lying about her being put back together.

All because of him.

All… because of h-him…

Springtrap laid on the uneven path, his remnant now leaking from his eyes to the ground. On the bright side, any of that goo which dripped back felt like it was making him… physically stronger? His ear perked up at the thought, only to droop once more. No. Now wasn’t the time to pick up his research again. Not in this pathetic fit of self-loathing.

A clatter of wheels rhythmically struck the ground. The noise was distant, at first. Then it came closer. And closer. Yet Springtrap refused to get up. He tried to mouth a plea of mercy, yet all that came out were unnerving (yet still hoarse beyond reason) groans.

Two green circles of light pierced the dark. They focused on the rabbit kneeling merely inches away. Who was this sad little bunny? Why wasn’t it in some restaurant? Better yet, why was it sad? Did it miss its home? Or did it miss…?

The lights shrank. Servos whirred. The eyes moved from one angle to another, as if the owner’s head was tilted from side to side. Its skeletal hand reached out to the poor thing, but the figure itself didn’t move. 

The bunny was so sad, it didn’t even notice at first. But it did lift its head soon enough. Finally! Some progress! Now, if it could just—

Wait. What was the rabbit going? Was it… trying to run away?? 

Yes. Yes, he was. And why wouldn’t he, seeing that one of his own mangled creations somehow tracked him down? Springtrap struggled to get up onto his feet again, but all that remnant he did lose meant he was weaker than usual. Great. Just what he needed. A swift death by the hand of some animatronic he couldn’t even connect any memories to. Well, an animatronic he was too focused on escaping from to associate any memories with it. Unless he could… ?

Springtrap took one quick glance at the figure. The two eye-lights caught his attention. Glowing just like Circus Baby’s… But colored like Elizabeth’s. Not to mention the strange texture that he somehow didn’t miss. What in the world was this thing? It wasn’t that… prototype Roller-Skate Baby he built ages ago, was it? And, if that were true, then why was the eyes—?

Oh.

Oh…

“OH NO. SHE’S COME TO KILL ME.” 

That was the train of thought his mind crashed into after mere seconds of deliberation. All diplomatic things he would have resorted to flew out the window. It was time to get out of there, no matter what pathetic tactic he had to use. He staggered away, trying to say something—anything— that could get this fusion off his back. “S-S-Sorry!” he cried out, his voice now completely wavering and frail. “Don’t… hurt…me!”

“Roller-Baby’s” eye-lights widened. The bunny could actually talk? And its voice! Was it sick? Why did it sound like someone she knew? Someone she… thought she talked to recently? Her skates, slowly but surely, gained enough momentum to inch her forward. She came out from the shadows, the light hitting her wiry pigtails and broken red dress. But what she looked like didn’t matter. What mattered here was who she was approaching.

Springtrap stopped. He stayed still. He had to. His almost-visible heart thumped. His entire body rattled. His eyes followed her as she made her next move. She knelt down to his level. Her eyes scanned him up and down. He gave a trembling exhale. Here it comes…

“Daddy?” 

Springtrap’s eyelids flew up so high, you’d be forgiven for saying they disappeared altogether. “Wh…What?” he asked, summing up his internal screaming rather well.

“Is it really you, Daddy?” Baby inquired, putting her hand on his ear and stroking him as if he were a rabbit. “Or do you just sound like him? Answer honestly, please.”

Springtrap’s jaw hung open. “N-No,” he stuttered, not entirely sure how to process any of this. “It’s… me.”

Baby halted her habitual rabbit-petting. Her eye-lights focused on the ground. They wavered in steadiness. “You’re not… mad at me, are you?” she asked, her voice low and dismal.

Springtrap’s ear raised. Was this about Circus Baby or whatever happened with Michael? Both sounded like decent reasons here. But, once again, both were his own fault— directly or indirectly. “No,” he repeated, his tone as warm and fatherly as he could make it. “Not… now. I’m—“ A coughing fit interposed, forcing him to clutch his suit’s stomach and curl up. Even with shut eyes, he could tell that the gross noises must’ve shocked her. Maybe even sickened her? “A-Apologies,” he resumed, his ear drooped as much as the costume’s eyelids. 

“You must be really sick,” Baby remarked, wiping any gunk off with her arm. “You can’t talk as much as you did with those boring men in those funny suits.”

A snicker escaped the rabbit’s throat. Ah, those were the days, were they not? The days where all he had to worry about were business meetings and keeping Lizzy safe. No hoops to jump through, no animatronic costume to wear, no missing children… His would-be smile faded as Baby continued her petting spree. “Are you… mad at me?“ he asked softly, not entirely sure how else to phrase his current thoughts. Was she angry with him? If so, for which reason? The fact that he accidentally abandoned her due to lack of true knowledge on remnant? Or his (rather stupid) orders to still produce controlled shocks on the Funtimes? Or was it even the unintentional trickery he did by sending Michael instead of working enough power to reach his old office? Honestly, any of those reasons made sense to him.

Baby tilted her head. Her hand slowed its movement. Her pupils shifted from one place to the other. “No,” she answered softly. “Should I be?”

Springtrap grinned shakily. “Maybe,” he responded. “After… I tell my s-s-story.”

How was he going to tell it? He had no idea. Why’d he say it anyway? Wasn’t sure on that either. But now he forced himself into a weird corner. That was going to be an interesting night.

[owlheartt]

Help I have homework-

Oh jeez I'm 100% about to spend another hour or so writing more on this. Calluna what have you done to me. Anyways. @calcium-cat, I didn't write a swapped version but I started an alternate version of OSD with memories. Send help. I have other projects/homework/chores that need to be done.

Dream groaned. His head was throbbing, and that magic suppressor had made more than his magic feel small. Opening his eyes wearily, he tried to get up. And promptly ended back up on the floor. His limbs weren’t reaching the way they should, and he didn’t feel in control with the way they flailed. Taking a moment to look at himself, Dream saw… he was smaller. He was a kid. His body had been taken back in time to before the incident, to before his twin was his enemy, before everything. What now?

Nightmare solved the question for him by materializing again. Dream managed to right himself before Nightmare opened his eyes, the goopy skeleton’s face settling into a grinning glare. Then shock. The teal eyelight frantically looking Dream up and down, back and forth. The two of them stood there, just staring at each other. Just as Dream’s neck began to ache from looking up, (why was his brother so tall?!) Nightmare broke the silence.

“D-Dream..?” Nightmare’s voice sounded… broken. Hurt. Lost. It struck Dream to his very SOUL. But also… was this a sign? Maybe Nightmare still cared. Some deep part of him that he refused to recognize, that only a small, innocent child could bring out, still cared for his twin. Nightmare had said that it was his turn now, but who said Dream couldn’t make his own rules? Besides, if he looked like a kid, how unbelievable would it be if he acted like one too?

“Who are you?” Dream tried, in the smallest, most childish voice he could. It didn’t take much effort with his new body. He felt guilty for fooling Nightmare, but the result was instantaneous.

“What do you mean.” Nightmare’s voice was stiff. His tentacles straightened, their ends becoming pointier and unnervingly like knives.

“I don’t think I’ve met you before,” Dream said, combing his mind for his outlook on life when he was a kid. He would’ve been open to strangers and… desperate for his brother. Dream would’ve wanted his brother with him all the time, even though Nighty wasn’t always interested in tagging along. And, hm, what else… the new place! Kid Dream wasn’t familiar with big stone buildings or living away from his tree. While Nightmare seemingly struggled for words, Dream squeezed in another question. “What is this place? Where…” Ah, too much. He wasn’t quite ready to ask that question yet.

“I… This place is my home,” Nightmare said. His tone wasn’t swaying and his tentacles weren’t changing, but at least Dream was still ok. It was glaringly obvious how he dodged the first question though.

“Why am I here?”

“You…” Nightmare seemed to be struggling to find answers. If Dream had any less of a conscience, he would be enjoying it. But…

“Do you know where my brother is? Is he here too?” Nightmare’s tentacles, somehow, became even pointier. Then they relaxed in defeat.

“He’s not.” Well that wasn’t the answer Dream was expecting. “He’s gone. I… was traveling through a village when I saw… a special tree. It was being attacked by the villagers.” Nightmare paused in his storytelling.

“But-but-” Dream wanted to say that that’s not what happened. That he was Dream’s precious twin, and that… that what? That Dream had been there to help Nightmare protect it? But he hadn’t. He had left his twin all alone to stop the villagers, just because he didn’t think that they would do that. But the younger Dream would’ve thought that he would. Younger Dream would’ve stayed and protected his brother. “But Nighty and I protected it!!!! Nighty and I would’ve made sure that no one hurt it, and the villagers wouldn’t try anyway!!”

It looked like the words had hurt Nightmare as much as they hurt Dream. Then Night’s face turned down into a scowl.

“Of course you would-” Dream couldn’t help himself. The tears came and he couldn’t stop them. Nightmare was right to be mad. So, so mad. But then Dream’s twin surprised him again. “And you did.” His voice had turned soft, quieter. “Maybe the villagers were just… just really good liars. I wasn’t there long enough to find out. But you and your brother tried your best to protect it. They got you pretty good, hit you right over the head. When you fell all the golden apples turned rotten.”

Dream could see it in his head. The fallen tree. The bodies. He tried to imagine what it had looked like when the apples… turned black. Goop oozing out of the edges, staining the glitty skin. The tears, which had begun to slow, came back.

“Your brother couldn’t stop them.” Nightmare’s voice sounded so disappointed, mad. Before, Dream had been certain that Nightmare was mad at him, but what if he was mad at himself too? All those negative feelings built up between the two of them… but that was what Nightmare thrived on, wasn’t it? “The villagers chopped down the tree, and upon not finding any golden apples, they took your brother and left you for dead. I brought you here.”

The story was missing a lot. Why Dream had a golden apple as his SOUL, why Nightmare wanted to care for him, where the villagers had gone, why Nightmare hadn’t stepped in… but younger Dream wouldn’t have questioned it. Of course the stranger wouldn’t have stepped in, he wouldn’t want to get hurt. Of course the stranger wanted to help him, it was just out of the kindness of his SOUL. Of course he didn’t know where Nightmare was, he had to help Dream first.

“B-but my brother…” Dream said. He realized that he was still crying. Absolutely sobbing in fact. But that was fine. It fits with his character. Young Dream had just lost everything, in mere seconds. Dream felt the crushing loss all over again. The deep sorrow that had been sealed into him when his bones were sealed into stone. It was inescapable.

“I… I have to go check something. Stay here, I’ll send someone to help you, alright?” Nightmare said, sighing. He brought a single tentacle around to give Dream a slight squeeze on the shoulders, almost like a hug. The tentacle was cold and unfriendly, but Dream reached out his tiny too-short arms to hug it back, to hold it close. “Please let go, I have to go get someone to take care of you, alright?”

(in case you need chapter 2)