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superstar-nan · 3 months

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Fight Tooth and Nail: Ch 8

Summary: Springtrap finally gets some action, and it only took 8 chapters.

Words: 4,869

Fun stuff: Gore, violence, and blood. Descriptions of undead bodies. Swearing. Toxic relationships. This one's heavy on the toxicity, but it's mutual toxicness.

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Something cold and spongy stroked your head. The touch was slow and tender; you were warmed. You stirred just slightly, leaning into the gentle touch, but that stopped it. It withdrew from you and you sighed against the pillow.

After a few moments, a weight left your side. You didn’t know how much time had passed, but it was dark when your eyes fluttered open.

You were better rested than you thought you’d be. You sat up in Michael’s dark room. The bathroom and the living room were obscured by shadow, and Michael was nowhere to be seen. You checked the time.

1:37 AM

That bastard left you.

You bolted up with life, stumbling into your shoes and snagging your cell phone. You rushed into the living room and swung your heavy tote bag over your shoulder. You checked your pockets and bag for your keys. You flipped on the light, shielding your eyes from the brightness for a moment, before checking the counter. No keys.

You opened the door. Your car was gone. That bastard left you and took your car.

You slammed the door shut, the force shaking the whole living room. You ground your teeth as you pulled out your phone. If Michael thought for a single second that he could dissuade you from facing Springtrap by stealing your car , he had no idea how stubborn you were.

Or how easy it was to call for an Uber.

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You were still seething in the back of the Uber by the time it pulled up to Fazbear’s Fright. Your arms were crossed as you glared out the window.

“...This is where you want to be dropped off?” The driver said, tentatively.

“Yeah.”

She looked at your mysterious heavy duffle bag through the rear view mirror, then to the abandoned building, “Okay...”

You made sure to tip her very well.

You stood in front of the building with your duffle bag over your shoulder as you waited for the Uber to drive out of sight. It was as unexceptional as ever, lights flickering with a dull buzz. You couldn’t stroll through the front door. It was locked and you doubted Michael could abandon the panels long enough to let you in without Springtrap murdering him. And that would be if he’d let you in at all.

Though, while Michael couldn’t let you in, you knew who would.

You unzipped your duffle bag and pulled out your axe as you made your way to the back door. You were as still as a statue as you stared at the entrance. It was only your third night at Fazbear’s Fright (which was already shocking, it felt like your eighth night at least!), but with each night your apprehension waned. Instead, something strange was slowly replacing it: a dark and grim excitement. That in and of itself stalled you.

However, your feelings were never the forerunner of your actions. If they were, you would have never returned to this place.

You knocked on the door.

You held your breath.

The dull buzz seemed quiet compared to the pounding in your chest.

The lights flickered just a touch too long.

The door clicked.

Your stomach flipped. You would be a fool to rush for the door now, and yet you wanted to. You were being hunted again —you knew this. But this time, for some unknown ungodly reason, it felt like a game. You looked at your tote bag, filled with all kinds of traps and tricks to hurt him, and you knew it was a game. A deranged, dangerous, sure-to-end-in-someone-dying game, but still a game. Maybe it was always a game for Springtrap. Now, it was your game as much as it was its.

And it wanted to play even more than you did.

You pulled out your best friend’s phone out of your pocket. Your resolve hardened when your eyes landed on the shattered background of the two of you. You tapped on the tracking app and hovered your thumb over the earbuds icon.

It was still here at Fazbear’s Fright... The audio would likely attract Springtrap to it—the killer or the robot. As much as you’d love to plunge your hand into his chest again (and you really would love to do that), you didn’t imagine you could pull that off a second time without getting caught by someone at the attraction or Springtrap’s deadly claws. You would have to start and stop the audio as you approached it, estimating where to find it... and maybe where you’d find your...

You swallowed, thickly. You tapped on the earbuds icon. You grabbed the door’s handle and pulled it open in one quick, wide swing.

There was no sound.

You used your hand to soften the noise of the door closing behind you and then checked your best friend’s phone again. A small picture of earbuds hovered over Fazbear’s Fright, and a little audio que was right next to it? There should have been a noise playing, but you were only met with the static buzz of the poor ventilation system.

You quickly and quietly moved away from the exit. You knew how the game was played. You played it before. You set down one of your toys, silently, as you moved deeper into the attraction.

Listen, scan, step, listen, scan, step—

Your heart beat was drumming wildly against your chest. Where was the sound? Could the animatronic have already found it? No, that wasn’t right. Even if it had, you would have been able to hear it in his chest.

You gently put down another toy— Listen, scan, step .

The app showed that it was here . It was here, somewhere in the building. It just... It just had to be too quiet. That was the only explanation that you could think of: it was too quiet and was drowned by the buzz of the ventilation.

Listen, scan, step, listen— Speaking of too quiet...

You weren’t far into the attraction, but you already felt like you were losing. You were too distracted. Too comfortable , if that was possible. Sweat dripped from your face. Every shadow was a monster and every sound was a threat.

The pressure was heavy. Your breathing, no matter how much you slowed it, felt too fast. You swallowed, dry as sandpaper, to calm your nerves. And then you remembered your toys.

Even if you didn’t know where he was, you still wanted to try them out. Oh, how you wished you could be there to see him fall for it, but even your bravery had its limits. You slowly pulled out the remote of the first toy you set down.

Just like the night before, a childlike song played, muffled with distance. You didn’t hear mechanical steps trudging toward it, no matter how you strained. Fear struck like a spear in your heart, but then you heard heavy movement in the vents, slowly dragging toward the song. Still, your brow furrowed. The song shouldn’t have been much louder than the noise from the earbuds. Where was it?

You were startled by a distant but loud SNAP , then immediately a striking ZAP . Your smile widened.

Even as you passed the Chica head, the presents, the arcade machines, the dangling stars, the Bonnie torso , you heard only the droning of the ventilation. And when the ventilation turned off, you heard nothing. Each step you could feel yourself losing focus for panic. It didn’t make any sense! It couldn’t have been in the vents, you would’ve heard it echoing across the walls and floors and-

... Inside the walls was somewhere you hadn’t checked. They looked thick. Maybe thick enough to hide noise. It didn’t make too much sense, how could something get in the walls in the first place? Wouldn’t an employee notice a hole in the wall? Though, a spark of hope lit in your chest. Your best friend, clever and quick, could have hidden in the walls to escape the animatronic, and their earbuds just slipped out while they were hiding. Or, they could still be there , trapped somehow behind a soundproof barrier. That would explain their disappearance. That would-

You were grabbed, violently . Pain burned against your neck and your arm from behind you. You swung your axe with everything you had with your free arm, burying it into a rotten, metal foot. Something vicious and rasping hissed behind you, and you were let go.

You grabbed the axe with two hands and pulled, tumbling forward. You whipped around. You weren’t paying attention! You should’ve listened closer! You should have set another toy off! You should have been more alert, how could you be so stupid! You should have-

Springtrap, rotten and evil , was holding your tote bag. Your face paled. Your palms tightened around the axe in your hands. It was your last defense.

He dumped the toys, remotes, and tools out on the ground. His grin never moved—it couldn’t—but Springtrap’s silver eyes bore sharp and annoyed daggers into you, if being annoyed could be so cold. It was fantastic .

A bitter grin stretched across your face, “What? Were my toys too shocking ?” God, you were hilarious. You looked at the toys you rigged to electrify scattered across the floor, and your grin turned into a vicious grimace, “I hope it hurt. ”

You wanted to see it furious. You didn’t care how dangerous it was, you wanted to see rage in those too-human eyes, not just cold annoyance. You wanted to provoke its anger, but you hadn’t. Instead, robotic eyes scanned you soullessly. Subtle clicks of metal ticked behind its silver eyes. Your breath quickened. The longer it looked at you—burying its unrelenting and vile eyes into you—the more difficult it was to hold onto your rage in place of fear.

And then it took one loud , mechanical step. You couldn’t stop yourself from startling. Your warmth and bravery drained from you. You stepped back. You could’ve sworn the thing’s grin widened somehow. Fear crashed through your veins. You tightened your grip on your axe.

Another loud mechanical step. You stumbled back again. Your face grew hot. Silver eyes looked pleased . That was the last thing you wanted. It wasn’t fair the fear this thing instilled in you. It wasn’t fair that your anger couldn’t overpower your fear. It wasn’t fair that with all your hatred and fury, you couldn’t weaponize it.

One last mechanical step, and you bolted. You pushed off the floor as fast as you could away from Springtrap. You weren’t fast enough. It grabbed your arm and threw you against the wall. You slammed against it hard , breath forced out of your lungs. At the first sight of dingy green, you used both arms to swing your axe downward. A sharp, piercing hiss stung your ears.

Somehow, you cut something—his arm. You didn’t get a moment to celebrate. You lifted the axe again, and he grabbed your arm. Suddenly, the world spun around and you felt nauseous. Your arm was twisted painfully behind you. Your axe clattered to the floor. Your back was to Springtrap. You were kicking and clawing at him to let you go, twisting madly to loosen his grip. You vaguely heard an artificial child’s laughter in another room, but that didn’t matter. You were making too much noise. Even if you weren’t, now that Springtrap had you it could just drag you with it.

Your struggling all stopped when a large, rotten set of claws lightly grazed the sensitive skin of your collar. You froze, deathly still. You stopped breathing. Your heart hammered wildly in your ears. You were certain he could feel it, too. You heard the whirring of machinery behind you. It was worse that you couldn’t see him.

Metal nails like daggers trailed up your jaw. You tilted your head up, conceding to the claws so close to puncturing your skin. You shuddered against its touch; too light to give you the reprieve of pain but too heavy to let you forget. The mechanisms in the suit behind you clicked and burred. You slammed your eyes shut as you swallowed against his claws.

Two sharp clicks sounded beside you. A strange, crackling and vintage noise came and then fizzled out beside your ear. You furrowed your brow. It was only when it came and failed a second time that you realized it was Springtrap’s voice box.

The grip on your arm tightened, and you winced. Instead of trying to speak a third time, sharpened claws idly and softly drew something onto your skin. You didn’t respond after he finished—how could you? You were too busy puzzling out what he was doing—and that was a mistake. He twisted your arm painfully behind you. You inhaled sharply against the bend and strain, contorting your back in a strange arc to alleviate the pain. You felt your bones creak under your flesh. You went pale at that.

The animatronic didn’t slacken his iron and immovable grip or move to give you any relief. Instead, it slowly began drawing again. The threat was clear: pay attention or he will snap your arm in half. You paid very close attention this time.

Its “drawings” were letters:

“ Beg? ” You said, and your breath was gaining weight. Subtle gear clicks came from the animatronic behind you. He didn’t make any move to lessen the pressure on your twisted arm, but it didn’t matter. The pain was completely lost to you. You were no longer pale, you were hot. You saw red . You could have laughed—as if you would ever beg! As if he could EVER do ANYTHING to make you beg for HIM! But you were too angry. You couldn’t even let out a chuckle.

You tilted your head completely up to where you could look the animatronic in those cruel, vile, silver eyes of his. At least seven feet tall, Springtrap towered over you. Its eyes looked expectant. Impatient even, like you had taken too long already. You felt venom on your tongue.

“You’ll see hell before you ever hear me beg.” You hissed between your teeth.

The animatronic didn’t look angry or surprised. Instead, there was a pretend disappointment—lidded eyes slanted in faux sympathy, a slight tilt to his head, gentle clicks of metal mimicking tuts . He was a parent scolding a child instead of a monster terrorizing victims. His mockery made your blood run hot.

Suddenly, he forcefully tilted your head to the left, a sharp pain shooting along your jaw. Cold, putrid, impossible breath tickled your exposed neck. There was no way it needed to breathe. He was trying to scare you.

It worked.

You started to thrash against him, renewed urgency fueling your fire. But no matter how much you kicked and scratched and twisted and fought, you couldn’t shake its iron grip. You heard more whirring machinery, and then a strong, loud click.

You froze at the sound of decayed flesh against metal. You were so close to him. You could hear the corpse inside the suit. Sticky, wet peeling and squelching with mechanical ticks. You felt sick.

And then you felt pain.

You screamed. Lacerations like fire made you lose your mind. From your arm to your neck, pain stabbed into you. It throbbed in a shredded anguish. You convulsed against it, but that only deepened the piercing pain. Tears rolled down your cheeks as your scream crumpled into a weak cry. You opened your eyes. The rotten rabbit’s head was beside yours. Blood soaked your chest.

He bit you. He bit you .

The pain numbed and burned, and you were crying and you hated that you were crying. When your body stopped twitching, its teeth released you in a wet, slick squelch. It hurt sharp and quick. You swallowed a sob.

...He bit you, so why were you not dead?

Your head was lowered as the animatronic supported your weight. In the blinding pain, he had let go of your twisted arm, now his large metal claws keeping you upright by your waist. His other hand was gently holding your arm, the arm he bit that burned and throbbed . The way he held you was strange. Before, he was clutching you like an animal to be slaughtered. Now, he was soft in a facsimile of affection; your body a fragile doll to be handled with care.

As if to mock the point forward, he caught your tears with soothing, rotten fingertips. Even as tiny sobs left your lips, he wiped the tears away soft enough to be caring—or rather, a twisted imitation of caring.

You leaned into the touch, and the animatronic froze.

You let out a soft, shaken sigh against his fingertips. You caressed his hand in turn, your fingers so small compared to his giant rotten claws. You let your breath warm the cold of his metal and rot, gently rubbing the tears from your cheek on his slitten, soiled palm. You leaned softly into his grip on your waist. In your weakness, you melted into the false affection from the terrible, vile creature.

Machinery clicked and ticked in a way that seemed stunted. His body didn’t move, only letting you lean into him as invisible mechanisms maneuvered beneath his second skin. You vaguely heard the crackling of his voice box, popping as though it was short circuiting.

You surprised him. Good. You would surprise him again.

You slammed your jaw down as hard as you could around his fingers.

After spending so much time with Michael, you were used to the rancid smell of decomposing flesh. What you were not used to was the taste. Putrid and foul, mold seeped onto your tongue and you were tasting disease incarnate...with a hint of iron. It was so awful, you started to retch against your bite. However, when Springtrap flinched, he became the best thing you ever tasted.

Springtrap grabbed your arm and threw you to the floor. Your teeth were sore from being ripped away so forcefully. You scrambled back, kicking one of your toys so that it slid across the floor far away from you. You didn’t dart off the floor in a sprint, no matter how much your legs begged you to. Instead you kept your eyes trained on Springtrap—tall, rotting, and terrifying—as he stalked toward you, one loud mechanical stomp after the next.

You didn’t make any effort to hide the fear in your expression as you backed away from him, as silent as you could. As much as you wished it were an act, it wasn’t. He truly terrified you. Of course he did, and he wanted that. You knew he needed your fear. He was entranced by it; drunk off it. You didn’t think you would ever see so much desire in someone as you did Springtrap when you were afraid. You didn’t think anyone could want you as much as Springtrap did when you were covered in blood, cowering from him.

And so he took his time, his jaw dripping in your blood and hanging low, hinting at the corpse beneath the suit. He was drawing out your fear with each anticipatory step just like he had your first night at the attraction. Your back hit a wall and you pressed against it; it was a support to you. From the moment he slowed his steps that first night, slamming against arcade cabinets to taste your fear, you hated him. Now, you still hated him, but his slow steps weren’t frightening you. They were buying you time.

His fingers were inches from your face when you pressed the remote in your hand.

Springtrap froze when the toy you kicked away lit up in bright colors and loud music. A grin stretched across your face, your fear giving way to smug satisfaction. Even the throbbing of your bloodied neck and arm couldn’t wipe the smile off your face, and it only widened when his fingers shook—desperate to stay in control.

You weren’t safe. William could somehow wrestle enough control to grab you. He was holding out pretty well, struggling to remain in place despite the music loudly singing behind him. That couldn’t stop you from gloating. You feigned surprise at the noise, a hand coming to your silent gasp. You overacted a pout, as if you were so sad to see him go, waving him goodbye.

Silver eyes were livid . Rage emanated off of him like smoke . You could see how desperately he wanted to bury his hands into your organs—to soak in your blood.

It was incredible . Your head felt light from his madness, and you would have laughed if you could. If your fear made him drunk, his anger was your drug.

An audio cue from Michael in the same direction as your toy was Springtrap’s turning point. Human eyes became robotic ones; anger ceded to coding. Curiously, the robotic eyes scanned you once over, and it was enough to wake you from your satisfaction. You furrowed your brow as eyes that held nothing human stared at you intently. Why wasn’t it moving? You hadn’t made any noise. Was there something else in its coding that you didn’t know about, or...?

You got a weird feeling.

Finally, it turned, forced and unnatural. Its eyes stayed on you as you slipped away quietly, using the animatronics loud steps to mask your own.

Your steps were nothing more than quiet taps against tiled floor as you hurried to the front office. As much as you wished you could continue the search for your best friend, your wound began to burn fiercely without the adrenaline of fear and excitement. You needed to assess the damage in a safe place.

You tried not to think about Spring Bonnie’s bizarre pause, but you couldn’t help how nervous it made you. You shouldn’t have been separating Spring Bonnie and William in the first place; they had been fused together so long they were a new creature. But it made dissecting Springtrap’s behavior easy, so you did.

William was predictable: he wanted to scare you, hurt you, and then kill you in that order. Spring Bonnie wanted to play and to be where the party was, so why did it ignore the party for so long? You knew for a fact that it wasn’t William staring at you; if not by its robotic eyes, then by the lack of sweet rage in its features. Did it... want to keep playing with you? Could the animatronics gain favoritism? You would have to ask Michael when you get the chance.

You held your shoulder. You looked at your hand, coated in blood. God , Springtrap was so disgusting. You would have to dump a bottle of hand sanitizer on your wound just to keep it from getting infected. Hopefully, Michael kept first aid supplies with him and not just by his bedside.

You heard your toy shatter in the distance, but no zap. You ran faster.

You flew past the office window, spying Michael ducked in front of the camera panel. You didn’t realize how tense you were until the relief of seeing him washed over you like cool water. You hurried into the office.

“ What are you doing here?! ” Michael’s harsh whisper stung almost as sharp as the bleeding wound on your chest. So much for relief.

You ignored his venomous whisper as you went to grab the control panel, but just as you were about to take it, Michael snatched it away. You looked at him, offended, but he kicked his backpack to you.

“Bandages. And antiseptic.” He couldn’t take his void eyes off the screens—frantic scanning and stressed swiping.

You grabbed the control panel anyway, and he almost stopped his focus just to grab it back, “I can do both.” You said, and you really could. It wasn’t that hard to tap reboot every couple of seconds, especially when you weren’t concentrating on playing hide-and-seek with a killer.

Michael narrowed those sallow eyes of his, dark and glancing, “You’re covered in blood.”

You sat down by the trash can. You tapped the panel to reboot the audio and then dragged Michael’s backpack to you. “Thanks for the heads up,” you rolled your eyes, your tone a little sharper than you anticipated, but who could blame you. You were bleeding out, afterall. “Also, you stole my car, asshole.”

“You should have stayed home,” He said, eyes darting from camera to camera. For a brief second, you found it odd that he referred to his place as ‘home’ instead of ‘my home’ or ‘my place’ . You didn’t know why that stuck out to you.

You shuffled through Michael’s bag. You pulled out a large bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a few cotton swabs. You didn’t want Michael to know you were glad you came. Yes, you had disgusting, throbbing gashes all along your neck, chest, and arm—that wasn’t great. But you figured out a theory of where your best friend could be, you successfully tested out contraptions that gave you the ability to outmaneuver Springtrap, and—most enthralling and terrible of all—you made Springtrap boil with rage. Besides being bitten into, the night was a success. And even being bitten wasn’t so...

You rebooted the ventilation before inspecting your wound. You hissed when you used your fingers to prod at the gashes. They weren’t that deep, but they were deep enough. You took out your phone and used the reverse camera to get a better view. You were almost startled at what you saw. There wasn’t just one set of teeth marks, but two . One large set of uniform-like marks encircled smaller, jagged and uneven ones right at the crook of your shoulder.

It wasn’t just the animatronic that bit you. The corpse did too.

You waited for the rage to wash over you, the anger to burn like a fire through your veins. It didn’t come, however, and you were beginning to understand why.

“How...” Michael had briefly glanced at you, a slight crease to his dark brow. You looked at him, your expression without cold or heat. You rebooted the audio again, before returning your gaze to encourage him to continue. “ How are you not dead? ”

Your eyes widened slightly. Michael had so many secrets and knew so many mysteries that you were shocked you knew something he didn’t. You dabbed antiseptic on cotton as you said, “Isn’t it obvious?”

Michael shot you a quick, annoyed look. You ignored it as you began to wipe the blood from your shoulder with a hiss of breath. It stung, sharp and sour. It was better that it burned than festered, however.

“I’m fun. He likes me.”

Another sharp glance came from Michael, “I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” You could see how your statement sounded like a joke. However, you knew it was true, and you knew it because you weren’t angered by two rows of teeth marks. “Spring Bonnie likes to play and your dad likes to chase. I’m terrified of him, but I still take risks. I wander the attraction like a carrot on a stick, but I keep escaping death just in time. I’m fun . He likes me, so he wants to keep playing the game.”

Michael looked horrified —his brow twisted, his mouth open in shock, and his void eyes blown wide. You had never seen an expression so clearly written on his decayed features, but underneath the horror, you could see understanding in his eyes. He knew his serial killer father, and he knew you were right.

He didn’t know how right you were, however. As you dabbed at your stinging wound, you knew that while everything you said was true, it wasn’t all of it. You were fun to it and he did like you, but there was something more; the reason you weren’t angered by two rows of teeth marks.

There was... a strange intimacy between you and Springtrap, one you were loathsome but compliant to admit. It was an intimacy that replaced romance with hatred and sex with violence, but the desire and elation remained. It was why your head felt light when thinking about him in pain, and why you didn’t hide the scars he left on you. It was why you weren’t acting when you leaned into his touch, caressing his claws as they dabbed at your tears. You believed he wasn’t acting either when he gave you faux tenderness.

And the icing on the twisted, corrupt cake? While you were in deep (too deep for your liking and sanity), Springtrap was in deeper . You knew this because of one simple fact: You were alive . He had the chance to kill you when he took a bite of your neck, and he didn’t . You had no doubt, no hesitation that if you had the chance to kill him, he would be dead where he stood .

That was his weakness. He wanted to keep playing, but you wanted to win.

You knew this ‘intimacy’ was poison. Yet, you couldn’t stop yourself from drinking it. Your anger was a fire, and you would happily be consumed by it if it meant so did he.

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