Chapter Text
Goldie, locked into the backroom by his own brother, and subsequently forgotten about for a decade. Hurt, alone, abandoned, traumatised, Goldie is given a chance to escape the room. Only to find he’d been replaced - not by one, not by two, not three, but 9 animatronics.
Now that he has his freedom, all he wants to do is live peacefully, alone, unbothered by others.
(Does he, though? Does he still crave interaction, even after a decade of solitude, even if the only ones to interact with are the very same that forgot him? That doomed him to his very own hell?
Yeah. He could be disassembled and remade into a microwave and he would still try to find a way to talk. It was in his nature to be social. Only, talking to them would probably mean his return to the backroom.
And he is never going back.
It was sort of funny. If your sense of humour was one of those degraded by a near decade of forced isolation. The door had slipped open while Goldie slept. The sudden beam of light in otherwise pitch darkness has pierced his eyes and rendered him immobile, the pure shock of the light reaching him, the fact that there was still an outside to this damned room, that there were others outside this room. That knew of the room. That knew of him. No sooner than he had begun to readjust to the light, the door had clicked closed again, the automatic lock sliding back into its place with a quiet thunk.
“Wh… at?” Goldie croaked, his voice box failing him from almost 10 years of disuse, reducing what came out to juddering static.
He stared at where the door had been opened. Where he’d had a chance at freedom. A release from this sensory hell.
“No…” He continued to stare at where the light had been, as if in hope it would just return. To wash his yellow-gold fur with its presence, to bathe him in its familiar fluorescent white glow. He’d have thought himself insane before he got locked in here, if he’d known what he’d be thinking now. That he’d miss even the buzzing of the lights that used to drive his mind insane and his servos haywire.
Goldie scrambled to his feet, rusted and unpracticed legs shaking to find grasp as he took shuddering, uncoordinated steps. Stumbling to the door, in an near-run as he tilted towards it, Goldie slammed his arms against the door.
“NO!” He screamed, static threatening to take over his words, to slur them into incomprehension. He pounded against the door, begging, pleading, for whoever that was to just please open the door. I won’t leave. I just want to see the outside. To see the walls I’ve been trapped within. To hear the buzzing of the lights and the delighted screams of children.
Oil poured from his eye sockets, drenching his muzzle in greasy black, a cheap imitation of tears as his joints finally gave in and his legs crumpled beneath him, sliding to the floor in a crash of pure despair.
“PLEASE! LET ME OUT!” This time static did overtake Goldie’s voice, the sound washing over his ears in an almost soothing manner. It was the only sound he’d heard for a long time that wasn’t his own servos clicking or the odd clang of metal, his body clashing against the floor.
I just want to leave. I won’t even look in your direction, Freddy, I promise. I just want to be free. I’ll even go outside. I don’t care if I die out there. I just want this all to end.
Goldie fell asleep for the last time, exhaustion overtaking him as he swore to himself. He’d never miss a chance like that again. He’d be ready. He’d be awake, constantly vigilant. Never tiring. Waiting for the next moment. For his chance at freedom.
For the next 6 months, which Goldie only knew had roughly passed as the overwhelming heat and muggy weather left and in its wake came bitter chills and biting winds, Goldie sat and stared at the door. Goldie hated winter. But he also loved it. It was complicated. Whilst he knew he absolutely detested summer, the disgusting humidity and heat slowing his motors and dampening his fur, air thick and heavy, he was unsure about winter.
Even though 8 winters had passed and a 9th was just arriving, time had not assisted his decision. Whilst winter didn’t dampen his fur, and the air was crisp and thin, his joints ached and motors still slowed from the cold. Every movement caused his joints to grind and halt, jittery movements that sent bolts of agony through him. The pain reminded him that he was still there. That he hadn’t been lost to the void.
(It hurt. But it helped. He could live with the pain if it meant knowing he was still running. Still ticking.)
But he was able to be still. He was used to it. He tried to make a game out of it once. Goldie gave up on it quickly when he realised it was much easier than he thought it’d be. He’d always been hyperactive. Needing to move, to talk, to do. The quiet left his head ringing with thoughts as they bounced around his skull, pinpricks of pain scattering across the inside of his endo.
He got used to not thinking. When all you could see was nothing, and a room so bare of texture and objects you couldn’t feel anything either, thoughts came by less and less.
Goldie missed the pain of the quiet. The feeling of needing to move. It was still there, of course, but without a way to act on it the urge faded into the buzzing nothing of his mind.
Goldie wasn’t even sure he was still staring at where the door was. Where the light had shone. What if he had fallen asleep and moved somehow? What if the light never existed? What if it was a dream? Goldie never dreamed anymore, and he rarely had when he was outside of the room, before, but it was always a possibility. Could Goldie have gotten so desperate that he would dream about the door opening?
The thought of that was terrifying. That he couldn’t distinguish between reality and delusion anymore. So Goldie chose to believe that it was real. That the light had been there. That he could feel the warmth of the path the light had projected. The alternative was something that he thought might be too much for him to handle.
That he might have finally snapped. Or that he already had. A long time ago.
10 years and 4 months.
That’s about how long Goldie felt had passed. The bite of winter had passed into the neutrality of spring, it was neither cold nor hot, and there was neither a damp humidity nor a dry air.
Just.
Nothing.
Spring might be Goldie’s favourite season.
He used to be able to see the plants bloom and trees sprout new leaves. Goldie doesn’t remember what that looks like anymore. He doesn’t know if he wants to. The knowledge of what he might have missed… that 10 years really had passed without anyone just… checking on him? Goldie doesn’t know if he’d rather the harsh truth or a white lie.
10 years and 4 months.
The light spilled through the door, a glow so harsh to Goldie that he almost hesitated. Almost.
10 months he had waited since the light had last appeared. He had not slept once, in fear of missing his chance. Now that it had arrived, nothing would stop him. His servos and motors refused to cooperate, so he had to make use of a skill he’d been unable to use during his time in the backroom.
Vwoop.
A soft pop rang out as Goldie teleported to the small amount of space he could see, his eyes not allowing him to see much more than a single black tile. But that was all he needed.
Goldie screamed as jolts of pain rang through his endo-skeleton, his joints twisting nearly past the points they weren’t meant to in the sudden drop onto the floor. But it didn’t matter. He was out of the room. He could feel the smooth tile, the ridges of each individual one against his ragged fur and pads of his paws, running his paw along them despite the intense pain that burned along his arm for it.
The tiles were cold, and after having sat for so long on the concrete of the backroom, seemingly having been heated by the amount of machinery and insulation surrounding it, it was bliss.
Tears of oil began spilling from Goldie’s eye sockets, large, ugly globs of it staining his grayed fur darker still, the brownish substance caressing his face. He didn’t care if he got thrown back in. He was in no position to resist. He finally got a taste of the outside of his backroom, even if he couldn’t see it with the way light pierced his eyes. He could be dismantled right now and he wouldn’t be happier.
Slipping his eyes closed, a smile stretched wide on his face and giddy laughter bubbling through pained cries and static wash, Goldie fell deep into the claws of exhaustion. He’d driven his body into overtime staying awake for 10 months. But now he could rest. And maybe this time he wouldn’t wake up.
Goldie groaned as he shifted. He pushed his paws beneath him and shoved himself upwards, motors and servos clicking as they whirred to life. The harsh light from earlier that had guided him to his freedom was gone, a cool blue cast on him from a light further up the hallway he was in. It was… surreal. He was here. Outside of the room. His room. He was free. It felt like he was moving in slow motion as he got up, pain racing across his endoskeleton as poorly maintained wiring was pinched between the skeleton’s crevices and sparked. Using the wall as an aid, Goldie slowly stumbled his way towards the corner of the hallway. If everything was left as it was before he was imprisoned in that… that hell by his brother - Not his brother anymore. As much as it hurt Goldie to think that, they couldn’t be brothers any more. - then the turn of the hallway should let him see everything. All of his pizzeria. Of his home.
Goldie dropped to his knees, his suit tearing at the knees and leaving a writhing darkness beneath its surface. It was gone.
Everything.
His stage. His home. His children.
It was all replaced. It was all fancy. Modern. New. And at the center of it all was his not-brother. He was evidently asleep, his eyes dull and limbs stiff, hanging down by his sides, microphone nowhere in sight. And-
Goldie swallowed sobs and cries.
He’d been replaced . Freddy replaced him. Goldie took some pride in the fact that it had obviously taken three whole animatronics to replace him, but that didn’t make it sting any less. His own brother had thrown him away, discarded him like he was nothing, just to replace him. Something shifted under Goldie’s hand. It was… paper? Looking at it more closely he realised the pizzeria had never stopped the practice of putting the kid’s drawings on display, all pinned to the wall. It was a drawing of the cast of animatronics. Despair filled him again, as he was hit with another realisation in his already overwhelming day.
There were more animatronics. The drawing depicted 10 of them total. Two bunnies, two bears, one fox and… something that might have been a fox? Whatever it was, it wasn’t a fox anymore. Two… Ducks? Chickens? It wasn’t really clear. And lastly, a puppet and a… boy holding balloons for some reason. Wait, was that an animatronic or a person?
Whatever.
It didn’t matter.
Goldie had been…
He’d been forgotten. No one remembered him. Not a single person or animatronic knew about him besides his brother.
And maybe his brother had forgotten about him too.
Goldie didn’t know what the better option was.
Was he left in the backroom because his brother had forgotten completely about him?
Or was he left in there because his brother wanted him to suffer? To stay in that hell?
Claws tore through the drawing, paper confetti decorating the floor.
It didn’t matter. All that mattered right now is that Goldie found a place to run. To hide. If he could find somewhere, anywhere to go without anyone being able to find him, he could be truly free.
But that’s not what he really wanted. He wanted to talk to people. He didn’t want to feel that isolation again. This wasn’t his freedom.
Pulling himself back up, Goldie staggered into the unfamiliar territory. The amount of time he’d spent in the pitch-dark space of the backroom had sharpened his vision in the dark, but somehow the dining room of the establishment had an even more prominent absence of light. His vision barely covered the room, black creeping up the walls when his vision wasn’t focused on them.
Goldie toppled over when his legs met a gate of sorts - except that it looked like a door cleanly cut in half horizontally, the top half missing. It was odd. - and his center of gravity went along with his torso, over the gate and sending him crashing on the other side. His reactions were too slow now. He wasn’t even able to teleport to safety. Goldie’s time in the backroom had left his parts needing some quality time with the repairmen, and now they had slowed down to a crawl. Pulling himself to his feet for what felt like the thousandth time, and wow was Goldie getting tired of that, he looked around and saw… a lot. There were children’s toys stacked everywhere, all on hooks and in boxes behind glass shelves. There was one really large box, which he could only assume had the biggest toys.
He needed it.
He clambered up next to the box, it was on a weird raised pedestal. Like people weren’t meant to be able to get up onto it. Ha, like that would stop him! Though, the box was weird too. It looked almost like one of those toys from when he was younger, the ones you’d wind up and a little creature would appear from it.
Maybe that was how you opened it? Goldie pushed the handle with all of his strength - which wasn’t much, but he’d been in a pitch black room with nothing in it except for dust for 10 years, ok? Give him a break - and carefully avoided the edge of the platform, soft music playing as he turned the handle. He closed his eyes, enjoying the melody as the handle turned. He quickly discovered this wasn’t exactly like his old toys though, in that it didn’t spring open but slowly opened up instead. Goldie peered inside, stretching his legs and standing on his tip-toes to do it.
White eyes stared back.
“You’re a weird toy.” Goldie continued to stare at the odd thing, and it looked oddly familiar. Black felt body with white stripes, a white ceramic mask with purple tear tracks delicately painted on and red painted cheeks. Almost like the one from the…
From the drawing. It was an animatronic.
His replacement.
The animatronic quietly spoke.
“Hi.”
Goldie screamed.
His eyes flicked back towards the shelves, where a glass counter lay in front of them. There were toys filling the inside of the counter, meaning whoever was behind it wouldn’t be too visible.
His voice box churred with fear as another soft vwoop rang out, appearing behind the counter. He craned his neck to peek between 2 plush toys, clearly meant to be the new - and god did it hurt his heart to think. ‘New.’ He was old. Redundant. Left behind. Truly replaced. - animatronics. The white eyes now appeared over the lip of the large wind-up box, contorted into shock. They seemed to be searching for him, scanning the area.
Then their eyes suddenly snapped to his, locked directly onto him.
Goldie yelped, whirling around and wrapping his muzzle with his paws. Someone saw him. Someone- someone that probably talked to Freddy. And if they were awake at whatever time of night it was, they were likely a lookout.
Security.
Someone that definitely talked to Freddy. He was so screwed.
Freddy would know. Would know he escaped. Would want to find him. Would want to put him back.
Goldie would rather be disassembled. Would even do it himself to escape it. (And wasn’t that a startling thought? He’s never… considered doing something like that before. Then again, he wasn’t locked in a room for a decade before.)
He had to find somewhere to hide yesterday. Somewhere Freddy wouldn’t think to look. Somewhere he wouldn’t dare to go. Somewhere that security animatronic couldn’t see him go.
‘ What do you mean go into the vents, they’re disgusting!’
‘They’re not that bad Freddy. They’re comfortable, and they’re nice and private!’
‘I wouldn’t go in there for any amount of pizza in the world.’
Where… where had that flashback come from? He’d not had any while he was in the backroom. Not even in the very few dreams he had.
Whatever, he wouldn’t be questioning it now. He had valuable information. There were several vents across the ceiling, but none close to the floor. Seems they had learned from the old pizzeria.
It’s fine, it just meant he couldn’t move once he was in them because of the noise. Not that he minded, he didn’t think moving would even be possible after this last teleport.
“Why are you hiding? I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.”
The soft voice echoed out into the room again, soothing his aching head and dropping his eyelids.
He shot up, back straight. That wasn’t normal. That… that voice just did something to him.
Did other animatronics have abilities too? Was he not the only one?
No time. Goldie had to go. He had a feeling that voice shouldn’t be listened to.
“S-st-sta-y aw-wa-y.”
The static once again slurred and threatened to warp his voice beyond recognition, but hopefully the threat kept the intent behind it.
A final vwoop was left in his place, body nearly collapsed in the vent above.
Promptly, Goldie passed out, the strain on his endo and the stress of the last 10 minutes of wiping him out.
He was safe.