Chapter Text
While Charlie went to clean up backstage and actually help the girl he found backstage, Norman stayed in the kitchen. Away from the horrific event that just occurred, away from what was happening, off to the side. Doing nothing but sitting there and feeling useless. Being useless.
Then again, he knows that if he were to actually try to help, he’d just get in the way. He nearly threw up when he saw it. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from screaming or crying or freaking out some way or another if he had to keep looking at it. Or if he had to touch it…
He gagged at the mere thought. Wimp. Yeah, it was better for him to stay off to the side and let Charlie handle this. She had a basic understanding of how the animatronics worked, similar to himself, but wasn’t a wuss, like him.
To his credit though, he doesn’t think most people would respond very well to seeing… That.
(That. Because he can’t bear to think of what he saw as her. )
He strained to hear outside of the kitchen for a sign that Charlie might almost be finished. It’s tricky, even though he’s only a few rooms over, everything seems so distant, but he can pick up on a few creaks and loud squelch, and suddenly he prefers listening to the drone of the refrigerator instead. Refrigerator. Food. Maybe he could reheat some pizza? They didn’t really need to eat, (or, at least, he didn’t think they did. He couldn’t think of why they would need to) and he didn’t think he’d have much of an appetite for the next few days, but sometimes the simple task of throwing some cheap toppings onto an uneven crust splattered with sauce and tossing it into the oven could get his mind off of things. And maybe Susie-Charlie said her name was Susie, right?-- would want some once she woke up. Oh, what would they tell her when she woke up?
Maybe start off by being understanding? Yeah, nice and calm and reassuring. Norman could do that. “I know this must be very confusing for you, but you can ask me anything and I’ll try my very hardest to answer.” Yeah. Something like that. Maybe an apology, too. “I’m so sorry this happened to you.” Or was all of that too formal? Think. What was something he wished someone said to him after he woke up in Fredbear?
“You’re just having a nightmare.”
Norman was many things, but a good liar wasn’t one of them. Tired was, though. Maybe if he just lay his head down and rested his eyes…
Are you really going to sleep through this? Susie was about to have the undeniably worst night of her life, and Norman was seriously going to sleep through it, and leave Charlie to deal with everything herself after Norman already left her to do the dirty work? Even if things are better off without him interfering, it’s still selfish to rest and avoid the pain that will flood the halls later. So, to stay awake, he stands up and paces the kitchen. Loud, clunky steps that reverberate through the restaurant. It's annoying and jarring and keeps him awake, so he does it for ten or so paces, then realizes that it's probably distracting Charlie, can he do anything without getting in the way, so he stops and sits back down.
Maybe he should just sit and think and—what was the word? Process. He knew that if he sat here and processed now, when he was by himself, then he’d be able to think better later. So where to start? Did it matter? Should he just pick any one of his racing thoughts and try to think through it slowly?
He tries it. The first thought isn’t one he wants to ponder alone. Even if he already knows the answer, he doesn’t know how to—no, he doesn’t want—
Oh, he just wants someone else to say it first.
Maybe he should just let them come and go. That’s what his school counselor said to do, right? To just let them happen? Oh, he wishes he had his paper packet with his breathing techniques with him. The only one he can remember is counting to five two times and three two times.
Go through the cycle once, and if it doesn’t work, try doing it again.
So Norman sits, and counts to five and three. Over and over and over. One, two, three, four, five.
When will she be back?
One, two, three.
What will happen to Freddy’s? Will they shut down?
One, two, three, four, five.
What happens now?
One, two, three.
He repeats this cycle, his eyes screwed shut, the same questions repeating in his mind like an old broken cassette tape, until he heard a clink to his left. He opened his eyes and saw a looming, lanky figure standing beside him.
He nearly jumped out of his skin.. Why didn’t he hear her footst-oh right. She doesn’t walk.
“Charlie!”
“Hey.”
She stares forward, away from him.
“Charlie,” he says again, though he forgets what exactly he wanted to say. Did he even want to say anything at all? “Is-um—should we?-“
“I think we have a few minutes. It was taking a while.” Her voice is a little rough. It doesn’t really sound like she’s been crying or is about to cry, though, like how he does right now. It just sounds tired.
“Oh.” Real helpful. Everyone, let’s give Norman Afton a round of applause for his contribution here. Say something that isn’t pointless, dummy!
What else is there to add? Or should he just be blunt and ask some of the questions brewing in his mind? Wait. Help. He could offer help.
“Do you wanna… Go lay down? I-I can explain things to her when she… If you want. Af-after all, you already…”
Charlie sighs in a tired, exhausted way that says I would greatly benefit from the obvious solution you just suggested, but will refuse to do it for the following reason: “Susie knew me before all this. She should have a familiar face to help.”
“Oh.”
Useless.
“Um, well… What do you think we should do to help her?”
She’s quiet for a moment too long, and he debates over whether to ask again in case she didn’t hear him when Charlie speaks again.
“Other than the obvious, I guess just moving around and stuff. I can take care of everything else; but I can’t really show her how to get around.”
“Oh. Yeah.” Yes, he can help her with something! “Yeah, I’ll do that.”
The two sat in uncomfortable silence. He turns to the clock. 1:47. How long would it take for Susie to be like them? What if it took hours? Or even a full day, and an employee noticed something was wrong so they did a maintenance check and found her mutilated body drenched with blood, from being crushed against an endoskeleton and mechanical innards—
“Do you think it was him?”
“What?”
The question flies out of his mouth before he can even process what he’s asking, the question eating away at him. “The person who… Did that. Are you sure it was my father?”
He’s never hoped for anything harder in his life; please say no. No matter how unlikely it could be, please, please—
Charlie sighs again, and she looks at him with pity, like he’s somehow the biggest victim on this terrible, terrible day.
“Oh, Norman…”
In spite of himself, he started to cry.