Chapter Text
It had been a year since he had left hospital, a year since he had lost a good job because his co-worker had used his claws to communicate more than his mouth, and a year since he had been forced to cut ties with his closest friends. You would think it would affect him more, but it didn't. He told himself it was more inconvenient than anything else, it was his therapist's problem to deal with. Currently, he was driving down the world's dustiest road hoping that the next city he reached would be more comfortable. A normal person would have taken a plane to save time, but the metal embedded in his ribs set off security alarms more times than he could count. He could feel his face scrunch up as he remembered the mind-numbing wait times caused by it.
Out on the open road he could go wherever he wanted. There were no more strict rules tying him to one place or forcing him to see the same faces every day. Sometimes, when he really wants to, he can bring himself to remember the good times, but this can also lead him to dwell too much on how he lost his purpose and how he can no longer play his bass without a sturdy glove to hold his left hand together — his fingers were crushed and it took a long time just to be able to grip a steering wheel again. Fun things like that. He needs new friends too; the ones he made at his last place of residence are as memorable as the arguments he has with shampoo bottles in the shower. They're meaningless, only there to make him feel better temporarily. He eventually learned it's not healthy to keep treating people like this.
Jeremy's uncle lived in the city and had promised him a safe place to stay while he figured things out. The man knew he was suffering and sympathised with his loss of purpose after the previous Freddy Fazbear location shut down for good. The guy probably still had his suit, as the business wanted nothing to do with the older models. The Glamrocks were the pinnacle of Springlock technology — you could get hit by a car in one of those and the safety features would give you enough time to get out before the endo snapped into place. The moisture issue? That was a thing of the past after they changed the metals and designed full-body suits for the actors to keep everything off the locks. Older ones? Nah, you could twist wrong and SNAP! You'd meet God while dressed like a furry. Why his relatives, who also played the rabbit, kept their suits was beyond him, but he knew that some had become too attached to the characters they sold their souls to play.
After a few hours he finally managed to escape the stifling oven that was his car. He really needs to get the air conditioning fixed before summer; driving endlessly without taking breaks will bake him alive. To add more on his repair list, the road hits the rusty springs too hard, setting off his nerves and triggering every other issue in his body. He had parked at a small convenience store on the outskirts of Hurricane, Utah. Considering he hadn't changed the oil for a while either, he took a moment to check the vehicle's exterior as well, a 1979 Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham with a frankly gorgeous purple paint job. He had bought it cheaply from old man Sam, the Spring Bonnie actor who went into rehab after that bastard Afton got him hooked on something in the '80s. Sam is a better person since getting help but being linked to fucked-up murders wasn't a great look regardless. Jeremy knew the guy was more than his past, it was this kindness that had got him his first temporary home after he was discharged. It turned out that the Gold bros were great with lingering Springlock issues since they were the guinea pigs for it back in the day. Hearing how Fred had his jaw nearly ripped off was a grim reminder of how little the owners cared about the actors back then, as long as the characters were 'lifelike' it didn't matter how many injuries were caused chasing that goal. Despite the horror stories from the 60ish-year-old actors, it was basically home until Jeremy figured out how to cope with his life-changing problems and wanted to leave. The pair are retired and peaceful despite the rumours about Fred being a "nightmare" it was age that mellowed him out.
At first, he had just planned to go in, quickly grab a drink from the back of the fridge so that he wouldn't overheat and then leave, but after walking in and instantly feeling the air conditioning chill the sweat on the back of his neck, he decided to linger for a while- just until it became too much. He adjusted the collar of his old bowling shirt and checked his appearance as he passed the glass doors of the freezers. His eyeliner was good, teeth white and clean even with the tooth gap, his shirt was fixed, and his black trousers went well with anything. He wished his hair would stay in place for once; he looked like an edgy teenager going through a colourful phase. Hopefully he would avoid putting in a job application at this store. The lingering need to please every Karen and child was a habit he wanted to break, but at least the place was like a freezer when it got hot. Right, what was he here for? A drink. Right, a drink.
Walking past the ice creams and frozen dinners section, eventually he reached the drinks shelf around the corner. Much to Jeremy's horror the shelf was stocked to the brim with that liquid nicotine, Fizzy Faz. That cheerful orange mascot... No, he couldn't think about him; that made the 'normal life' shtick harder to deal with. Leaving him behind had broken his heart. Did he have to skip the entire continent just to get away? He'd heard that the UK didn't have much Fazbear stuff and that healthcare was free, so maybe he needed to consider more drastic options after all. Before Jeremy could continue his downward spiral, he overheard the word 'Pizzaplex', which froze him in his tracks. Seriously? He'd only been out of his car for three minutes and was instantly haunted again.
It's become horribly embarrassing how a sudden mention of the Pizzaplex can make his blood turn cold. He was laughed out of an arcade last week after a bootleg Monty plush toy nearly caused him to have a panic attack! His cousin had to drive him home because his hands wouldn't stop shaking. The problem is seeing Fazbear products off the property. He could be locked in a room filled with them if he was on the premises, but it felt like they were following him no matter where he went. If he was only ever on high alert, he might be able to cope, but he stays on edge for hours and he starts getting twitchy. Despite having a good reason to hurry, a morbid curiosity prompted him to move further down the drinks aisle, just in case he was on the edge of some gossip.
"Yeah, my brother works as a security guard out there. He told me that there have been signs of a child after hours, which is freaking out the staff!" One woman chirped out as she browsed the shelves, "Tammy, that's so BS," her friend he's guessing snapped back. "Your brother's crazy if he thinks a kid is hanging out after hours with those creepy robots running around all the time," her friend's sibling was delusional in her opinion. The rude friend had a point; the actors wouldn't just let a child stay. It would put them in danger of losing their jobs and the child would probably be another missing person by now. Ugh, he can't let himself get pulled into this mess — not his circus, not his monkeys! Fazbear's shitty reputation was finally behind him even if their questionable business practices were still a topic of discussion.
"He hasn't seen the kid for a while, though. Who knows? Maybe it was a ghost~" the first woman had replied to the friend and it made him nervous. He was just glad they couldn't see him otherwise they would have witnessed him going pale. Oh God! If there really was a kid there who hadn't been seen for a while, that could only mean one of two things: either the kid had croaked and one of the actors or staff had done it, or the brat had had the right idea to leave the Pizzaplex. Yeah... he's not going to sleep well tonight. The thought of Frederick, Susie or Roxanne getting involved in that pit of drama, crime and horror made his heart sink. If it was Monty, then he got what was coming to him, but the thought of a child actually being—no, no, he needs to stop overthinking. He just needed to buy a drink, get to the car, and go to his Uncle Benjamin — one step at a time, just stop thinking.
Jeremy stormed past the women and went straight to the fridge with the chilled drinks. He hastily grabbed three random bottles and went over to the self-checkout. Why was his pulse racing? He could feel his palms starting to sweat and his breath coming out in pants. He couldn't afford to let the anxiety consume him in public again. Thankfully, the self-checkout decided to cooperate and not call him out on his scanning ability. He just swiped his card where necessary and left. The outside world no longer felt calming or peaceful; now it felt as if everyone was staring at him. He looked down at the bottles in his arms, and for a brief moment, they didn't look right: his pale, scarred skin had suddenly turned bright blue, adorned with spiked bracelets and dark blue, fingerless gloves. This was enough to make him jump and almost drop everything, but he managed to get back to his car, nearly tear the door off, and collapse onto his seat. He took a deep breath, set his things on the seat beside him, and started counting backwards from ten. When that didn't work, he closed his eyes and put his hands on the wheel, letting the cool, smooth finish soothe his need for a familiar, grounding touch.
Breath in
Hold it
Breath out
Breath in
Hold it
Breath out
Okay, he should be fine right? Now that he was somewhat settled again he should start the last leg of his journey before it starts getting dark. He opened his eyes and saw the store in front of him again. At least calming himself down was getting easier, but the root of the issue remained. A creeping pattern of feeling out of place whenever Fazbear is mentioned. Jeremy was always impulsive when it came to intense paranoia and anxiety, but suddenly hallucinating that he was back in his suit really threw him off. He sometimes felt like a different person, after that moment at the arcade his cousin pointed out that he was acting fake. Was it some kind of weird mental thing? Did he get too panicked and go all Glamrock to brush off the problems that plagued him? This was the kind of overthinking that drove his family batty, honestly. His dad hated the mental strain so much that as soon as Jeremy turned 18 he was sent to a college of his choice on the condition that he didn't move back home. Contact was cut when he dropped out in his second year to work at the Pizzaplex. Look where that got him... sitting in a parking lot, staring at a store, with cold bottles dripping condensation onto the leather seats of a car once belonging to the last Bonnie who went crazy. Maybe his dad was right...