Lost Hat request

Freddy was in a bind. 5:30 AM, and he couldn’t find his hat. A brown hand came up to rub at his bald, uncovered head self-consciously.  He needed to track down his top hat, and fast. It wouldn’t do for the kids to see the face of family fun at anything other than his best.

The animatronic climbed down off the show stage, where he had been standing and awaiting the pizzeria’s opening, to start his search. The first thing to grab his attention was Bonnie. The rabbit was picking up chairs that had been scattered around the room. One table in particular was in complete disarray, completely pushed out of its usual position; party hats flung everywhere; tablecloth ripped.

Freddy walked over with slow steps, greeting his friend. “Hey there, Bonnie. Do you need any help with that?”

Bonnie, of course, saw through the mask covering his anxiety immediately. “I’m fine here, Freddy.” The robot picked a fallen chair up with one massive hand. “What’s the matter? I haven’t seen you so worried in a long time.”

Blue eyes were cast downwards, brown hands wrung together. “Well I seem to have misplaced my hat. You haven’t seen it lying around anywhere, have you?”

Bonnie assumed a thinking pose. “Well gee, Freddy, I haven’t. Here, let me help you look.”

The duo finished cleaning up the dining hall in a jiffy and proceeded to poke around trying to find the lost headwear. Alas, the black top hat remained missing. “Sorry, pal. I can’t find it anywhere. Maybe Chica’s seen it,” Bonnie said.

“That’s alright,” responded Freddy. “Do you know where our feathered friend is?”

“Where else? The kitchen of course!”

Freddy and Bonnie shared a chuckle together, before the bear bid his fellow entertainer farewell and crossed the room to the hallway the kitchen was on. Already, he could hear the banging of pots and pans. Underneath the cacophony, Freddy could hear some annoyed muttering, but couldn’t make out what was being said.

A few long strides and a little pushing and Freddy was through the swinging doors and in the pizzeria’s kitchen. Immediately, the clanging of metal on metal got even louder. In the middle of it all was Chica. The yellow animatronic had her back to Freddy and appeared to be absorbed in the process of making a pizza.

“Chica,” Freddy called out. No response. “Chica!” Again, not even a twitch to show that she was listening. If anything, her mumbling got even more intense. Freddy held back a sigh. Chica got like this sometimes. Were Freddy not the boss of the pizzeria, he might go so far as to say that she was obsessed, caring too much about something like pizza.

Of course, he was Freddy Fazbear. The concept of caring too much about pizza was one he found preposterous. Instead, he merely did what he did every time Chica got like this. Crossing the kitchen, he stopped just out of reach of the chicken’s arms just in case she reacted poorly to getting shocked, as she had before, and cautiously reached out and tapped her shoulder.

“Buh-gawk!” Chica squawked in surprise and spun around. She stared through Freddy, eyes wide and unfocused, for a moment before calming herself down with some deep artificial breaths. Right after, her expression changed to one of outrage.

“Freddy!” she shouted, an arm coming up fast to slap him on the shoulder. “You know I don’t like getting surprised like that! I haven’t been that scared since that time the security guard snuck up behind me backstage!”

“I’m sorry, Chica, but you know how you get sometimes when you’re cooking,” Freddy apologized.

Chica crossed her arms and harrumphed. “Well, as long as you’re sorry.” Her gaze wandered up from Freddy’s contrite expression. She blinked. “Boss, what happened to your snazzy top hat?”

The bear in question tugged at his bowtie nervously. “That’s why I’m here, actually. Bonnie and I searched the party room but we couldn’t find it, and time’s running out. We’re going to be open soon and I won’t have my hat.”

A quick check of her internal clock showed he was correct. “Why don’t you try Pirate’s Cove? You went by there earlier, maybe Foxy knows something.”

Freddy nodded. “Thank you, Chica. I’ll talk to him.”

“By the way,” Chica said when Freddy turned to leave, “could you talk to management later? This new shipment of pizza sauce is really runny and thin. Again. Wherever they’re getting it from must be watering it down. It seems like I have to deal with this at least once a week.”

“Alright, Chica. I’ll make sure to bring it up later. Thanks again.”

Chica waved bye to him and turned back around to continue cooking. Freddy traced his steps back through the dining room and to the other hallway. Bonnie was already standing on the stage, ready for his day to begin. When Freddy reached the Cove he stood in front of it and knocked on the sign. A few seconds went by before Foxy poked his head out.

“A-A-Ahoy, captain.”

Freddy reached up to tip his hat in greeting by reflex, but caught himself and lowered his arm. “Greetings, Foxy. How are you doing?”

Foxy tilted his head. “Hoist the anchors! Set sail for adven-ven-ven-ven-ven…”

Freddy hummed in response. “That’s good to hear. I was wondering if you had seen my hat anywhere. I’ve lost it, you see.”

The fox stretched his broken jaw even further open and released a piercing, inhuman screech. Freddy snapped his fingers. “Oh, of course! How could I have forgotten to check backstage? Thank you so much, Foxy, I’m sure my hat must be there.”

Some sparks flew from Foxy’s head. Had the two animatronics been capable of smelling, they would have noticed the suddenly very strong scent of smoke. Foxy reached out with his working hand and pinched a smoldering piece of curtain.

“Okay,” said Freddy, “I’ll mention that to management. Thanks again, you’ve been so much help.”

Freddy turned and made haste for the backstage. There was no time to lose. Even if his hat wasn’t back there, it was likely there was a spare lying around somewhere. Really, Freddy had no idea what he was thinking. The backstage should have been the first place he looked!

The door to the backstage was cracked open when the bear reached it, and what dim light could be found outside spilled into it when Freddy opened the door all the way. He peeked in and smiled, shoulders slumping with relief. There was his top hat, in all its dented glory.

Grin stretched across his face, Freddy sauntered over and picked his hat up off  of the ground next to the table with the spare costume on it with a flourish. Firmly affixing it atop his head with both hands, he felt a sense of completeness wash over him. Satisfied at last, Freddy looked down.

“Now, now, Mr. Schmidt. It’s not nice to take people’s things like that. I understand that every Freddy needs his hat, but you really should have grabbed a spare from one of the boxes instead of taking mine.”

Mike, cruelly, was still alive in his prison of metal and rubber. When the rumbling vibrations of Freddy’s baritone voice reached his ruined eardrums he let out a rattling wheeze. Even with his shattered bones and torn muscles, his limbs still twitched fearfully as he blindly struggled to get away from the monster standing next to him.

The clock chimed 6. Freddy laughed, deep and bellowing, and casually walked back to the stage. All was right with the world. The door to the backstage closed behind him, plunging the room in darkness. Michael Schmidt lay in agony, hoping in vain that he could still be saved.