Happy FNAFiversary

The clock chimed for six o’clock. Old audio of celebrating children hissed over the building intercom, crackling and distorted with time. Mike snapped awake in his chair. Bleary eyes gradually blinked their way into wakefulness and disorderly thoughts organized into cognizance. That’s right, he was at Freddy’s.

“Oops, overslept a bit.”

Mike stretched in his chair, wincing as his back lodged formal complaints at his falling asleep in the security office. He just wasn’t built for night shifts anymore, he supposed. There was a blanket covering him, as well, which was new. He didn’t remember wrapping up in one. The guard idly scratched at his chin, distantly noted that he needed to shave, and gingerly got up from his seat.

 The kitchen was a not-too-long walk down the hall, and Chica had told him some hours prior to stop by at the end of his shift, so Mike shuffled his way over. One jaw-popping yawn later and he was outside the door. As usual, the clanging of pots and pans was faintly audible, but everything went quiet after a single knock. Then, right as Mike was about to knock again, Chica cracked open the door and peeked out.

“Heya, Mike. Sorry, but I’m still a bit busy in here. Could I interest you in some candy while you wait?” A feathered hand stretched through the crack and offered him some caramel. Mike waved it off.

“You guys have been acting kind of secretive all week,” Mike said. “Any chance you’ll let me in on it?”

Chica shook her head. “Not yet, sorry. Just head over to the dining room and gimme a few more minutes. I’ll be right over.” The animatronic closed the door without another word, apparently accepting no argument, so Mike shrugged and did as she said.

Every night, the animatronics would gather together to clean up the dining area in front of the stage in between making half-hearted attempts at Mike’s life — Freddy insisted they all still do it for principle if nothing else, but nobody took it seriously anymore — and come opening hours the decorations for booked celebrations would be hung where appropriate. This time was no exception, and Mike walked in to half the furniture pushed along the walls to highlight a table covered in props in the middle of the room.

Freddy, Bonnie, and Foxy were apparently putting the finishing touches on a banner when Mike wandered over, and he caught the end of Foxy sending Bonnie away.

“... sewing kit in the Cove. Ya can’t miss it, it’s in the cookie tin next to my curtain,” Foxy said, before turning his attention back to the banner. Bonnie struck a lazy salute, nodded at Mike, and then walked off.

The two remaining animatronics were absorbed in their work, but Mike’s impressed whistle brought him to their attention. “Looking good, gentlemen. So what’s the occasion?”

Foxy tried to wink, forgetting that his eyepatch was still covering his eye. “Secret.”

Freddy was a bit more forthcoming. “Well, Michael, we’ve got an important celebration that we’re trying to get ready for. It’s a real doozy, so we’ve spent all night preparing for it. I apologize if you were bored tonight, none of us could spare the time to visit.”

“Bonnie’s been shirking enough to have had the time,” Foxy grumbled, but by now Mike and Freddy were used to Foxy’s complaints about his coworker’s work ethic.

Mike grabbed a chair and made himself comfortable. “Honestly, you guys have been coming knocking for so many years now that the vacation was appreciated.”

“Hopefully, Michael, that won’t be all that’s appreciated.”

The three continued to make small talk for a while. Bonnie slipped back into the group, so quietly that nobody even noticed until Foxy’s tin of sewing supplies were put down. Bonnie nodded again at Mike — “How was the nap?” — and then the group settled into silence.

While Freddy and, reluctantly, Bonnie, bustled around the room putting up streamers and putting down cups and plates, Mike kept himself busy by watching Foxy. The fox snapped open his tin, unscrewed his hook from his wrist, and carefully mounted what could only be most generously described as an invention from Victor Frankenstein’s fashionista cousin in its place. Then, he switched the eyepatch from his right eye to his left and squinted down at the fabric laying before him.

The animatronic moved with humanlike efficiency, spitting black smoke from his arm as he went. Mike leaned away from the smell, just in time to catch Chica bouncing into the room with a box in her hand.

“Party time!”

Chica ran over to the table in a hurry, and as as the others made room for her she placed it down with exaggerated caution. There was pink icing splattered around Chica’s bib, and when she opened the box Mike could see where it came from.

“Tada!”

A cupcake with eyes stared back up at Mike, bigger than his head by half. It seemed carefully constructed, practically display-worthy in spite of Chica looking like she had narrowly avoided a sugar grenade.

“Is the CEO’s kid coming in for a birthday or something,” Mike asked, impressed.

Foxy dropped his sewing attachment back into its case and snapped the lid shut. “Nah, Mike, unless it’s also your birthday today.” Then, with a dramatic flurry, he unrolled the banner.

HAPPY TENTH ANNIVERSARY

“Surprise,” Bonnie said, a beat late.

Freddy yanked the string on a party popper and frowned when it didn’t go off. “Ten years is a long time, Michael. We thought we would—“ The popper exploded and Freddy jumped. “Oops! Hmm, we thought we would do something to celebrate. You’ve been here longer than anyone else. Anyone that isn’t us, I mean.”

Mike was touched. “Honestly, it felt like longer.”

Chica clapped. “Ooh, I can’t wait! Here, your gift!” She shoved the cupcake towards Mike. He went to pick it up, then changed his mind when he felt how heavy it was. This thing could kill a cat if he dropped it, he thought.

“Thanks, Chica. Not sure if I can eat all this by myself, though,”

And with that, the anniversary festivities began.

Mike tore off a small handful of cupcake and brought it to his mouth, minding the crumbs as he ate. Bonnie grabbed a large pawful and made sure to make as big a mess as possible. Foxy poured some near-expiration soda into a cup for the human of the group and then emptied cans of WD-40 into cups for the nonhumans. Everyone had their fill, laughing and reminiscing.

“Remember that time Mike showed up to work in a snake costume and thought we wouldn’t realize it was him?” Chica slapped the table and laughed. Mike side-eyed her and took a sip of flat soda.

“Nah, I’m finding it easier to remember that week you kept trying out new accents,” Mike said. Chica flapped her arms and squawked.

“Maybe we should bring the mini-Bons back,” Bonnie mused. “Just, maybe not deep fry them this time.”

Foxy scraped the last of the cupcake frosting onto a plate. “I may have gone a bit far with the knot jokes, in retrospect.” There was a clang as his hook scraped against something hard in the cupcake.

Mike cocked his head to one side. “Chica, did you drop a pizza cutter in the food again?”

“No, silly,” Chica said, before reaching over to brush away a layer of cupcake. “Like I said, it’s your gift.”

Mike saw some rusty metal reveal itself from the crumb of the cupcake. He had a bad feeling. “Well,” he said, putting his cup down as quickly as he dared. “ I guess it’s about time for me to clock out. Opening is soon and you guys need to get the place straightened up a bit.” He moved to stand only to get forced back down into his chair by a set of heavy hands.

“Nonsense!” Foxy said. “After all, we’re still not done with the... party.” The last word was spoken with a certain intent that made the hair on Mike’s arms stand up.

Chica continued clearing the cupcake from what was beginning to look disturbingly familiar. “I, uhh, I don’t suppose that’s just the mold you used to make the cupcake hold it’s shape,” Mike asked weakly.

“Nope!” Chica chirped. She held up what Mike could now see was the shell for an old costume head, springs wound tight and metal latches barely holding together.

“Now let’s get you acquainted with your gift.”