Roommates - Mini #6 (Bonnibel's Bad Dream)

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Roommates - Mini #6 (Bonnibel's Bad Dream)
Inspired by Weaver's Five Nights at Freddy's Apartment AU: http://i.imgur.com/LnDJVNL.png
Part of an ongoing series written for the /5N@F/ General Discussion Thread at /vg/.
Sincerest thanks to Weaver (http://tgweaver.tumblr.com/) for all of the invaluable assistance in writing, proofreading, and editing this story as well as for illustrating the chapter title cards.
Questions or comments? Drop me an ask at http://roommatesau.tumblr.com/

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Years of enthusiastically attending raves, concerts, and parties trained me to be a pretty hardcore sleeper. I fondly remember spending many a night passed out on the floor in back offices of seedy warehouses, waiting for the stupor to wear off while eardrum-shattering bass beats all but concussed me to sleep. Partying was the only way I was able to cope through the relentless torture that was learning mechanical engineering. When my teachers asked me if I was interested in pursuing a higher degree, I'm pretty sure that I wouldn't be allowed to repeat my answer on television.

...or in a brothel.

In a lot of ways, it's a lifestyle I sorely miss, but sometimes reality has a way of taking you out back to the woodshed for your own good. Compared to my comrade-in-wings, I suppose I should be grateful all I lost was my beak. Most of the accidents that happened at Jeremy's were just that -- accidents. I, however, get the dubious honor of knowing what happened to me was nobody's fault but my own.

Honestly, it's a wonder that I even still get a check.

Ironically enough, losing my job forced me to become MORE responsible once I moved into this apartment. It's definitely changed my outlook on life considerably. Compared to my other roommates, I'm arguably the most level head in the place, so the apartment's concerns ultimately fall to me.

If Bonnie needs someone to take her to the doctor, it's usually me sitting beside her on the bus.
Whenever April needs help doing anything more complicated than feeding herself, all eyes turn to me.
If Mangle has a big rush order and the mail's already run for the day, it's my ass jogging down to the post office to beat the clock.

All that's not to say everyone doesn't pull their weight in some way or another -- Freddy's a wonderful roommate and a great housekeeper, Em's exceptional with numbers which is crucial in helping to keep our checkbook in the black, and even Bon helps in her own way whenever she can -- but when it comes to dealing with people? Well, they're not the ones standing in line for prescription refills or talking on the phone with utility reps to argue bills down.

My point is, I miss the party life but it's no longer an option with four other people under my roof counting on me to straighten up and fly right. While I'll always be a festive kind of girl at heart, I'll admit that reality has forced me to downgrade my standards for what quantifies as a party these days. I've traded in my beads and beer bong for pajamas and popcorn. For crying out loud, Bonnie does more jello shots these days than I do, even if hers are spiked with her medicine and not booze. Hell, don't tell Mike, but our weekly movie night is just as much for my own benefit as it is for Bonnie's. If I didn't have SOMETHING to look forward to each week, I'd have lost my mind ages ago.

"Chica...?"

Anyway, I digress. As heavy of a sleeper as I am and as comfy as my bed is (best damn fifty bucks I've EVER dropped on one of those online classified listing things -- seriously, I think this mattress was made with angel feathers and pixie magic), I've had to rewire my brain to immediately snap to attention whenever I hear that timid little bunny's voice call my name. Rolling over, I scan my bedroom with bleary eyes until I locate the fuzzy blue bundle of nerves.

"Hey, Bon," I murmur. "What's up?"

Bonnie shuffles toward my bed, and I can't help but smirk at her -- she's in her favorite pair of print pajamas, clutching the tiny stuffed bear that Mangle made for her birthday. "I... I th-think I had a bad dream," she squeaks, eyes wide and unfocused. Shifting up in bed, I yawn, stretching my wings.

"You... think?" I ask, warily.

"I mean, I don't know if it w-was real, or... or..." Bonnie trails off, hugging her "Freddle" close and running a finger around the brim of its tiny felt hat.

Uh oh. This clinical trial's been doing some freaky shit to this kid's head, and this is coming from someone who's been around drug addicts her entire life. I make a mental note to call and get her off of it first thing in the morning -- whatever they're paying her isn't worth this level of torment.

I give her a sympathetic nod before patting the bed next to me. "Why don't you come tell me about it then and we'll figure it out together?" I ask. Might as well let her vent a little, maybe it'll wind her down for the night so we can both get some sleep. Without hesitation, Bonnie scurries toward me and dives under the covers, pressing her petite frame against my side. I slide my best pillow under her head before propping myself up on a wing to get a better look at her face.

"S'horrible," she begins, shivering as she mumbles her words. "Scary z-zombies were allll over my room."

"Zombies?" I ask, eyebrow raised. "What kind of zombies are we talking about here?"

"Freddy was one," she moans. I bite my lower lip to keep from bursting out laughing as she describes him shambling down the sidewalk in front of her window, limping along on only one leg. "Mangle was there, screaming the entire time."

I nod, putting on a serious face. "Sounds like Mangle. What about me? Was I a scary zombie too?"

"No," Bonnie replies with a tiny smile in spite of herself. "You were a watermelon."

"Wait, the zombies turned me into a watermelon?" I ask with a frown.

"No, you were still you," she says with a giggle, thinking back. "But you were also a watermelon."

"I suppose it could be worse," I sigh. "Besides, we have a 'Mango' and a 'Peanut' downstairs so I wouldn't be that out of place."

She continues to weave me a story so outlandish and bizarre that it could honestly rival any tale Haddock's ever told, but I listen anyway, carefully interjecting commentary here and there to make her feel more at ease. I made the mistake of involuntarily laughing at something she told me once years ago when she found it deadly serious, and the look of complete and utter defeat on her face felt like an icicle being jammed straight into my heart. I've found that when it comes to dealing with Bonnie's phobias and anxieties, it's better to get her to realize how ridiculous things sound so that she can laugh it off first.

In some small way, I like to think it helps her overcome.

Bonnie looks up at me, yawning a little as she finishes explaining her nightmare. "So, uh... do you think it was real, or?" she asks.

I smooth her rumpled headfur back and kiss her forehead with what's left of my lips. "Of course it wasn't real," I reply authoritatively. "But it DOES sound like it was scary, so I'll let you bunk in here for the rest of the night. I'm putting a moratorium on scary movies until you're off this new medicine, though. And just in case, if anybody comes in to pry around or mess with you -- zombie, watermelon, or otherwise, they're getting a baseball bat to the shins."

Bonnie nods, hugging Freddle close as she buries herself in my feathers. "What do I look like, a pillow?" I sigh.

"Kinda," she says, all smiles now. "You're fluffy. G'night, Chica."

Satisfied that her needs are taken care of for the time being, I decide to make the most of the remaining few hours of sleep I'm going to get. Grabbing another pillow from behind me, I jam it under my own face before wrapping Bonnie tightly in my wing.

"Night, Bon."