Fic: Only Takes One Night (1/1)
So last night my friend convinced me to try playing "Five Nights at Freddy's" and record my reaction. You will not be seeing the video. But this is how I managed to finally fall asleep last night:
Title: Only Takes One Night
Category: gen, crossover, horror, humor
Rating: Teen (language, allusions to violence)
Warnings: See above, re: allusions to violence. Also, evil animatronic children's characters.
Spoilers: None for SPN, minor for Five Nights at Freddy's.
Author's note: Text in italics is transcribed from the game. Google to see images of the creepy-ass creatures in this. Just remember to turn on safe search. The internet is weird.
Summary: Sam and Dean take on a case at a failing family style pizza restaurant.
"I don't get it."
"What's not to get?" Sam stared at Dean over the top of the newspaper he held open over the diner table. "At least three people have gone missing on this case so far. All night time security guards employed at Freddy Fazbear's, all during their shift. No trace of them has been found."
"Yeah, yeah," Dean said, laying the paper down and stealing one of Sam's fries. "It's a case, no question. But why the hell is anyone answering this crappy ad in the first place? A hundred twenty bucks a week, Sam. I think even Wal-Mart pays more than that. And have you seen this thing?" He pointed to the photo accompanying the ad. "I want to kill it and I haven't even heard it sing yet."
"People are strapped for cash right now, Dean. They have to take whatever jobs they can get. even if that means working below minimum wage guarding a creepy animatronic bear."
"And his creepy animatronic friends," Dean noted. "There's a bunny and a chicken, too. But hey." He grinned at Sam. "At least there's no clowns."
*
"Jeez, what a freaking dump." Dean kicked a ball of paper across the watchman's office floor. "This is seriously it? Just a desk and a chair and four switches. And I'm supposed to stay here all night."
"Midnight till six AM," Sam confirmed over the earpiece Dean had picked up as soon as they realized only one of them was going to be able to work this job from the inside. "And don't forget the feeds from the security cameras."
"Yeah, got it." Dean flipped up the tablet and scrolled through the feeds. "Creepy animals on stage . . . bunch of crappy rooms, hallways -- huh. The feed on the kitchen's down."
"They're only shelling out one hundred twenty bucks a week," Sam said. "And the reports I dug up from the accounting office say that they'll be bankrupt by the end of the year. They probably can't afford to fix the cameras."
"Or the freaking generators," Dean groused. "Dude, the fan's not even running."
"Good thing it's November."
Dean sighed again, idly flipping through feeds on the tablet. The phone rang, but he couldn't be bothered to get up and get it. The machine picked up after two rings anyway, and a voice sounded in the semi-dark from its old school speakers.
"Hello? Oh, Hello!
"Uh, I wanted to record a message for you to help you get settled in on your first night. Um, I actually worked in that office before you. I'm finishing up my last week now as a matter of fact."
"Huh," Dean said, not paying close attention to the rest of the man's ramblings. "I thought this guy was dead."
"Disappeared," Sam said. "Last Thursday."
"'Welcome to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, a magical place for kids and grownups alike, where fantasy and fun come to life. Fazbear Entertainment is not responsible for damage to property or person. Upon discovering that damage or death has occurred, a missing persons report will be filed within 90 days or as soon as property and premises have been thoroughly cleaned and bleached, and the carpets have been replaced --' Blah, blah, blah."
"There is no way that disclaimer is legal," Dean said.
"Neither is their paycheck," said Sam.
"Point."
"So just be aware; the characters do tend to wander a bit. Uh, they're left in some kind of 'free-roaming' mode at night, uhh, something about their servos locking up if they get turned off for too long. Uhh, they used to be able to walk around during the day, too, but then there was 'the Bite of '87.' Yeah. It's amazing that the human body can live without the frontal lobe, you know?"
That got Dean's attention again. "Bite of '87?"
"I'll look it up," Sam said.
"Why the fuck does anyone work here?"
"Uh, now concerning your safety: the only real risk to you as a night watchman here, if any, is the fact that these characters, uh, if they happen to see you after hours, probably won't recognize you as a person."
"Recognize? Don't these things usually only barely have enough power to kind of twist slightly at the waist and waggle their jaws?"
"Freddy Fazbear's was always proud of their state of the art animatronics," Sam said.
"Right," said Dean. "Who wouldn't be proud of vicious, evil robots?" He checked the feed, noting the creatures' continued motionlessness on the stage.
". . . they'll probably try to uh . . . forcefully stuff you inside a Freddy Fazbear suit. Um, now that wouldn't be so bad if the suits themselves weren't filled with cross-beams, wiring, and animatronic devices, especially around the facial area, so you can imagine how having your head forcefully pressed inside one of those could cause a bit of . . . discomfort . . . and death. . . ."
"A bit of death. This guy was a fucking genius." Dean checked the tablet again. "Okay, bunny has left the stage."
"Yeah, I'm seeing that. I tapped into the security feeds from here. Looks like he's in the hallway."
"Doing what?"
"Nothing. Just . . . standing."
Dean sighed, looking at the children's drawings on the wall of the tiny office. "Yeah. That's not creepy at all."
One AM rolled into two AM, and the bunny moved to the dining room. Dean swung back and forth in his chair, watching the battery power that apparently controlled the tablet, the lights, and the freaking door locks tick down and occasionally checking the video.
"This job blows."
Out of nowhere, somewhere down the hall towards the rest of the building, a tinkling happy tune began to play. Dean frowned and checked the feeds. "Chicken's gone," he said. "And I'm getting some kind of music in here."
"I'm not seeing it on the feeds," Sam said. "Must be in the kitchen."
"Why the hell would the kitchen play music?"
"Hang on," Sam said. "Where's the bunny go?"
Dean looked up sharply at the door to his left, then switched the hall light on.
"Motherfucker!"
The rabbit, a great, hulking purple thing with a nose that'd look better on a hippo and fixed, staring eyes, stood frozen just outside the doorway, leering in.
"Dean!" Sam yelled over the earpiece. "Dean!"
"Found the bunny," Dean said, voice raised to be heard over the screech of distressed metal and the eerie chuckling.
"Are you okay?! What's it doing?"
"Burning." Dean set his homemade flame thrower on the floor and picked up the fire extinguisher. "It stopped wanting to stuff me in a suit once I blew its fucking head off."
"Yeah," Sam said after a moment's pause. "That'd help."
"Ugh." Dean wrinkled his nose and extinguished the burning bunny before it could set the office on fire. "This sucker's brains are all metal, but there's definitely some meat in there, too, by the smell. I think I just found at least one missing body."
"Did you salt it?" Sam asked. "In case it's haunted?"
"What am I, an amateur?"
"Oh fuck." Sam's breathing went heavier. "Dean, I can't find the chicken. And the curtains on the out of order pirate's cove are open. There's a fourth robot."
"Jesus Christ," Dean grumbled. He turned on the other hall light to see the chicken staring at him, mouth agape. "Who the fuck put teeth on that thing?" He blasted through its head and kicked the carcass onto the bunny, ready to set them both on fire if either so much as twitched.
"I've got my eye on the other two," Sam said. "Looks like they're not moving just yet."
"Thanks, Sam," Dean said, throwing salt all over the sparking chicken bot. "No way would I be able to keep track of all these things by myself."
"An ordinary citizen by himself wouldn't stand a chance," Sam agreed. "It's like these things can actually teleport." He was silent a moment, then let out a soft sigh. "Five am. One hour left."
"Are you kidding?" Dean asked. "It feels like it's been only, like, ten minutes." He checked the tablet. "Shouldn't have left these lights on, I guess. Down to single digit power."
"Think you'll have enough to finish out the hour?"
Dean watched the percentage meter tick down to two, then one. "Nope," he said. "Motherfucking piece of crap."
The one ticked to zero. A moment later, the lights went out.
"Dean? What happened? I lost the feed."
La Toreador began to play. Dean slowly turned to face the left side door, where Freddy himself stood, eyes glowing a flickering white, the spilling light silhouetting his big, blunt teeth in his mouth. Everything else was black as Hell's pitch. Dean stared, unmoving, as the music played out and the lights on Freddy switched off, leaving him in total darkness. He breathed, the air cold and ragged in his lungs, and wondered what it felt like to have your skull crushed in an animatronic suit.
Then the clock chimed, and Dean could swear he heard children cheer as five AM rolled into six and the light of the rising sun came through the hallway, lighting the carcasses of the rabbit and chicken and the complete absence of Freddy Fazbear or his sneaky pirate friend.
"Yeah," Dean said, loosening the death grip he had on his shotgun. "We're burning this whole place down."
The End
Title: Only Takes One Night
Category: gen, crossover, horror, humor
Rating: Teen (language, allusions to violence)
Warnings: See above, re: allusions to violence. Also, evil animatronic children's characters.
Spoilers: None for SPN, minor for Five Nights at Freddy's.
Author's note: Text in italics is transcribed from the game. Google to see images of the creepy-ass creatures in this. Just remember to turn on safe search. The internet is weird.
Summary: Sam and Dean take on a case at a failing family style pizza restaurant.
"I don't get it."
"What's not to get?" Sam stared at Dean over the top of the newspaper he held open over the diner table. "At least three people have gone missing on this case so far. All night time security guards employed at Freddy Fazbear's, all during their shift. No trace of them has been found."
"Yeah, yeah," Dean said, laying the paper down and stealing one of Sam's fries. "It's a case, no question. But why the hell is anyone answering this crappy ad in the first place? A hundred twenty bucks a week, Sam. I think even Wal-Mart pays more than that. And have you seen this thing?" He pointed to the photo accompanying the ad. "I want to kill it and I haven't even heard it sing yet."
"People are strapped for cash right now, Dean. They have to take whatever jobs they can get. even if that means working below minimum wage guarding a creepy animatronic bear."
"And his creepy animatronic friends," Dean noted. "There's a bunny and a chicken, too. But hey." He grinned at Sam. "At least there's no clowns."
*
"Jeez, what a freaking dump." Dean kicked a ball of paper across the watchman's office floor. "This is seriously it? Just a desk and a chair and four switches. And I'm supposed to stay here all night."
"Midnight till six AM," Sam confirmed over the earpiece Dean had picked up as soon as they realized only one of them was going to be able to work this job from the inside. "And don't forget the feeds from the security cameras."
"Yeah, got it." Dean flipped up the tablet and scrolled through the feeds. "Creepy animals on stage . . . bunch of crappy rooms, hallways -- huh. The feed on the kitchen's down."
"They're only shelling out one hundred twenty bucks a week," Sam said. "And the reports I dug up from the accounting office say that they'll be bankrupt by the end of the year. They probably can't afford to fix the cameras."
"Or the freaking generators," Dean groused. "Dude, the fan's not even running."
"Good thing it's November."
Dean sighed again, idly flipping through feeds on the tablet. The phone rang, but he couldn't be bothered to get up and get it. The machine picked up after two rings anyway, and a voice sounded in the semi-dark from its old school speakers.
"Hello? Oh, Hello!
"Uh, I wanted to record a message for you to help you get settled in on your first night. Um, I actually worked in that office before you. I'm finishing up my last week now as a matter of fact."
"Huh," Dean said, not paying close attention to the rest of the man's ramblings. "I thought this guy was dead."
"Disappeared," Sam said. "Last Thursday."
"'Welcome to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, a magical place for kids and grownups alike, where fantasy and fun come to life. Fazbear Entertainment is not responsible for damage to property or person. Upon discovering that damage or death has occurred, a missing persons report will be filed within 90 days or as soon as property and premises have been thoroughly cleaned and bleached, and the carpets have been replaced --' Blah, blah, blah."
"There is no way that disclaimer is legal," Dean said.
"Neither is their paycheck," said Sam.
"Point."
"So just be aware; the characters do tend to wander a bit. Uh, they're left in some kind of 'free-roaming' mode at night, uhh, something about their servos locking up if they get turned off for too long. Uhh, they used to be able to walk around during the day, too, but then there was 'the Bite of '87.' Yeah. It's amazing that the human body can live without the frontal lobe, you know?"
That got Dean's attention again. "Bite of '87?"
"I'll look it up," Sam said.
"Why the fuck does anyone work here?"
"Uh, now concerning your safety: the only real risk to you as a night watchman here, if any, is the fact that these characters, uh, if they happen to see you after hours, probably won't recognize you as a person."
"Recognize? Don't these things usually only barely have enough power to kind of twist slightly at the waist and waggle their jaws?"
"Freddy Fazbear's was always proud of their state of the art animatronics," Sam said.
"Right," said Dean. "Who wouldn't be proud of vicious, evil robots?" He checked the feed, noting the creatures' continued motionlessness on the stage.
". . . they'll probably try to uh . . . forcefully stuff you inside a Freddy Fazbear suit. Um, now that wouldn't be so bad if the suits themselves weren't filled with cross-beams, wiring, and animatronic devices, especially around the facial area, so you can imagine how having your head forcefully pressed inside one of those could cause a bit of . . . discomfort . . . and death. . . ."
"A bit of death. This guy was a fucking genius." Dean checked the tablet again. "Okay, bunny has left the stage."
"Yeah, I'm seeing that. I tapped into the security feeds from here. Looks like he's in the hallway."
"Doing what?"
"Nothing. Just . . . standing."
Dean sighed, looking at the children's drawings on the wall of the tiny office. "Yeah. That's not creepy at all."
One AM rolled into two AM, and the bunny moved to the dining room. Dean swung back and forth in his chair, watching the battery power that apparently controlled the tablet, the lights, and the freaking door locks tick down and occasionally checking the video.
"This job blows."
Out of nowhere, somewhere down the hall towards the rest of the building, a tinkling happy tune began to play. Dean frowned and checked the feeds. "Chicken's gone," he said. "And I'm getting some kind of music in here."
"I'm not seeing it on the feeds," Sam said. "Must be in the kitchen."
"Why the hell would the kitchen play music?"
"Hang on," Sam said. "Where's the bunny go?"
Dean looked up sharply at the door to his left, then switched the hall light on.
"Motherfucker!"
The rabbit, a great, hulking purple thing with a nose that'd look better on a hippo and fixed, staring eyes, stood frozen just outside the doorway, leering in.
"Dean!" Sam yelled over the earpiece. "Dean!"
"Found the bunny," Dean said, voice raised to be heard over the screech of distressed metal and the eerie chuckling.
"Are you okay?! What's it doing?"
"Burning." Dean set his homemade flame thrower on the floor and picked up the fire extinguisher. "It stopped wanting to stuff me in a suit once I blew its fucking head off."
"Yeah," Sam said after a moment's pause. "That'd help."
"Ugh." Dean wrinkled his nose and extinguished the burning bunny before it could set the office on fire. "This sucker's brains are all metal, but there's definitely some meat in there, too, by the smell. I think I just found at least one missing body."
"Did you salt it?" Sam asked. "In case it's haunted?"
"What am I, an amateur?"
"Oh fuck." Sam's breathing went heavier. "Dean, I can't find the chicken. And the curtains on the out of order pirate's cove are open. There's a fourth robot."
"Jesus Christ," Dean grumbled. He turned on the other hall light to see the chicken staring at him, mouth agape. "Who the fuck put teeth on that thing?" He blasted through its head and kicked the carcass onto the bunny, ready to set them both on fire if either so much as twitched.
"I've got my eye on the other two," Sam said. "Looks like they're not moving just yet."
"Thanks, Sam," Dean said, throwing salt all over the sparking chicken bot. "No way would I be able to keep track of all these things by myself."
"An ordinary citizen by himself wouldn't stand a chance," Sam agreed. "It's like these things can actually teleport." He was silent a moment, then let out a soft sigh. "Five am. One hour left."
"Are you kidding?" Dean asked. "It feels like it's been only, like, ten minutes." He checked the tablet. "Shouldn't have left these lights on, I guess. Down to single digit power."
"Think you'll have enough to finish out the hour?"
Dean watched the percentage meter tick down to two, then one. "Nope," he said. "Motherfucking piece of crap."
The one ticked to zero. A moment later, the lights went out.
"Dean? What happened? I lost the feed."
La Toreador began to play. Dean slowly turned to face the left side door, where Freddy himself stood, eyes glowing a flickering white, the spilling light silhouetting his big, blunt teeth in his mouth. Everything else was black as Hell's pitch. Dean stared, unmoving, as the music played out and the lights on Freddy switched off, leaving him in total darkness. He breathed, the air cold and ragged in his lungs, and wondered what it felt like to have your skull crushed in an animatronic suit.
Then the clock chimed, and Dean could swear he heard children cheer as five AM rolled into six and the light of the rising sun came through the hallway, lighting the carcasses of the rabbit and chicken and the complete absence of Freddy Fazbear or his sneaky pirate friend.
"Yeah," Dean said, loosening the death grip he had on his shotgun. "We're burning this whole place down."
The End