Springtrap had blood on his hands.
Specifically, it was only really one finger.
Specifically, it was more a mixture of blood, rotting flesh, and whatever other bodily fluids lingered in William Afton’s partially mummified decomposing head and was accessible via Springtrap’s mouth, without opening said mouth to the point where someone would notice said partially mummified decomposing head.
Springtrap spun on his heel, faster than he probably should have considering how his knee was feeling, but whatever. His leg would have to handle it. JJ’s life was more important. He started to scrawl frantically on the wall.
The Puppet stepped towards him, once, then again, slowly, slowly, like a cat stalking her prey.
“I'm not going to bother reading your lies,” she hissed. Her voice was low, menacing, filled with anger and hatred.
“You’re the killer, plain and simple. You took the lives of eleven innocent children, tore them from their families, and you trapped them here. They can’t even rest, move on because of you.
“Susie, Gabriel, Fritz- all of them are dead because of you . Because you, for some twisted reason, decided those innocent children needed to die. Why? Were you jealous of our success? Do you have some hatred of Golden Freddy? Was it because some dark part of your mind grew and spread when you were retired, until it took over your being? Or was it something else?”
Springtrap’s mouth opened slightly, as if to reply, even though no words would ever come out. He was stunned. Not only was the Puppet ignoring his last, desperate writing, not only was she holding him responsible for the deaths of the children, but she had implied he had some problem with Golden Freddy. With Fredbear. His Fredbear. The nerve.
And he was silenced. If she wouldn’t read his words, his sole method of communication, he was doomed. And so was JJ.
having a good day.
First, she’d been threatened by Freddy to tell the four Classic animatronics about Springtrap. Then, Springtrap had vanished, allegedly into thin air. Then, Springtrap had reappeared, and Freddy had caught him. Then, the Puppet had found out about Springtrap and gone for him. Now, she was a hostage so that the Puppet could take her friend down.
And she didn’t doubt she’d be willing to go through JJ if she had to. Not for the first time, she wished she’d been built differently- stronger, faster, full-size instead of only being a few feet, something . She hated being at the mercy of so many animatronics- even if they usually wouldn’t hurt her. And then the kids- the number of times she’d been kicked by some asshole. There was a reason she kept hiding under the guards’ desk.
But JJ wasn’t going to go down that easily. Sure, the Puppet was far bigger, stronger and faster than her. Sure, she was dangling upside down by her ankle. Sure, she was small, ignored, overlooked.
Springtrap was a watcher, a listener. He was mute. But she wasn’t. And she could be fairly loud when she wanted to.
She scanned the wall, flipped it upright in her mind. Springtrap was mute. So JJ would be his voice.
JJ declared loudly, ignoring the angry hiss from the animatronic holding her.
“I- Springtrap is an old animatronic, even by our standards. I- he performed for twenty years, was dragged around assorted locations for ten, and then sealed away inside a wall for another thirty, before those who work for the Fright found him again. He has seen many things. The good, the bad, the bloody...”
The Puppet growled, tried to cover JJ’s eyes, her mouth, but JJ had a photographic memory like every other animatronic, and her voicebox was not restricted by her mouth. So she kept reading, kept going, only changing the pronouns used, leaving everything else.
“...He was the suit; the costume the Man Behind the Slaughter wore, as he lured ten of his twelve victims to their fate. He was the suit; unable to speak, to move, to so much as twitch an ear, let alone save them. And it hurt. Every time he bought his blade down on another innocent, every time blood spread across the floor, he wanted to scream, to cry, to mourn-”
JJ let out a cry as she was flung across the room, straight into Foxy’s face. She kept going as Foxy caught her, turned her upright, a confused and slightly worried expression on his face.
“...And then he'd take him off, leave him in the corner of the room, still, useless, left to suffer in silence, and to dread the day he would return. Eventually, the location would shut down, and he would be taken, and stored in another room, another Safe Room, away from the maps of the younger animatronics, away from the security cameras, away from any help.”
Here JJ hesitated, nervous about the pure distilled anger and contempt held in the Puppet’s gaze. Then she kept going. Springtrap was, ironically, the most eloquent animatronic in the room. JJ trusted him completely.
Puppet, we could spend all day going over what happened, how he felt, but we know you wouldn’t listen. You aren’t a sympathetic being; frankly, you’re an ass. But petty insults aside, you won’t believe us unless I bring some sort of basic logic to the table, something you inexplicably missed- or more likely ignored, in favour of the ridiculous narrative you’ve convinced yourself is the truth.
“And so we ask you this: how would Springtrap, a very much not waterproof animatronic , kill Charlotte Emily in the rain?”
JJ had heard the story before- second-hand, from Freddy, because the Puppet wouldn’t talk about it, but still. Something about how a child she’d been watching had wound up locked outside, and by the time the Puppet, short-circuiting from the rain, had found her, she’d been murdered.
Then she’d shut down from water damage.
Springtrap had a definite point- JJ didn’t know of
waterproof animatronics. They were built to live, perform, and spend their entire lives indoors, in whatever pizzeria, diner or similar place they were built for. And hadn’t the tapes explicitly stated that moisture was a problem for springlocks?
They were taking a risk, though- reminding the Puppet of her ‘failure’ was always a massive risk. She was already angered: pissing her off even more was not a good idea.
The Puppet’s eyes narrowed until JJ almost couldn’t see them anymore. She picked JJ up again, this time by the back of her neck- who thought it would be a good idea to give her
and unceremoniously chucked her toward Springtrap. The green rabbit caught her awkwardly, and turned her back around to face outwards.
“I’m guessing I don’t want to know what that stuff is?” JJ muttered to her friend. Springtrap shook his head.
Springtrap was displaying remarkable self-restraint. First, he hadn’t punched the Puppet in the face for threatening his friend’s life. Then, he hadn’t punched the Puppet in the face for implying he had a problem with the golden bear. Now, he wasn’t squeezing the life out of JJ in a hug.
That brave robot. That beautiful, brave, mildly suicidal robot. Springtrap loved her. He couldn’t ask for a better friend. He wasn’t sure how he felt about her being his voice instead of her own, but in the moment, it was exactly what he needed.
The Puppet didn’t seem convinced of Springtrap’s innocence- she was glaring at him quite intensely, actually- so he stuck his finger in his mouth again and started writing, still holding JJ with his other arm.
The Man Behind the Slaughter was a human. One with much sway in the company, one who was not what he seemed. One who I once trusted, before he drew the knife. A monster, who relished blood, but hid his twisted addiction so well he was never suspected. Someone who had children of his own, one of which may very well still live, and who deserves to live free of his father’s curse, which is why I will not tell you his name. Someone long gone. It does not matter. He’s dead. The children are safe from him. Isn’t that what you want?
JJ read it out as he wrote, changing the pronouns, leaving the rest. Doing what he couldn’t.
He had never been more grateful for her friendship.
The Puppet hadn’t moved. She was watching him, contemplating her next move, like a human hunting deer.
Springtrap really wished he hadn’t thought of that specific simile.
Bonnie was going slightly crazy. Springtrap, JJ, and the Puppet were all perfectly still, eyeing each other warily.
Just do something!
Bonnie knew he was impatient. He knew he couldn’t stay still for long. But this time, especially, with so much tension in the air, the stillness was stifling.
Freddy had watched the confrontation quietly, but it was the strangest one he had ever seen. Not only was JJ facing down the Puppet- something he wouldn’t dare to- for the sake of a highly damaged animatronic, but it was actually working. Or at least, the Puppet hadn’t made a move since flinging the poor animatronic halfway across the room.
And the way Springtrap was cradling JJ spoke volumes.
Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.
If Foxy had a tail, it would be lashing right now. As it was, he was even twitchier than Bonnie, and his time it wasn’t because his control fuses were malfunctioning.
But he didn’t dare interrupt.
Freddy put a hand on his shoulder.
Chica blinked. This was getting far more intense than she was expecting. Honestly, she’d expected this to be pretty one-sided; the Puppet would find Springtrap, tear him to pieces, and then they’d move on. Maybe JJ would be upset, but she’d manage.
Springtrap scrawled on the wall again. He was running out of space, but he managed to get another paragraph out of it.
He suffered a full-body springlock failure, if you must know. His skin was lacerated, his bones were crushed, his eyes were forced too far into the skull until they were crushed, and his lungs filled up with his own blood until he drowned in it. It took hours. Is that brutal enough for you?
Still holding JJ, Springtrap left the room, leaving the Puppet behind.