if you're indecisive with what you wanna do with a ship clap your hands
hello, it's me, and aflh is out, so yay, can't wait to have my heart ripped out a second time, cool, cool
anyway's here's some of that good sconnard content we all need, 100% angst free, i think
either way, enjoy it, or don't, have fun
don't forget to leave a comment, they help me out
"Hey."
The voice is faint.
"Hey," it says, a little impatient."If you're going to help out, you should at least go to bed on time."
Ennard wakes with a start, wires clicking wildly, glancing around. It's only—he checks the clock on the wall—eight in the morning, or somewhere around eight. He doesn't know. His vision feels blurrier than usual.
Then he realizes what he was dreaming, and almost groans. Once a year, there's always one day that memories hit harder, and things feel way different; Ennard's more reactive, more outgoing, and it's strange. It makes him feel like a stranger in his own skin.
The irony.
He stumbles to his feet groggily, feeling less put together than the time Scott'd found a bug in the living room, and stretches, wondering what that voice was. Probably wasn't important.
Scott's still sleeping in his room, since he usually doesn't wake 'til nine-ish (Ennard's done the math) so, for now, he has the whole house to himself, minus the occasional roaming kitten.
He wonders what he could do with that time, as he leaves the garage and roams the house. Scott's room is still a no-no in the mornings, mostly because Ennard didn't want to scare a heart attack into him and mostly because Scott liked to sleep in on the weekends, but it's still a win-win either way, so, go figure.
The living room doesn't hold anything interesting, just the TV and Scott's oddly diverse selection of movies, so he skips that. Besides, he's feeling...different, today. A little more cheery. Voice aside, maybe waking up earlier actually did some good for him.
"If only waking up with the sun could fix everything," he said wistfully, then let out a bemused hum as something soft bumped against his leg. He glanced down and beamed. Little Cat, (or Li'l, for short) the name Ennard dotingly dubbed to the once-tiny kitten that was brought out by its mother, back when Ennard first startled her, was padding around Ennard's feet, meowing softly.
"Good morning, little buddy," Ennard said softly, stooping to his knees to coddle the kitten. "How'd you get out of Scott's room? You're supposed to be sleeping."
A quick check around the house let him know that the others must've still been sleeping, and Li'l was notorious for having trouble staying asleep, so Ennard decided to let him tag along.
The two of them wandered into the kitchen, and Li'l started mewing insistently, butting his head against Ennard's foot.
("Maybe I should try something new today." )
"What's wrong?" Ennard asked worriedly, before remembering that Scott always fed the kittens here. They'd gotten old enough to be weaned, and Scott's been introducing them to solid food for weeks now. And they are in a kitchen. Most of the food is here, anyway.
"You probably want something to eat, don't you?" Ennard inquires, looking down at Li'l, who merely tilts his head. Ennard takes this as yes.
"Well, here. I know where Scott keeps the cat food, so, just sit tight."
Ennard opens the cupboard where most of the wet cat food is kept (Scott was very careful in his teachings of what and what not to do when it came to the cats), takes a can and pours the contents into a bowl, where it's then sent to microwave, just to be kept warm.
"I don't suppose you'd want something to drink, would you?" Ennard asks. "Scott always gets something to drink during dinner time, but you're different. I suppose a little milk won't hurt."
Ennard pours some milk into another bowl—only a small amount, just enough to cover the bottom, before taking it and the food from the microwave and presenting it in front of Li'l, watching intently.
Li'l sniffs the edge of the bowl of food, before recognizing it and beginning to eat. He barely touches the bowl of milk, and in a few minutes, the food is gone.
Ennard hums thoughtfully, putting both bowls into the sink as Li'l pads around the kitchen, and smiles. "Well I'm glad you liked it."
Li'l meows as if in reply, and Ennard lowers himself to his knees to pick him up. It's always nice to get to help other people, even if they're not really people. Li'l seems to've liked the food, and is resting contently in Ennard's arms.
He glances at Scott's room—
("They were always his favorite.")
—and has an idea.
"Alright. Keep that on low heat for a while. You've already made the bacon, so everything should be fine."
"And then we make the hollandaise?"
A smile. "Then we make the hollandaise."
The door to Scott's room opens fully as Ennard starts tying an apron behind his back.
"Good morning," he mumbles, rubbing his eyes. "What're you doing?"
"It's a surprise!" Ennard crows. None of the pots and pans have been set up yet, so he doesn't look too suspicious. "You'll get to see, don't worry. First, go wash up!"
Scott squints at him for a second before heading to the bathroom, and Ennard waits 'til he hears a distinct click, meaning that the door is locked. Carefully, he retrieves Li'l from his spot on a cushioned chair, and places him with he rest of the litter in Scott's room.
Ennard returns to the kitchen and checks the fridge—lemons, bacon, English muffins—just about everything he needs is there. All there is to do now is to start.
He sets a pan to medium-low heat and yanks on some oven mitts. They're big, and they look silly on his hands, but they get the job done, so Ennard starts laying strips of bacon onto the pan once it's heated enough.
"The trick to it is making sure nothing burns while multi-tasking. If you're poaching the eggs while frying the bacon, you have to keep an eye on both, and when it comes to this, that's not exactly the best choice."
Ennard watches and waits, and then flips the strips to let the other side cook. He'll have to start boiling the water soon, and he sets the bacon on low heat.
Ennard heads to the fridge, and faces a new dilemma. How do you make hollandaise from scratch?
"Hmm..." He scrutinizes the fridge, tapping one of his fingers against his chin.
"Three eggs."
Ennard nearly yelps. The thought is intrusive, and when Ennard mulls over it, he feels a sense of ownership but no recollection of why it's there. Only that it's his.
"Three eggs, a lemon, salt, butter."
The contents find themselves in his arms, and Ennard heads to the blender slowly, making sure he was acutely aware of each step he took. He pops the top off the blender, and makes a note of eggs yolks, lemon juice, tablespoons, Mi—
"Ennard?"
Ennard whirls around, and Scott's standing at the edge of the kitchen, holding his arms. "Please be careful," he warns, then takes a rag to hold the handle of the pot with, flipping the bacon over with the spatula before turning the heat off.
"Oh! Thank you," Ennard says, relieved in more ways than one. He sets the ingredients he was carrying beforehand down, and gets a plate from a cupboard, laying a paper towel on top before placing the cooked bacon onto its surface.
"What're you cooking?" Scott asks. "It smells really good in here."
Ennard beams. "Thank you, but it's still a surprise! You can help me, though."
"Really?"
"Yeah," Ennard replies. "All you gotta do is cut parsley while I make some hollandaise."
"What's hollandaise?"
"I dunno," Ennard shrugs, counting out ten tablespoon scoops of butter into a bowl and melting it in the microwave. "All I know how to do is how to make it."
"And that doesn't worry you at all?"
"No? No. Why would it?" Ennard asks, slicing a lemon in half. "'Sides, I'm doing it with you, right?"
"Right."
"So then there. Nothing to worry about, ha ha!"
Scott gives Ennard a questioning look, but doesn't say anything as he opens the fridge to retrieve the parsley. He sets it in a bowl and runs it under some warm water as Ennard squeezes juice out of the lemon slice.
"So..." Scott starts as he brings the chopping board from the cupboard, "how do you make hollandaise?"
"It's actually really easy," Ennard replies. "All you need is three eggs, some lemon juice, butter, and a pinch of salt. I've already added the eggs and juice, and it shouldn't be long 'til the butter melts, so I'm just adding the salt."
Ennard reaches into the cupboard above, takes out the container of salt and sprinkles it over the blender, before closing it up and setting it to the lowest setting.
"There we go. I'll just let that sit for a little bit. Do you need any help?"
"I'm good."
"Your hands are shaking."
"It always does that."
Ennard chuckles good-naturedly and removes his oven mitts. "Do you mind if I help you?"
"Like how?"
Ennard comes behind him gently, and takes hold of Scott's hands to steady them, making sure the knife is firmly in their grip.
"Like this," he says. "Is this okay?"
Scott doesn't look too troubled, Ennard notes. He can feel his pulse increasing by the way he's holding his wrist, and his face is just a little red, but otherwise, he looks okay.
"Yeah," Scott answers after a while.
"Good," Ennard says. "Basically, what you wanna do make the cuts really small, like this." Ennard demonstrates, cutting in quick, small, slits. "It's important that they can't be to chunky, or else it just ruins the whole point of making 'em smaller in the first place."
"Alright," Scott replies. "Hang on, let me see."
Ennard passes him the knife and lets him go, and Scott copies what Ennard had done before, albeit slower, but in the end, the parsley is small and fine, and Ennard beams, clapping his hands.
"You got it down exactly!" he chirps. Then he sighs, leaning on the counter and resting his head on one hand. "You cut it just like he does."
"Hm?"
"Oh! Sorry I was just..."
"No, no, no, here, let me. You have to do like this, otherwise the food will be ruined and you'll end up cutting yourself."
"...remembering something."
Ennard huffs, moving from the counter to the microwave, then from the microwave to the blender, slowly pouring the melted butter inside before closing the blender completely. "Do you ever...?"
"Do I ever what?"
"Do you ever just—I dunno, have like..." Ennard grumbles. "I've been thinking thoughts that aren't mine, and whenever I wonder where they come from, I just. Don't know."
"Do you mean intrusive thoughts?" Scott asks. "Like when you're on a bridge and think about tossing something off without meaning to?"
"Not really," Ennard replies quietly. "It's just...there's this little boy, right?"
"Right."
"He was super quiet but really nice when you get to know him. His sister was adorable, and his brother was aloof, if not trying a little too hard to be intimidating. He was alright, but..."
"But...?"
("Sometimes I wish I could've done more.")
"Sometimes I wonder about what happened to him. The little boy. He'd use to stay holed up in his room for hours, y'know?"
"But I didn't know what I could do to help," Ennard continues. "I was just there. Until I wasn't."
"Wait, hold up, I'm confused." Scott puts the knife down. "You were there? With the little boy?"
Ennard shrugs helplessly. "It feels like I was there, but...Like, I remember the people and the furniture and rooms, but...I don't remember me being there." Ennard frowns in thought and sighs. "Forget about it. We're supposed to be cooking, right?"
"Ennard, no, if you want to talk things out, it's really okay," Scott reassures. Ennard smiles a little and shakes his head.
"I...I'll talk, don't worry, I just wanna finish this first."
"...Okay," Scott says. "But I'm holding you to that."
"I know," Ennard murmurs. "Can you toast the biscuits? We're almost done."
Ennard sets a saucepan of water to a boil, before carefully slipping four eggs yolks inside to poach, one at a time, waiting until they solidify to add another.
("Make sure you know which one you put in first, that's the one you'll take out last.")
Once they're done, Ennard turns of the heat and moves the eggs to a plate. He then picks up the pan, steaming and all, and places it inside the sink.
"Okay, so. The bacon, hollandaise, eggs, and the biscuits are done, so now it's time for the fun part!"
"What's the fun part?"
Ennard grins. "We get to build them now!"
What you're supposed to do is butter one side of the biscuit, then lay two strips of bacon on top, place the egg, dribble the hollandaise, then sprinkle in the parsley. Ennard watches as Scott assembles his first, placing the egg as Scott drizzles hollandaise over the whole thing, before garnishing it with parsley.
"Mwah!" Ennard kisses the tips of his fingers with dramatic flair. "It's perfect!"
"Thank you," Scott says, chuckling slightly. "What about yours?"
Ennard blinks. "...Mine?"
"Well, yeah. You've got enough for four more."
"Well, that's because—"
("You're so silly. You can't keep forgetting about yourself. Make another, so now it's—one, two, three—four. Enough for all of you.")
"Because..." Ennard stops in his tracks, Ennard glances around wildly, resting one hand on his forehead, staring blankly at the cooked food.
"We...I...He...He always made four."
It's not the fact that Ennard can't remember where or why these memories are coming from, nor is it the fact that they keep happening once every year that bothers him. It's just the fact that these aren't his, which worry him. And that they've been here since he was left in Afton's, which can only mean that a human, an actual person saw him like this.
Someone with the authority to go down there in the first place. Someone who was allowed to work near the animatronics and get close enough to them to imprint their memories on, and someone who had the power to leave any time they wanted to.
Someone like—
"Ennard?" Scott asks carefully. "Are you alright?"
"Ah, um, yeah," Ennard replies too quickly. "Yeah, I'm okay, it's just—wait."
("Alright, now go wake him up. You don't want to ruin the surprise, do you?")
"What's today?"
Ennard, panicked a twitching, takes hold of Scott's shoulders. "Scott, what is today?"
"I don't know?"
Ennard tears from the kitchen, heading straight for Scott's office. All the other times this happened were different—his thoughts were less coherent, and he was barely put together, but now he can decipher exactly from which are his and which aren't, and he has access to a calendar. There's got to be a day—some human holiday, perhaps—that can explain whats going on with him.
He reaches the office, nearly rips the calendar from the wall, and frantically checks the date.
There's a sliver of an inch of remembrance, something that should be there but isn't, and he's already lost sight of it when he tries to conjure it back up again.
Something settles in the pit of his stomach. He feels sick. Not in the ate-way-too-much-butter way, or the spent-the-whole-day-sitting-down kind, either. He feels awful, horrible, ashamed, guilty.
And he hates that he doesn't know why.
Scott hurries in just as Ennard gathers himself together, sighing and glaring at the floor.
"I'll be fine, I'm okay," he protests softly when Scott tries to hug him. He crumbles a second later and gives in.
"Did you at least find what you were looking for?" Scott asks hopefully.
Ennard glances at the blank day under the calendar, feels a flicker, then sighs.
(Do you think he'll be alright?")
"No."
Breakfast, surprisingly, went well.
After leaving the office, Ennard became adamant in trying to ignore his thoughts. He assembled his food, except with no bacon, extra eggs, a heapton of butter and a little bit of hollandaise.
"Not too bad for my first eggs benny, huh?"
"Oh, so that's what this is. I just thought it was a fancier mashup of your favorite foods."
"Hey!"
Little to say, they sat down at the table, and for a while, it was a good morning.
Later in the day, Scott receives a call. Ennard can hear Mike's voice through the receiver as he's playing with Li'l, but largely ignores it.
"What was that about?" Ennard asks absentmindedly once the call ends.
"Nothing much," Scott replies, settling in his chair.
"It's just Mari's birthday."