Author's Note: I own nothing of the FNAF franchise, sadly. That honor belongs to Scott Cawthon.

Warning for violence and murder.

If he'd known he would pass into legend like this, he would have worn better trousers.

It was a foolish fancy-but one that passed through his thoughts nonetheless-as he tried to control his breathing. The animatronics-the children-circled the slumped Spring Bonnie suit, the one he'd taken desperate refuge in. He could hear heavy, static-filled whispering as Freddy's head filled his vision.

"No-" The voice was garbled, but the anger palpable. Within the suit, he was safe.

He shouldn't have come back. He knew that now. It wasn't like the animatronics could leave the establishment. And the children were trapped in the rotted hunks of metal and wires and false fur. He wondered at the decayed smell wreathing his nostrils.

He'd panicked, though. He wasn't afraid to admit it now, not now with Chica pacing the cracked tiles by the door, Foxy brandishing the rusted hook that had been intended for his hand. He shouldn't have come back, but perhaps it had not been his choice.

The damned Puppet-

As if his vengeful thoughts had summoned the blasted thing, the Marionette popped up in front of him, white pinpricks in its eyes attempting to swallow him whole. He only kept still by tremendous effort of will, breath fogging against the spring-locks that held this wretched suit together.

The masks don't work on that one.

But it wasn't a mask he wore. It was a whole bloody suit. Cramped and sweaty and foul-smelling, but undoubtedly a full animatronic suit. Again.

Did the animatronics understand irony, he wondered? Could they understand the immense dark humor that had encased him in a golden animatronic suit once more surrounded by children? Only this time, he was the hunted. He was the prey.

The springs creaked, and he took an uneasy breath. The animatronics lost interest in the slumped figure. Dust motes swam in front of his exhausted eyes.

He started to think that perhaps he could escape after all.

A chance movement, and he felt the locks give way, the metal skeleton behind him folding in on itself.

"No-" he tried to shout, tried to fumble his way out, but there was no way out. The suit's pressure was firm, inexorable.

As the lights dimmed, he thought he heard a child's laughter echoing in his ears.

Hours passed. The Spring Bonnie suit had long since stopped spasming and twitching. Its feet had drummed long, jittery patterns on the floor, fully-fingered hands clutching at the wall. Quite a lot of blood pooled below it, still tacky. Startlingly white fragments of bone floated in it, and bits and pieces of organs that smelled abominable in the low heat.

The animatronics gathered around again, Freddy in the forefront.

Springtrap lifted his head and grinned-