Author's Note: This chapter is the final one. If you have any questions, comments, anything you want to know about the characters, leave a comment/review and I'll post a question-and-answer chapter after this one.

The air felt cold to Peyton on the drive back, even with the heater on. She glanced at Springtrap through the rear view mirror; he hadn't spoken a word since they left the park. Peyton wondered if she did more bad than good, exposing him to a world he would never be able to experience without her mercy. The soft tick-tick-tick of his gears and a gentle hum was the only sound in the small car. Peyton fidgeted, anxious. She hated empty silence. She hated quiet. She hated it. She hated it. She hated it. She hat-

"What's wrong?" Peyton finally blurted out. She couldn't handle the dull quiet anymore after such a momentous event. Springtrap rolled his head to look at her in the mirror. His silver eyes burned in the reflection, the simmering of his thoughts threatening to burst the car into flames.

"Nothing, little fawn. I'm just thinking." He answered mildly, looking back into the endless forest.

Peyton huffed, clearly disappointed in his response, but didn't press him. They arrived back at the attraction minutes later. Peyton turned off the car and hesitated before exiting. Something in her felt off, something was amiss. She almost felt… dirty?

Springtrap let himself out of the car, his large figure seemed riddled with exhaustion. He sighed, letting his shoulders slouch and braced the cold as he made his way to the door. He pulled the door with a screech and held it open for Peyton. She wandered in, and he followed.

Peyton set her keys and coat on the desk and stretched. Pulling her phone out and checking the time, she saw it was close to 3am. Her stomach growled and since Springtrap wasn't going to talk to her, she made her way to the break room for a snack.

Springtrap grabbed her car keys, examining them for a short while. He held the silver key in between his large index finger and thumb, spinning it slowly in the light. He analyzed its small shine and glimmer, before bending the key in half. He broke the key off from the rest of them and threw it in the trash. He heard Peyton rummaging in the other room and something in his chest pained him. An intense despair washed over him. He clutched at his chest, feeling something seize and writhe inside.

He treaded as carefully as his heavy, bulky body would allow him. He stood in the doorway of the break room, silent watching Peyton made a simple sandwich. She was humming a simple lullaby, her voice raw and off tune, but Springtrap loved it. She was so dainty and fragile, but she was alive with a fire. She was pure and a glow with this raw emotion, she was a glimpse of humanity in his cold and broken domain. She didn't deserve this; she didn't deserve to be burdened with his tired existence. When had the power exchange occurred? When did he become so in love with her ability to make him forget how pathetic he was, that he allowed her to make him weak and pliable? His ear twitched, the sadness still pulsing through his wiring. Quickly, he reached out, his left hand palming the side of her head. He heard her gasp, and faltered ever so slightly, before slamming her head against the wall. She crumbled to the ground, that fire he was admiring just a moment ago, weakened and dulled. He kneeled down and turned her on her back. Blood trickled down her temple, and he wiped it away tenderly. He noticed the red hue staining his olive fur and clicked his jaw. He wasn't sure how to process this void that had recently grown inside him and continued to grow exponentially. What was it that he wanted? He wasn't sure, he felt inadequate. He wanted to be with her, he wanted to love her in the way only he could. He didn't want to be alone.

He gathered her limbs together, once again carrying his bride through their home. He walked down the hall to his safe place, each step heavy and deliberate. He laid her down on the work-table and closed the door, as if he needed privacy. Peyton's breathing was faint and rhythmic. Springtrap glanced around the room, looking for something to restrain her with. The pain plumed as he searched, realizing once she awoke, their love would be tainted, changed and irreparable through any normal means. He thought of the chains from the other night but thought them too harsh and unforgiving for her soft flesh. He rummaged through boxes, before finding a dusty old mascot costume chest. The endoskeleton was long since removed, leaving a barren animal character behind. He dusted the part off and set it on the table next to her. He turned away, searching for some rope to be sure. Once found, he returned to Peyton, gently sitting her limp body up and tied her hands behind her back. Afterward, his hands lingered on hers, grateful for the numbered moments he had left with her. He gently pulled the costume over her head and slipped it over her shoulders. It was a tight fit and she would find it impossible to untie herself. Springtrap stepped back and analyzed his work. He scoffed… his work? His work was his beloved unconscious, helpless and trapped. He shook his head in self-disgust. He needed to prepare. He backed out of the room and into the hall. He walked into the true storage closet and gathered the empty gas cans that were collecting dust there, along with a shitty, old hose.

With his supplies in his arms, he made his way to the door. He pushed the door and it gave heavy resistance. He knew only he was strong enough to open the door, so why was it an issue now? Was he wearing down that quickly? He pushed harder, his mechanical joints groaning in protest. He cursed himself for breaking the door to begin with. Once the door finally gave, he stepped out. The winter continued to bite at him, like a dog barking at a someone passing by, relentless. But he pressed on, giving the frigid air no mind. He walked to Peyton's car and kneeled down in front of the filler neck and snaked the hose into the gas tank, siphoning the fuel into the cans.

. . .

Peyton awoke groggily. Her head felt like she had been kicked by a horse and she tasted copper in her mouth. Her eyes struggled to focus in the soft light. She blinked a few times and tried to make sense of where she was. Though she tried, every attempt was met with a surging pain through her head. She couldn't focus. In the distance she heard a loud screech. She winced, shunning the pain that brought. She tried to get up but found that she couldn't move her arms. Panicked she looked down and saw a large furry body over hers. There were heavy footsteps moving around, coming slower. Eventually, the door opened and Springtrap appeared, ears erect and noticing her awake.

She instantly felt the urge to cry, her memory rushing back to her. Her face scrunched up, tears threatening. She opened her mouth to speak but Springtrap brought one finger to his mouth slowly and shook his head, giving a soft "shhh…."

She obeyed but heavy tears began to stream down her face. She fidgeted, and trying to hold back the emotion that was trying to boil over. Springtrap closed the door, setting the thick blanket he found down on the chair, before sitting in it. He sat in the chair with his legs wide apart and leaning over so that his forearms rested on his thighs.

He stared at her hard for a few moments, their eye contact intimate for all the wrong reasons.

"You cry too much." He said blankly, causing her to cry harder. He rolled his eyes but softened his gaze. He rose and reached to stroke her face, and she tried to rip away from his touch. He grabbed her jaw roughly and turned her face towards him.

"Stop. I'm not in the fucking mood, Peyton." She glared at him, still silent. His grip released. "How are you feeling?"

"Does it matter?" she spat back at him, her tone now venomous.

His ear twitched, his patience tried by her resistance. He had so little patience left after he had been left alone with his soul, he didn't want to deal with this. "No, I suppose it doesn't. None of it will soon enough."

Peyton ignored his self-pity, focusing on her hands. She couldn't get them free just yet, but if they were just a little wet, she could. She positioned herself so that she was sitting on them, and hoped the sweat would be enough over time. She needed to buy that time though.

"Springtrap, why are you doing this? I thought we were getting along… I thought we were beginning something beautiful." She asked, trying to stall him.

Springtrap looked at her with such an apologetic look, something in her (as sick as it was) wanted to comfort her.

"Oh little fawn, I wish. But you and I? We're not real, we couldn't be. Our hearts are much too selfish, our desires to strong. I cannot love you how you need to be, only how I want to. My love is a fire, hungry flames that lick and burn till nothing is left." The truth in his answer hurt him because he truly didn't want to end things with Peyton. She was his light, but he couldn't bear her leaving, if not now, then later. He couldn't bear not seeing her face again, not feeling this again. He had to control his fate. And truthfully, he was tired. His age wore on his mind, how she couldn't maintain him even if she wanted to stay with him. This place would turn into a prison for them both then. So he had to end things in a way that was comfortable for him, something he wanted. He sighed and made his way to the door.

"I'll be back, I'm almost done, then we can talk more." He shot her one last quick glance before leaving them room. As soon as he was gone, Peyton got to work on freeing herself. She rubbed her body on top of her hands, and soon her hands felt slick. She wormed them out of the restraints and pulled the animal costume over her body. She grabbed the rope that Springtrap used to tie her up and gathered it in her hand. She eyed the door and gulped. She knew she needed to do this right, and she only had one chance. She opened the door slowly and poked her head out. With the coast clear, she tipped toed into the hall. She heard Springtrap in the break room. She sucked in a breath of air, calming her nerves. Okay, she thought, if I can sneak past him, I can make it to the office and grab my keys. If I hear him coming near, I can trip him with this rope…

She wasn't very sure of her plan but it was the only one she had. She crept towards the office slowly, each step painful and much too long. It seemed like her car was a million miles away. Eventually, she neared the break room. She stopped at the doorway to listen for him. It sounded like he was rummaging through the drawers, but as soon as the noise started, it stopped. He started walking towards the door. Peyton tensed, her fear and anxiety beginning to skyrocket. She lowered herself close to the floor, the rope tense in her hands. Sure enough, Springtrap's feet came into view and he stepped into the hallway, with his back to her. She waited for him to take another step and as soon as he lifted his foot again, she pulled the rope in front of him. He lost his balance and came crashing down. As soon as he hit the ground Peyton bolted towards the door. She round the corner and kept a running speed to the office, hastily grabbing her keys. She ran over to the door, kicking it a few times before it budged and allowed her to open it. She darted out into the winter night, snow beginning to fall as her ran to her car. She scrambled for her car keys, noticing Springtrap in the doorway.

"Oh god, come on come on come on." She muttered, still trying to find the key as he advanced. She checked again, he was just outside the building. Look down, search, look up, he was about half way to her. She whimpered in frustration, not pulling frantically on the door handle. He was about 5 seconds from her now. She pulled the door handle so hard that it came off, sending her on her ass. She scrambled to get up, turning over and crawling to try and create distance. She couldn't look back, but she could hear his metal feet near her. Right behind her.

She heard a snap. She ignored it and continue to try and stand up to run. As she tried to lift herself up, she fell back down almost immediately. Then she felt it. The pain. The overwhelming violent pain. She looked back and saw her right foot was dangling and limp. He crushed her ankle. She finally looked at him and he was looking at her with a bored expression, any hint of humanity or mercy gone from his features. He once again stepped on her ankle and she cried out in agony. He dragged her body closer to him with his foot on her ankle. She clawed at the asphalt, shaking her head and softly pleading for mercy. Springtrap bent down and grabbed her lame ankle, dragging her all the way back to Hell. Once inside, he let her go and looked down at Peyton, who was curled into a ball by the room, crying.

"I—I had..." she sobbed, her speech incoherent.

"Hmm?" Springtrap hummed, his tone nonchalant.

"I had a dream… that you hurt me just like that…" she sobbed, her fate clear to her.

Springtrap scoffed. "Oh sweetheart, I'm nothing like your dreams." He leaned down and grabbed her ankle once more, her sobs growing louder from pain. He dragged her body down the hall to his room, growling "I'm much worse."

When they reached his room, he picked her up by her hair and threw her on the table. Peyton moaned in pain. Springtrap closed the door once again and turned to her. She buried her head between her knees, trying to block out the demon that shared the room with her. Soon enough though he was in front of her, pushing her head up to look at him.

He cupped her face in his large hand, wiping away tears with his thumb. "Have you ever heard the story of the Velveteen Rabbit, sweetheart?" She shook her head no, sniffling. He hummed, stepped away, and began pacing the room. "Well, you see, love, a stuffed rabbit sewn from velveteen was given as a Christmas present to a small boy. The boy plays with his other new presents and forgets the velveteen rabbit for a time. These presents are modern and mechanical, and they snub the old-fashioned velveteen rabbit. The wisest and oldest toy in the nursery, the Skin Horse, who was owned by the boy's uncle, tells the rabbit about toys magically becoming Real due to love from children. The rabbit is awed by this idea; however, his chances of achieving this wish are slight.

One night, the boy's Nana gives the rabbit to the boy to sleep with, in place of a lost toy. The rabbit becomes the boy's favorite toy, enjoying picnics with him in the spring; and the boy regards the rabbit as 'REAL'. Time passes, and the rabbit becomes shabbier but happy. He meets some real rabbits in the summer, and they learn that he cannot hop as they do and say that he is not real.

One day, the boy becomes sick with scarlet fever, and the rabbit sits with him as he recovers. The doctor orders that the boy should be taken to the seaside and that his room should be disinfected—all his books and toys burnt, including the velveteen rabbit. The rabbit is bundled into a sack and left out in the garden overnight, where he sadly reflects on his life with his boy. The toy rabbit cries, a real tear drops onto the ground, and a marvelous flower appears. A fairy steps out of the flower and comforts the velveteen rabbit, introducing herself as the Nursery Magic Fairy. She says that, because he is old and shabby and Real, she will take him away with her and "turn him into Real" - to everyone.

The fairy takes the rabbit to the forest, where she meets the other rabbits and gives the velveteen rabbit a kiss. The velveteen rabbit changes into a real rabbit and joins the other rabbits in the forest. The next spring, the rabbit returns to look at the boy, and the boy sees a resemblance to his old velveteen rabbit."

He finished his fairytale affectionately and turned towards Peyton. He smiled inside at her beautiful face and stepped back in front of her. He pushed her hair out of her face and tucked her lovingly behind her ear. "You made me real. All this time I have spent alone, or without real companionship or love. But you picked me even though I was old and shabby, just like the velveteen rabbit. Even in the forest, where the little bunny and I both reflected on our lives with our loved one, we still realized that love in our heart. You have made me feel so much, so much more than I have in 30 years. You have given me peace on a lot of things. I feel like now I'm stuck between the burning light and dusty shade. But I would walk any line, for you. Thank you so much for trying to fix me. Thank you so much for just being you. I was broken for a long time, but it's over now." His eyes were smoldering, his true affection pouring out of him. Peyton looked into his eyes, desperate for him to see that he didn't have to do this.

"Why are you destroying this then? Why are you giving up? Why are you taking my choice away from me? How can you say you love me if you're doing this?" She had so many questions, so many answers she needed.

"I'm destroying this because I know if I don't, you will. I can't handle that, I control what happens, no one else. It's no one's choice but my own. That doesn't mean I don't love you when I so clearly do. And I know you love me too, and I think you'll understand in time. You may be mad at me for a long time, but in the end, you'll understand. There are some wounds that you," he caressed her face, "just can't mend, even if I do pretend. Like I said, I was broken for a long time, but it's over now. It's over."

His hand slid down to her chest, where he flattened his palm and felt the strong beat of her heart. Peyton knew her time was ending. She couldn't run, she couldn't fight. She didn't even have any more tears to cry.

Apathetically, she asked him, "Well, if this is it for me, can I have a last request?" Springtrap nodded instantly.

"As long as it's within reason."

"Can I leave any last words, like leave a note?" She proposed.

Springtrap thought about it for a while, but agreed and went to the Office for a piece of paper and pen. He brought them back and set them down in front of her. He sat down in the chair and slid back, to give her an illusion of privacy.

Peyton looked down at the pen and paper. What were her last words? Did she have any? She thought with something like this, she would be desperate to fill the page with her legacy. But she didn't have a legacy. She had no one to wish well, to assure of her love. Would this count as a will? So much responsibility tied to this. But who put this effort in for her? Who had her in their thoughts other than the beast that was going to kill in her in a few moments time?

Slowly and with pride, Peyton wrote her note, now assured of what to say. It was brief and blunt, but it was perfect. She folded the note in 3, and placed it next to her. Springtrap was already in front of her, gently picking her up in both of his arms. He sat down on the floor, his back against the wall, his love in his arms. He nuzzled into her, and she actually pulled him closer. They held each other for a long while, Peyton enjoying his metallic smell and warm body. Springtrap memorized every feature of her face, her body. She was a goddess to him. After what seemed like an eternal, Springtrap finally mustered the strength. He pulled away from her and looked into her eyes, seemingly through them and into her soul.

"I love you." He whispered, his voice soft and velvet and everything she wanted to hear.

She reached out and touched his face, and he leaned into her touch.

"In another life." She replied back softly, a single tear finally from her face. Springtrap brushed the tear away gently and caressed her face. She closed her eyes, basking in his love. He traced her collarbone, and up and down the side of her neck. Eventually, his hand rested on her neck and he began to squeeze. Peyton struggled, her eyes opening and her face flushing red. The pain was apparent on her face, and her primal instincts took over. Her heart galloped in her chest, her fingers claws at his frantically. Her vision began to bleed different colors and the room fell deathly silent. She could hear her laughter as a child, her father yelling at her, Springtrap's voice, herself crying, all echoing in her mind. They bounced gently off the walls of her mind, some rising and lowering in volume. Still, though, her legs kicked, though now they were tiring. Her fingers were now just trying to slip underneath his, and her legs flopped lazily. Her heart was still racing, though, seemingly threatening to burst. The voices were fading to silence now, and her vision cleared. In fact, it was better than any eyesight she had before this moment. She calmed rapidly, enjoying the peacefulness. She looked at Springtrap, who was staring down at her sadly. His big floppy stupid ears, that oversized grin that grew on her, and those piercing silver eyes. She hoped that in their gaze he could see that she loved him too. She really hoped. She could see now, love is sweet, love is dark. It pulls your world apart, so you can grow. Now she saw perfect how it's clear, what she needed the most was him there. She stared at Springtrap as long as she could, but the picture of her vision began to splotch with black. Her heart was slowing now, and she began disconnecting from the world around her. Her vision faded to black and she heard faintly, softly, across the sea of silence "I love you, little dove. I love you so much."

He knew the moment she was gone. It felt like someone ripped the wiring out of his chest. He clutched her body into his, desperately wishing he could weep and release the emotions that overwhelmed him. She was gone; wasn't that the sick and twisted goal all along? Shouldn't he be happy? No. He knew she showed him the other side, that love was possible. But he showed her that no matter the emotions or intentions, some things never change... But thanks to her, he didn't have to live a meaningless existence. She showed him happiness outside of bloodshed, and that within itself is more mercy than he deserved. After a long time, Springtrap stood up, his mate still in his arms. He set her down on the table gently and picked up her note. Respecting her wishes, he braved the cold one last time and placed the note underneath the windshield wiper of her car. He made his way back to the building, not caring to look back at the world around him. He closed the door and trudged towards the supply closet. He picked up the gas cans and began pouring their contents through the building. When all of the cans were empty, he walked into the Office and pulled out a lighter from the drawers in the desk. He stepped back out into the hallway and took a breath.

"See you soon, dove." He whispered softly.

He lit the lighter and threw it towards the door. Flames erupted and hungrily began crawling down the gas lines. Springtrap walked back to his room, and once again took Peyton into his arms. He brushed her hair, ignoring the crackling and smoke that inched toward him every second. They remained in their embrace for as long as Springtrap could hold onto her. The flames were now licking at the door frame of his room, itching to come in. He looked at the flames with apathy, before turning back to his love, continuing to groom and love her. As soon as one of the embers jumped from the eager flames onto his arm and lit it on fire, he hummed, closing his eyes, pulling Peyton even closer and whispering,

"Home."

. . . . .

Dylan jumped awake. Groaning partly from being woken up so early and the aching pain from his recently broken hand, he turned towards the source that disturbed him. He grabbed his phone, answering it with a groggy "hello."

When he processed what the person on the other side had told him, he was instantly awake. He hurriedly threw on clothes, and ran to his car. He sped through the streets, the Sun now creeping into the sky, turning it pink and peach. The birds were silent this morning, though, and the air was still as cold as it was that night. Dylan pulled into the parking lots, his car skidding. The fire department had been working on containing the fire for some time, but they still had a lot of work to do. A police officer approached him, prepared with a flurry of questions that Dylan didn't hear. He looked over and saw Peyton's car, and ran over to it, hoping she was in there. She wasn't.

On the windshield, there was a note. Dylan hastily opened it, confused.

"Because I could not stop for Death,

He kindly stopped for me;

The carriage held but just ourselves

And Immortality."

Thank you guys so much for the support. I'm really happy with this story. It turned out to mean a lot to me, and I hope you guys enjoyed it even a fourth as much as I did writing it. I don't know what I'll be writing next, but I'll think of something. Again guys, thank you so much. Let know what you thought, and questions you may still have. :)