Ok, I bet you guys are sticklers about your continuity and your time setting. I get that. However, if we were going by the specific chronological settings of each, they really wouldn't line up. During the eighties and nineties, Sam and Dean would be way too young to be hunting when the child murders take place. Then you get to 2017, when the events of FNAF 3 take place, and we don't even know for sure if both brothers are alive. So what I did was bump up the events of FNAF 2 to the first and second seasons of Supernatural for a two big reasons.

1.) Seasons 1 and 2 seem to have a lot of filler compared to other seasons (I haven't been able to go back to the series since Bobby died in season 7), so I find it the most plausible that a case like investigating what happens in the pizzeria would occur in this time frame. I would still keep with the events prior, such as the Fredbear Family Diner and the sister location of Fredbear's, in the back story.

2.) Sam still has his abilities. Not the ability to exorcise demons and the like (that would make this story a bit too short) but least he still has the premonitions (like in the episode "Nightmare") and the ability to pick up on supernatural energies (Such as in the episode "Home"). I want to try and work some of that stuff into the story and some of the easter eggs FNAF has to offer. Hopefully you like it.

So what time period is this in? I've picked the year 2005, since it's when Sam and Dean start out hunting together, but it takes place with the FNAF 2 location and with FNAF 2 events, Namely having to face 11 animatronics instead of 4 or 5 and the victim of what would have been the "Bite of '87". I also intend to use some of what the book had to offer, though I have actually never read the book. Call me out if I goof anything up, ok?

With all that out of the way, we can get on with the story. Enjoy!

Part 1

Ring~

Ring~

Ring~

Ca-click.

"Hello, hello! Uh, what on earth are you doing there!? Didn't you get the memo?"

Shaking hands hammered the mouse. Blood drummed in the man's ears. Vents creaked from an indeterminable location. If only the music box would wind faster, then he could actually calm down. The camera went down. The guard flicked on the lights. Nothing yet.

"Uh, the place is closed down, a-at least for a while."

The camera went back up. Piercing garble met him with another toss of fear in his chest. His throat seemed to slam shut at the sound. That goddam mess of parts! And that damned music box! "C'mon, c'mon," he stuttered. "Wind up faster, please!"

"Someone used one of the suits. . . We had a spare in the back. A yellow one. Someone used it. Now none of them are acting right. . ."

Lights. Music box. Lights. Music box. Lights. Music box. Lights. Tiny white eyes peered at him from the front hallway, a shiney hook and sharp fangs catching beads of light. But Foxy didn't move. Not one bit. The guard clenched his teeth and hammered the button to the flashlight. He knew the mask wouldn't do him any good just yet.

Did the vents just creak? He didn't know, but this was definitely the worst time for his ears to be playing tricks on him.

"Listen, j-just finish your shift. It's safer than trying to leave in the middle of the night."

They were getting closer. He could see it now: Red eyes glaring from one vent, a beakless Chica smiling in the right, her uncanny monstrosity of an older sister on the prowl. This wasn't good. The guard bit his lip. He tasted blood. They were really active tonight.

He couldn't let any of them in. No matter what.

"Uh, we have one more event scheduled for tomorrow: A birthday. You'll be on day shift."

Lights flickered. The air burned with a malicious energy. He looked up from the screen and stared. With askew eyes, microphone in hand and jaw slack, worn and coated in grime, Freddy Fazbear glared down. It did not move. The guard did not move. No time for the extra head now.

The flickering stopped. Freddy disappeared. It was over.

"Wear your uniform, stay close to the animatronics, make sure they don't hurt anyone, ok?"

This wasn't good. He felt the color leave his face, his blood run cold. This job was one of three- What would his family do about money? How does a mother explain that Daddy won't be coming back from work? He reached for his pocket, pulled out his wallet for one last look at-

"Aaaaaaaugh!"

Snap!

"Uh, for now, Just make it through the night. Uh, when the place eventually opens again, I'll probably just take the night shift myself."

The room was silent. The music box went unwound and "Pop! Goes The Weasel" rang out through the halls of the restaurant. On the ground, a leather wallet lay open next to an empty bear head. A girl and a woman, almost identical, hugged and smiled in front a backdrop of green bushes and yellow flowers. It was a simple and powerful reminder of what a living man could fight for. Down the hall, a giant bear dragged a man's body away. The head lolled to the side at a crooked angle.

"Ok, good night. And good luck."

SPN x FNAF

Colorado Springs, Colorado.

"Dude, there is no way you can finish all that."

Dean looked up mid-chew with sauce speckled on the corner of his mouth. The brothers found themselves in Colorado Springs for another job hunt, having parked the Impala to grab a bite to eat. Summer heat and humidity were not kind during this month, so the two vouched for the closest diner around and mosied to one named "Black Bear", just after the Sunday lunch rush had dissipated. And it was not a poor choice. Impeccable air conditioning, friendly (and cute) waitresses, large portions, economical prices- The air was warm, cool, and amazingly aromatic all at once. Even the black bears all over the place were adorable in their own right, enough to ease the torment of watching food pass by that wasn't theirs. Winchesters never visit a town twice, but they just might have had to make an exception.

"Oh, I'll find a way," the elder replied. He started sawing the knife into another corner of his chicken fried steak. "There's no way this is going to waste."

"That's why you get a take out box." That comment earned an eye roll and Sam protectively pulled the white styrofoam container a bit closer to him, next to his plate of avocado burger, already divided in half.

"Yeah, if you're a wuss." Dean swallowed and went after another bite. "You said you had a new case?"

". . . We might have a new case." The trusty laptop that had been sitting in the middle of the table had been spun around. At least five or six tabs had been opened up; Newspaper articles, business reports, and the like. Dean leaned in to skim. Sam started talking. "There's supposed to be a pizzeria chain in the area, or at least one of the locations: Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. Think rip-off Chuck E. Cheese's. They've got arcades, pizza, kids, alliteration, animatronics- the works. Super popular in the eighties and nineties, not so much anymore."

"So what happened?"

"Can't say for sure." The younger plucked off a slice of avocado from his plate to munch on. "There have been strange disappearances. Two of them. Both with children, both in groups of five. But the event was never caught on camera. They didn't have enough evidence to convict someone and no one ever found the children. The place kind of faded into a sense of normalcy until recently. A number of night guards have mysteriously disappeared over the past few weeks. Seems like it averaged about one per week. Again, the bodies were never found."

"So what are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking we need more information. The kids don't have any connections it seems, but the night guards always disappeared within the same time frame: on their night shifts. Between midnight and 6 am."

"The witching hour."

"Yes, the witching hour." Sam clicked around with the mouse pad. Monsters usually were predictable in some way or another. "Either the same thing changed up it's style or it's two different things at the same place. Whichever the more likely event is is beyond me."

"You think there's something about it in Dad's journal?"

"I'm pretty sure he would have mentioned a pizzeria with disappearing children if he came across it." Light green eyes flicked back and forth across the screen again. The clamor of knives and pots ignited in the back. Sam smeared his hand over his mouth, deep in thought. ". . . I don't want to take any sort of chance here. We should scope the place out, see what we can find."

"Alright. So where is it?"

". . . It's in Aurora." More clicking. "This state, actually. At worst, it's a two hour drive north. And from the looks of it. . . the pizzeria is open today and tomorrow. We have time to plan, at least."

"Good." Dean flagged down a waitress from the front desk. "We can get a list of victims and check in with their families. Maybe some of them survived. For now, let's get out of here."

"Ok, but you need a box."

"Ugh, fine. I'll get a box. But this doesn't mean I gave up."

". . . I never accused you of that."

With a shimmering blonde pixie cut, faint bronzer and a ruby-lipped smile, their server sauntered back to the table. Her name tag read "Amy". The older brother flaunted a credit card and gave a flirtatious wink. The joke was on him anyways. What would have been a quick payment turned into a second swipe of that Visa. Dean may not have been aware that he had fell under the spell so easily, but Sam wasn't going to try and break him out of it. All he could do was roll his eyes at the prey of what he knew were manipulative sales tactics.

At least the mundane ride to Aurora had been spiced with some good 'ol Metallica and the aroma of a homemade cherry pie tucked tightly in the back seat.

SPN x FNAF

Aurora, Colorado.

The motel wasn't refined, nor did it quite meet the quality that the Black Bear Diner did. The pastel curtains were a bit much and none of the furniture seemed to match at all. But the place still had a warm character about it anyways, like a worn grandfather with tales upon tales to spin. Hell, anything would have been warm and welcoming after the nightmare of that traffic. Nothing was really lacking. Room 205 of the off-the-map, family owned motel had a decent view of the parking lot and stretch of cracked road from one window of the second floor. The other housed a functioning A/C unit complete colored strands of yarn billowing softly from the grate. A table, two metal chairs, a mini fridge and a black microwave on top took up a small corner just right of the entrance. Trinkets of all kinds had been sealed into the wax of the table's top- photos, game pieces, ticket stubs and anything else one could imagine. To the left of the entrance a small, cathode ray television set sat atop a mahogany cabinet with a VHS player inside. Another door further off led to a clean bathroom, complete with a shower, sink, toilet and baby blue tiles on the walls. The beds were completely different, down to the frame, but neither brother had an issue with picking or nesting. What remained of the college boy within Sam longed for the softer mattress and fluffy, lavender comforter. Dean, being the hardened hunter that he was, opted for the firmer pillows and thinner sheets of the second bed. All the better to spring out of sleep and into action, after all.

Now, normally, they would be riffling through fake aliases and devising courses of action. Floor plans would be laid out, laptop propped open, gears grinding and turning against each other. Dean would most likely be picking through which weapon to carry (for safety sake, of course) and his collection of I.D. cards that paid homage to the music taste of his father. And this was normally because they were not sure if they were wanted or not. Big and expansive companies with weight to their names such as the CDC and FBI were no problem. It wasn't a question of whether or not they were wanted. If they came, the others had to step aside. But this time was different. And all it took was one poster outside of a gas station as they were on their way to the motel.

Help wanted, it had said. Grand re-opening! Vintage pizzeria given new life! Come be a part of the new face of Freddy Fazbear's! What could go wrong?

No, it wasn't the usual cover-up, but a run-of-the-mill minimum wage job could work. The phone number had been put right on the advertisement, as were the hours and the pay. In addition to the demand of their presence, the barrier of entry was incredibly low. They most likely wouldn't ask for a social security number. It may not be needed, but it didn't hurt to have a fake resume handy. Moreover, it was an entire 6-hour shift to poke around and fight what they needed to fight. If they played their cards right, they could be in and out in a single night. A resignation notice could be conjured without an issue, seeing as how the establishment was sketchy to begin with. It could be a record for the shortest job in their "career".

So who was going to sneak their way inside in plain sight? Well, one line of dialogue made that decision quite easy.

"Hey, you're the one who's always going about 'honest work'," Dean snorted from the table, tossing his cellphone for Sam to catch. "This is your chance to do some honest work. Now, go get 'em, Tiger!"

With one hand above the other, he secured the device in both hands like a clam and it's pearl. It wasn't like he didn't want to do it, but Dean wasn't exactly the most qualified either (GEDs and criminal records only get you so far). Sam clicked to the tab with the contact information and dialed in the number. With a final swipe to tuck some brown hair behind the right lobe, he brought the clamshell to his ear.

A ring sounded through the speaker once. Twice. Then a click and a voice. "Uh, hello?"

"Uh, hi." Sam cleared his throat. "My name is Andy Hendrix. Is this that Freddy's pizza joint?"

"Well, yes," came the reply. It must have been a man of the other end of the line. The younger brother couldn't discern an exact age, but he still picked up on the twinge of offense. "This is Freddy Fazbear's Pizza- The magical place for kids and grown-ups alike, where fantasy and fun come to life. What can I do for you today, Mr. Hendrix?"

Dean looked up and watched from the papers sprawled about the desk. He must have been curious. Sam continued with the call. "Well, I saw this flyer. It said you were looking for a night guard?" He flicked through the tabs on the laptop for his fake resume. "I was hoping to speak with a manager of some kind to apply for the position."

"Oh, really?" The man chuckled. "Well, you're definitely talking to the guy you need to talk to. The name's Dave Miller. I'm head guard at Freddy Fazbear's and your ticket to the position. All I would need would be a name, phone number and your availability for the next week."

"You don't need a resume?"

"Oh, you have a resume!"

Sam wrinkled his nose at the expression. This Miller character. . . seemed quite eager to hire a night guard. That was normal, given the circumstances. But at the same time, he was far too even tempered.

"Well, how about this." Dave cleared his throat. "You, uh, how about you come in tomorrow and bring it with you. We can check your qualifications, see if we can get you a uniform and get you started on your first week. Stop at around 2 pm. There won't be so many kids running around and I can show you around without any problems."

"Um, alright." A hard knot formed in Sam's stomach. That was definitely way too easy. But he had an act to keep up and forced some joy in his voice. "You don't want me tonight? I can-"

"Absolutely not."

Sam startled. That was quick. "Wh-"

"Ah, sorry." A sheepish sigh came out of the speaker. "I, uh, don't mean to be rude. It's just, uh. . . closing time. It's not a good time."

". . . Well, if you say so. 2 is fine. Thanks again."

"No problem. Just walk on in and ask for me."

"Ok, thank you. Have a good-"

"One more thing, though."

Sam stopped.

"There, uh. . ." Miller dropped the volume of his voice. "There's going to be some. . . animatronic characters on the floor and they won't have any kids to keep them distracted. So if you happen to pass by any. . . Ah, never-mind. I'll just tell you when you get here. Won't be too difficult to explain if you're smart enough to bring a resume." He was back to being as jovial as ever. "Just stick by me and I'll walk you through it. Have a good night and I'll talk to you tomorrow."

The phone call came to a close with a soft click and a busy tone. Sam pulled the phone away and pressed the red button. The clamshell shut with a soft clap. ". . . Huh."

"Sounds like you got the job." Dean finally stood up from the mess of papers. "So what's with the look?"

"No, I got the job. It sounded like a shoe-in."

"Great. You didn't tell me what the problem was."

"Well, he sounded suspicious."

"Hey, that's good. Suspicious is good." Dean shrugged off his jacket and went to pop off his boots. "Suspicious means we have a job and a job means we have something to gank." He threw the covers back and the bed creaked beneath his weight. "Get some sleep, Sammy. You're going to need it if you're on the night shift."

". . . Yeah." Sam cleaned up his materials and followed suit. "And just when I was getting back to a normal sleep schedule."

"Less bitching. More sleeping." The elder flopped on the mattress, arms folded behind his head. "Big day tomorrow. You should know."

"And could you quit calling me 'Sammy'? I already told you-"

A long, obnoxious snore sounded from the firmer bed. "Sammy" gave up. He shuffled the laptop and every paper in a neat stack to slide in his bag. The shoes and jacket came off. He turned beneath the covers a few times to fight the discomfort of his day clothes. But sleep got to him anyways. Maybe it was the hum of the A/C unit or the balmy warmth of the comforter. The street lamp gave a soft, flickering glow outside. Silhouettes of the window frames would ghost across the opposite wall as a car sped by that cracked road. The gravel outside gave a throaty crunch. Muted chatter filtered in from the lower level. Dean shifted to lay on his side and let an arm hang over the edge of the bed. And every sound and sight blurred and faded together, leaving not even the peace or quiet to be aware of.

SPN x FNAF

Rip-off Chuck E. Cheese's was right. Painfully so.

Morale wasn't at it's best. The morning had been spent at a local college library, printing the fake resume and digging deeper into what had happened. Newspaper articles usually turned up more than a few keystrokes could, but the name "Freddy's" was nowhere to be found in the archives. Even a chat with the local police didn't result in much. All they said was that there was some allegation of kidnapping or murder and an investigation that never turned up any evidence. The community either didn't know much or were keeping mum about it. But that was before. This was now, with inside people who might actually know for sure. Sam stepped out of the Impala and looked up the new potential place of work. A red and white checkered stripe stretched all around the concrete building. Red awnings spread over large tinted windows. An arch at the very top of the establishment helped to hold up a sign branding the place as "Freddy Fazbear's Pizza". Maybe the only distinguishing factor was the characters. Instead of a mouse, the line up of kid-friendly creatures consisted of a bear with a microphone, a blue bunny, and a chicken (or a duck?) wearing a bib reading "Let's eat".

This was the supposed place where the victims had gone missing, counting to more than ten or fifteen disappearances. And those animals up above just smiled like there was nothing to be afraid of. Granted it was only a sign, but it wouldn't really help anyone's piece of mind.

Sam stood before the door in a pair of jeans and a white polo with his usual pair of shoes. The trip to the local thrift store was most definitely a change of pace from the usual tux rental, but Dean was certainly happy that his "hard-earned money" would last a little longer. Speaking of which, the older brother was sitting in the car and would only be content to head-bang to Metallica by his lonesome for so long. Sam gripped the resume, took a deep breath, and ventured inside briskly.

True to form, hardly any kids could be found within these party decorated walls, aside from one or two pairs of child and parent. A few employees scrubbed floors and wiped down tables here and there. Three physical forms of the three characters on the sign stood on a sort of stage at the front of the main floor, stiffly dancing and singing a song that Sam didn't care to listen to. There were a number of drawings on the walls, most likely colored by the kids. It was a nice touch, like the facility was meant for more than profit. A heap of parts lay off in a room to the far left. The young man took a double take. No, that was not just a heap of parts. There was very clearly some semblance of a metal skeleton and plastic appendages attached together. It looked to be some strange white fox. The presents around him didn't exactly make him look any more friendly. Something slammed to Sam's right. He whipped around to look. A tall willowy figure, hanging by thin fishing wire, glided back and forth from a wall of stuffed animals and plastic toys, filling in the blank spaces with more product. A box sat on a glass counter, soon pried open. Long black fingers dug around in the container and began to organize red and yellow tickets into neat stacks.

The figure stopped counting. It looked up, grinning-

Nope. Sam turned away and made his way towards one of the custodian. Nope. Nope. Nope. He did not like the look of those red cheeks or purple stripes one bit. He liked the white face and haunting smile even less. Most definitely, his best bet was to hurry up and find Mr. Miller. The sooner he could leave, the better. Sam spotted a woman with thin brown hair and some pudge in her freckled cheeks. She busied herself with plastic ware and party hats. "Um, excuse me?" He waved down the woman and trotted forward. "Hi, I'm looking for-"

The woman squeaked and scuffled away before Sam could finish. He blinked. If even the day workers were antsy, then maybe they town was keeping hush about it.

"Hello, hello? Young man, are you looking for someone?"

The voice came from the end of a hallway, past a pair of restrooms. A man turned the corner and walked in for a greeting. The closer he got, Sam quickly realized that there were in fact other as tall, maybe taller, than he was. The man appeared to have an inch on his, but at the same time a hefty share of weight. He wore his uniform with a snug fit and pulled his hair back.

"Oh, yes. I am." Finally, someone who could help. Sam straightened his posture and cracked his knuckles. Time to act at least a little professional. "I'm looking for Mr. Miller. I called him last night and-."

"Ha!" The man laughed. "I figured you sounded familiar." A meaty hand shot out and took Sam's for a hearty shake. "Good to finally meet you, Mr. Hendrix."

"You as well, sir."

"You got the resume?"

"Absolutely."

"Well, let's have a look see."

A moment of silence passed between them as the paper was analyzed. Sam had a chance to inspect finer details himself. Dissonance had been struck between Dave's voice and appearance. The margin between the two must have spanned at least ten years. Miller looked much older. Sam first noticed the bags under Dave's eyes. Then the blemishes and sores that arched parallel with his hairline. He could have had a bad habit of picking. A pallor painted his skin thin and white. A pungent body odor rolled off his lax posture. Despite it being two in the afternoon, Mr. Miller looked to be exhausted and in much need of sleep. Sam had his restless nights. Dreams of burning and blame tend to do that to a man. Maybe this individual functioned with a similar situation. Granted it was his job that called for it and not his conscience, but it explained why he was so eager to hire again.

"Ah, impressive." Dave nodded to himself, intrigued. "Fry cook at Candy's Burgers and Fries, custodian at Doug and Rachel's. . . Looks like you got quite a bit of experience. I'm still impressed that you brought a resume at all."

"Well, yeah." Sam shrugged. "I was taking pre-law courses and was trying to find something that would get me by. I guess I'm more of a jack of all trades." Hey, it wasn't all true, but that's how the best lies begin, right?

"Hey, now. Nothing wrong with knowing a bit of everything." Mr. Miller folded the paper and tucked it away in his back pocket. "Makes you more useful, but we really need you for the night shift. Speaking of which, can you start tonight?"

"I'm sorry, tonight?"

"Yeah, we-"

"Hello."

That was not Mr. Miller. Someone else had joined them, maybe a child. A quick look down said otherwise. Below the two men stood a figure who must have recently crawled out of the depths of the uncanny valley. A small boy with a balloon in one hand and a sign advertising as such in the other stood below. He looked up with big blue eyes and a toothy grin, wearing a red and blue striped shirt and propellor beanie. A long creak winded from his neck. He turned his head to Sam. "Hi," the voice chimed again. Then the rest of the rounded body rotated with him as he offered up his large red and yellow balloon-

"Ah, darn thing! Just ignore him. Don't look him in the eye." The older man stepped in, turned the animatronic around and urged him away. "Someone tampered with their software some time ago. Still not right, it seems. Go on, get! Shoo!"

"Did they," came Sam's distant reply. He watched the small animatronic boy look around the party room before waddling away. "What software gets messed up so that I can't even look at them."

"It's facial recognition. They were built into the animatronics some time ago to spot criminals." Miller walked away. Sam followed down the hall, past an extra game room, and even another room with scrapped animatronics. The askew eyes weren't appealing to stick around. Neither was the smell. Sam wrinkled his nose and continued until the two had found their way furthest from the front of the restaurant to two doors next to each other.. "Wait here for a bit." He opened up the right door and called out inside (something about getting the goddamn technician back). Someone bickered back. Another bout of yelling. Dave slammed the door shut again and someone behind it complained in Spanish.

"If you're going to be working here," Stated Miller, "you can't look any of them in the eye. Consider that right there your free-bee."

"O-Oh. I'm sorry-"

"Uh, it's fine. Just remember for future reference. For your sake."

"Um. . . got it. So you said you needed me tonight?"

"Uh, yeah. Midnight tonight." From the looks of it, this new room was meant for costumes. Empty heads and thin endoskeletons sat atop tables and shelves. Miller walked to the back and threw open a closet, filled with pieces of purple uniforms. "I know it's short notice, but I can get you a check on Friday. If you're worried about training, don't be. The big thing you'll be doing is watching the cameras, making sure no one gets in or out. I left recordings on the phone in the office explaining the details. Play one every night for five nights." He took out a button up shirt held it up, and passed it to Sam. "Here, see if that fits."

Sam accepted. "Um, thanks." The shirt was a bit wide for his more fitted build, but he couldn't be picky. Or rather, shouldn't. Rudeness doesn't get you hired, after all.

The head guard then squatted to thumb through the drawers at the bottom of the cabinet. "You start at $5.15 an hour. If you do good, we'll see about bumping it up to $5.40. If you want overtime, just give a call ahead of time." He stood again holding up a pair of trousers. "I'd say the night before should be fine." The clothing flew Sam's way, stopped by a well timed catch. "The bathroom's down the hall. You can change there."

"So. . . I'm hired?"

"I'd say you're hired! Any questions?"

Yes, there were questions. But not questions that had anything to do with the position itself or that would be acceptable to ask. What happened to the kids and night guards? What would change its pattern like that? The only way to find answers was to put himself out there, to watch the culprit when it was most active. He could probably smuggle in at least a silver knife or some salt. Sadly, he was going to have to go it alone. If Dean showed up (criminal record in tow), the machines might not take it well and any chance of getting to the bottom of this would be out the window. As a potential employee, Sam politely declined and tested the uniform. He later penciled in his availability and promised to return for the night shift.

As he left he could feel eyes bore into his back but wisely refrained from turning around to check.

SPN x FNAF

Dark. Exposed. Claustrophobic. "I really am not going to like this, huh. . ."

At six feet long and eight feet wide, the office sat humbly at the deepest, innermost corner of the building, lit only by an overhead lamp from the ceiling. A cathode ray television sat by one part of the entrance while typed memos scaled the other side. Sam did his best to ignore the lack of lockable doors and looked around. To his left hung a celebratory poster and loose cables. To the right, more coloring pictures. Some with the black masked figure and others with a gold bear, looking out with black eyes. An old iron fan chopped the air from it's spot on a worn and chipped desk, dressed in loose papers and a computer. Two vents sat on either side with switches above. At the back of the room a mini fridge sat in the back corner up against a wall colored with painted drywall: A material different from the grey steel that built the rest of the room. Sam adjusted the strap on his bag and took a seat in the spinning chair. A digital clock on the desk told the hunter, in bright red numbers, that his shift was to start in a few minutes. Near that, a phone. Mr. Miller said he would leave recordings for him. The machine had five. Sam pushed a button at the bottom of the dial pad and the first message began to play.

Ring~

Ring~

Ca-click.

"Uh, Hello? Hello, hello?"

"Hello," Sam joked.

"Uh, hello and welcome to your new summer job at the new (and improved) Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. Uh, I'm here to talk you through some of the things you can expect to see during your first week here and to help you get started down this new and exciting career path."

Now that was just painful to hear. If bringing in a resume was "impressive", how were employees expected to stick around long enough to climb the corporate ladder?

"Uh, now I want you to forget anything you may have heard about the old location, you know."

Sam tilted his head. Old location? The internet searches never turned up any "old locations". He leaned forward and made a mental note. The monitor had been left up to show the stage show. Three characters stood motionless, as if in sleep or in wait.

"Uh, some people still have a somewhat negative impression of the company. Uh. . . That old restaurant was kind of left to rot for quite a while, but I want to reassure you: Fazbear entertainment is committed to family fun and, above all, safety."

Somehow he didn't think that statement was one-hundred percent true.

"They spent a small fortune on these new animatronics. Uh, facial recognition, advanced mobility- they even let them walk around during the day. Isn't that neat?" Someone cleared their throat and the recording continued. "But most importantly, they're all tied into some kind of criminal database, so they can detect a predator a mile away. Heck, we should be paying them to guard you!"

A mental image of the boy with the balloon came back with it's eerie gaze. That was exactly what Dave said earlier that day. The thought hadn't occurred to Sam until then, but the measure was probably taken because the threat of a prior event called for such. He cringed.

"Uh, now that being said, no new system is without it. . . kinks."

Sam froze, staring at the machine.

"Uh, you're only the second guard to work at that location. Uh, the first guy finished his week but complained about . . . conditions. Uh, we switched him over to day shift, so hey. Lucky you, right?"

The young man scoffed nervously.

"Uh, mainly he expressed concern that certain characters seemed to move around at night and even attempted to get into his office. Now, from what we know, that should be impossible. Uh, that restaurant should be the safest place on earth. So while our engineers don't really have an explanation for this, the working theory is that. . . the robots were never given a proper 'night mode'. So when it get's quiet, they think they're in the wrong room. So then they go try to find where the people are and, in this case, that's your office.

"So our temporary solution is this: There's a music box over by the prize counter and it's rigged to be wound up remotely. So, just, every once in a while, switch over to the Prize Counter video feed and wind it up for a few seconds. It doesn't seem to affect all of the animatronics but it does affect. . . one of them."

Sam's eyes bugged out. One of them? He flipped through the cameras until he spotted a small white disk in the bottom of one. Soft music leisurely tinkered along. The man in the recording cleared his throat again and continued.

"Uh, and as for the rest of them, we have an even easier solution. You see, there may be a minor glitch in the system, something about robots seeing you as an endoskeleton without his costume on, and wanting to stuff you in a suit, so hey. We've given you an empty Freddy Fazbear head. Problem solved!"

The head in question sat innocently on the ground next to Sam's seat. At least this one didn't smell.

"You can put it on anytime and leave it on for as long as you want. Eventually anything that wandered in will wander back out."

He tested the head, but no more than a few seconds. Immediately his breath stuck hot and wet to his forehead. The so-called "fit" made it hard to turn his head. The eye sockets were too small to see much out of. Sam was glad to get it off. There was no way this was made for a human.

"Uh, something else worth mentioning is kind of the quirky, modern design of the building. You may have noticed that there are no doors for you to close, heh. But hey- you have a light. And even though your flashlight can run out of power, the building cannot. So don't worry about the place going dark."

A switch sat off to the left of the monitor. He flicked the light on and off as a test. A battery meter glowed on the side of the device in four equal units. The switches above the vent must have served a similar function. So this was meant to ward away those animatronics? Yeah, Sam was glad he brought the salt.

"Well, I think that's it. Uh, you should be golden. Uh, check the lights; put on the Freddy head when you need to; Uh, keep the music box wound up. Piece of cake. Have a good night and I'll talk to you tomorrow."

And the recording came to an end. Sam set the head back on the ground and leaned back in the chair. Moving animatronics, huh? Well, maybe that was possible. He cracked his knuckles and fidgeted. Six hours. I guess I had better get comfort-

The clock struck midnight. A high screech pierced the air- Dean's hand-made EMF device proclaimed the presence of something incorporeal and powerful. Sam's breath clouded white in front of his face. The hairs on his neck prickled, shivers and quivers rattled his very bones. He flailed to shut the device off, then threw open the security monitor. The music box in camera 11 was already beginning to unwind. In camera 9, a spot had been left empty on the show stage. A clamor sounded in the air vent to Sam's right, as though someone were crawling through. A blue bunny with green eyes stared back through camera 6. Sam swallowed a hard lump in his throat. He glanced at the clock: Just a little after midnight, just the beginning of his shift.

There was no way $5.15 an hour was enough for this shit.

SPN x FNAF

And there's the first part! Gonna get working on part two soon enough. Please review and let me know what you think. See you next time!

-Magician Irono