They fucking reek. That's the first thing Sans notices about these animatronics as the receptionist, a short and plump teenager with thick blonde hair, leads him to the main room. The animatronics, large looming hunks of metal, positively smell. Like a wet dog. And death. And disgusting, foul shit.

They stood, rigid and still. Soulless and... empty. Nothing like Mettaton, a regular figure in Sans' life ever since he started dating his brother. Like standing corpses, in a way. The stink only furthered that belief, to the point where Sans was itching to teleport away from the hunks of metal. To run for the hills and never return. Alas, he continued to stand, eyeing them wearily as the teenage girl - no older than seventeen and in no way qualified to be doing an introduction to the security guard of all things - droned on.

"That's Freddy, Chica, and Bonnie," The girl hummed. She flicked her eyes to them in accordance to their names, all quite obnoxious in accordance to the species they were meant to represent. "They're the main three attractions to this place. There's a few more, but they're all disabled at the moment."

"Right, I heard," Sans said. "Kinda why I'm here."

"Yeah."

A duel job for Sans, really. Doubling as both the night guard and the maintenance guy for the animatronics, due to his background with building Mettaton. Every weekend he did repairs a few hours before his normal shifts. Other than that, he was the security guard.

The establishment was rather big and impressive. As the only other competitor to Alphys in regards to building animatronics for entertainment, it had a decent amount of hold over the consumers. The place was popular with kids and tired parents, and was packed full of merchandise and promotion along the walls. It was very unique. The place had a vibe the moment he walked in that was solely Freddy Fazbear's Pizza itself.

And the animatronics certainly were up there in that vibe.

Their eyes were empty, lacking. Hulking figures holding old, greasy fake electronic instruments. Freddy Fazbear stood in the middle, rigid and stiff. A microphone clutched tightly in his oversized paws. To his right was Chica, who had a pizza stain right in the middle of her chest. And, of course, to his left was Bonnie. All looking ahead, barren of movement. Like dry desserts of pure, unbiased nothing.

It was terrifying to think of Mettaton like them. To think of the joyous, lively robot as empty as these robots before him.

"Do they move around at all?" Sans asked.

The teenage girl shrugged. "Not anymore."

"What does that mean?"

"Fuck if I know. They used to, then they don't anymore. I never worked with them when they moved. The person who had my job before did, but then they quit."

The girl turned on her heels and walked forward, texting on her phone.

"Why'd they quit?" Sans asked.

She glanced over her shoulder. "Got scared of 'em, I reckon."

And Sans couldn't blame the past receptionist for being scared. The girl continues forward. As she does so, though, Sans sneaks out his phone and snaps a picture.

There are a lot of reasons Sans is working here.

He creeps down the hallway after his impromptu tour guide while she explains the basic layout. A show stage, littered with animatronics, in front of the main room. Filled with arcade machines and party tables. Prime for the entertainment of snot-nosed brats who couldn't not piss themselves apparently. Sans was fairly confident a few of the puddles on the floor were not just water or soda.

There was a kid's cove they peeked into briefly before continuing since all three of the animatronics in that room were out of order. Sans didn't bother to ask about them. He'd get explanations when he was bound to fix them at some point.

Past that, he was briefly introduced to parts and services before he continued down the main hallway into the security office. The office was a small cramped place, tucked into a forgotten corner of the building with two doors big enough for animatronics to duck down into if so needed. He didn't like it. Especially since he didn't like the old stale, crusty cupcake on the desk and the two, looming iron doors that could slam down at a single button press.

"Honestly, this is where the tour ends," The receptionist said when she brought him to the security office, looping a set of keys into her hands as she takes a heavy step back. "There isn't much I can offer you, sorry man. Management doesn't hire many people... you know." She gestures towards the building. "Cheaper."

"Figured," Sans hummed out.

"There should be a phone call at six - prerecorded from the last night guard," She says, "I remember him mentioning he was going to record it for you. Apparently, they're important for the job, or whatever."

"Thanks."

Sans doesn't want to be here. He misses his old sentry job, where he could laze about and eat hot dogs all day. A simple, pleasant job. This was anything but. It smelled, it was stressful, and much too creepy for his liking. He's tired and hungry. He doesn't want to deal with a night shift, but has no choice because he needs this.

There's a plethora of reasons as to why he took this job. Money, mainly. Ever since his brother started dating Mettaton and moved in with him, Sans can't fall back on his bro for expenses and to take care of him. Not like he did before. And, of course, he had to take Alphys' request into consideration when she learned of Fazbears entertainment involvement with animatronics. They were very hushed with their technology. Pair that with their lax requirements for applicants, and willingness to overload someone in desperate need of money with a loaded schedule, and Sans took it.

Were they taking advantage of his desperation? Fucking yes. He was fully aware of it. And so were they. But he couldn't do anything, and they knew that. Sans had to take what he could. Monster employment wasn't great on the surface.

With those factors combined, Sans took the quickest job he could. And so be it if it was a shitty night guard job with a side of working on robots. Whatever. He'd deal with it. Sans wasn't someone of good luck. He just had to wait for that damn bill of Asgore's to pass, which would be in... a little under a week, if he had to guess.

Five nights, estimating.

He sits down on the crusty old chair, wincing as it deflates like a popped balloon. The cameras were lively with static and flickering noises. Sans runs a finger across the mouse, selecting camera option after camera option. Two halls lead to the office, and one vent. For some fucking reason there's a camera in the vent. And only that vent. He has a sneaking suspicion that some wild animal snuck in once and scared the shit out of whatever poor soul was working there at the time.

Not that he could particularly mock that kind of reaction in this environment. Sans is sure that when this place was bright and full of children it could be lovely. But at night? The hallways were bare, dark, and utterly terrifying. An animal scuttering in the vents would scare him shitless as well.

Twelve comes with a ringing phone call that pierces the air, startling Sans out of his thoughts. At the very least, this place is lax. A uniform is given to him as optional attire, and thus, Sans does not wear it. No official tour, no need for drug tests or any background checks. He just needs to be alive, and at some points of the brief application, he wasn't sure if that was even required.

The phone rings once, twice, before it clicks to life. And for a moment, all is silent.

For a moment - for the last moment in his life, Sans didn't know a lot of things. He was innocent. He was free and relatively happy, all things considered. Things were normal.

"Hello, hello?"

And that life was forever left behind. Sans didn't know it at the time. But at those words, there was no going back.

The low humming of the office fan continued in the background as Sans swiveled in his seat, tugging at the hoodie strings of his outfit while he let the phone call run on in the background. The stale air tasted almost bitter as he sucked in a breath, listening to the prerecorded message.

"Uh, I wanted to record a message for you to help you get settled in on your first night. Um, I actually worked in that office before you. I'm finishing up my last week now, as a matter of fact. So, I know it can be a bit overwhelming, but I'm here to tell you there's nothing to worry about. Uh, you'll do fine. So, let's just focus on getting you through your first week. Okay?"

Sans doesn't blink at that. At the words, or the weird tilted tone that doesn't sound quite right. He doesn't think anything of it, because he's too busy focusing on ditching this job the moment he can. So he doesn't pay attention to the slight smear of blood on the corner of the desk, or how the animatronics reek of death, or how the phone guy sounds wrong, as if he's not quite there when he speaks.

"Uh, let's see, first there's an introductory greeting from the company that I'm supposed to read. Uh, it's kind of a legal thing, you know. Um, 'Welcome to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. A magical place for kids and grown-ups alike, where fantasy and fun come to life. Fazbear Entertainment is not responsible for damage to property or person. Upon discovering that damage or death has occurred, a missing person report will be filed within 90 days, or as soon property and premises have been thoroughly cleaned and bleached, and the carpets have been replaced.'"

Sans did another spin in the lacking office chair, watching the two shadow-filled doorways as his gaze passes them. It's a bit... weird, how secure the office is. Why does it need two thick, iron doors with bright red buttons? And lights? What kind of security measure was that?

... Why not a gun? Seemed a bit more effective.

"Blah blah blah, now that might sound bad, I know, but there's really nothing to worry about. Uh, the animatronic characters here do get a bit quirky at night, but do I blame them? No. If I were forced to sing those same stupid songs for twenty years and I never got a bath? I'd probably be a bit irritable at night too. So, remember, these characters hold a special place in the hearts of children and we need to show them a little respect, right? Okay."

And, somehow, it still doesn't click for Sans. He knows the animatronics are probably bound to move around at night. He's known Mettaton for years.

"So, just be aware, the characters do tend to wander a bit. Uh, they're left in some kind of free-roaming mode at night. Uh... Something about their servos locking up if they get turned off for too long. Uh, they used to be allowed to walk around during the day too. But then there was The Bite of '87. Yeah. I-It's amazing that the human body can live without the frontal lobe, you know?"

That's weird. That is a weird thing to say to a new hire. His voice is desperate and straining, but withheld all at once.

Sans stops swiveling, and he eyes the doors suspiciously.

Okay. Okay, he knows this establishment is weird. Its history is dodgy on google, and upon entering it was a clusterfuck of OSHA violations and health issues. He knows that. But this is a new level of fucking weird.

No, no, it's fine. He has to last about a week here. Until Asgore can get that damn bill passed. Humans were still a bit stingy with their job offerings, but if that bill passed, then monsters could (finally) sue for discrimination in job hiring. Fucking finally. They've been on the surface for months, but only now is it finally coming. Honestly, Sans had thought he could skim by on his savings until it did. Look where that got him. In a desperate position for money, with rent due next week, and a sneaking suspicion that if he even missed one day of work he was going to get evicted.

He needs this job. So he needs to overlook the weird bullshit that's jumping up at him, red flags blaring. He's clinging to his rose-tinted glasses because he knows what will happen if he doesn't. For his own sanity.

He needs this job, he needs this money. He just needs to hold over until the damn bill passes and he can finally apply for some of the good-paying online jobs in science he was qualified for. So he holds those rose-tinted glasses close because he has to, god damn it.

"Uh, now concerning your safety, the only real risk to you as a night watchman here, if any, is the fact that these characters, uh, if they happen to see you after hours probably won't recognize you as a person."

Sans hates everything.

He sinks back into his chair, running a hand down his face. This wouldn't be a problem if Sans had his magic. Which, well, he did, but he also didn't. Fucking new laws humans put out. Without a license - which only the royal guard had, mind you - monsters couldn't use any type of magic in public. Even for defense. A minimum of ten years jail time if they did so. That was another thing Asgore was tackling at the moment.

So yes, fuck humans.

"They'll pr- they'll most likely see you as a metal endoskeleton without its costume on. Now since that's against the rules here at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, they'll probably try to...forcefully stuff you inside a Freddy Fazbear suit. Um, now, that wouldn't be so bad if the suits themselves weren't filled with crossbeams, wires, and animatronic devices, especially around the facial area. So, you could imagine how having your head forcefully pressed inside one of those could cause a bit of discomfort...and death. Uh, the only parts of you that would likely see the light of day again would be your eyeballs and teeth when they pop out the front of the mask, heh."

His hands feel cold and rigid as Sans presses them flat against the crumb-infected desk, staring at the phone harshly enough to set it ablaze if he glared just a teensy bit harder. Fucking hell. That - okay, admittedly, Sans would probably be fine. He could tell the type of endo skeletons they used for the animatronics, and safe to say Sans was going to be fine if he was shoved into a suit. He had no organs to worry about, and he was a smaller skeleton than the endo skeletons in those suits he saw earlier. He'd have extra room to spare if shoved into a suit. So he would be fine. Cramped, definitely. But fine.

Anyone else, though? They would be positively fucked.

"Y-Yeah, they don't tell you these things when you sign up. But hey, the first day should be a breeze. I'll chat with you tomorrow. Uh, check those cameras, and remember to close the doors only if absolutely necessary. Gotta conserve power. Alright, good night."

The phone clicks off as Sans groans, running a hand down his face as he sucks in a shallow breath. The cool air stings at his bones as he sits, the fan running brisk wind into his skull and left shoulder. Okay. Oh-fucking-kay. It's fine. Sans will be fine. The animatronics are quirky, apparently, but that doesn't mean they're going to be a danger to Sans. If they shove him into a suit, he has no eyeballs to pop out of his eye sockets. He's fine.

He checks the cameras again, anxiety now steadily thrumming through his fingertips. Alright. All three of the animatronics are on stage, staring forward with barren expressions. He could almost fucking smell them from here.

And so, time passes.

Sans spends time between checking the cameras, going onto his phone to play some random games, and trying to pretend the office didn't exist around him, and that he was actually at home. He gives small, tedious little updates on Alphys about the animatronics.

Frankly, they don't hold a candle to her own. Her robot is lively, full of personality and features. These are... creepy and dull. Made to save a quick buck and draw in children by the dozens.

Why the hell does this place even need a night guard? There's no way in hell anyone would want to rob this place. Just put in a security alarm for heaven's sake.

And why even hire a security guard if they were going to do a piss job at it? For all they knew he could be a serial killer.

The next time Sans checks the cameras, Bonnie isn't on stage.

He hesitates, before shrugging off his panic and clicking through the other cameras. Right. The phone guy warned him about this. And he had been working here for quite a while, right? If there was more to be concerned about, he would've warned Sans.

And so, Sans continues.

The party rooms are empty. As is the main hallway that branches off into two hallways. The closet, the parts and services room, fuck, everywhere is void of a certain robot. How the fuck did Sans manage to lose an eight-foot-tall blue rabbit? How does he even manage that?

And then Sans looks up. And Bonnie is staring back at him through the glass of the room.

Sans stills, staring through the darkness of the hallway into those beady brown pupils gazing forward. Bonnie is deathly still, as if he planted himself right there and decided to invest in the career of a statue. And, well, it's fucking terrifying. Sans didn't hear a thing. How did he sneak up on him like that?

Should... should Sans close the door? Wack him with his chair? Scream and cry?

Sans settles on staring blankly because he's great at decision making.

"Uh, hello?" Sans asks, a bit stupidly, and almost smacks himself after he realizes what he's said.

Bonnie steps into the room with a mechanical creak. And Sans immediately wishes he closed the door.

The button is bright red for fucks sake, why didn't he lunge for it?

Bonnie soon looms over Sans, and he is absolutely putrid. Sans wasn't this close to him before, and he's glad he wasn't because he wants to vomit in record time. Sans decides to simply gag, repressing the need to throw up, and instead chokes it down with a hand against his teeth. No wonder the phone guy commented about them not being washed, because they certainly fucking aren't.

Bonnie reaches. Sans tenses. And quickly, hands grabbing him and lifting Sans into the air. Sans freezes, hanging limply as he stares forward.

They aren't a threat, they aren't a threat.

Remember that. He's going to be okay, he has to be. Humans may be dicks but they aren't that level of dicks.

"Hello?" Sans repeats, his voice slow and drawn out.

Bonnie starts carrying him away, and Sans is thoroughly panicking, barely containing it with an awkward cough. He's fine, he's fucking fine.

They reach parts and service, and Sans is practically manhandled towards an old, practically decaying fazbear suit in the far corner of the room, tucked away behind the others. It positively is putrid, to the point where the grim reaper may shy away from it. Sans can't help the way he gags out, barely holding back the urge to spew out his dinner at the stench. He knows he's a slob, but holy fucking shit. This takes the cake. And it takes it to the pits of smell hell.

Then Bonnie takes off the head and Sans screams.

A mangled corpse is looking back at him. Eyes bulging out of their eye sockets. Rotting, with blood soaking the fur suit that was just covering its head. Sans can see that nothing is anatomically correct, which means this guy...

Fuck, he died getting stuffed into a suit. What the fuck what the fuck -

He's broken out of his scream when the mask - the mask covered in blood and guts - is dragged down over his skull. He could feel the mushy bits pressed against him, around him, and could feel the spring locks of the suit pressing against his skull. The spring locks that killed the man two fucking feet away from him.

Sans teleports away. He teleports and stumbles to the ground outside of the building, the gravel of the parking lot digging into his knees as he fumbles for the damn mask still on his head. He tears it off, leaning to the side, and vomits onto the ground, a sobbing and shaking mess. Fingers tremble as he digs them into the dust below, trying to steady his rapid breathing. His chest is tight, and a wet slap comes from a piece of human flesh flopping to the ground, a piece of skin dangling from his cheek. He can feel the blood, the rotten putrid blood, and rotting human flesh, clinging to his face.

What. The. Fuck.

Sans doesn't do anything. He can't. He has to deal with the emotions cracking down at his mental foundations, trying to grasp together pieces of a broken mirror that was his mental state. Tried to get a sense of normality, of -

Police. He has to call the police.

Shaky hands tug out his phone, and he makes the final mistake for that night. He calls the police and accounts everything to them through broken sobs.

___

Sans is sitting in a dusty, dim old jail cell when the representative comes.

He should have known. He should have fucking known the goddamn fazbear monopoly has its hands in the fucking police system. Sans should have known that the company had it. They literally got away with murder. A multi-million dollar company that had a building under that condition was bound to be dabbling in some underhanded tactics. They probably paid off the health code people, and the newspapers, and took down any articles online. It's why Sans found weirdly worded pieces online when he was looking at the company. They knew their practice was shit, so they just buried everything instead of fixing it.

Fuck, he found a corpse. He found a corpse that was shoved into the suit he was about the be stuffed into.

What poor fucking guard was that? Was that the last night guard? Or is that why he quit?

Sans is still shaking like a leaf when the human walks up to him. She's a tall and lean woman, with sharp glasses and glossy lips. She looks tired and almost bored as if she's had this conversation a dozen times. And now, he realizes quietly, she very much might have. How much have these fucking people buried?

He's still covered in the remains of a human, all over his face, despite his attempts to wipe it off with a nearly pillow cloth. And she dared to look bored.

"Hello, Comic Sans."

Sans frowns at her almost chipper fucking tone.

"You knew," He hissed.

"We... had an idea, I suppose," The woman hummed. "A shame, really. He was a good security guard."

Sans it up out of the creaky old bed in the decrepit jail cell, lunging to grab the bars and press forward against them. "You fucking knew."

The woman stares down at him like a little cockroach to be squashed. She's done this before. She absolutely has spoken to unstable victims with that damn clipboard of hers.

"Before I begin our conversation," She hums out, tugging out a small vanilla folder from under her clipboard and letting it stick between the bars. "Look at this, please."

Sans does, with a pointed glare towards her and trembling hands. The stench of rotting flesh and bloodshot eyes is still vibrant in his mind as he tugs the folder open. The first sentence he passes with ease. The second he pauses. The third he allows the papers to scatter from his hands, fluttering uselessly to the ground. For a second, all is still.

"You're fucking kidding me," Sans hisses. His voice is quiet and strained. He doesn't particularly feel like a pun at the moment.

"You have two accounts of unlicensed magic use, primarily creating a bone attack and teleportation," The woman says sharply, adjusting her glasses. "That's a minimum of twenty years due to the type of magic you used. Attack magic has some hefty risk attached to it. Which, of course, can be extended further if we contact some of our companies lawyers - which we already have."

Sans wants to reach through the bars and strangle her. He's still hyped up on adrenaline from discovering a corpse, from being shoved into a suit with said corpse. He wants to scream. He wants to cry. He wants to vomit. Which he's done all of throughout the night already.

"You're blackmailing me into being fucking quiet?" Sans asked.

The woman shrugs. "Necessarily. It's a tragedy the man shoved himself into a suit, you see."

"That's bullshit and you know it," Sans hissed.

The woman only slightly grins, as smug as a rat. "Yes, well, that is the story that the public will get if it ever airs. Which it won't. Because you will be getting this lawsuit if you spill. And, of course, if you don't meet our other demands."

Sans is very much reconsidering his stance on arson.

"What other demands?" He asks.

There's a moment of silence. If only it was to mourn the loss of some innocent fucker who didn't realize what his job had meant. What dangers lay beneath it. Fucking hell, Sans knew the company was shady, but holy shit.

"Continued employment of our establishment," The woman says. "Frankly, it's difficult to keep - ah, staff present."

"I wonder why," Sans says dryly.

She blinks at him boredly. "Either way, I discussed your experience in past work with animatronics with my peers on the Fazbear board. Your experience with building animatronics like Mettaton did not go unnoticed, especially with your ability to survive spring locks, animatronic suits, and your ability to teleport. These are valuable assets. And since you already know about some... unsavory accidents at our establishment, we won't have to worry about any new discoveries. After some extensive discussion, we've come to this offer: no word of this to anyone else. And we expect you to continue your employment with us for the work hours previously provided. In turn, this lawsuit won't see the light of day."

"I keep your dirty secrets and you keep mine, aye?" Sans asks bitterly.

"Consider it," The woman says, her eyes gleaming, "A business opportunity."

Sans hates that their deal includes him to continue working there. He fucking hates it. He wished they would just fire him and not take the risk. But they're smart. They want to keep him close, on death's door, to ensure he won't blabber.

He hates it, and he hates them.

The corpse rings through his mind again, and Sans has to blink back tears that threaten to spill. Fuck, he's going to have nightmares.

"I have some propositions of my own I want to be added," Sans says firmly. His hands tighten on the metal bars.

The woman grimaces at him. "I don't believe you're in any position to be adding on anything to this deal, Comic Sans."

"Oh, I think I am. Do you really think I didn't fucking take pictures of the blood in the office? And you really don't think I won't call in my favor with the King of Monsters? I might not be an enemy for a silly little skeleton man, but Asgore doesn't fuck around with investigations. You might have some dirt on me but I doubt you can get any on him. All I have to do is upload it from my cloud and shoot him a concerned message. He'll bite. And while you guys ship me off to jail, he'll tear your company to shreds. So I'm going to sweeten the deal so it's pleasant for all of us."

A filthy lie about the blood. But by the way her expression dips, it works decently enough.

"First off, I want unrestricted access to my magic," Sans says. "Buildings and companies can permit magic use on property. I want full access to mine to keep me fucking alive. Second, increased pay. I need money for rent and shit. I'm not expecting a million dollars a year but I'm sure you guys can afford a hefty raise. It's better than paying a lot more for more coverups, right?"

She continues to stare. "Fine, I suppose. Reasonable requests."

"I'm not done."

She blinks. It's almost as lifeless as the animatronics from earlier that night.

"That guy... whoever it was, give him a proper funeral, alright? He deserves that at the very least."

She doesn't react much to that. There's an air of shock, though, as if she's surprised Sans is being considerate to the corpse he found. Because of course he was! That had to be the worst way to go. Imagine that, for a moment. You're scared, being dragged away by the animatronics when you know you're going to die in a suit like that. Probably kicking and screaming the whole way. No magic. No skeleton body. Knowing he's going to die and struggling tooth and nail to try and fight a losing battle, under the watch of a company that gave no shit if he died.

"Fine," She says.

And that's that.

"Officially", Sans stumbles upon a body of a night guard (she doesn't specify which one, so Sans has no idea if it's even the guy who recorded the message for him or not. Which is terrifying to think about. Did that man, who innocently recorded a guide for Sans, die moments after? Or did he innocently go to work, not knowing there was a rotting corpse just a few rooms down?). "Officially", the now fired night guard had snuck onto the property, gone against protocol, and tried on a fazbear suit after hours, and after the spring locks had gone off he passed away. "Officially", Sans found him hours later.

Officially, though, for real, Sans goes home after being released from the cell with the deal sealed. Neither side feels particularly keen on signing anything, because that leaves evidence on both sides. So each side's threats hang in the air, very present, as the sun peeks over the horizon.

And Sans lays under his blankets. For a very long time. 

___

Here's some notes about how things are going to work in this little crossover:

The pizzeria Sans works at is a combination of FNAF 1 and FNAF 2 maps. It's the FNAF 2 layout, but instead of the office with the open door, the hallway splits into two hallways at the end and both lead to the FNAF 1 office. I wanted a bigger building and since the toy animatronics are basically the same, I wanted Foxy, Mangle, and Puppet available with the classic animatronics (not withered).

Do I fully understand springlocks or every single bit of the FNAF lore? Fuck no. So some of it may not be fully accurate with canon. Wish me luck. Wish my FNAF friend luck, because guess who I'll be spamming?

Sans can teleport, but he cannot teleport other people with him, like he can in the game.

Freddy Entertainment is technically Mettaton's biggest competitor. While Mettaton specializes in adult leaning content, though, Freddy Entertainment specializes in children's entertainment. And murder. Two for one deal, really.

Sans is aromantic. No romance here for him. Only blood and sadness. And gore. Lots of gore. 

Next chapter upload date: September 6

Also, does having the next date work well or not for you? Let me know. Trying to have "scheduled" updates so people know when to expect it.