Alone With Them

This chapter is a little shorter than some of my others, so because of that (and because it's in the middle of a dramatic moment) I decided to publish it along with Chapter 28. Enjoy!!

The hum of Foxy dropping into sleep was loud in Cathryn's ears, but not nearly as booming as the thick, authoritative tone that proceeded to shake the room.

"Why did you do that?"

The new voice made Cathryn jump out of her skin. Her exhausted eyes darted first to Foxy, only to find him still powered down and Bonnie's attention directed higher.

"Chill out, Chick."

Yellow hands found Cathryn's arms, hauling her into the air at a speed where nothing registered until the bird slammed her back against the far wall. Cathryn's spine sent off sharp vibrations and the impact made her teeth click together. She groaned. Bonnie stood behind Chica, not nearly as amused as Cathryn had expected.

"How dare you! You don't touch that chip," Chica roared inches from Cathryn's face. The rotting smell would make anyone's head spin, and her volume rivaled all of Foxy's horrible screeching put together.

Cathryn struggled to quiet her coughing as air flooded back into her aching lungs.

"Patch is fine," came Bonnie again in a firmer tone. One purple hand neared Chica's arm but didn't dare touch it.

"Patch . . . ?" Cathryn mumbled weakly. She had to answer herself. Foxy's eye patch. Bonnie's stupid nicknames, of course.

"You're gonna have Boss in here after us," Bonnie grumbled in Chica's ear, "and you wouldn't want that, would you?"

"If he knew what was happening–" she started fiercely.

"He does," Bonnie snapped. "Though strange he wouldn't tell you about it. What was with your little meeting then?"

Chica lowered Cathryn an inch, her grip starting to slip as she turned to glare daggers at Bonnie. "Wouldn't you like to know."

I would, Cathryn would've said if she was an idiot. Even on practically no sleep her fight-or-flight instinct was strong enough to keep her quiet.

Bonnie somehow rose above anger, despite his blank face and his dead eyes. His voice was emotionless when he said, "Don't beat up the stooge."

Chica let out one of those ear piercing, robotic huffs. It made Cathryn tremble. The bird gradually turned her attention back to Cathryn, analyzing her face. It wasn't hard to wonder if Chica was . . . thinking? In some manner of the word that applied to a mangled mess of code and metal . . . but if she was, she didn't for long.

Both animatronics took a step back, Chica's grip tight enough Cathryn still hung in the air. Old bruises and new cried in her arms. The chicken gave her a final squeeze and a yelp threatened to escape Cathryn's lips as she was tossed carelessly towards the office chair.

She landed on the thin padding, flashes of pain spiraling up her tailbone and through her back, and the speed of her fall sent the chair tipping sideways. Bonnie stepped on the chair's legs and righted her seconds before she crashed.

Cathryn sucked in quick breaths; her knuckles white as she fisted her hands. Her eyes were wide enough to pop from their sockets.

What had just happened? Usually "fixing" an animatronic was disorienting, but Cathryn had yet to deal with something like that! Wasn't Chica supposed to be more reasonable now? Like . . . Well, she wouldn't call Bonnie reasonable, but his violence had lost its edge. With all the chaos, Cathryn had even managed to lose the chip, probably when Chica had first grabbed her. She didn't bother searching for it and merely let herself melt into her protective seat.