Quick Scraptrap And Y/N Fic: “A Question Answered”
AKA “How to drive Scraptrap’s soul up the wall in five seconds with a simple hand hold”
So this concept crossed my mind today, and I thought it’d be funny to write a short scene about it. Have fun trying to put yourself in this Y/N’s shoes.
—
It was the standard routine for you: Man the office while Mike was out for coffee, ward off who—or whatever— was in the vents, then run out the door as soon as Mike walked back in. Ten minutes at worst, three minutes at best. Nothing to worry about there.
So then why was your mind racing when it should’ve been preparing some quips?
You shut your eyes and breathed deep. Memories of your fellow handy-folks’ conversations drowned out your growing anxiety— If only for a moment.
“So, you’d get anywhere with Ol’ Spring-Bones?” you can practically hear Joe ask one of the janitors.
“Not really,” you recall the janitor telling him. “He’s still insisting I have Tori dump a bucket of water on him. Something about his suit being a death trap if anyone touched it.”
“His whole body’s a death trap,” was one of the last things you heard Joe scoff before you moved to another room. Of course, this was only one of many conversations you heard about the oh-so-elusive Scraptrap. The numerous health requirements from both staff and the robot itself. The countless jokes from the janitors about the obvious degradation of the animatronic. Even your own reports on the off-chance he was the one attacking you that day. All of these, over time, built a strange reputation for him. A looming sense of dread whenever you heard him in the vents, a hint of pity whenever the cleaning requests put him in further isolation, and—weirdest of all—a strong curiosity about one particular subject.
What would happen if you held his hand?
You open your eyes, but keep your head low. One of your gloved hands picks up Mike’s pen and flicks it from side to side. Its clicking only makes your mood worse. “He’ll probably just hide in the vents like always,” you think as you stare listlessly. “He only climbs out of there to attack Mike— And that’s if he’s the only one in there.”
The pen leans to one side. You straighten up, getting ready to lean back in that chair.
A rhythmic thumping hits your left ear. You glance in that direction.
Either that’s him or his pigtailed protégée.
You roll the chair a bit closer to the vent.
The thumping keeps going. And, as far as you can tell, there’s no whirring of plastic wheels after each thunk. Not even after it stops completely.
Before your brain makes the full connection, unfortunately, you hear the source confirm your suspicions. “Did you miss me, Broomstick?” a raspy voice asks, its mocking tone drawing out each ‘s’. “It has been a while, but I was not expecting you to be anticipating me.”
The “nickname” jolts you back into reality. Then the rambling after it gives you an idea. “Scraptrap, the only thing I’ve missed is how quiet it gets when it’s just you around,” you huff, leaning back as you do your strongest eye-roll. “You’re so shy for a killer robot, it’s hysterical.”
You can practically hear the servos in Scraptrap’s head whirring. “Being ‘shy’ is not my intention when dealing with employees like you,” he snips, inching closer to the tiniest bit of light. “I am simply being practical. Tactical, even.”
“So what’s tactical about only letting Tori dump a bucket of water on you when it’s cleaning time?” you cut in, tugging your gloves down. “Or rejecting the main janitor’s idea of giving you a brush ‘bath’? Mike’s paid top-dollar for us, and we definitely know how to mess with horrors like you.”
All you catch is a nervous shiver, then a grumble.
“What was that?” you question flatly, even though your brain is starting to think of exit strategies.
Another shiver, though now it’s punctuated by an irritated sigh. “In that area. I am simply acting with practicality in mind,” he insists. “No need to drive M— your employer’s business into the ground with all the hospital bills he would accumulate. No matter how much you lot prepare, there is nothing to protect you from the rot of the undead.”
You stare at the shadowy figure. Though your expression stays the same, you feel a smile coming on. A smile that you can bet this dumb bunny’s pulled once or twice before. “Is that so?” you ask, using that as your cue to slowly rise to your feet.
In a matter of seconds, the nearly-visible rabbit starts retreating back into the shadows. You calmly walk to the side of the vent, but something seems to prompt Scraptrap to… fumble out of the vent seconds later. You peer down the shaft, but nothing else shows up.
You look back at Scraptrap. He’s using the office chair as a crutch, but the lack of a second arm really isn’t helping him get back to his feet. “Well, better this than risking getting stabbed,” you think as you start to approach.
Scraptrap, on the other hand, gives a furious glare. “I advise you to leave me be,” he says with a gnash of his robotic teeth. “It will take a moment, but you will be regretting all of your countless questions.”
You stop in front of him, then rest your arm on the chair. A full minute passes… And he’s still struggling. “I’m sure I’ll regret it once I’m in the hospital,” you respond, using your free arm to hoist him back up to his feet. “At least I’ll have a funny story to tell when I get back.”
The only response Scraptrap gives is a wide-eyed look towards your hand. And, yes, the both of you are holding hands currently. Given the circumstances, that didn’t really mean anything on your end. Just a happenstance of trying to help someone out, that’s all.
But for Scraptrap?
He must’ve not had basic human contact in years, because the rest of his body is trembling. You can hear the metallic parts of his bones rattling on top of the clearly-pounding heartbeat, that’s how extreme it is. It would be almost endearing if it wasn’t for how unnerving he looked when only his eyes freely move.
So you decide to help him out one more time. “You can let go now,” you tell him, clearing your throat to punctuate your sentence.
Thankfully, this seems to work. “Right,” Scraptrap mumbles before carefully unraveling his bony fingers from yours. “My apologies.”
“It’s all good,” you say with a nonchalant shrug. “Just try to make sure your arm’s wrapped around mine nexf time, all right?”
He’s back to the indistinct mumbling, but his body language tells you that he agrees. With a quickness you weren’t expecting, he hobbles past you and beelines for the other vent. You watch as he cautiously climbs back in, then looks back at you. “You may as well promise that we never speak of this until it is necessary,” he sneers.
With an extra amount of caution, you sit back down in the chair. “All right, but what do I tell Mike?” you inquire as you remove your gloves. “I’m sure you don’t want rumors spreading around the workplace.” You wink at the end of that last sentence just to rub it in.
“You simply tell the truth,” Scraptrap replies in a deadpan tone. “We got into a scuffle, I fell onto the floor, and you helped me back up. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“So I can’t mention you hand-holding with Broomstick?” you pout.
Scraptrap just disappears into the darkness.
And, to be honest, that was probably the best response he could’ve given. It made you chuckle to yourself as you kept office-watching, it told you everything he wanted to without staying and fumbling his words like a shy schoolgirl, and it kept the other robots at bay in the long run. The smartest move all-round, if not the smartest he’s ever made.
..Now if only you could figure out why the office lights were threatening to shut off all of a sudden.
Around Christmas the 118 starts a challenge, everybody has to carry mistletoe in their pockets and whoever manages to actually trap Buck and Eddie underneath gets a small bonus from Bobby.
