murasaki-rose - Tumblr blog

murasaki-rose · 11 hours ago

Note

Were the DMD boys ever witnesses to a baby's firsts? Like first words or first steps?

Superstar Shopping Center, circa 1977

“Did you need help with that?”

Sun moseys up to a mother who looks like she’s got her hands full – literally. Four shopping bags balanced on one arm and a baby in the other. A second child — five or six, if he had to guess — clings to the tail of her mother’s jacket in lieu of a free hand, dressed in her Sunday Best. She ducks behind her mother’s arm as Sun nears and addresses him with a look tied between awe and apprehension.

Contrarily, her mother regards Sun with nothing but relief, handing over all but one of her bags the moment his hands extend to take them. “Well, thank you!” She reorients the remaining bag to sit at her elbow so the little girl at her side has a proper handhold and gently scolds her for continuing to hide.

“It’s quite alright,” Sun assures her with a kind smile. He crouches to be more at eye-level with the child and offers her a little wave, taking no offense to the way she peeks only slightly out from behind her mother. “That’s a very pretty dress,” he says. It’s a Carter's collared plaid, Christmas-time red, with a white dog-eared collar and rabbit embroidery. Perfectly suited for the season. “Are you headed somewhere special?”

“Just down to Shutterbug,” the mother laughs, answering Sun’s question when her daughter doesn’t budge. “I know it’s still early in the season, but I have an endless list of things to get around to before the month’s end, so we’re just going to get our photos done now, and the family will just receive their cards a little early, this year.”

“Oh, certainly,” he nods sagely, as if he’s even once sent a Christmas card himself, “better to get it over and done with before everyone and their mother realizes they’ve forgotten to sign and seal their envelopes!”

“Exactly!” She laughs again. “I figure, well, I might as well get some gift shopping done since I’m already here, but–”

Right on cue, the infant in her arms begins to wail his poor little head off, and she grimaces.

“Finding it hard to get anything done with your hands full?” Sun asks, waiting for her nod before continuing. “Well, that’s nothing I can’t fix! I could carry your other bags for you, or–”

“Could you babysit?”

He straightens with a jolt, nearly dropping the bags he already carried in the process. “Oh! Well, um, company policy doesn’t exactly allow me to–”

“It would just be for a few minutes. An hour, at most.” She gives him a pleading look. “You’re coded with childcare protocols, aren’t you?”

“I–” Sun scrambles for an answer. “My training extends to some childcare etiquette, but–”

“Perfect!” She lofts the infant into his arms like he is nothing more than a small sack of potatoes. “This is George. He’s nine months old as of last week, was just changed, and ate an hour ago, so he should be an angel for you.”

“W-What about his shoes?” He tucks the child against his shoulder and gestures worriedly towards his itty little toes, clothed in nothing but the navy blue footie he wears.

“Oh, don’t be silly, he’s still too young!” The woman insists, “George has only just learned how to crawl, I doubt he’ll be walking any time soon. You have nothing to worry about!”

“But–”

“I’ll come find you in an hour when I’m all finished up. Thank you again!”

The mother turns on her heel like she’s being chased out by fire, leaving Sun there in the center of the mall aisle, still as a statue and stunned into silence.

There was a kernel of truth to his words. Both he and Moon had been programmed with the know-how in terms of child rearing basics, and in fact it was the very first frame of coding that he recalls having. For what purpose, he isn’t sure. It has lied dormant beneath layers of more relevant protocols for years and only ever makes an appearance when he’s interacting with the few children the mall sees from time to time. Even still, it is nothing in the way of proper training for how to care for an infant so small, and for so long.

Needless to say, he was panicking.

The first thing he does after quieting the infant’s cries is find another employee and hand off the bags, instructing them to be brought to Shutterbug and kept behind the desk for the time being.

With his hands freed he can focus all of his attention on the child who, for what it’s worth, has been a perfect angel in the short time since he was haphazardly carted into Sun’s arms. Quiet as a church mouse after that first little outburst, and just as cute, too, the little bundle of joy looking up at him with big brown eyes full of wonder.

Sun returns his gaze with a long sigh. “Now then, what are we going to do with you?”

The protocols that once were dormant now rose to the surface and screamed at him to engage the child in “stimulating activities��, whatever that meant. Instructions for playtime involved everything from games like peekaboo and patty-cake to more developmental activities, such as playing music, coloring, or toying with building blocks. Sun doubted that Bee Gees’ hit single “Stayin’ Alive” was anything in the way of educational for the tiny tot as it played over the speakers, and — to the best of his knowledge — he can’t recall ever having access to building blocks or coloring books. That left nothing but the traditional baby games, tried and true, and easy enough!

He borrows a small blanket from a store nearby and finds a cozy spot on the floor, tucked safely between two plant boxes, to set him down. Sun finds that playing these games comes almost naturally to him — but that’s a given, isn’t it? He follows the instruction manual in his code to the letter, pride and joy overwhelming his stint of uncertainty each time he comes out from hiding behind his hands to the sound of shrill laughter, every “Peek-a-boo!” earning him a motley of giggles and a baby-toothed smile.

Distraction arrives in the form of an employee struggling to carry a stack of boxes into the store behind him. He’s on his feet and across the room in an instant as one protocol briefly overrides the other, and it’s only for a moment — just a moment — but when he turns around again it is to the sight of an empty blanket.

His charge has gone missing.

Panic overwhelms every one of his sensors, rushing along his circuits like adrenaline through veins gripping him with a fear so potent it threatens to shut down his system right then and there.

No, think! His mother said he had only just learned to crawl, which meant little George couldn’t have gone far. Unless the infant hadn’t gone anywhere by himself at all, and rather, someone had come along and–

Sun shut down that train of thought the moment it struck him. He would never forgive himself if something so terrible happened on his watch, saying nothing of what management would do to him if a child was abducted right from under his nose.

He decides the best course of action right now is to follow the same protocol he would use for any other “lost” child. Yes, lost, that’s all they were. It’s so easy to get lost in a mall as large as this one. Sun comforts himself with the knowledge that he has never let a lost child go unfound before. His success rate is a perfect 100%, and he intends to keep it that way.

First, he scans the security cameras for any sight of the child. He is sure to look in every nook and cranny, and he deflates with growing dread when that little navy footie doesn’t appear anywhere on the screens. His voice cuts through the employee radio a moment later and describes the child with every possible detail he can think of, asking that any sighting of the little straggler be reported to him immediately. He hopes against every star in the sky that the mother doesn’t happen to overhear from an employee nearby.

Lastly, he heads out in search of help.

Moon is meant to be working on the upper floor today, helping Sun handle the usual holiday rush, and his lack of response to the radio call is concerning. Not too concerning, though, given that Sun finds him right where he’d been expecting to.

That is, sprawled atop the lockers in the employee break room, one arm dangling over the side, the other resting casually over his waist, and a VOGUE magazine draped over his face.

‘Lazy’ doesn’t even scratch the surface of the words Sun wants to use. They’ve talked about this, the bad habit having put Moon in trouble a number of times already, but that’s an argument for another day.

There’s no time to mince words right now, and so he doesn’t. Instead, Sun stalks across the room and slams his fist against the lockers beneath his sleeping coworker, who sits upright with such force that his head makes contact with the ceiling and crashes through like a train into glass.

It might have been funny if Sun wasn’t as whipped up into a panic as he is, but as it stands he can hardly even keep from raising his voice when he addresses Moon with a scowl. “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Sun hisses, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently. “I take it you didn’t hear my radio call?”

Moon serves him with a glower of his own, snarling deep within his voicebox as he runs his hand over the glassy side of his faceplate to ensure that it’s still intact. He has the decency to look a little guilty, if only for a moment, cerulean blue eyes lowering to the radio attached at his hip that is visibly turned to OFF.

“Of course not,” Sun tuts.

Griping, Moon dusts the ceiling powder from his shoulders. “What could be so important that you had to–”

“I lost a baby.”

The words render him speechless, a long, uncomfortable silence taking up the space between them for all of a minute before Moon blurts out, “Sun, you don’t have a baby.”

“That’s because I lost him!” Sun shrills, beginning to pace. “I was helping a mother with her bags, and she asked me to babysit, a-and I know we aren’t technically allowed to, but– but it all just happened so fast!” His arms flailed for emphasis. “She said he wasn’t even walking yet, I thought it’d be easy! Everything was going so well, too, we were playing a game of peek-a-boo and then – then someone needed help. I only had my back turned for a minute, Moon. Maybe even less! But then I turned around, and…”

“You lost a baby,” he mutters to himself. Moon runs both hands over his face, sighing into his palms. “You lost a baby,” he repeats. “How do you lose an entire child?”

“I don’t know!” Sun answers, voice cracking with guilt. “Will you help me find them?”

“Obviously.” Moon hops down from the lockers (pointedly ignoring the massive hole in the ceiling – he’d come up with an excuse to tell management later) and is already crossing the room when he speaks again. “Management will take it out on both of us if they find out, so you need to get a grip. Your face looks like you just watched someone plummet to their death, for fucks’s sake.” He pauses at the door. “Did you get a scan of their face?”

“O-Of course!”

“Good. Transfer the image to me along with any other information that might be helpful. I’ll search the exits, you take the first story department stores.”

“What about the second floor?”

He fits him with a quizzical expression, going as far as to form an eyebrow with the stars on his faceplate screen and arch it pointedly. “You said this kid wasn’t walking yet,” Moon reminds him. “If someone ‘napped the little guy, they aren’t going to stick around, much less be caught shopping. They’ll head for the exits, first.”

“I guess that’s true…”

“And if you just coincidentally happened to have been babysitting the world’s fastest crawler, they would still be stuck on the first floor,” he continues, “which is why we’re checking there first.”

“Right. Right. You’re right.” Sun’s nod is shaky at best. His hands wring together with a tension that threatens to pop the joints out of place with each anxious tug.

Moon sighs and crosses the room again to place a hand on Sun’s shoulder. “We’ll find him,” he comforts, giving the shoulder a gentle squeeze, “but we need to go now. You won’t fix anything by standing here worrying.”

“Right,” he repeats, working to smother his nerves for the sake of focusing on the task at hand. “You check the exits, I’ll check the department stores. We’ll meet up at the fountain in thirty minutes if neither of us find anything?”

“Ten minutes,” Moon asserts. He wastes no further time, leaving Sun with only that and a firm nod before pacing out of the room.

Sun hopes they aren’t already too late.

Their search yields nothing but more disappointment. Ten painfully long minutes of searching that ends with them meeting at the fountain equally empty handed and with no further leads.

“We’re too late,” wails Sun, already catastrophizing. “How am I going to explain this to their mother? She’ll never forgive me, I’ll never forgive me–” His fingers hook around the rays beside his chin, the thin metal groaning beneath the force and threatening to snap right then and there, “–and management — stars, Moon, we’re going to be dismantled over this!”

“Lower your voice!” Moon snaps. He looks around, ensuring that that their crime — Sun’s crime — hasn’t been overheard. Luckily, it appears the fountain has drowned out their conversation sufficiently. “You need to calm down,” he continues. “I’m sure they’re somewhere around here.”

“We’ve checked everywhere!” His left ray bends under the pressure, molding to the shape of his fingers, slowly but surely. “I should have never let this happen. What was I thinking, turning my back on them? Now they’re all alone, o-or hurt, somewhere, or–”

“Hey, hey.” Moon takes him by the wrist, careful yet firm as he pries Sun’s fingers away from his mangled ray then holds his hand at a distance, so he can’t hurt himself further. “You made a mistake,” he agrees, “but it’s not fair to hold all of that blame yourself. You have no frame of reference for this sort of thing, we aren’t meant to be taking care of children in the first place.”

“I should have known better!” Sun insists. “How can I be expected to run a daycare if I can’t even look after one kid?”

Moon freezes, his optics flickering in a blink. “We–” slowly, he releases Sun’s wrist, “–we aren’t a daycare, Sun. We’re a mall. Are…are you feeling okay?”

“I…” Alarms and notices flood his screen, blocking Moon from view. Corroded files long since forgotten behind firewalls and newly instated protocols. He looks for answers in their overwhelming code and finds nothing but more questions; a lingering sense of awareness always just out of his reach. Then they’re gone, swept away all at once as his system tidies itself up, and he can think clearly again. “We’re in a mall,” he echoes, nodding to himself, “we run a mall. We’re mascots, not – not–” He faces Moon with a calmer disposition, forcing a smile, “I’m alright, now.”

“I always preferred the term Icon,” says Moon, “’mascot’ makes us sound like those people in animal suits waving around signs outside of businesses.” He laughs, and Sun laughs, too, but it’s strained. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He sighs with the last crumb of uncertainty. “I’m fine, just…confused, I guess. I think the anxiety is getting to me.” When he straightens again it’s with newfound gusto, a determination to make things right. “None of our employees have reported seeing anyone carting off with a baby that fits George’s description, so he must still be here. Do you want to try the second floor after all?”

“I guess it’s worth a shot,” says Moon. He takes another look around, eyes scanning the area for any possible lead, until his star-studded eyebrow arches downward. “You said he was wearing a blue footie?”

“Navy blue,” Sun nods his confirmation, “with a little white pocket on the front.”

“Like that?”

He follows Moon’s point all the way to the escalator, where good ol’ George is sat, halfway up to the second story, already, suckling at his thumb like this is any other Tuesday.

“That’s–” Sun feels like he’s going to scream, “that’s him!”

“Huh. Baby on an escalator,” he mutters inquisitively. “Never seen that before.”

“Moon!”

Not wanting to risk any more dillydallying, Sun rushes past him and beelines through the crowd, anxiety pulsing through him tenfold as he gets caught up in a group of customers gathered on the escalator themselves.

Moon takes an alternative route, opting to skip the escalator steps all together. Instead he leaps directly onto the handrail, steady and practiced, and carefully avoids his customer’s fingers as he races upward.

Sun meets him at the top an excruciating few seconds after and feels his composure slip further upon seeing him empty handed. “Where–?”

“I don’t know,” Moon interrupts, looking just as confused. “He was already gone when I got up here.”

“Seriously?” He braces both palms across his arms, hugging himself tightly so he doesn’t just rip out his rays all together. “He’s a baby, for Pete’s sake. How far could he have gone? How does this keep happening?”

“There!” Moon points a little ways off, where little George — somehow, someway — is spotted riding a runaway janitor’s cart, its wheels spiraling uncontrollably forward and headed straight for the wall.

“Stop that cart!” Shrieks Sun, already halfway across the room and hot on the cart’s tail.

The crowd is thick, clusters of customers all aiming to get their holiday shopping in before the real chaos begins, and it makes the already out of hand situation that much harder.

Sun hears the crash before he sees it, and feels his battery operated heart sink. The sight he’s met with upon finally reaching the end of the balcony is disastrous at best. The cart rests in a broken mess on the floor, having evidently bounced into a pair of trash cans rather than collide with the wall. One of said cans has toppled onto its side from the impact, and the trail of garbage leading out of it paints a perplexing picture.

Moon catches up with him a minute later, fans whirring like he’s out of breath. “Is he–”

“Gone,” Sun answers, aghast. He points to the breadcrumbs (literally) that trail out of the toppled can. “I think he fell into the garbage.”

“Well, that’s better than the wall,” hums Moon. “Maybe it cushioned his fall? And then the trashcan fell over…” he trails off.

“And he just…crawled out?” Sun finishes the thought, then raises his chin. The two share a dumbfounded expression.

“Sun, what kind of mutant child did you agree to babysit?”

“Don’t be rude!” He chastises. “George is just…special.”

“Yeah, specially designed to outwit us. They should have called him Curious George.” His eye follows the garbage trail until it peters out a few feet down. “Where do you suppose he went now?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Sun groans. “Should we split up?”

“Good idea. You take the east wing, I’ll go west. Reconvene in thirty minutes?”

“Ten,”‌ corrects Sun, grimacing at the deja vu. “His mother promised an hour, and it’s already been over half of that. If we can’t find him in ten minutes, then we - we–”

“We are going to find him,” Moon assures, bolstering Sun’s confidence as best as he can. “We just need to focus, alright? No more running around like chickens with our heads cut off.”

Sun nods his agreement. “Right, okay. You’re right. I won’t let a baby run me in circles around my own mall.” His frazzled expressions calms, at that, and he smiles. “Just a nine-month infant who crawls a little faster than normal, that’s all he is. Easy peasy!”

What happens next is neither easy nor peasy. In fact, calling it ‘running circles’ is an understatement. In the next ten minutes alone, little George sends both of them out on nothing short of a wild goose chase, appearing in nigh impossible positions each and every time and always just out their grasp.

Sun is the first to find him. Tucked into the one corner of a store that the cameras don’t reach, donning a pair of sunglasses of all things (upside-down, mind you), and playing with a silicone whisk from the kitchenware section. Sun is only a short distance away when a customer taps him on the shoulder and asks where they can find the bathroom. Of course, the little tot is already gone when he turns back around.

A few meters down, Moon discovers some discarded sunglasses on the floor. He spots a familiar pair of white padded feet a moment later and finds George climbing the side of an information kiosk. The employee inside is busy with a customer and doesn’t even notice the little rascal scaling the grounded kiosk sign like he was born to climb Everest. They notice Moon, though, and are all too eager to introduce one of the mall’s very own mascots to the customer who is, apparently, visiting for the very first time. It’s all Moon can do just to act polite in front of the woman as his guest-orientation protocols take over, keeping him paralyzed there even as the infant merrily drops from the sign and disappears from his sight.

Five minutes later Sun hears a shrill of laughter and turns around a corner to see George playing in the plant trough like it’s a sandbox, his navy footie all but smothered in dirt. An internal scream rips silently through his system as he grapples with the knowledge that he’s now going to get an earful even if he does successfully get his hands on the kid.

True to character, George is nowhere to be found when Sun winds up in front of the planter. He calms his nerves and protocols alike by fixing the poor flowers back into their proper position from where they had been carelessly plucked out and thrown aside. He knows there’s no saving a few of them, and he’ll need to reorder more seeds to make up for it, but that’s a headache for another day.

The current source of his vexation appears to have shown some mercy, at least. Sun finds a trail of muddy footprints leading out of the trough and down the aisle. An employee glances up from their storefront desk upon seeing him and points to the right, towards the candy store, knowing exactly what he was looking for, already. For the life of him, Sun cannot understand why they — or anyone else for that matter — hasn’t thought to stop the runaway infant. Apparently, a nine month old crawling around without parental supervision is nothing to bat an eye at to anyone in the mall’s entire vicinity.

Moon is passing by Waning Lights theater when he hears a small commotion inside. On a hunch he peeks in, expecting nothing in particular, and instead sees two enormous baby hands covering the screen. That is, two very small baby hands waving in front of the projector.

He’s up the steps in a matter of seconds, mechanics racing with the adrenaline of having finally caught the little devil, only — of course — the little hands have already disappeared, and the seat is empty, leaving only a confused employee where he once was. “You’re joking…” Moon whispers, exhausted. An already irritated customer shushes him from somewhere downstage. Distantly, he hears the telltale sound of infant babbling and begrudgingly follows it out of the theater again.

He bursts through the door and right into Sun, colliding with a loud clatter of metal and recoiling, each holding their heads respectively and groaning in perfect unison.

“Did you find him?” Sun asks around a wince.

“Technically yes, but–”

“He got away from you too?”

Moon nods. “What is it with this kid?”

“I don’t know, but we need to figure out a different plan soon. We’re already over our ten minutes.” He looks around once more for good measure, knowing the child couldn’t have gone too far, already, if they had both just spotted him a moment ago.

That’s when he sees it. Little George, nine months old, walking down the balcony aisle. Rather, the little tike is running like he’s off to the races.

“Well, that explains why he’s been able to get everywhere so fast,” says Moon, following Sun’s gaze. “I thought you said he was only starting to crawl?”

“He’s, um, a fast learner?” Sun answers sheepishly. He watches George go for all of one long, lovestruck moment — feeling like a proud parent himself — before the swell of pride in his chest shatters to make way for circuit frying terror.

See, little George has shown himself to be quite the impressive little acrobat. He can walk, he can run, he can climb, and at that very moment he is making quick work of closing the distance between himself and a stack of boxes pressed up against the balcony railing.

The only thing awaiting him on the other side is a long, long fall.

Sun darts forward without a word, but Moon is faster, weaving through the crowd with a nimble speed that he cannot compete with. “We aren’t going to make it,” Sun gasps, announcing it to himself, mostly, as horror grips him throughout. Even if they reach the railing on time, George is already at the top of the stack, raising himself onto unsteady feet and peering out into the great beyond. He’ll be over the edge before they can stop him, and they won’t make it to the first floor on time to catch him there.

But then Sun hears it; the whir of a wire, quick and sturdy as it races through its ceiling track to Moon’s beck and call. He watches its metal hook begin to lower from a few paces away, just as the infant topples up and over, and his body seizes with fear as Moon leaps over the railing after him.

He hears a click, the wire latching out of sight, going taut. Sun holds his breath until the sound of giggling follows. Peering warily over the railing, hands shaking, he sees Moon dangling halfway to the floor. Little George bounces in his arms, clapping and cheering and laughing away like this is all just another game.

Moon lowers himself the remaining distance to the floor as Sun scrambles down the elevator to meet him. He looks rightfully shaken, his faceplate screen blank of even stars, but his grip remains persistent. He’s not going to risk putting the kid down for a moment, even if he feels like he’s going to bluescreen any second now. Their landing is celebrated with the undeniable sound of George taking the world’s largest shit, and though Moon wants to be angry, all he manages to come up with in response is “Me too, kid.”

A voice calls over their internal radios right as Sun’s feet hit the floor.

“Can someone ring the mascots?” Asks the employee, “I’m stationed at Shutterbug with a customer and she says they have her baby…?”

“I’m on my way!” Sun answers the radio aloud. He takes the baby from Moon, who extends George to him from a distance, grateful — now more than ever — for their ability to turn off their nose receptors.

“What about the footie?” Moon gestures to the dirt-soaked clothes once his hands are free. “I don’t think she’s going to be happy if he’s brought back all dirty – or naked. That might be worse.”

On a whim, Sun turns George over to check the footie’s tag. Relief floods his system when he reads the name. “We carry this brand – I’ll bet anything that we have this exact footie somewhere in the store. Can you go find it?” He makes a face and turns his own nose receptors off a moment after. “Maybe a pack of diapers, too,” he laughs. “Oh! Can you also pick up a rabbit from Fluff-&-Stuff?”

“What about you?”

“I’m headed to the bathrooms so I can clean the little guy up.” He holds George up, then, wielding him like a stinky little weapon. “Unless you want to try changing a diaper?”

“Navy blue footie with a white pocket, got it,” answers Moon, already turning on his heel and heading in the opposite direction.

Ten minutes later, Sun exits the bathroom feeling like a brand new person. A scarred, mortified person, but new all the same. Who knew baby poop could be so traumatizing?

Moon had returned a moment before, toting with him the items that Sun had requested, and together they figured out how to dress the freshly cleaned child in a new diaper. Whoever said it wasn’t rocket science was right. It was somehow worse. Still, they persevered, and at the end of it all they had a clean, happy, freshly diapered baby to show for their efforts. Now it was just a matter of delivering him back to his mother.

“Why did you want the rabbit?” Moon asks as he trades over the stuffed animal, happy to hold little George now that the little tike isn’t a stink grenade.

“You’ll see,” answers Sun, refusing to elaborate. He rounds the corner with Moon following at his heel and steps into Shutterbug, greeting the mother with his best customer-pleasing smile. “So sorry for the wait, ma’am. George here had a bit of an accident on our way back.”

The woman tuts guilty, but is happy to see them all the same. “Oh, goodness, how embarrassing. I can pay for the diapers you used.”

“Nonsense!” He tells her with a casual wave of his hand, “We’re happy to lend a hand, and it’s not like the little guy could help himself.”

“You’re a sweetheart,” she smiles. “And he behaved for you, otherwise?”

Sun glances over his shoulder at Moon, and the two share a look.

Nodding, Moon steps forward and hands the child over when his mother extends her arms for him. “He was an angel,” Moon tells her.

They had both already agreed to keep their mouths shut on the entire ordeal, including and up to George’s newfound capabilities. Aside from how much trouble they would both find themselves in if anyone ever found out about the chase this single child had put them through, it simply wasn’t their place to mention it. Sun, especially, didn’t want to take away that special moment when his mother rightfully deserved to have it to herself.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” she sighs with relief. “Thank you again for watching her. You two are a real blessing, you know that? I wouldn’t have been able to get all my ducks in a row without your help.”

“Anytime!” Sun answers. He spots a plaid dress hiding behind her, and lowers himself into a crouch. “Hello, again,” he calls to the little girl using his kindest voice, and extends the stuffed rabbit for her to take. “I noticed you had some bunnies on your dress, so I thought you might like this.”

Behind him, Moon relaxes into a fond smile.

“That’s very kind of you,” says her mother, who nudges her forward gently. “Go on, it’s okay,” she reassures her. “It’s a gift.”

The child hesitant, but eventually she peeks out from behind her mother just enough to take the offered rabbit, which she tucks against her chest in a great, big hug. “Th…Thank you,” she whispers. Then, feeling brave, she rewards him with a gap-toothed smile.

Moon clears his voice-box. “Well, we should let you get to it,” he says, full-well knowing that Sun would stay here cooing at the children all day if he let him.

And Sun, for what it’s worth, knows exactly what the vocal nudge means, and detaches himself from the family with a wave and some merry goodbyes before the two of them depart together.

“That was sweet of you,” Moon comments once they’re out of earshot. “You aren’t hoping for kids of our own, are you? I don’t think I’m ready for that level of commitment.” He elbows Sun with a smile, getting a hearty laugh out of him.

“Moon, I’ll be honest. I will be the happiest bot in the world if I never have to change another diaper again.” This time it’s Moon’s turn to laugh, and he laughs until his vocals strain with effort. “But, you know, it wasn’t too bad. Taking care of a baby, I mean. I think we make a pretty good team – and decent parents.”

“I’m the better parent,” Moon says around a wide grin. “You’re too much of a stick in the mud.”

“And you’re too spoiling!” Sun laughs, “Don’t think I haven’t seen you giving out candy to the kids that sneak off without their parents.”

“I’m teaching a valuable lesson,” Moon insists, hand flying over his heart like he’s offended by the notion. “If parents want to leave their children unattended, they have to face the consequences. It won’t be me dealing with the inevitable sugar rush.”

A gasp in the distance interrupts their playful bickering. They turn halfway, back towards Shutterbug.

“Did you see that?” Chirps the mother, loud and clear. Her giddy voice followed immediately by the shutter of a camera. “Look – look! He’s walking!”

Again, the two share a look. Surprise becomes amusement becomes pride, then joy, and they laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

#fnaf #daycare attendant #dead mall dare

37 notes · View notes