Masterpiece (Foxy x Mangle)

5

After witnessing what feels like the worst thing in the world, Mangle stands outside Freddy's office, heart pounding. She lifts a shaky hand, knocks, and hears Freddy's casual, "Come in." Entering, she finds him at his desk, closing a browser tab on his computer—probably a movie or something else to pass the time. Typical Freddy behavior.

"Hey, Mangs, take a seat. I'll try to keep this short so you can get back to it," he says, straightening up. Mangle quickly sits, feeling her palms begin to sweat as anticipation builds.

"What's the damage?" she asks, doing her best to mask her anxiety.

"As I mentioned earlier, it's actually not bad," Freddy begins, leaning forward. "This could even help you out while you're getting the café set up. I know you've been stressing about where you'll end up and how you'll manage. You're welcome to stay here as long as you need, of course. But... I have a feeling your childhood home might be a better fit."

Freddy's words hit like a lightning bolt, stopping Mangle's heart for a beat.

"Childhood home?" She frowns, suspicion rising. "Is this some kind of joke?"

Freddy raises a hand, signaling her to let him finish.

"Mangle, when you came here, I became your legal guardian," Freddy explains, his tone more serious now. "So, when I signed those papers, they handed me your grandmother's will. I didn't read everything—those details were meant for you—but they did inform me of something crucial: she left her house to you. Her will stated it was to be your college graduation gift, kept as a surprise until now."

Mangle stares in disbelief, unable to comprehend. Her grandmother's house? The very place where so many of her cherished memories were made?

"But I thought the bank seized it and sold it. I was told it was custom-built by my grandparents, making it too valuable to keep. Are you saying it's just been sitting there, untouched, for over six years?"

"No. I made sure it was well-maintained," Freddy assures her.

"But... what about the payments? The property wasn't fully paid off when my grandmother passed. How could it not have been repossessed? And I can't afford the payments now, even if I wanted to keep it, I only have the finances for my cafe," she protests, already fretting the financial stress.

Freddy leans forward, his voice gentle. "I paid off the property for you, Mangs."

His words sink in slowly, leaving her speechless.

"Freddy..." Her voice trembles.

"Before you say anything, just know that was my graduation gift to you, as well as a thank-you for being part of the Fazbear family. When I signed those papers, I practically adopted you. Everyone else who's come here over the years was already an adult, but you were the youngest. You're a special kiddo to me." He pauses, letting the words settle.

Freddy's right; she was always the youngest, watching others come and go. Since her grandmother's passing, Freddy had taken on a fatherly role, even if she never called him "Dad." Freddy had been fostering kids for decades—some like Foxy, who came when he was just ten, and others like her, who arrived in their late teens. He had provided shelter for countless young people and never seemed eager to retire. This pizzeria, his life's work, had become a safe haven for many because he genuinely cared.

"Freddy, I... I don't know how I can ever thank you for this," Mangle says, her voice thick with emotion.

"You don't need to. All I want is for you to make that café a success. Don't give up, and don't let yourself or anyone fuck it up," he replies, his tone stern. Freddy rarely swore, and his use of the word "fuck" only reveals how serious he is.

Mangle nods, "I won't let you down, Freddy. I promise."

"I don't doubt that for a second," he says, smiling. "The house is yours. All you'll need to cover are utilities, which cost about the same as your part here. And if you ever need help—financial or otherwise—just call. I'm here."

Mangle stands and walks around the desk, pulling him into a hug.

"Thank you, Freddy..."

______

In the heart of the Bitterroot Forest sits Mangle's childhood home, where her grandmother raised her. Pines stand sentinel around it, blending into wild meadows and stretches of grass. Mangle stands in the yard, gazing at the plantation-style house, recalling the upper window on the far left—where her grandmother would call her inside just before a storm. She remembers the scent of rain, mingling with pine and fir as it struck the trees. She scans her surroundings; they're almost as she left them at sixteen, save for the overgrown vegetation obscuring the line between garden and grass.

Tentatively, she places a hand on the old, splintered fence, feeling the rough texture under her fingers. She unlatches it and steps through, making her way up the worn wooden stairs. Each creak of the wood beneath her feet brings back memories. The porch, once home to two rocking chairs, now sits bare, leaving her to wonder what became of them.

At the door, Mangle hesitates, then turns the key and slowly pushes it open. A soft squeak echoes, and she prepares herself before stepping inside. The house feels like a time capsule, untouched and quiet. As she breathes in, the familiar scent of old wood fills her senses, bringing a rush of nostalgia that melds with the lingering pine from outdoors. Dust particles float in the soft rays of sunlight piercing through the white-curtained windows. She moves deeper into the house, noting the dust coating everything, undisturbed since the day she left for Freddy's.

One picture on the wall catches her attention—it's Christmas in the photo, and it's pristine, dust-free. She remembers that day clearly: her parents had left her on the doorstep in Montana's winter while they stayed warm in Texas. Her grandparents returned from work to find her shivering and abandoned. That painful day became one of the happiest of Mangle's life, for it was then her grandparents decided to adopt her legally. She recalls her grandmother's warm embrace, the joy she felt at finally belonging somewhere, free from her parents' neglect and the rivalry with her sister. This house became her true home.

Mangle lets out a sigh—not one of sadness, but of gratitude. The memories are a reminder of how far she's come. Her parents' rejection was both a curse and a blessing: it left her with abandonment issues, but it also drove her to succeed, with her grandmother's dreams as her guide.

In the kitchen, Mangle remembers baking with her grandmother for her grandfather—cinnamon cookies, banana bread with chocolate chips. Before he died, he'd requested his favorite butterscotch cake with caramel frosting. They'd bake it gladly, indulging his sweet tooth in his final days. She remembers the deep grief her grandmother endured after his passing. Losing him after over thirty years together must have been crushing, yet her grandmother's love never changed for others despite it all.

Mangle quietly hopes for a love like that, a devotion lasting until the end.

She explores the house, visiting each floor—the main, the basement, the attic—and finally, her old room. She sits on her bed, still dressed in a hand-sewn quilt, surrounded by stuffed animals. It's like stepping back in time. Everything is just as she remembers, comforting. She lays back, staring at the ceiling, feeling peace. She is ready to make this place home once again.

Mangle closes her eyes, nearly drifting off, when the faint sound of footsteps outside startles her. She opens her eyes, jumps up, and peeks out the window. Below, she spots a familiar figure—a redhead she knows all too well.