(Thank you to Spring_ErraticTrap
for help lol)
Five days had gone by since Springtrap last saw (Y/N), and at this point, he had completely given up hope. With every passing day, that woman would torture him for information on someone he didn't know. He now had several wounds on his body and his ankle had to be repaired and until then, would stay broken and painful. He could hardly stand, talk, or see straight, and it hurt to inhale.
He heard several sets of footsteps approaching his room and he only curled up in a ball. He whimpers as the door flys open. Two men, the woman with a bat in her hand, and two large dogs walked in. Mean looking Shepard's on chain leashes and black leather callers being held by the men. The woman stood over him and hit Springtrap square in the head with the bat, causing him to topple over and his ears to ring. The sound was loud enough to echo, and he felt blood drip from his nose and mouth.
"Look, my boss is here, he's the one who ordered your capture," she leaned down and grabbed his head.
"You didn't like what I did? You won't last a damn hour with him." she smiled menacingly and grabbed his arm and yanked him to his feet, him being too weak and too tired to fight. She dragged him to a different room with an electric chair in the the middle. He pulled on his arm and muttered, "ղօ.." but was held down and strapped to it anyway.
A big man with sunglasses stepped into the room with a scowl on his face. He had a big red tie and grey suit, and was accompanied by two other large men. He scanned the room and stopped and stared at Springtrap with disapproval.
"What. The hell. Is that?" he scoffed in a deep and angry tone.
"The one you wanted to-"
"No. The fuck. It isn't. I wanted to see, first of all; a human. Second a white, middle-aged man by the name of Lloyd Pith. I can say for him I'd be offended if I were mistaken for that." he swiped his hand toward Springtrap, and grabbing the woman by her shirt.
"Get rid of it. And find the real Lloyd Pith." he said with a stern voice.
"If this happens again, you'll be the one in that cell." he let go and lumbered out the door. The woman clenched her neck and winced.
"Well, what do we do with 'em?" a man asked.
"Load him in the truck. We'll find something to do with him." she glared at Springtrap, as if that were his fault. Springtrap may have been beaten, cut and stabbed over the last week, but he still had the courage to glare at her.
Before he knew it, he was once again being dragged down the hallway with that collar, and shoved into a large wooden crate and presumably loaded into a truck. He wanted to kick, yell, get people's attention, but he could barely stand up for more than a few seconds. He felt himself drift in and out of consciousness, feeling the cold, bitter winter air surround his shaking body. He curled up in the corner of the crate, imagining himself back with (Y/N) and in her arms. Maybe if he thought hard enough, it would actually happen.
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He awoke, not in his home, with his nice warm bed and (Y/N) anywhere near him, but back in that damn crate. He sees it is much darker and assumes it must be night. How long have they been driving? It had to have been at least 12 hours because that man was in the morning.
Springtrap's blood ran cold. If they were hours drive away from home, he may never see them again. His breath quivered at that thought, he felt his throat tighten and dry out. He felt himself whimper at the thought, only to catch himself. Was he going to let these assholes treat him like a lil bitch? No. Springtrap felt his blood boil. Since when did he become a lil cunt who threw himself a pity party when shit went to hell?
He sat up, pressing his good leg against the walls of the crate and kicked with all his remaining strength, immediately bursting a hole in it. Ignoring the blood oozing from his leg, he kicked again and flung himself off the truck bed and presumably down a hill. The crate tumbled down the hillside and stopped abruptly by spamming into a bolder. He waited no time, kicked and ripping at the wood, prying it open with his bear hands and making a run for it when he was free. The only thing slowing him down was the snowstorm overhead. The men driving the truck and from other trucks pulled over and started shooting at him.
Springtrap limped, one leg chronically injured, the other bleeding profusely. Hearing those gunshots only made his adrenalin pump faster as he ran into the woods in near darkness and in the snow. It was a damn good thing it was a full moon, the glow imitating off the snow and allowing him to see where he was going a bit better, but his vision was foggy and dazed, but he ran.
The woman stepped out of her car to and started shooting it herself, only to be stopped by the big man putting his hand in front of the barrel.
"Leave it. This was our plan anyway, yes?" he said.
"It's 23° below. It won't last long out there." he said, glaring at the cliff. She nodded, secretly wanting him back for reasons. She was hoping to sell him. The man got back in the car and waited patently, while the woman pulled one of the workers aside and ordered him to get some dogs on his trail.
Springtrap kept running, far beyond no longer hearing car horns and other noises, only knowing the way he came was closer to home. Adrenalin momentarily making him forget about the pain in his legs. That is until he stepped on a small bear trap. It snapped shut, Springtrap yelped in pain and collapsed. He tugged on it, it most likely trying to capture much smaller animals then a bear. Too small. He tugged on it, not thinking straight due to lack of sleep and panic, trying to dislodge it from the ground instead of prying it off. He got it loose and continued down his path, digging the traps teeth deeper into his flesh. He ran, even tough he had no idea where he was going.
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Nearly a week with no sign of Springtrap. Nothing on the news, nothing on the trail. Only heavy snow and below freezing temperatures. (Y/N) hadn't gotten a good night rest since Spring went missing. She put up posters, a Facebook ad, called the police department, but nothing. No one has seen him. Maybe she should have introduced him to her family earlier to widen the search. She sat on her bed, constantly staring at her phone or the TV. Hoping, praying something would come through.
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Springtrap lumbered through the heavy snow, shivering and feeling the dried blood on his face crack and flake off. He felt tired, not allowing his body to rest because feeling sleepy in the cold was a sign the body was giving up. He pressed on, limping, internationally bleeding, with his ears ringing obnoxiously.
Out of his blurry vision, he saw a warm light. Like a fire. He perked up and picked up the pace to the warmth, hopping whoever lit it would let him stay. He stopped at the bushes around the fire and saw two men drinking and laughing. They must've been camping. He tried to call out to them, but all that escaped his throat was a gurgled hiss. The men looked up at the sound and panicked, one pulling out a gun and aiming it at him. Springtrap tried to plead and reassure them, but his voicebox must have broken when he was hit earlier.
"Shoot it!" one of the men shouted, the other aiming and firing several times at Springtrap. He ducked for cover, trying to run away, but the snow and his injured legs slowing him down dramatically. He felt a sharp pain in his thigh, like a hot, buzzing pain pierce his flesh. He collapsed, feeling another bullet enter his back, then his side. Several bullets missed him, it being awful dark to see well, but they still nailed him a few times.
He tried to shout at them, tell them he was lost and hurt, but since his voicebox was dead, his mangled vocal chords made horrific screams and gurgles. He finally manages to stand, the men either giving up or reloading, and he continued down his path. He couldn't have gotten more than one hundred feet before he collapsed, his body not allowing him to move.
"No! Get up!" he mentally shouted at himself.
"Please get up!" he pressed against the frozen ground in attempt to get back up, but his arms quivered and he fell face-first into the snow. He didn't have the energy, the strength to move. His springlocks were likely going to rust, his flesh was starting to freeze. He couldn't die, but that may have just made it worse.
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(Y/N) finally got to sleep the night before, feeling the warmth of her blankets and AC. Her eyes fluttered open and she yawned, feeling Springbonnie's being near her own. She got up, made some coffee, and turned on the news. Flipping through any and all news channels until she found something, anything about Springtrap.
Half an hour after she woke up, Springbonnie came out of the bedroom and greeted her.
"Mornin'" he said.
"Morning."
"Anything yet?"
"No." she flipped through the channels, not watching any entertainment TV in a week, not touching her apps on her phone in a week. Not texting, not calling anyone other than the police station, hardly even eating or drinking anything but coffee.
She flipped over a channel and stopped to go back when she could've sworn she saw Springtrap's broken from on. Yep, that was him. The news lady talked about how a "strange creature" escaped a crate on the highway and a photographer caught a blurry image of it. That was definitely Springtrap, she knew his glowing eyes anywhere.
She and Springbonnie looked at each other and rushed to get out to the car, the news lady saying that picture was taken just outside of a town called Steamer Junction, an eight hour drive from where they were.
