"Bloody hell" // Fnaf

Comfort

Gregory has been unconscious for 3 whole hours now. I'm not sure if I should help or not.

I mean, it's not like I can help in any significant way, since I'm a doll. Emotional support is really all I'm made for, and I can't do either since he's basically an equivalent of a dead body right now.

This is practically going all the wrong directions it should be going, but I cant pin the blame on someone else right now, not when we're this close to cracking open.

Maybe I should just wait for him to wake up. Or, maybe I should call out to him.

"...Gregory?"
No response. I think he's developing sepsis already, his whole body looks so messy, pale, and destroyed. Looks like he's been coughing blood, too.

How do dead people get out of this mess? It's seems like the easy way out is just dying, but he can't really, since he's already dead.

So does that mean he'd be suffering that pain for the rest of his waking hours? Or will the pain eventually stop? Do dead people even feel pain to begin with?

So, so many questions, so little answered.

I pause, looking around my surroundings when I hear a groan. It was a raspy, whimper-like one. I look before Gregory's lying body, which has started to shift a bit more.

"Hey Gregory. Wake up, buddy." I mumble.

Gregory's eyes flutter open ---eyes battling for sleep--- eventually, though, he wakes up, touching his head.

"Wh...what the hell?" He whispers, he touches his stomach, only to feel the blood on it. I watch as panic in him begins to arise.

"Who..!? Who the fuck did this?!" He yells, jolting up. The pain immediately gets to him, he covers the wound.

He looks at me for comfort. "Gregory, let's calm down, panicking will make it more painful." I whisper in a soft voice.

The horror in his face deliberately gets worse, it seems he's started to remember the events before.

His voice comes out as a desperate cry, a horror-filled choke. "Wait...did I? Did I...do this to myself? Oh, gulp oh god..." He pauses.

"I'm not ready to die!  Not...cough, not again, I'm too young! I've finally gotten used to the voices...I..." The confusion mixed in his worried face doesn't seem to fade. I myself, start to display worry too, regarding his current situation.

"Gregory...it's scary, I know. You have every right to be scared, and alarmed. But how about we calm down first, then I'm making sure your going to be okay." I mumble, my voice barely reaching Gregory.

Although already starting to hyperventilate, he tries to calm himself down, taking in deep, confused breaths every time.

"It's fine, we'll get you some medicine, alright?"

He's definitely going to be in pain for a while. My words of comfort amount to no accuracy, and more of an educated guess.

I don't really know if medicine works on the dead, which I hope they do, because Gregory would find more ways to harm himself if even my advice failed in the end.

Honestly, I think he's been getting even worse after that fateful night-- when Vanny attempted to kill him. He's been acting out even more lately, and developing more unhealthy habits. It makes me feel hopeless and alarmed that I'll never be enough to help him.

Gregory slowly reaches towards me, his body shifting in the cold hard ground, and curling himself into a ball while squeezing me in his arms.
I'm sure he doesn't know the concept of personal space as well as human decency, so maybe I'll have to teach him about that later.

"Gregory, your squeezing me way too tightly." I say, my robotic voice slightly louder this time.

"Your a plushy. Your made to be squeezed." He argues, which is a total lie. I used to be, but not anymore.

I shake my head. "No I'm not, I'm a plastic doll."

"You said you didn't favor being called that."

He's right, though. I hate the fact I'm a doll now, it's especially uncomfortable.

"Okay." I stay silent, I can't really argue with that, or Gregory in general.

Gregory squeezes me even more.

He feels really warm. He's abnormally hot, is what I mean. I'm guessing he has a fever, which would make his experience even more painful.

"I'm going to sleep." He shifts, sleeping on his back instead because of the wound on his stomach.

I shake my head, again. "You can't, you need to go and clean the mess you made back at the pizza plex." Gregory stays lying there, unresponsive for a few moments before snapping out of his gaze.

"No, I'm too tired. And I feel really bad." He protests, yawning again at the end of his sentence.

"Huh? Really?...What kind of bad?" I ask, my voice littered with worry.

He tries holding his stomach, but the wound makes it difficult. He winces at the pain.

"I...gulp feel like vomiting..." He holds his breath.

I feel more worry overtake me.

My voice is a bit shaky, afraid that he'll vomit on me. "Don't hold it in, Gregory. But, uh...don't vomit on me, please." The last part is almost a whisper.

Gregory just nods, and rests his head back in the concrete. I feel that he's holding it in, still.

Sighing, I reach my plastic hands up to Gregory's cheek, grazing it as a substitute for patting his head.

"Do you promise to clean your mess up once you're done resting?" He nods, smiling. I really wish I could smile back, yet unfortunately, I can't.

Sometimes, it feels like I'm babysitting a little kid. Probably what I was made for in the first place. Still, it feels really weird-- chaotic, too.

I look at Gregory, who already seems to be sleeping.

Maybe it isn't so bad.