You never understood Springtrap’s hatred toward you. No matter how many times you replayed it in your head, the answer never came. You never wronged him, not once. You never mocked him, never provoked him. And yet, the twisted, rotting rabbit, or whatever he even was.. Treated you with nothing but venom. Disdain dripped from every word he directed your way, every glance.

Well, maybe he toned it down around Deliah. Maybe. When she was present, he’d feign civility, toss on a mask of sarcasm coated in fake charm. But the second you were alone with him, that mask shattered. What lay beneath was far worse, cruelty, mockery, and a kind of loathing you couldn’t comprehend.

He’d call you names, things that sunk deep under your skin and stayed there, festering. He made sure every encounter felt like a battle for dignity. Living with him felt like coexisting with a demon. And he didn’t reserve his malice for you, your father was often a target too. Of course, you didn’t let that slide. You defended him every time. But you still wondered: was this because you were eighteen and still lived with your dad? Was that the reason for Springtrap’s contempt? You hated how he treated you both like garbage. And the fact that Deliah, bright, warm, naive Deliah actually considered that twisted creature a friend? It made your blood boil. You hated Springtrap just as much as your dad did. Maybe even more.

One early morning, you woke to birds chirping just outside your window. It might have been a peaceful start to the day if not for the thick scent of pancakes wafting through the air. It wasn’t a comforting smell. No, it was a reminder. A reminder that he was downstairs. And you knew, without a doubt, that he hadn’t made any for you or your dad. You yawned and rose from bed, stretching the stiffness from your limbs. A deep sigh left your lips as you opened your door and headed to the bathroom for your usual routine. By the time you emerged, freshened and slightly more awake, Deliah was already making her way downstairs. She passed you without so much as a glance, let alone a greeting.

You rolled your eyes and turned back to grab your phone. As you descended the stairs, the familiar creak of the old wood under your feet, you spotted your father in the living room, awake, thankfully. You offered him a small smile.

“Morning,” you said softly.

“Morning, kiddo,” he replied, his voice warm with affection. You settled on the couch, phone in hand, thumbing through your emails. You were still waiting on a reply from a job interview a few days ago, something you were silently hoping would lead to your escape from this mess.

But the quiet didn’t last long..

“Don’t you ever get tired of being stuck at home or hanging out with friends, perhaps? From what I’ve seen, your life is pretty sad…”

Springtrap’s raspy voice slithered through the air, pulling your gaze upward. He was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, his tattered ears twitching ever so slightly. His eyes glowed with a sinister violet hue, as if something darker than malice lurked just beneath the surface.

“Now don’t get me wrong,” he added, a twisted smile creeping across his face, “if I was still living with my father at your grown age, I would’ve put myself out of my own misery by now.“

He chuckled softly to himself, clearly enjoying the flicker of pain and rage that crossed your face. He thrived on it. You could see it in the way his grin widened. He loved getting under your skin.

And in that moment, you didn’t even bother hiding your disgust.