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The bathroom mirrors were filthy, the grubby fingerprints of old patrons making them barely functional. Now that the doors of the restaurant were boarded up, there was no reason to keep the facilities clean.
But the mirrors retained enough of their original purpose that Freddy could use them to examine himself. It appeared that the concerned parents and news reporters had been right - blood and mucus were forming a layer of crust around his eye sockets. He attempted to wipe it off, but it was stuck to the material of his suit and his paw was far too large to be precise in its movements.
It didn't matter much to Freddy if he could groom himself. This body wasn't really his, and he expected (and hoped) for it to be scrapped as soon as Mr. Afton figured out what to do with the building. His only concern was for the others.
"…Cap'n?"
Metal feet dragged across chipped linoleum tile. Freddy saw the silhouette next to his reflection. "…Hm?"
"Ye, uh… ye got somethin' in yer eye there," Foxy stated, pointing towards his own with a finger on his one good hand.
"Ah." Freddy refrained from making a 'captain obvious' joke and re-examined the sludge that was beginning to leak onto his muzzle. "Is it really that bad?"
Foxy's eyebrows narrowed, his disgust somehow barely restrained despite the restraints that having a mechanical face placed on his expressions. "What? Of course not, cap'n. Ye look fine."
Freddy's ears lowered. "Don't lie to me."
"I'm not lyin'!" Foxy protested. "Ye really do look…"
Foxy's eyes followed the brown substance as it dripped down from Freddy's muzzle and onto the worn fur of his stomach. "… alright, ye look terrible. But let me help."
Freddy sighed, sounding far too tired for someone who couldn't be. "Foxy, you don't have to-"
"It's what a good matey does," Foxy insisted, leaving no further room for argument. He closed the distance between them.
"I'd rather you not have your hook so close to my face," Freddy complained. But he didn't try to push Foxy away as he started to gently scrape away the dried fluids that had accumulated beneath his eye.
"Well, it's not like yer big clunky paws can reach it."
It was more of a challenge to clean his muzzle and stomach, as the ooze was fresher and stickier on his fur. Foxy grabbed a paper towel from the thinned-out roll on the sink and moved the faucet handle up. The pipes had fallen into disuse, causing it to take a few seconds for water to start flowing out.
"Be careful. You'll get your hand all rusted."
Foxy only shrugged, wiping off as much of the residue as he was able to. "Ye know, I'd tell ya to quit before ye worry yerself to death if ye could die a second time."
That earned a soft laugh from Freddy - not one of the programmed ones, but a real one. "Good one."
"I like to think I still have it in me," Foxy said smugly. "Even after so long behind that darned curtain."
"Oh, I know you do," Freddy replied, his laughter quieting at Foxy's last statement. "…I'm sorry about that."
Foxy only shook his head, dropping the bloodied towel onto the floor. "Doesn't matter now, lad. I ain't bitter about it. Although I did like seein' the kiddos happy."
Freddy nodded solemnly, reaching for the last paper towel on the roll. "I know. It made things feel more normal."
He then offered it to Foxy, whose ears perked up. "Here. I really don't want your hand to get damaged."
The red animatronic stared at the towel for a few seconds before barking out a laugh. "Aye, for the last time, I'm not gonna start rustin' from that." But he did accept the towel. He started trying to dry the damp spots on Freddy's suit. "I ain't the one that needs a-"
"-Fritz," Freddy said, voice low and stern. He never took well to insolence from the others, especially when it was to their own detriment.
But Foxy never took well to that word. It caused him to freeze, almost as if his gears had locked up. His eyelids lifted in shock. It went unspoken that those names were never to be uttered.
"That's not my-" Foxy squeaked out, briefly forgetting how he was coded to talk.
He let out a garbled noise, eyes blackening, his default accent returning right after.
"That ain't me name anymore. Not really. Ye know that it can't be."
"…I only wanted to say that you don't need to worry so much," Freddy murmured, regret setting in as soon as he observed the shift in Foxy's demeanor.
Foxy's eyes returned to normal a blink later. His ears pressed down closer to his head out of shame as he continued cleaning. "…Yer a hypocrite, cap'n," was all that he said.
How old was Fritz by then? Fourteen? Fifteen? Or rather, how old would he have been? It wasn't like it mattered anyway, but he'd sounded so nervous that his real age was impossible for Freddy to ignore. He was too young to sound like that.
"I'm not mad at you, you know," Freddy said, trying to coax him into speaking again. He hated to see the fox being even more reclusive than he already was.
"I didn't say ye were," Foxy finally retorted. His voice box glitched on the next word. "…Gabriel."
Freddy didn't react to the use of the name. Foxy was just saying it to prove a point. "My fur will dry on its own," he said simply, swatting the pirate's hand away. "But I appreciate you helping."
Foxy bowed his head in acknowledgement, although he remained mostly quiet. He set the damp towel on the edge of the basin. "It's what a good matey does," he repeated gruffly.
Freddy wanted to say more, but it didn't seem of use. He instead kept watching the fox as he cleaned up the bathroom.
"…Ye and yer projection," Foxy muttered, mostly to himself, as he tidied the floor. Freddy only rolled his eyes. "Are ye gonna watch me swab the deck all alone, or are ye gonna help?"
"Oh, hush," the bear said dismissively, waving him off. But not long after, Freddy quietly started to clean up alongside him.
They were rotting, but they were doing it together. At least that was something.