Chapter Text
William knew that Chucky wouldn’t reach out first. For all his bragging on social media, he wasn’t much of an organized type, meaning William would have to schedule the death battle Chucky had demanded. To raucous fan support. He sent the first message.
“Chucky,
This is William Afton, better known as Springtrap. Due to your comments online and the interest of our collective fans, I think a death battle would be prudent. I’m reaching out today to get a feel for your schedule. I, as you know, actually have commitments, but I’ll make it work. Please respond promptly, I look forward to testing the limits of your regeneration.
Go to Hell,
-Springtrap.”
He sent it. Succinct, passive-aggressive, and informative. He thought it was well done. He didn’t have to wait long for a reply.
“Springle,
Fuck you. Not worth the effort.
Bitch,
-Charles Lee Ray.”
William rolled his eyes (as much as he could with the locks keeping them mostly trapped) and typed his response.
“Chucky,
I understand if you’re intimidated at the thought of facing a superior opponent, and if you wish to forfeit, I’ll announce your defeat. Probably best for you to cut your losses and go home to your family. It’s the safe thing to do when your defeat is assured. You wouldn’t want to disappoint all your fans by getting sent straight to Hell in front of them all. I have kids, too, I wouldn’t want them to see me die. Good thing I don’t.
Thanks for conceding,
-Springtrap (current winner of the 2025 death battle).”
He counted down the seconds, watching Chucky type frantically, bubbles appearing and disappearing at the bottom of the screen. He knew that self-centered 2-foot asshole wouldn’t take it well.
“Trash-Can,
I was offering you a chance at mercy. You couldn’t handle this. And besides, you’re not worth the drive. You’re just an old man who’s too angry to die. At least I make sense. Also, you type like you’re stuck in the revolutionary war. I would love to send you back to whatever that UCN super-Hell was in the name of Damballa, but I don’t have time to waste on your pathetic ass.
Fuck you,
-Charles Lee Ray.”
“Chucky,
You’re one to talk. Why do you sign your full legal name? Everyone just calls you Chucky these days. We could find somewhere closer to you, but I can’t fly in the suit to Chicago. My ID expired decades ago and the DMV wouldn’t let me renew mine since I’m legally deceased. You can ship yourself to Hurricane in a box and be here overnight. I’ll pay for your postage. I assume it’s hard for you to find work these days, but rest assured my millions are still functional. Also, if you send me to the UCN Hell, congratulations. You have the same powers as an angry child that I already killed.
See you soon,
-Springtrap.”
He closed his computer, giving Chucky a few hours to think it over while he worked on the suit. A little oil and an upgrade or two wouldn’t hurt, not that he was worried about losing to a little plastic toddler.
Hours later, he re-opened the chat. Three messages.
“Scrappy-do,
You think it’s fun to travel by box?? Fuck no! You’re buying me a plane ticket. First-class. I expect nothing less. Also, why are we fighting in Hurricane? You think I want to go to fucking Utah just to turn you into a scrap heap? Let’s meet somewhere else, out of both of our domains. Ever been to Vegas? I’d love to kick your ass and then spend a couple days there.
Fuck you,
-Charles Lee Ray.”
“Budget Iron Man,
Ok, turns out I’m barred from flying through Seattle, so I’ll need a direct. That’s your problem, though. Also, can’t you teleport? You can, right? Why can’t you just teleport to Chicago!
Fuck you,
-Charles Lee Ray.”
“Slinky-trap,
Fuck you. This was your idea. Drag your sad British corpse to the bus station and find us a good fighting spot. Pick something fair or else I’m choosing a condemned house with a gas leak I found on Marketplace. Heads up, I’ll be late, just go in without me.
-Charles Lee Ray.”
Ah, he hadn’t even thought of the arena yet. Something with lots of corners was just his speed, maybe an abandoned maze… but Chucky would see right through that. William thought for a second. Chucky thrived in cluttered areas with mixes of low and high surfaces, places where he could sneak up on you and go for the throat. It would have to be somewhere open. Preferably indoors, a warm front had moved in for the summer.
“Chucky,
So sorry for the delay in my response, I was busy. I can’t go to Vegas, there’s nobody to watch the animatronics if I’m not there. Let’s just find somewhere local. You can travel, I can’t go more than a few miles. Micheal can probably drive me within a radius of a few miles since the suit is impossible to drive in, but we’re both running off of expired licenses and old plates. I’m not getting arrested on my way to returning you to Damballa’s embrace, deep enough that Remnant will not bring you back. Also, you are two feet tall. You don’t need that much leg room. Economy or the cargo hold. Take your pick.
May you burn eternally,
-Springtrap.”
“The Only Man To Have Chuck-E-Cheese File A Restraining Order,
You’re this worried about breaking the law? Really? Where was this morality when you committed enough crimes to have dozens of life sentences! How are you worried about getting pulled over? What, new to first-degree on cops? You’re way behind. Maybe I’m too old to death battle you anyway, old man. Fine, I’m going to Hurricane, premium economy. I’ll bill you. But we’re not meeting in one of your restaurants. Too easy, I’m not giving in to that trap. Maybe I’ll bring my kid so you can fight someone more your speed as a warm-up. Oh, and no backup. I’m fighting you. Not you, your nightmares, your weird mind-controlled robot victims, your seven-foot-tall robot daughter, and yourself from another dimension. One soul vs one soul, that’s the deal.
Fuck you,
-Charles Lee Ray.”
“Chucky,
For the record, I’m allowed on most Chuck-E-Cheese properties. I had an idea. There’s an abandoned roller rink near me, it has enough space, no corners, it’s indoors, and you won’t have to worry about attempting the stairs. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t want to have to admit that you got taken out by a staircase on the way to the fight. No honor in that. Micheal can carry you if you get tired on those little legs. Anyway, if you’re interested in the rink, I’ll buy the property. I’m sure we can demolish it and turn it into something after the fact, or maybe keep it a rink and branch out, you never know. Either way, I consider it an investment. When are you free? Additionally, of course, I won’t bring any of my fear chemicals or any animatronics. Should I leave my axe at home, too? I won’t need it, but if you tell me to leave all my weapons at home, I’m insisting on the same for you, and I know you won’t last a minute. Just for fun, we’ll both keep our knives. Agreed?
From Hell and back,
-Springtrap.”
He bought the property in advance. Fazbear Entertainment could use a new property. Why not, with the success of the pizzaplex, expansion was necessary, strike while the iron’s hot. Chucky was slow on the response, with nearly a day going by before he responded.
“Guy Fawkes,
I’m wide open two weeks out. Maybe Friday? It’s a good day for it, also great for our brands, being the 13th and all. Also, if you get Micheal I get GG. Your useless son won’t be able to save you even if he decides to wake up and join the fight, but if you’re getting some weird family remnant bond powers from that, I’m getting them, too. I checked out the rink. Seems legit. Good location. Does the toy store nearby stock Good Guys? Just in case I need a spare outfit after I get your blood all over mine. Also, sure, you can bring your knife. But just that and the suit. And no modifying the suit into some kind of, I don’t know, armored tank with a machine gun or whatever. The stock suit you’ve been wearing for the past decade will do just fine. Just spray the thing with bleach or something, I can smell it from 2,000 miles away. Are we streaming this fight? Or is it an after-the-fact thing? Also, I’m bringing my amulet and you can’t stop me, I claim religious freedom. You can bring… suffering, or whatever the fuck your whole deal is.
Fuck you,
-Chucky.”
“Chucky,
Guy Fawkes? Because of the effigy burning traditions? How far back did you go to find that one? Doesn’t matter. Of course you can bring GG, I don’t think they’ll be much help though. Also, yes, they stock Good Guys, but it’s a limited selection, it’s pretty hit-or-miss. And they don’t stock your exact model anymore. Bad press. Family Remnant Bond Powers aren’t a thing, he’s just my ride, and the suit got a few upgrades over the years, mostly durability patches, but so did your form; you got humanized and now you don’t run like a 4 year old with arthritis. No more upgrades, I promise, and why would I bring a machine gun? Those things are so expensive to fire you might as well just dig a grave and throw money in it. I’ve looked into it, and it’s just so wasteful for a single target. Absolutely insane. No. And yes, I’ll bring my Agony, you can bet on that, but if you get the amulet, I get the ball pit. I’ll figure it out.
Coming back once again,
-Springtrap.”
Chapter 2
Notes:
I’m proud to say that this has been peer-reviewed in the sense that I found my horror fan friends and started asking them who would win in a fight. I got a bunch of very widely varied responses with lots of reasoning behind them.
Chapter Text
“Flambe-Trap,
You get the ball pit? No fucking way. If you get the ball pit, I’m bringing Tiffany and all my weapons. I’m not fully certain what it does, but the way you said it makes me think it’s important and no way in hell are you getting it. My amulet is part of my religion, it’s what keeps me alive and in this body. If you want me to leave it at home, I’m going to have Tiff separate you from the suit, and trust me, she won’t be gentle. You still didn’t answer; are we livestreaming this fight. I want my fans to see me take you out live. I want you fans to watch the unkillable William Afton finally die, and I don’t want anyone to be able to edit out your most pathetic failures. Thanks for telling me about the Good Guys. I shouldn’t need them, but you never know. Can I get your schematic? You have the height advantage, even if you’re slow as fuck, so I should get a little prep time. And information on all your durability patches. Check my streams if you want to know about me, I’m an open book. Stock Good Guy in the Chucky model, and I’m very open about my powers.
Fuck you,
-Charles Lee Ray.”
“Chucky,
The ball pit lets me visit across time and memory, and it’s my choice. Tiffany can come to watch, it would be twice as fun to break you in front of your whole family, but she’s not touching me or my suit. I’m a married man, technically, and I never liked her style. Also, I am the suit. If you want to talk semantics, you’re just a soul in a doll shell. I can harvest your Remnant and take everything inside of you out before the fight if you think that would be fair. You’ll be nothing more than a sprite, Chucky. And without a shell, you’re no threat to me. Even with your shell, I fight massive animatronics fueled by rage and pain and bloodlust. You’re just a toddler. I almost feel bad about having to destroy you. Let’s livestream it. I’ve never set one up, so it’ll be your responsibility. I’m bringing the ball pit to the rink and that’s final. Just to keep it fair, I won’t travel to a dimension where I’ve already beat you into the ground. Mostly because that’s now how it works. I like the chase. I’ve attached the blueprints for the Spring Bonnie suit. Make of them what you wish. Most of the durability upgrades were to my chest plate and joints, stronger materials to put up with the wear and tear, but the bones are still the same. I watched your video, by the way. It’s very weird. Please never open your battery compartment again until you get it looked at. You and the wife have some serious issues. Also, I very much did not need to know about the ‘new addition’ to your body after you crossed the threshold into human. Nobody needed to know that. There are children watching, you sick bastard.
Currently disturbed,
-Springtrap.”
“Knockoff Pinhead,
What the sweet unholy fuck is going on in your fandom?? I thought it was robots and grief, you guys have time travel now?? And you’re multidimensional?? Fuck no. I already adjusted to that Mimic shit, now you’re telling me that you guys time travel, too? No way. The only way you’re getting that ball pit is if I can use it too, because it actually sounds really cool. I want to go back in time and do so much weird shit and then go bet on the World Series. Watch your attitude about Tiffany, by the way. At least my wife has a pulse. Back to the ball pit, you’ll have to teach me how to use it. Oh, and it feels important to mention, I won’t be using my nuclear arsenal. Too easy. We already agreed no bonus weapons, but now I’m curious. Is a vase a weapon? What about a shoelace? We need to define it first. Thanks for the schematics, by the way. You’re pretty much half weakness; it’s weird. Also, you’re just jealous because I have one. I almost feel bad for you, but I have to ask, did the springlocks actually go through it? Like, all the way through? Reminds me, I’m not toning anything down for the kids because fuck them. I don’t care that your fanbase is half 12 year olds, I’m not holding back in front of them.
Fuck you,
-Charles Lee Ray.”
“Chucky,
It’s complicated. You can travel through memory and Remnant. It’s not a Time Machine, and I’m not letting you go back in time and bet on the Yankees. I’m also not explaining it to you because it’s not something you’d respect. You lack the reverence to truly understand the ball pit.”
He abandoned the message halfway through typing. “Hey, Micheal, how big is the truck?” He asked.
“Dad, I’ve told you before, whatever this is I’m not getting involved. I’m not calling off work to go drive my dad to a roller rink and watch him get his ass handed to him by an overpowered American Girl Doll,” came the eloquent response.
“I’ve already talked to your supervisor, you have the night off. I just need to know if I can bring the ball pit.”
This brought Micheal out into the hallway. “The time travel ball pit? No way, it’s way too big. You’ll have to ship it. And no, I’m not helping you pack and ship a magic ball pit on my day off.” He turned around, going back into his room, leaving William to sigh and search for large-scale movers. How come Chucky’s kid was so obedient? Granted, they were soft and didn’t like to do what was necessary, but it was still frustrating to have his own son refuse to take his side. He re-opened the message.
“When the hell did you get a nuclear arsenal?? You can’t even hold a gun! Even I can’t afford one of those! Do you have any idea how much incredible power you are squandering?? You could turn the world into a Remnant farm, demand money and power and everything! Demand Tom Cruise as a host! Do something! Now I hate you even more! I found you a mild irritant before, but now that I know you have nuclear weapons and choose to toddle around and try to hit the same child with a baseball bat? Weapons are defined as anything airport security would take away if it was in your carry-on. Vases are shoelaces are fine, don’t show up with two hammers and a baseball bat. Regarding your question, yes. It’s soft tissue, and even if it weren’t, those locks can crack bone. The pain makes me more powerful. I’ll consider fitting a full suit on you after your defeat has been assured so you can experience it for yourself. Send me your measurements. Also, I’ll be having the ball pit shipped there. That means I’ll be there before the battle, but only for setup. I can probably record everything if you don’t trust me, but rest assured, setting traps was never my style. Unlike yours.
In torment,
-Springtrap.”
“Halloween Furry,
‘Reverence,’ do you even hear yourself when you talk? You sound like you’re giving some kind of weird lecture. Or maybe you just like the sound of your own voice too much. That’s my leading theory. Anyway, you still need to teach me how to time travel. As for my nukes, don’t worry about it. It’s just the United States nuclear arsenal. I’m sure you have something just as cool, though for the life of me I can’t imagine what. I’m just glad we both acknowledge that if I were allowed access to my full weapons, you’d be dead on arrival. Also, hahaha, I’m telling the Cenobites about you. Don’t be surprised if you get a few calls. My measurements are public, and if you do spend hours making a miniature suit, consider getting a life outside of dying and being obsessed with much cooler killers. I don’t care what you do in the arena, set up your ball pit, rig detonators, you’ll still lose. You just can’t keep a good guy down, you know?
Fuck u,
-Charles Lee Ray.”
“Chucky,
Whether or not I enjoy hearing myself talk is irrelevant. We are typing. As for your nukes, we both know I would just come back as Nuclear-Trap and melt your plastic off the second you enter my radius. You’d only make me more powerful and you know it. No need to make the Hell-Priests aware, they’re already familiar with everyone who has escaped their judgements, and they have both of our numbers, rest assured. Since we’ve covered our bases of time, location, and weapons, we should cover logistics; what defines defeat. Tapout? If I trap you for eternity, does that count? Do our souls finally have to be laid to rest or just separated completely from our bodies? Will there be a retcon if we come back in different forms, and then do we have to do this all again? Lastly, regarding your custom suit, I wasn’t exactly starting from scratch. I’ve started on repurposing a Balloon Boy skin as a Springlock model.
Still alive,
-Springtrap.
P.S., you’re the one obsessed. Vanny accessed your search history for recon purposes.”