Chapter Text
Sometimes you miss the Phone Guys from the pizzeria you used to run some thirty years in the future. Not because you cared about them or anything like that (as you are physically incapable of feeling any kind of affection), but rather because they were very useful. You could disappear for a month, come back at any time you wanted, and be sure that they did all the work required to upkeep a diner for you.
Now that none of that ever happened, and most of your employees don't even exist yet, you have to actually put in some effort. Which sucks, because you stopped giving a fuck a long time ago.
You don't stick around at the Flipside for along after your breakdown (for some reason, your explosive monologues tend to cut off most conversions). You instruct Dee and Dave to search for strong souls to utilize, and pull yourself out of the arcade machine. Afterwards you realize that it's still far too early in the morning to start your shift, so you head outside to smoke a cigarette.
One cigarette turns into two, which turns into four, and when the sun starts coming up you realize you've smoked through the two whole packs you had on you. It's alright, you don't have functioning lungs anyway.
As the sunrise paints the sky in muddy yellows and oranges, you stare at the passing cars and pedestrians, not thinking about anything at all. Definitely not a single thing.
The fire exit door bangs open, and your Phone-headed boss/brother stumbles out, almost tripping down the porch steps.
"Hello? Hello he- Employee? What are you doing here?" he asks, and then breaks into a coughing fit. "What is- Why is there such a thick smog in here? Did the government finally release the poison gas?"
"Nah, sir, that's just nicotine," you say, turning back to street watching. "The release of poison gas isn't scheduled for another couple years."
He places one hand on his hip and wags his finger at you with the other. You know the pose is supposed to be menacing, but you've always just found it funny. "You can't smoke on company property, employee! Unbelievable. Your first shift hasn't even started yet, and I already have to issue my first warning!"
"Exactly, sir," you give him a sideways smile. "My first shift hasn't started yet, so technically I am not an employee right now."
"That's- Ugh. That's true, I suppose. But if I catch you smoking out here again-"
"Won't happen, sir," you say, which isn't a lie. You'll just find a sneakier place for a smoke break. "Did you want something?"
"Ah, yes. I've received some complaints from the residents about a creepy man who has been spotted outside our establishment, leering at the passersby. Have you seen-" he cuts himself off, staring at you. You try to look very normal. He sighs. "Actually, never mind. ...Why are you here, employee?"
"That's a question I ask myself very often as well, Phoney," you say, tilting your head up. The sun has risen, and the sky returned to its usual grayish blue color. "What's the point in any of this? Your actions will amount to nothing, eventually."
"I mean specifically here, at Freddy Fazbender's, specifically right now, which is hours before your shift," he clarifies in a tired tone.
"Oh yeah. I was playing some arcade games," you smile at your own joke.
"...Of course. What else would you be doing. ...At least he's not seducing the animatronics," he mutters the last sentence under his breath. "Alright, employee. Since you are not an employee yet, you can spend the time before the start of your shift enjoying your freedom. I'll see you at noon."
"Thanks, Phoney. I'm gonna go get a new highscore in 'Foxy, Yiff, Yiff, Yiff' now!"
You slip back inside through the fire exit and quickly make your escape, Phoney's frustrated shouts about you not being allowed on the company's property yet barely reaching you. What's he going to do, fire you? You're not an employee yet.
***
The day goes by painfully slowly. The same customers you've seen a hundred times before drift in and out, and you still can't be bothered to learn their names. Ronaldo isn't here on Monday, so you can't engage in some questionable cooking, and there's no way in hell you're climbing inside the bear suit. This means that you mostly just fuck around until you realize that you don't care enough to put effort into pretending to be productive, so you buy more cigarettes from Matt and climb the fire escape onto the roof.
The pack is over rather quickly once again, so you preoccupy yourself with calculating whether jumping off would kill you or not. You come to conclusion that it won't, unless a huge robotic arm hauls you at the ground at full velocity.
You really start wishing that the huge robotic arm would magically appear when you hear the metallic steps of the fire escape creaking under someone's feet. Goddammit, obviously your boss would install cameras on the roof after Bonnie seized it as his territory following that stunt you and Dave-
Wait. That never happened.
"E- Emp- Employee!" Phone Guy shouts out weakly. He climbs the last step and collapses onto the floor, breathing heavily. "Why- Why are you on the roof? This area is off-limits for everyone but the US military."
"I thought that maybe if I went up high enough, a wild bird would fly in and take me away," you say, looking up at the sky. Seeing Phoney struggle for breath brings up some unwanted images in your mind.
"Don't be daft, employee. All Freddy Fazbender's locations have built-in weapon defenses to prevent aerial attacks from avian kidnappers," Phoney says, then mutters quietly, "if only we had those against aubergine kidnappers as well..."
Huh. You don't remember installing any guns on the roof of your diner to shoot at birds. Maybe that's why you had a pelican infestation. And a kiwi infestation. And a Music Man infestation.
Phoney gets up from the floor and straightens himself, assuming an authoritative stance. "Employee, you've been missing for the last four hours! And while I was trying to look for you, I got a call from the fire department, reporting that apparently there's a huge cloud of smoke above our establishment! And what do I find after I go through the ordeal of climbing the stairs?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm slacking off. Give me a warning, whatever. I'll be back down soon," you say. You do need to get a new pack, so.
"That's- That's exactly what I wanted to talk to you about! I don't understand your attitude, employee," he says, pointing at you. "If you hate it here so much, why did you even take this job?"
"Really, Phoney? Do you expect me to happily put on the death suit and jump around and dance while a dozen children scream at me? That'll cause a spring failure, you know."
"I'm not asking you to enjoy your job! I just don't get why you would willingly sign up to slave away for the rest of eternity, if you don't even give enough crap to suffer through one single shift!" he yells, visibly shaking. You stay silent as he takes deep breaths in and out, slowly calming himself down.
He's not entirely correct, of course. If it was up to you, you'd be at any other place in the world but Freddy fucking Fazbender's (preferably that place being six feet underground). But you don't really have a choice. And the bear deity that took the choice away from you can't be bargained with on account of being dead.
You can't tell him any of that, so you decide to go with a half-truth. "I think it'll be a waste of time to put effort into working at a pizzeria that's going to burn down in a few days."
"And chain-smoking for hours is not wasting time?" he asks, which makes you freeze, but he carries on. "Hold on- What do you mean it's going to burn down?"
"We're setting it on fire to kill Dave," you say distractedly. "That's not important- I'm not wasting time again, am I? I have a plan, I'm doing new things, I'm not-"
"How is that not important, employee? You're going to commit arson! I have to take preventative measures, I have to- "
"Oh, just shut up, Phoney! Don't try to convince me you don't hate working here as well! You'd be just as happy as me when this place goes up in flames!"
"I'm company property, Jack! What do you think happens to me if the place I'm supposed to be managing burns down?! I'll tell you what happens - they'll take me to the Factory and disassemble me! I don't want to hecking die!"
"Well I-" you cut yourself off and breathe out slowly through your mouth. "Look, Phoney- I mean, Mr Cawthon. This company is rotten through and through, you and I both know that. Even without the corporate bullshit that Fazbender's is built on, even without the nightmare fuel that is the Factory, the company is still haunted by the string of child murders. And we can put a stop to it, if we strike right at the heart of the problem."
"So you want to get rid of Dave," Phoney finishes for you. He sighs, tension leaving his shoulders. "To be honest, I've been planning on doing the same, employee. That man has caused so much carnage, it's about time we did something about it. Although I don't know if arson is the best way to go about it - the man is as resilient as a cockroach. There was this incident back in the 70s-"
"We have a plan," you interrupt him. You'd rather not think about any incidents in the 70s, if you can help it. "We'll make sure that he won't be able to get out before the flames consume his completely."
"What kind of plan? And who's this 'we'?" he asks.
"Uh," you say, because you're not sure how to tell him that you're working with his dead sister and a double of the guy you're planning to kill. "Some... 'people' I know. ...Look, you'll just have to trust me on this."
He considers you for a moment before letting out a sigh and shaking his head in disbelief. "I suppose I will have to do that, don't I? Whether you're tricking me or not, I'm getting my head ripped off by the company either way. So I think I'd rather raise my hopes up."
"If all goes well, you'll get to keep your head," you find yourself saying, which is just swell. What's one more impulsive promise to keep? "I'm glad we're on the same team, sir."
"Yes, well, so am I. I'm not sure I would've been able to deal with Dave on my own, he's rather slippery," he says. "Inform me later if you'll need my help with this mysterious plan of yours. You're free of duties for now, employee, but please come back down and at least be visibly around. If the health inspector comes by, we need someone to lead him away from the scuttler-infected areas."
"Isn't that everywhere, sir?"
He sends you a glare before turning to the fire escape stairs with a sigh filled with dread. "Do you think simply jumping off would kill me, employee?"
"Probably, yes," you quickly say.
"Alright then," he sighs again and starts making his way down, gripping onto the railings. "I better see you in the main dining area in thirty- no, twenty! - minutes!"
"You've got it, sir!"
You prepare to spend your boss-approved break scrounging the roof for bird-triggered guns before his earlier words ring inside your skull again. You lean over the roof's edge and shout at Phoney, who's already managed to climb down half a flight.
"Hey, Mr Cawthon! You didn't tell me - am I wasting time?"
"What you're wasting most is cigarettes, employee!" he shouts back at you. "You should quit smoking, it smells disgusting!"
Huh. You haven't noticed. You lost your sense of smell, so that might have something to do with it.
You look down at the pile of cigarette butts on the floor and ground your heel in it. You don't need the nicotine anyway.
***
Next morning, you sneak back into the pizzeria and make it all the way to the arcade before you remember that your boss is on your side now. Whatever. It was fun to pretend to be in a bank heist movie. You can't believe you and Dave never robbed a bank while you were in Vegas, you should do that sometime.
You boot up "Happiest Day" and are blinded into the Flipside. After you blink away the white light from your vision, Dee and Dave greet you with happy faces. You are momentarily confused by this, considering the circumstances of your last departure.
"Sportsy! You're back!" Dave starts approaching you with open arms before he seems to think better of it and stops.
"We were somewhat worried you'd be reluctant to return," Dee floats up to you as well, carefully studying you over Dave's shoulder. "But I'm glad to see you're staying loyal to your oath."
"Old sport! What the hell!" Dave claps you on the shoulder, and you jump at the unexpected motion. Dee frowns in concern at your reaction. "Why didn't you tell me that Dee's your sister!"
You send a glare at the traitorous puppet. She just shrugs, as if to say "He would've figured it out eventually". You know he wouldn't have. Dave's not that smart.
"I, uh, forgot," you reply to Dave. You really hope she hasn't told him about the part where he was involved in her murder.
"Jeez, old sport. Maybe your brain has rotted away. I could never forget about my family members."
"Well, that's an easy task, considering you don't have any," you say, and Dave takes his hand back off your shoulder and clutches it close to his chest, as if you've just stabbed through his palm.
"That was uncalled for, Jack," Dee says sternly, and you gawk at her. Dee? Scolding you for being mean to Dave? That's an unexpected role reversal. "Please refrain from making unwarranted cruel comments. Didn't you say you'd hold back your frustrations with Dave while we work as a team?"
"I did promise that, didn't I," you sigh. "Fine. What's the plan for today?"
"We've found a strong soul to save a level below! Maybe even two, if we're lucky!" Flipside Dave bounces back to excitement. You know real world Dave would've demanded you apologize. You wouldn't have.
"There's nine animatronics and two springlock suits at the Bakersfield location," Dee says. "I strongly doubt we'll have to find souls to possess all eleven of them, but the more, the better the chances of the other Dave Miller being overwhelmed by them and dying in a fire."
"I once fought off three animatronics with my bare hands!" Dave says proudly. "I mean, it was three Freddies, which equals to about two Bonnies, but that's still an accomplishment!"
"In what situation would you find yourself wrestling three Freddies?" you can't help but ask.
"Oh, that's a long story, old sport! You see, it all started back in the 70's-"
"On second thought, I don't want to know. We have work to do," you turn around and gesture at an empty space. "Portal, appear!"
The chunk of air you're pointing at twists onto itself and rips apart, revealing a swirling purple doorway. You turn back to look at your companions, who stare at you in amazement.
"Woah! How'd you do that, old sport? You have a psychic link with this place or something?" Dave asks.
"I have no idea," you genuinely say. "Check this out, Dave. I'm gonna execute the next step of our plan," you smirk and take a step through the purple doorway.
***
The second level of the Flipside isn't what you'd expect either. This time, it's not even a Freddy's location you find yourself in. No, it's so, so much worse.
"That was a shit joke, old sport!" Dave says, stepping out of the portal, Dee following behind him. They start looking around. You don't, one single glance at your surroundings was enough for you. Actually, you think you're going to walk around with your eyes closed.
"Is this... our house?" Dee asks, studying an old photo of Peter and Caroline hanging on a wall.
Dave prances around the living room like he's an art critic at a gallery. "Holy shit, old sport, you didn't tell me you lived in a mansion! We've got a rich boy over here!"
"I don't live here," you say. "Anymore", you don't add. Or "yet", depending on how you look at it. Time is a fuzzy concept to you.
"Yeah, I know that, I'm just messing with you! I've been to your flat!" Dave smiles, throwing himself onto the couch. Dust clouds pillow around him as he lands on the worn out fabric.
"I don't remember ever inviting you in," you say, although you know it's a fruitless effort. Dave just winks at you and starts searching for a TV remote between the cushions.
"Our house hasn't always been this... dilapidated, has it?" Dee says, floating over the floors darkened with layers of grime. "I suppose the time must've taken its toll on it..."
"Nah, it's just the RUE!" Dave says. He lifts one of the couch cushions, revealing the black slimy substance underneath eating away at the insides of the couch. Dee recoils in disgust. "See? This level is even more infected than the last one!"
"That's not a good sign," Dee frowns. "The lower we go, the worse it gets... The disease must be spreading from the Flipside's center."
You've been to Flipside's core before, and you don't recall any kind of repulsive mass taking root there. Something's definitely wrong, but you're not sure what might be causing it. Your bets are on Dave, though.
"Let's not waste any time. We need to find souls to use," you tell them.
"You mean souls to save," corrects you Dee.
"Why are you in such a hurry, old sport?" asks Dave. "You do know time doesn't really flow the same on the Flipside, right? Barely a few seconds will pass in the real world while you're here."
"I just don't want to stand around doing fuck all while kids are about to die!" you spit out, and storm up the stairs. You catch a glimpse of Dee and Dave exchanging a look and shrugging. Great, now Dave's stealing your and Dee's silent dialogue shtick. What an asshole.
The second floor is in even worse condition. You have to jump over some missing steps to get up there, and then you almost slip on a puddle of a dark glistening fluid. You catch yourself with a hand on the wall and immediately wish you didn't, as it comes off covered in a sticky sludge. You wipe your palm on your shirt (your body already secretes rot on it daily, it can't get more filthy), and look down the hall.
Instead of the familiar three doors, a broken down hallway stretches into the darkness. Mismatched doors line the walls, some of them reminiscent of Freddy's locations, and the others glitching in and out of existence. Deactivated animatronic bodies and torn off parts are scattered along the floor, each one oozing the same slimy liquid. You are suddenly hesitant to proceed further.
"Old sport! You need to stop running off on your own!" Dave runs up the stairs behind you, and almost falls in between the missing stair steps, but Dee catches him by the scruff of his neck in time. "Thanks, sis! See, sportsy, this is what I'm talking about! We need to stick together! What if you fall down into a hole and die?"
You can't help the laugh that escapes you after hearing the last sentence, and Dee is so perplexed by this she forgets to chastise Dave for using an annoying nickname.
"This is a serious matter, Jack. You could encounter an animatronic you wouldn't be able to face on your own," she frowns. "I don't understand your hastiness either. I know lives are at risk here, but Afton has shown no signs of going on another murder spree any time soon."
Dave sends Dee and then you a panicked glance. "I thought we agreed not to call the other me that?"
Dee huffs. "I'm not saying 'the real world Dave' every time, it's a mouthful."
"It's today," you interrupt them. Dave makes such a big deal out of you learning his 'real' name every time, like you hadn't known it even before you two met in Colorado. "He's going to kill five kids today, okay? And I've no idea how to stop him from doing it!"
"Are you sure, old sport?" Dave asks carefully. Dee doesn't look convinced either, and you're this close to running off in frustration again. "I've been watching the other Davey through his eyes, and it doesn't seem like he's planning anything."
"No, it's today. I know him better than you do, alright?"
You realize how this sounds a second too late, but apparently your rushed confession did the trick. Dee nods, while Dave's squinted eyes sparkle with something you can't quite identify.
"In this case, I understand the worry about the time constraints, but this doesn't mean we have to divert from our original plan," Dee says. "We find two strong souls to possess animatronics, and then the three of you in the real world will manage to temporarily stop Afton from committing murder."
"The four of us," you add absentmindedly. The other two look confused, so you clarify, "I managed to get Peter to join in on our plan. He said he'd help if it was needed."
"Oh, that's wonderful, Jack!" Dee smiles, and you're struck with the realization you haven't seen one of those on her mask in a while. "All of us, on one team... We're sure to succeed!"
"Who the hell is Peter?" Dave butts in.
"Peter's our brother," Dee explains.
"Huh?" Dave's eyebrows knit in confusion. "I don't have a brother."
Dee stares at him blankly. "...I mean Jack's and mine."
"Oh yeah, that makes more sense," Dave nods his head a couple times, before suddenly springing up and pointing at you in accusation. "What the hell, old sport! You didn't tell me you had a brother!"
***
The more you explore this level, the more you discover how similar it is to the deepest layer of the Flipside. The rooms lack any sort of structure, and the hallways just lead you around in circles. No object can decide on what it wants to be, and every animatronic you run into is a glitching mishmash of several robots.
"Poor things," Dee says after you defeat (free) another pair of those amalgamations. "They're so lost they forgot who they used to be. I remember, though..."
"Hey, come check this out!" Dave calls out from a doorway up ahead. For once, you are grateful for his interruption. You're not sure if you want to listen to Dee reciting another obituary. "There's a room in here that doesn't look like it's been put through a meat grinder!"
You're far too eager to get out of the shifting hallways, so you quickly make your way to the room Dave's in. Dee huffs in indignation at your escape, but follows you nonetheless.
"Look at this! There's a whole ass library in here!" Dave gestures enthusiastically, his long fingers skimming along the faded titles on the book spines.
'The library' that Dave referred to is comprised of one single bookcase, which takes up most of the space in the small room. While it's not glitching out like everywhere else on this level, the rot still hadn't left it untouched. The wallpaper had peeled off, revealing a pulsating mass slowly dripping yellow-tinted ooze. Strings of long tendrils hang from the cracked ceiling, twitching as you approach them. Still, you recognize the room even through the layers of decay.
"This is my room," Dee says in wonder. She floats up to her bed, the sheets now covered in thick dust, and touches the diary left on her pillow. The cover has long since lost its color, but you can still make out the name written in childish handwriting.
"Your room? Aren't you a little girl? This doesn't look like a room of a little girl," Dave says, looking at the empty desk and a small wardrobe.
"I was a very practical little girl," Dee answers. Thankfully, she doesn't mention that you and Peter usually didn't have enough money to spend on toys and fancy clothes.
You're regretting following Dave here. This life, it's not yours to reminisce on, it's not yours to miss and feel nostalgic about. You feel like an exhibitionist, looking into the windows of someone else's home.
Dee lowers herself to the ground and pulls out a cardboard box from under her bed. "Oh, this brings so many memories," she says, pulling the lid off. The box is filled to the brim with various trinkets you can't discern the significance of.
"A souvenir box! That's a classic!" Dave pops up, leaning over Dee's shoulder to examine the contents of the box. "I used to keep one of those as well, you know!"
They have their backs turned to you, so they can't see all the orange color drain from your face. Thankfully, Dave doesn't elaborate further, instead reaching into the box and pulling out a stack of papers. He flicks through it, his eyebrow quirking in surprise.
"What are those, math tests?"
"Are they? How strange, I never went to school..." Dee floats back up and takes the papers from Dave's hands. "Ah, Dave, that's not math, those are doodles I did during recess in kindergarten!"
You snort. Dave makes an insulted noise. "Don't make fun of me, old sport! I never went to school either!"
"It's alright, Dave. Jack dropped out of high school, so none of us have a proper education," Dee says, flipping through the paper stack. You glare at her, but she doesn't notice. She didn't have to phrase it like that. At least you can solve for x and shit (probably; it has been a couple long decades since you've been to a classroom).
"Look at this one, Dave!" Dee pulls out a sheet of paper. You glance at it as well and- Oh no. "Who do you think drew this?"
Dave examines the drawing with narrowed eyes. Three figures look back at him, wide smiles on their misshapen faces. "...You? Didn't you just say those were your scribbles? This seems like something a little girl would draw."
"No!" Dee hides a giggle behind a striped wrist. "This one is Jack's!"
"What?" Dave turns to you, an amused smile stretching across his stupid face. "Old sport, is this true?"
You don't reply, and Dee explains instead. "This was one of my assignments for preschool! I had to draw a family portrait, but I was feeling sick that day, so I asked Jack to do it for me."
'Asked to do it', she says, as if she didn't pester you until your patience eventually run out.
Dave snatches the drawing out of Dee's hands and brings it closer to his face. He laughs under his breath. "Old sport, what the hell is this supposed to be? Why do these look like deformed kangaroos? The one on the right literally has three eyes!"
"I'm particularly amused by his depiction of Peter," Dee joins in, pointing at the picture, "who, if you might notice, has a pineapple for a head."
"Is the one in the middle being strangled by a snake?" Dave cackles. "Old sport, I didn't know you had such a talent in horror illustration!"
"Don't mock me," you say, your arms crossed. You hurry to swat away the mention of strangulation before it can take up residence in your head again. It was a scarf and not a snake, anyway.
Dave seems to notice your sour mood and stops laughing, his smile shrinking into something softer. "Sorry, sportsy, we're not mocking you. This was a nice thing to do. Sounds to me like you're a good brother."
Your eyes shift from him and stare at the paper for a long second. Crudely sketched Dee has a half-moon smile and is holding hands with two other taller figures. Your eyes flick to the the one on the right, its face scarless and bearing the same grin. You suddenly remember throwing dozens of identical drawings in the trash during long boring shifts at Freddy's.
Jack Kennedy might have been a good brother. Too fucking bad he's dead.
While you were lost in your head, Dee and Dave moved on to discussing other contents of the box. Dave spins around a keychain on his finger, his other hand drawing figures in the air, while Dee nods along with whatever he's prattling on about.
Neither of them notice you leave the room.
As you traverse the halls, it becomes increasingly difficult not to trip on scattered animatronic parts or slip on the dark sludge leaking from the cracks in the walls. Still, you move forward. If they're going to waste time, you might as well do everything yourself, just like you always have.
Your wandering pays off when you see a wobbling shape approaching you from one of the branched off hallways. In the light coming from a fake window, you make out a silhouette of Bonnie (not hard to identify, what with the long ears). It doesn't notice you, continuing its shuffle along the wall. It's barely able to raise its feet, instead dragging them on the floor and dropping them with a heavy metallic clank.
Unlike the other animatronics on this level, it doesn't glitch out or change shape, and that's how you know it's the one. You might not have Dave's or Dee's innate sense for strong souls, but you're sure you've found what you're looking for.
You approach the animatronic with a confident stride, not bothering to hide your presence, but it still doesn't seem aware of your existence. You strike it first, throwing a punch up at its face, putting all your frustration behind it.
It staggers back, and catches itself with a hand on the wall to save itself from falling over. Your hand stings, but you hit it again, your fist smashing into its stomach plate. It doesn't bend from impact, and the animatronic remains standing.
You wind up for another punch, but the rabbit catches you off guard and hits you in the chest with a metal claw. The force of the impact makes you fly back, your back slamming against the floor. Damn tin fucking bastard.
You manage to sit up, propping yourself up with trembling arms, when a coughing fit shudders through your whole body. You hark up rot onto your shirt, barely gasping for enough air in between coughs.
Bonnie slowly shuffles towards you. He bends down, his rusty joints creaking, and gazes down at you with empty dark eyes.
"...Why?" he asks, his voicebox staticky from disuse. "...Why did you kill me?"
You can't ponder on the meaning of this before he raises up his foot and stomps down on your stomach. The weight of it crushes your decayed insides, and even more rot spills out of your mouth. You spit it out and don't try to fight back.
Guess you'll have to redo this whole day again. A damn time waste, but it's far from the first time you'll have to go through the same motions.
You close your eyes, and you die.
You open them back up when the weight on your stomach disappears, and a loud metallic clang echoes from somewhere down the hallway. Two pairs of glowing eyes enter your line of sight, leaning over your not-yet-completely-dead body.
"Old sport! I told you to stop running off by yourself!" Dave sounds panicked, his eyes darting all over your face. His hands reach for you, and you feel too weak to slap them away. He grabs you by your shoulders and helps you sit up. Your mind flashes back to Peter doing the same thing before you choked on your own vomit.
"Jack, are you injured?" Dee floats down to the floor, glancing between you and the animatronic at the end of the corridor, which hasn't moved since they've knocked it away.
"I'm fi-" you start to say, before another surge of rot floods your throat, and you cough it up. It splatters across Dave's shirt, but he doesn't look at it, his wide eyes focused on your quavering body.
"Jesus fucking Christ, old sport, did that fucker crush your lungs?" His hand tries to touch the area of your chest that Bonnie stepped on, but you jerk away from him, breaking his hold on you. Dee catches you before you fall onto the floor again, her long arms wrapping around your back.
"Hold still, I'm going to heal you," she warns, and you shake your head furiously.
"I'm telling you I'm fine, Dee, there's no need to-"
"You're not fucking fine, Jack, you're coughing up blood!" she snaps.
"That's not blood!" you snap back. You're met with two bewildered expressions, Dee's more impatient than Dave's. "I don't bleed, I'm a goddamned corpse! My insides are filled with whatever my guts had dissolved into after years of decomposition!"
"I know blood when I see it, old sport!" Dave says, his unsure hands hovering around you, but not quite making contact. "And trust me, I've seen a lot of it!"
"Blood or not, it doesn't change the fact that you're hurt," Dee presses on. Her arms feel steady on your back. "Let me heal you."
You grit your teeth and don't answer. She takes this as a sign to go ahead. A hiss escapes you as a burning sensation rushes from your feet to your head. You breathe easily once it's over, the damage done to your lungs gone as if it was never inflicted. The healing won't mend your old wounds, though. The deep punctures made by iron spikes, the metal lodged inside your body, your old dead heart - those things will never be fixed.
"Don't run off on your own again, Jack, I'm serious," Dee says, unwrapping her arms from around you. You suddenly feel very cold. "Unlike me and Dave, you're using a physical body to traverse the Flipside, and you only have one of those. We don't know what might happen if you die here."
You know. If you die, you die, it's pretty simple. Why would it matter, though, if you come back anyway?
You look up at Dave, who's offering you a hand to stand back up. You consider ignoring it, but then sigh and take it in yours, allowing him to pull you up. He looks down at your clasped hands and smiles.
But it matters to them, doesn't it? You're a useful tool, and an irreplaceable one at that. No one else is capable of traveling back and forth between the real world and Flipside, and they need a communicator for the plan to go over smoothly. No wonder they want you to stay alive.
You suppose you can oblige. For now.
"Fine, I'll stick with you," you say, mentally adding another point to your promise checklist. That thing has been getting awfully long lately.
"Great! Now let's go beat the living shit out of that plastic bastard!" Dave proclaims, striding towards the animatronic sprawled on the floor. He starts dragging you with him, and you hastily let go of his hand.
"Hold on, Dave, that's one of the strong souls we've been looking for. There's a chance we could negotiate with it," Dee says. She floats up to the unmoving robot and slowly extends her arms towards it in an offer of peace. "Hello, Bonnie - although I'm aware that's not your real name. There's no need to be scared. We can help you."
The animatronic twitches and sits up, its mechanical joints clicking as they move. Its eyes are empty, but you know it's staring straight at you.
"Why... why did you kill me?" it says through a broken voicebox. "I don't understand."
"I realize you may be confused," Dee says, her brows furrowed, "but we don't wish you any harm. The man that killed you, we also want to enact revenge on him. We would be very grateful for your aid in our plan."
"The man that killed me... He's right behind you," the animatronic creaks out.
Your maybe-blood freezes in your veins when Dee checks behind her, but her eyes settle on Dave instead. She turns back to the animatronic.
"Ah, I understand the source of the confusion. But it's a different man we plan to get rid of, although he's just as purple," Dee says. Dave preens with pride. "I ask you to return to the realm of living, only for a short time, and help us to prevent him from taking any more lives as he took your own. Then you will finally be able to rest."
"...I think you're the one who's confused, puppet," the animatronic answers. "But if you promise to free me, I will help you."
"I promise," Dee says, the words sliding out easily from her mouth. You wonder if she feels the same weight you do when she makes an oath. "There's a Freddy's diner in Bakersfield. That man is working there right now. We need you to pass through the veil back into the real world and possess one of the animatronics there."
"Yes, I remember... This is where I was killed," the animatronic says. Cold sweat runs down your spine. Dave looks over to you in worry. You realize your hands are shaking, and you quickly hide them in your pockets. The animatronic continues, "I will see you there... Orange Man."
With those words, it collapses onto its back and shatters into metal pieces. One by one, they melt through the floor, leaving behind only an oily residue.
"What a fucking weirdo!" Dave exclaims, throwing his hands up. You raise an eyebrow. Pot, meet kettle. "This is by far the creepiest dead kid I've met! Don't worry, Dee, you're on that list too."
Dee doesn't hear him, instead frowning at the place where Bonnie was lying a second ago.
"It's strange," she says. "I can't recall anything about this child. Not any details of his life, not anything about his hobbies, not even his name. I should know about every death at Freddy's."
"Yeah, well, maybe this wasn't a dead kid! Just, like, some guy that wandered in here dressed up as a rabbit!" Dave flaps his hand dismissively. "I don't even remember ever stuffing a kid inside a Toy Bonnie!"
A Toy Bonnie. The animatronic was a Toy Bonnie.
Dave may have never hid a corpse inside a Toy Bonnie, but you have. Not this time around, but the many, many other times you've broken your promises.
You can vividly recall them screaming as you slit their throats. The thing about killing five kids was that when you kill one, the others start trying to run away, shrieking in terror. Unfortunately for them, the safe room was not only soundproof, but equipped with locks as well. It was an easy task to grab the remaining ones and silence them.
You don't remember how the kid you usually put inside Toy Bonnie looked. Dave usually handled that part. He viewed it as a creative project of sorts, you think. He'd pick out some kids from the crowd that would fit the animatronics better, and then the two of you would isolate them into a small group and lead them away. After all was said and done, Dave would take the head of his suit off and give you a wide smile.
But you didn't kill any kids at Bakersfield this time around. Dave didn't either (yet, at least). So it makes no sense that a lost soul of one of your victims would wander the Flipside.
"You alright, old sport?" Dave waves a hand in front of your face, snapping your attention back to him. "Does your chest still hurt?"
You imagine Dave pulling an emergency brake on that train of thought you were having, making it stop right before entering the "baseless conjecture" tunnel. Instead it derails and veers off right into the "Dave Miller" abyss. Everything always ends up down there.
"I'm okay," you say. "Let's get going."
You're sure it's not going to be a problem if you don't think about it.
***
The Flipside continues being a general pain in the ass. You've circled back to your house's living room a dozen times by now, and it's gradually mutated to an imitation of itself. The furniture has been replaced by flat cardboard cutouts of respective pieces, and the south walls and ceiling have completely disappeared, opening up to infinite darkness. You're strangely reminded of hastily put together high school theater sets.
The staircase leading to the second floor varies from iteration to iteration. It has so far been replaced by a winding Victorian stairway, a lone stepladder, and a hanging rope (which it was a real bitch to climb up, thanks for asking). This time you find a basement hatch where the staircase should be. It's sealed shut with a padlock.
"I wonder if this is an influence of the RUE as well," Dee ponders while Dave kneels on the floor, picking the lock open.
"Nah, that's just the usual Flipside bullshittery!" Dave says, before pulling the lock off and throwing the doors open, revealing a ladder leading into the darkness below. "Ta-da!"
"I thought we weren't calling it RUE?" you frown, looking down into the hatch. You're severely regretting not calling off the search for the second strong soul earlier.
"There's only so many synonyms for 'rot' one can come up with, Jack," Dee says. That's true. You're still not using the stupid title that Dave came up with.
After hiding his lockpicks back in his sleeves (you know he accidentally stabs himself on these regularly, along with the knife he has tucked under his belt), Dave stands up and steps aside, making a grand inviting gesture at the hatch, accompanied by a little bow. "Ladies first!"
Dee huffs, but still drifts forward and gracefully floats down into the pit. Once she's completely swallowed down by the darkness, you step forward to the edge, but hesitate to proceed.
"What's the matter, old sport? Scared of heights?" he taunts, and you shush him with a glare.
"I'm not. Just have a bad feeling about this," you say, but still put your feet on the rungs and grip the side rail tightly as you begin your descent. If an animatronic ambushes you as soon as you're down, you're blaming it on Dave.
No one attacks you after you step onto the solid ground, and you're briefly relieved. That feeling only lasts until you turn around and take in your surroundings, which immediately make your empty insides curl onto themselves.
The room you entered isn't contaminated by the glitching, but the same can't be said about the rot. It piles on the floor in heaps, a dark yellow sludge leaking out of its pores as it pulsates at a slow rhythm. A thin layer of it covers the walls, the tiny tendrils moving around like a swarm of ants.
The small space is barely furnished, only supplied with a single bed, a miniature bedside table, and a modest wardrobe. It's basically indistinguishable from every single hotel room you've ever been in. And yet, you recognize the lines carved into wooden bedposts. The holes punctured in the shade of the bedside lamp. Even the way the wardrobe is almost unnoticeably titled to the right.
You hear a heavy thump behind you, and turn around to find that Dave has neglected climbing down the ladder in favor of jumping straight to the bottom. He fans his hands around to dispel the cloud of fumes he's raised up with his drop. You quickly move in front of him to block his view of the room.
"I think we should leave, there's nothing interesting to be found here," you say, but Dave ignores your improvisational barricade and steps around you. His interest, however, quickly dissipates upon seeing the boring decor, and your panic resides.
"Oh yeah, this place is a total dump!" he says, kicking over one of the rot piles. "Do you think this was a jail cell or something?"
Dee, who has been hovering in the middle of the room with a concentrated look on her face, turns her head to look at you. "Jack, isn't this your room?" she asks.
Your hands twitch as a thorny urge claws up your throat. There's no way she doesn't know what she's doing, right? Is she ruining your life on purpose? Is this revenge for the argument(s) you had yesterday?
"What? No way!" Dave is suddenly energized again, whipping his head around to study the exciting exhibit consisting of three (3) pieces of furniture. "We should look around!"
"I'm telling you, there's nothing interesting in here," you say firmly, but Dave is already beelining towards the wardrobe. As he swings open the doors, a fountain of dust explodes right into his eyes. He splutters and tries to wipe the residue off (unsuccessfully).
While he is preoccupied with getting back his vision, Dee leans over his shoulder to study the row of hangers with identical nondescript shirts. "Hm, I don't know what I was expecting. I suppose it was too far-fetched to think you secretly hid something even remotely fashionable in here."
Your eye twitches. "Dee, come on, not you too. There's literally nothing here to search for."
"No, no, I'm curious. I was never allowed in as a kid."
Of course she was forbidden from entering. Her room had been childproof, but in yours she could've tripped over her own feet and smashed her head on a sharp table corner, or impaled herself on a bedpost, or something worse.
Dave finally manages to clean his face off (for the most part) and busies his hands with sifting through the hangers. "Hey, Dee, I think old sport's plenty stylish! He looks very handsome in those shirts!"
Dee shoots him a disgruntled look. "What do you know about style? All your clothes are the exact same three shades of purple."
"Yeah? It's something we in the biz call 'branding'?"
While they argue over matters of fashion, you check around the room for an exit. It's not hard to find, as it's at the same place the door out of your room has always been at. Unfortunately, you can't make an escape since you promised that you wouldn't go anywhere without them.
"Hey, guys, there's the way out," you point at the door, but neither of them are looking at you. "We should, you know, continue searching for the second soul?"
"Why are you so eager to leave, old sport?" Dave asks, elbow deep inside your wardrobe like he's trying to find a secret passage in there. "Are you hiding some skeletons in your closet or what?"
"The only dead person in my closet is you right now," you grit out. "Can we please move on?"
"Oh, speaking of skeletons, that reminds me," Dee says, absolutely disregarding your attempts to get them back on track. "I remembered that on the last Halloween before my death, Jack made me a skeleton costume!"
"Really now?" Dave glances at you with a sideways smile. "Hopefully he was better at sewing than drawing..."
"I remember he spent days working on it," Dee continues, oblivious to you sending silent glares in an attempt to make her stop talking. "We couldn't afford any fancy store-bought costumes, so Jack cut out bone shapes from some old white sheets and sewed them onto black clothing. He even used glow-in-the-dark paint so I'd stand out! All the other kids were so jealous..."
You can somewhat recall this. You spent long nights hunched over the costume, pricking yourself on the needle a dozen times and spilling the fluorescent paint all over the desk.
You'd never be able to do that again. You lost most feeling in your fingers, and the tremors in your hands prevent you from doing any kind of precise craft. Not that you'd ever have a reason to make a Halloween costume for your little sister again anyway.
You stuff your hands in your pockets. "Are you done? Can we go now?" you ask, already knowing your efforts will be futile.
"You kiddin', old sport? I haven't even found a diary revealing all your embarrassing secrets yet! Where'd you keep it? In your bedside table? Under the mattress?"
"I don't have one of those," you say. Not everyone writes a log with all their innermost thoughts, Dave. And certainly not on the company computer.
"Don't you?" he asks with a smirk, already lifting the mattress up. Unsurprisingly, there's only more rot underneath.
"You've been to my house," you remind him.
"Yeah, but not your old house, old sport! This is uncharted territory!" Dave lets go of the mattress and it drops back heavily, raising up a dust cloud. He jumps back from it before it can get on his face again, and his right foot lands in one of the mounds of decay on the floor. "Aw, goddammit, not the shit pile-" he attempts to kick it over, but his foot thunks against something metal, "-huh? Oh, holy fuck!"
Dave staggers back as a robotic limb reaches out from the pile and makes a grab for his ankle, barely missing. You watch in horror as the pile moves, sludge oozing down and splashing onto the floor as something emerges from it. Two thin arms find purchase on the floor before the whole disjointed body breaks free from the pile. The scrap amalgamation produces a horrible metallic screech, its head spinning until it locks in on you.
"What the hell is that?" Dave mutters. You're surprised he doesn't recognize it. The Trashpile usually leaves a distinct impression on one's mind.
"O-Orange ma-man," it creaks out, the words broken up by the glitching. "I-It's ti-time to p-pay for wha-what you've d-done."
"Hold on, there's no need to fight," Dee intervenes, hovering closer to the Trashpile. "We're here to fix things-"
"Fi- Fix?" its voice buzzes. "You al- already fixed m-me. And the- then you b-broke me, and then you fi-fixed me, and then y-you broke m-me, an- and then you f-fixed me wrong-"
"What the fuck are you talking about, you piece of junk?" Dave steps in. "Don't blame old sport for shit he didn't do!"
The Trashpile roars in response, more limbs untangling from its abomination of a body. It hooks its claws into the walls and rises up higher. "H-He made me li- like this. He ma- made me t-think, he m-made me feel, he made me h-hurt. He must p-pay for wh-what he's done."
Dee floats back from it and squares her shoulders, a determined look appearing on her face. "There's no reasoning with it in this state. We need to pacify it. Prepare for battle!"
Dave says something in response, but all you can hear are the mechanical whirring and the sound of the rot splashing on the floor as it spills out of the Trashpile's empty eye sockets and mouth. You can't stand looking at it, but you aren't able to tear your eyes away. If it remembers you killing it, does it remember you saving it? Does it remember finally having its Happiest Day, before you've turned the time back to make it re-experience death once again?
…If you've gone back so many times that you've lost count, how much suffering must have you put it through?
"…Jack? Jack-!"
Before you realize what's happening, a metal claw catches your shin and yanks, sweeping you off your feet. You feel your back hitting the floor before more limbs grab at you, drawing you in.
You see the jaws opening up above you, and you squeeze your eyes shut. A broken mechanical growl comes out of the machine's voicebox, the sound painfully scraping against your eardrums.
You feel its teeth puncturing the skin on your head as it prepares to close its maw for a final bite. The metal clicks as if counting down the seconds before your demise.
You take your final breath, and you-
clang!
The jaws release your skull, and the claws unclench, making you drop to the floor. You snap your eyes open to see Dave whacking the Trashpile with a dented clothing hanger.
"Don't-" clang, "fucking-" clang, "touch him-" clang, "you dildoed-" clang, "-shitbeast!"
You feel Dee hooking her arms around you and dragging you back from the Trashpile as it tries to defend itself from Dave's relentless attack (unsuccessfully). The hanger in Dave's hands has flattened and become unrecognizable, but every swing is filled with so much animosity that the Trashpile has no choice but to surrender.
"Very w-well, have i-it your way-" clang, "-I said I gi- give up!"
"That's enough, Dave," Dee says as one might to their unruly dog. Dave scowls, but backs away. Dee turns to the Trashpile, her mouth set into a line, but after she sees the state that it's in her expression becomes more gentle. "I understand that you're scared, but there was no need for you to attack us. As I've told you, we're here to help. We're on a mission to set you and all other lost souls free. However, I'd be very grateful if you could do us a favor first."
The Trashpile stares at you. You feel very weak. "Y-You are blinded b-by your faith, pup- puppet," it says. "But I'll d-do anything for the ch-chance to leave thi- this purgatory, if only for a short w-while."
"Thank you," Dee says. She launches into an explanation of the plan to rid Freddy's of evil. The Trashpile's eyes don't leave you the entire time. You think it knows what you're secretly planning, as well.
"Before you go, I have another small favor to ask," Dee says, and you finally feel the Trashpile's gaze shifting from you to her. "I always honor the deaths of those unfortunate enough to have had their lives cut short by giving a eulogy to them. However, I cannot recall anything about you. Can you tell us what you remember from when you were alive? I would keep that memory for you."
"…F-From when I w-was alive?" the Trashpile repeats and freezes for a second. When it speaks again, its voice is clear. "I remember… a snowy field. Cold burning my cheeks. My fingers tingled by tiny needles. Then, a warm fireplace. The smell of a freshly baked pie. Two hands brushing through my hair. Soft fabric all around me. …Happy."
"I'm glad. You must've had a wonderful life," Dee says softly.
"Yes. That sounds nice," it laments. "...If only it was me this happened to."
It abruptly falls onto the floor, its head breaking off and shattering like glass. The metal parts disconnect from the body and dissolve into the floor. In mere seconds, there's nothing left behind but a pile of rot.
Dave is the first to speak. "What a fucking asshole! First it attacks old sport, and then it makes up a bunch of stuff to make us feel guilty!"
"It wasn't lying," you interrupt. Both of them look at you in surprise. You haven't moved since Dee dragged you back from near death. "I also have memories that aren't mine to keep."
"What do you mean, Jack?" Dee asks earnestly, and you feel something break off inside you.
"I told you I'm not Jack fucking Kennedy!" you snap. You feel the anger boiling inside you, but you take a deep breath and push it down. They don't deserve this kind of treatment. "I was once, but I'm not the same person anymore. And you- you expect me to act the same way, to feel like he did, but I just can't."
You're looking down at your trembling hands, so you can't gauge the expressions on their faces. Dee lets out a heavy sigh, and you think about supply closets with bleach.
"Jack," she says and raises an arm to put on your shoulder. You flinch. She puts it back down. "It's been so long since we both were alive. I'm not the same little girl I used to be either. ...We've been through so much, haven't we? It's only natural to change and become different people."
"That's-" you start, and break off. You manage to glance up at her. She's looking at you with a pensive frown. "Still, I- I have no idea who this new person I've changed into is supposed to be. I don't feel like I even am-" -a person, you don't say; -alive, you could've finished, which would have been true, "-anyone, anymore."
Dave steps into your line of sight, his hands hovering in the air as if on the verge of reaching out. "I- Well, I don't know the person you used to be, old sport. But I know the person you are now. And I think that person is my friend."
You hold each other's gazes for a long moment, and Dave gives you an unsure smile. You're suddenly struck by how vulnerable he looks. The Dave Miller you know is all fake bravado and manic energy, but right now he's just... Dave. His eyes shine with an earnestness that makes the emptiness in your chest ache.
Dee snaps the tension with a long sigh. "You're such a sap," she says in an incredulous tone. "I can't believe Dave Miller of all people is a sap."
"Aw, don't be jealous, Dee, you're my friend too!" Dave says and grabs her into a side hug. Dee lets out an angry huff, but doesn't try to wriggle out.
"This is the worst thing that happened to me since my murder," she grumbles, then briefly pauses in thought. "Actually, scratch that. This is the worst thing that happened to me, period."
Dave only giggles in response. He glances back at you and raises his other arm in invitation. There's no way you're joining in their impromptu hug, so you just step closer and take his hand in yours. Dave seems just as happy.
"Look at us!" he exclaims, a blinding smile on his face. "Two dead guys and a puppet! Real world Davey doesn't stand a chance!"
You look at Dee, who's faux irritation has faded in favor of a small smile. It's not so bad, being a part of their team.
Maybe the reason why you've been going back so much is because you've stopped trying. This time, you'll be better, for all of them. The least you can do is to put in some effort before you take your final rest.