10. Nightshift

Summary: Jack gets moved 2 the nightshift, Dave visits him.

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I wanted them to be a little siiiilly, take this as an apology for last chapter~ No deep subliminal message or symbolism today, just them.

NO I'M STILL NOT LEARNING 4 EXAMS, RESPONSIBILITIES ARE GOVERNMENT PROPAGANDA TO SUPPRESS MY CREATIVITY RAAAA

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"Sportsy, where are ya?!"

The ring of his phone had forced him painfully awake, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he processed the question. Dave's voice was harsh against the background of shouting toddlers, and he swore he was able to smell that damned pizzeria from his bed. It was only now that he realized he'd forgotten to inform Dave of the recent changes in schedule, surprised it had taken him until now to call him.

"Oh shit, waddup Dave- They put me on the nightshift, somethin' about the old night guard disappearing."

"What?! They can't just, pull somethin' like that!"

He was truly clueless on what Freddy's could and couldn't do, and felt mostly indifferent towards the change. The reason for choosing him out of all employees was more than likely to hinder the trail of dead children that follow behind him, which seemed most prominent when he and Dave were in close proximity. Fredbear knows that putting Dave on the night shift would result in the pizzeria burning to the ground; the man was unpredictable.

"Well, they did."

Truth was, he desperately wanted to go back to sleep; he knew he would need it if he wanted to stay awake for at least an hour into the night. He would miss Dave's company, that was certain, but that thought didn't occupy him just yet.

"I'll get them for this, don't you worry old sport..."

Said Dave, from the other end of the line, in a rather ominous tone. After promising to send a dank meme in order to cheer up Jack, he hung up the phone. Admittedly, the doggo edited on a fake galaxy background did manage to knock a giggle out of him. Thoughtfully shaking his head while suppressing a grin, he put his phone away and crawled back under the sheets that still harbored his warmth. Although he couldn't quite grasp the peaceful slumber Dave's call had disturbed, he remained in a state vaguely resembling that of sleep.

It was here that the implications of his change in shifts really began to sink in. Dayshifts with Dave had always been fun, but Jack wouldn't get up to half the shenanigans without him. Sitting at a desk, checking security cameras all by himself, would be uneventful at the very least. He would take a six pack of beer to keep himself remotely entertained, he told himself, before he finally slipped back into an uneasy sleep.

The restaurant was much colder than he anticipated. Freddy's had not bothered to install a heating system, assuming the warmth produced by hordes of ungrateful toddlers would suffice. The short-sleeved shirt he wore wasn't exactly suitable for the temperature, but he carried on towards the security office regardless. The restaurant was much creepier during the night, coated in darkness, he swore he could see something move on several occasions. He stopped in his tracks midway to call out and ask if anyone was there, but he was met with a silence that weighed heavily. Shaking the feeling of being watched, he rubbed his arms in a feeble attempt to generate heat.

Having arrived in the security office, he wiped a pile of paperwork from the desk and set his beer down. Cracking one open, he absentmindedly flicked through the cameras. Everything in place, the usual, but this time without screaming children. Jack had never experienced such silence in a Freddy's before. That being said, he very quickly found himself getting bored of staring at the restaurant he had seen plenty of times during the day. Booting up the company PC and scrolling through YouTube's atrocities wasn't half as fun as lighting the prize corner on fire with Dave. He had never really considered how much he enjoyed the man's day to day presence, but with his absence that quickly became clear.

His attention was drawn back to the cameras when he heard a distant crash, nervously flicking through them. None of the animatronics were in their original spots, he quickly came to realize. Within a minute of frantic clicking around, he had located Freddy, Bonnie and the Trashpile. Just as he began to wonder where that damned duck could be, he noticed a purple figure running into the hallway from the corner of his eye. The moment he turned his head, he also saw the missing animatronic chase after said figure. He didn't know how, or why, but Dave was currently being chased by Chica, and was running towards him.

It all went just a bit too fast to comprehend, but he eventually realized Dave was yelling for him to get ready and close the door when he needed to. With a pace so fast he couldn't stop himself, Dave ran into the office and crashed into the wall across the door, as Jack pressed the button that made the door shut. A large metal door quickly slid down to the floor, just enough for the animatronic to run into it with a loud bonk. Dave picked himself up from the ground, leaning against the wall as he wheezed air back into lungs he more than likely didn't even possess.

"Fuckin' hell old sport, those plastic fuckers keep gettin' faster-"

Dave said, through heavy pants. Jack was still trying to process what precisely had happened, from the speed at which the animatronics had moved, to Chica who was probably unconscious outside his door, to Dave's sudden appearance. He decided the most direct question was the one regarding the man in front of him:

"Dude- What're you even doing here?"

Having somewhat recovered, Dave stood up straight and finally faced his companion. The dark circles under his eyes had become even deeper, and his smile had grown a little wider and more lopsided; he looked sleepless and filled to the brim with adrenaline. Although that just about checks out, with the chase he'd just had. And even so; Jack probably looked the same, not exactly used to these working hours.

"Can't a man visit his friend during working hours, old sport?"

"It's midnight, Dave."

"And?"

Jack simply sighed as Dave raised his hands in the air defensively. He didn't exactly mind the company, especially considering there were deadly robots roaming his workplace. His gaze shifted from Dave dusting himself off to the camera system, where a percentage dropped by one.

"Say, uh- What's this?"

He pointed at it, watching Dave cock his head and raise an eyebrow.

"That's yer' power, old sport! Shit runs out damned quick, should probably open the door again soon-"

"I- What?! What happens if I run out?"

"Well, you can say goodbye to anything that runs on electricity, including that door, and some creepy ambiance plays..."

He said nonchalantly, as Jack began to realize why the other night guard had vanished so suddenly. He already considered his day job hell on earth, but this most certainly deserved more than minimum wage pay. On top of that, it also began to sink in that he couldn't keep that door closed throughout the night if he wanted to have enough power to survive. Dave was done cleaning himself up from his smack against the wall, rubbing his eyes with just a little too much of an easy-going posture.

"Dude, what the fuck! There's murderous zombie robots that have it out for us there, I don't wanna be exposed to that!"

"Yeah, well, that's your own fault for killin' kiddins old sport, shit happens at Freddy's!"

Just as Jack wanted to ask why he was so careless about this whole situation, Dave retrieved a screwdriver from one of his many pockets that seemed to be full of junk. With his tall height he was easily able to pry it in between the crack of the door and ceiling, pushing until it didn't budge anymore. Then, with a whole ass hammer that emerged from his pocket, he hammered it further in. Satisfied, he pressed the brightly blaring button that would open the door. Jack yelped in fear as it shot up no more than an inch, creaked, and then halted. Dave had successfully jammed the door with his screwdriver, a proud grin on his face.

"There! Now it won't run out half as fast, old sport!"

"Gee whiz, thanks-"

Despite his sarcastic tone, he really was thankful, he was just too exhausted to show signs of it. As Dave put his hammer down on the desk, he took note of the alcoholic beverages Jack had brought along. He scoffed, swirled around to lean against the wooden top, and took a swig from the can Jack had cracked open earlier. He simply grumbled at the act, locating himself beside Dave and holding his hand out for the drink to be returned to him. Downing the remnants in it, Dave gave him a playful push against the shoulder:

"Drinking on the job, aye sportsy?"

He burped, loud and obnoxious, before responding:

"Oh fuck off, you were just doin' the same! Besides, it's really the only thing keeping me remotely warm in this godforsaken place..."

He crumbled the can in his hand and chucked it towards a small trash bin, which he missed horrendously, before hugging his arms to his chest to emphasize his statement. It really had been cold, his body was stiff and struggling to generate heat throughout the entire night. The only thing that had brought something that came remotely close was the adrenaline that raced his body when Dave ran towards him earlier. Dave eyed him up and down with a half-smile that could either mean he had no thoughts at all, or too many at once.

"Could've just asked for my hoodie, old sport."

Only when he began peeling it off, did Jack take notice of Dave's clothing. Unlike him, he was dressed according to the temperature: a plain purple hoodie with a long sleeved shirt underneath it, fingerless gloves, and sweatpants. It was almost as if he was dressed for the occasion of waiting six hours after his shift to spend the night with Jack. He could very well have been, who's to say. He had taken off the aforementioned hoodie and now held it out to Jack, who found himself conflicted.

This seemed romantic, did it not? What anyone would ought to be a purely platonic offer, seemed so intimate all of a sudden. Sure, they'd probably interchanged clothes several times in Vegas, but never so consciously. He would sometimes find his clothes gone by morning, and instead take what Dave had worn the day before, but never did either of them ask nor offer it. He must've looked like an idiot, standing there with an open mouth as Dave held his sweater out to him, he thought to himself.

"Thanks dude-"

He took it, running his hands through the fabric for a brief second before pulling it over his head. It was surprisingly comfortable, was his initial thought, which was quickly overtaken by the realization that it smelt like him. If he buried his head in it, he could smell the detergent he used, the faint stench of his deodorant, and his general odor. To any regular person it would reek, but to him, it smelt like familiarity. He wasn't sure if it was the minimal amount of alcohol beginning to do its job, the extra layer of clothing, or the smell that surrounded him; but began to feel warmer. A blush crept up to his face, tainting his cheeks as he buried his hands in the sleeves of Dave's hoodie. He was the taller of the two, and the piece of clothing had already been big on him, so Jack could borderline drown in it.

Dave had taken initiative in cracking open another beer, chugging several gulps of the lewd-warm booze before handing the can to Jack, who was just as eager to take a swig. He placed his free hand in the pocket that sat on the stomach of Dave's hoodie, unsurprised by the scrap pieces of paper and other junk he felt in there. It was really too bad that the pizzeria was currently roaming with animatronics out to kill them; now that he and Dave were reunited again, they still had nowhere to go outside of the office they'd trapped themselves in. And really, it was a rather uneventful place. The only thing that was there was the desk with its cameras and company PC, a desk chair, a near empty bookcase, and a couch so small it more so resembled a loveseat shoved against the back wall. The worst they could do in here was fuck, both simultaneously thought to themselves.

"We should do somethin' old sport, this place sucks ass-"

Dave said, turning around to the camera system and company PC. With an obnoxiously loud noise, he booted it up and clicked around for a minute or so. An upbeat song began playing loudly over the cheap speakers installed on it, filling the room with noise. Unlike Jack, Dave seemed not at all worried for the animatronics being drawn to the sound that filled the room. He stumbled back with loose steps, circling around Jack.

"C'mon, let's dance!"

Jack narrowed his eyes at the other, both surprised and repulsed by the sudden cheesy proposal. Perhaps Dave was already intoxicated when he ran into the room, or perhaps he was just drunk off sleeplessness. He now stood before Jack, taking the beercan from his hand and drinking the remnants in it before setting it aside. Jack scoffed, but allowed him to take his wrists in hand and pull him forward, further into the room.

"Dave, no- I can't even dance."

"Anyone can dance sportsy!"

He stopped in his tracks and tugged on Jack's wrists so that he would stand flush against him, pressing his palms flat to Jack's in the air. There they stood, in the center of the room, their chests together and Dave with a lopsided grin on his face. He took a step forward, one hand on Jack's back to prevent him from falling as he swirled the both of them around. He yelped upon being pulled back up, but followed in Dave's steps regardless. His hands guided Jack in the right direction, mindlessly stumbling around the room as they swapped places and followed the melody of a song they couldn't even name.

Dave was right, anyone could dance with the right company. It was surprisingly easy to follow the other's movement, to allow him to dip his body just above the floor. The way he just kept going when the song autoplayed to another, occasionally letting go of his hands to translocate in a series of movements that seemed far too coordinated to be improvised. He returned to Jack, laying his arms over his shoulders as a particularly slow song began to play.

"Okay, follow me sportsy-"

He whispered in his ear, his voice so awfully low it was barely audible. Jack kept his eyes fixed on the floor as his hands found Dave's waist, feeling his face grow warmer. When Dave took a step back, he took one forward, and visa versa. They circled the room, uncaring of the blaring lights that didn't at all fit the scenery, drowning in the synced movement. Dave's face was close to his, he could see it from the corner of his eye, he could feel his slow exhales.

"Okay, now, come here."

Dave shifted, one of his arms wrapping around Jack's waist, the other prying his hand from his hip. He pulled them flush and intertwined their fingers, moving sideways with slow steps as he pulled Jack along. The song didn't exactly fit, but he managed to make it work as they stepped slow circles through the room. He could feel Dave's heat through the fabric that blocked their direct contact, and a flush rose to his face. They were slow dancing. Oh god, they were slow dancing, and Dave was staring him directly in the eye.

"I- I, uhm-"

He stumbled over his words, hesitating on whether or not he was to step back and free himself from Dave's gentle grasp. His eyes darted to where his chest stood level with the other's, where their arms stretched out ahead of them. Was this intentional, was Dave aware of what he was doing? Standing there, with a lack of sleep and dressed in Dave's hoodie, he felt his cold body suddenly grow much warmer.

"I- Okay, sorry-"

Jack took a step back, the opposite direction of Dave, and felt his hand fall from his waist. As he did, the end of the song began to fade in and silence embraced them before another started playing. Without any protest, Dave let go of his hand and adjusted his glove. Jack found himself scrambling for an excuse that didn't reveal his sudden urge to kiss the ever living shit out of Dave, where had it even come from, to begin with?

"Sorry, I don't dance much, I uhm-"

"Oh, don't sweat it old sport, you did great!"

Nonchalantly, he took another beer from the pack, turned the music off, and plopped himself down on the couch. With the way he spread his legs upon sitting down, he took up nearly the entirety of it.

"You really think so?"

Dave cocked his head and looked at him, as if surprised at the genuine tone in which Jack presented his question.

"Yeah...?"

Jack let out a giggle at the answer, mainly directed towards himself, as he nudged Dave's boot with his own. The man, however, did not budge and simply went on to open his can. He couldn't tell whether Dave was intentionally trying to shove him in tension riddled situations, or if he was simply too tired to behave properly, for how much he was able to. With another sigh, he sat himself down on the small patch of fabric beside Dave, swinging his legs onto his lap in a swift movement. Sitting regularly besides Dave would forcibly squish them together, and leaning against the armrest like so was arguably better than that. Unbothered, he rested his hand on Jack's knee as he handed him the beer he was sipping on.

"Where'd you learn to dance?"

He asked Dave, genuinely curious towards the answer. Never really having noticed him show an interest in dancefloors in Vegas, he was surprised by his apparent skill. In turn, Dave seemed enthusiastic to talk about the topic, absentmindedly running his hand along Jack's leg as he spoke.

"I learnt a little from watching Henry's circus performers, of course, and he taught me some to conduct for the kiddins' when I was on stage. Once you get the feel of it, and know some basics, it's really not that difficult old sport!"

"What about that... Waltz?"

It took him a second to collect his thoughts and formulate them into a response. His hand toyed with the stitching on the bottom end of Jack's trousers, slightly lifting it up to graze his ankle with his fingertips. He didn't notice it himself, but Jack did. He felt the way Dave gently stroked his calf from under his pants, the way he stared off into the distance as he did so.

"I taught myself that one, actually. I'd watch couples in the restaurant, or in clubs, and memorize the steps. Henry listened to a lot of classical music, so I'd repeat them to the rhythm when he did-"

"Why?"

Asked Jack, now genuinely curious to hear the answer.

"Well, y'know-"

He drew a breath and shrugged, before continuing:

"-if I met a nice lady, I'd have to know how to treat her, right?

His statement fell flat. No matter how oblivious he was at times, he knew all too well that a marriage was out of the question. Learning himself this feeble dance had likely been one of the last efforts to make himself more appealing, no matter how fruitless it had been. The idea that maybe, if he tried hard enough, he could make himself worthy of love despite his appearance.

"But dancing with you was worth it 'ough, old sport."

It was a recovery, a recovery towards his earlier exclusion of the male gender, the exclusion of the man whose leg he was currently still caressing. Over the years he had come to realize that a regular life was out of the question for him, and with that came a sense of liberation which opened up a whole other variety of possibilities. When your existence was unconventional, it wasn't difficult to accept homoerotic feelings into your lovelife. Jack smiled; he understood.

"I liked dancing with you as well, Dave- Even though I might not be very good at it..."

They smiled at each other, gently, before he handed the can to Dave. As they sat in brief silence, Jack's gaze drifted to the screwdriver Dave had used as a makeshift lock. A question arose:

"Say, have you worked the night shift before...?"

"Oh, plenty of times old sport! Fuckers thought it would stop me from causing mayhem, but I proved 'em wrong!"

Despite his ominous tone, he seemed rather proud of himself. Jack continued to ask, revealed with a variety of chaotic stories that more often than not involved something, or someone, getting caught on fire. It was nice listening to Dave's enthusiastic storytelling, to watch the faint glow in his eyes strengthen whenever he was particularly excited to speak about something. All while his hand was still hidden under the rim of his trousers, occasionally trailing along the scars that hid beneath it.

The minutes ticked by, as did the conversations. Soon the clock was nearly hitting three, and Dave was yawning midway through his sentences. Fredbear knows how long he hadn't slept. With equally as heavy eyelids, Jack took notice and nudged Dave against the shoulder. He shut his mouth, no longer circling the thumb that had rubbed Jack's flesh raw by now.

"What'dya say we take a nap, aubergine?"

As if on cue, he yawned and stretched his arms out above him. With Dave's body slightly shaking as he stretched, Jack retrieved his legs from his lap. Judging from the disappointed look on his face, he was about to make a comment on it, but was quickly shut down as Jack rested his head on his shoulder.

"Yeah- I think that's a good idea, old sport."

He lay his head atop of Jack's, an arm around his shoulder as they leaned back and got comfortable. Jack sighed, letting himself lean into the other as he near immediately closed his eyes. Even if the both of them weren't exhausted before, they would be now with all the conversation they'd held. This had been unexpectedly nice, Jack thought to himself, Dave had been unexpectedly nice. He wasn't worried about having to take the night shift anymore, given all the stories Dave had told him, he was sure they would find a way to avoid that in the morning. While Jack drifted off, Dave couldn't drag his eyes from the hoodie Jack wore, from his clothing.

Although he was likely the one who had gotten the least sleep in the past day, Dave was the first to wake up. No matter how much he hated to do it, he gently nudged Jack awake. The orange had trouble coming to be, his eyes struggling against the light and his voice only barely croaking back to life.

"What time is it...?"

"Seven thirty, yer' shift's over sportsy!"

Upon hearing those words, Jack was suddenly a lot more upbeat and awake. Even though the few hours of additional sleep were welcome, he desperately craved the comfort of his bed. The both rose to their feet, Jack straightening his clothing as Dave pressed the button that was supposed to close the door. It closed the remaining inch between it and the floor, releasing a bit of tension on the screwdriver. Dave wrapped his hands around the handle, raising his legs in the air and letting his weight dangle from it. With a painful thud, he fell to the floor, screwdriver in hand. With a grin equally as sleepless as when he had first ran in, he raised a thumb to Jack, who was now able to open the door again.

For a while, they contemplated what stunt to pull in order to get Jack back on the dayshift. While Dave immediately proposed fire, Jack suggested psychological torture. He had known the password to Scott's account on the PC, but moreso, he had known about the folder of sexual foxy content that hid in it. They left it standing open, and Jack promised that if his boss didn't change his shifts out of embarrassment, they would light the prize corner on fire. And so, came the inevitable moment of departure. Smoking a cigarette by the entrance, they said their goodbyes:

"Hey dude, thanks for the company- I don't think I would've survived without ya'."

"No problem old sport, I'm happy ta' help!"

I'm happy to see you and spend time with you, was what he really wanted to say, but he instead silenced himself and blew smoke into the cold air.

"Oh shit, wait, do you want your hoodie back?"

He looked towards Jack, who had one hand buried in the front pocket of it.

"Naw, keep it old sport, it'll return eventually."

He could swear he was forgetting something important, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"Besides, you look cute in it~"

He shook the thoughts and winked at Jack, who nodded and blushed in response. And so, under the presumption that they would be working together again the day after, they both headed home. There, however, was certainly something important Dave had forgotten. Jack didn't discover it for a while; he wore the hoodie for the rest of the day. It wasn't until he emptied the front pocket in order to throw it in the laundry, that his curiosity was spiked by a neatly folded paper amidst the junk it contained.

It couldn't quite be called a love letter. Jack wasn't sure it was ever meant to be read, if it was written with that intent. On a series of flimsy papers, he had poured out all his feelings, all his confusions and all his worries. His handwriting was barely readable, but in the dark hours of the night he deciphered it all, every last word. The confessions that were scribbled in a hurry, the parts where the paper had crinkled from drops of water; it terrified him.

Admits the uncertainty of his own feelings, now that he knew of Dave's, he did find one thing he was sure of: he would be keeping this for himself.

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[4490 words]

ERGHHH I DON'T LIKE THIS ONE I SHOULDA (STU)DIED..... Leave requests pls blink blink