16. Injury

Summary: obligatory sickfic. Jack is sick/injured and Dave takes care of him.

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It has been three days since the last chapter was uploaded. The devil works hard but I work harder (literal).

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It was Jack's second day of his shift at another Freddy's joint. Or; it was supposed to be. He was still in bed by noon, tossing and turning in an attempt to grasp the sleep that he'd missed out on during the night. His leg stung with every move, a pain so harsh it was hard to derive his thoughts from it. Leave it to Jack to get in a springlock accident the first day of work. He counted himself lucky when taking in consideration that it was only his lower leg that malfunctioned, knowing how much worse it could've been.

He tried to walk earlier that day, but immediately found that it was a struggle. Unable to go long distances without running out of breath from the effort and having to lean against a wall; he'd only taken two slices of bread before heading directly back to his bed. With any movement he could feel his heartbeat pound through his wounds, letting out an involuntary whine. With his body temperature rising and a headache beginning to set in, he realized he would have to change his bandages soon. For now, though; he could not yet be bothered to.

And so, Jack found himself numbly staring at his ceiling again for an undisclosed amount of time. It was when he nearly fell asleep, that he heard something rummage through his vents. With a grumble he sat himself up and peered towards the vent in his ceiling. Maintenance, he thought to himself, before the cover promptly fell to the floor with a thud. He was about to go off on whoever was behind it, but a particularly purple figure jumped to his floor.

"Why hello there, old sport!"

Dave spoke, upon meeting Jack's eye, in that enthusiastic New-Yorker's voice of his. Jack hadn't heard that voice since they parted ways in Vegas, he hadn't heard it since-

"You're in my house."

Jack stated, interrupting his own thoughts. Dave was by his bedside in an instant, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Well, when phoney told me his new employee got his leg springlocked on his first day, I couldn't help but enquire..."

He spoke as if he didn't remember, as if it never happened.

"And when he told me that this new employee of his had particularly orange skin, I knew that it had to be my sportsy!"

His voice was enthusiastically gentle, a contrast to when he'd last heard him. Even if he wouldn't acknowledge it, Jack remembered. The memory was vivid, the way their voices raised above each other as they fought still echoing in his mind. He hardly knew what caused it to begin with, but the image of a broken bottle clenched in his hand was something that haunted him ever since then. They both knew it was getting out of hand at that point, their shoes crunching in broken glass, but it was Dave who put a stop to it.

He'd pushed Jack out the door, dodging shattered glass and uncoordinated punches in his way. The clearest memory of them all was when Dave grabbed him by the lapels of his shirt, standing in the doorframe, and hurriedly brought their faces together. They kissed for what felt like nearly a minute, resentful yet longing and passionate at the same time. It was the only time he could recall having kissed Dave, and it was bittersweet. When they parted Dave had pushed him out the door and shut it on him, still with a dazed look on his face.

After that he'd gone directly home, the shattered bottle still in his hand. It wasn't the first time they'd fought, far from it, but it was the only time it'd ever gotten that severe. In retrospect, he was almost certain it was the result of their suppressed emotions and irritations. He couldn't even begin to comprehend how he would make all this up to Dave, who he'd threatened beyond belief in a fit of rage. Instead, he ran from his problems, like he always did. It was about time anyway, he convinced himself.

The guilt had eaten away at him. He hadn't meant the countless things he said, and feared it would take an effort for him to regain Dave's trust. However, as Dave stood beside him, he felt that comforting friendship again like they'd never been apart. And, much to Jack's relief, he didn't seem intimidated being alongside Jack. He could hardly reach Dave if he tried with the state of his leg, but he wasn't sure if the other had realized that yet.

"So, what happened old sport?"

Dave asked with genuine care, and Jack felt guilty again. He hadn't earned this gentleness in any way, not after what happened in Vegas.

"I was taking the thing off, when the springlocks on one of the lower legs came loose- I can barely fuckin' walk."

He answered Dave, with a grumble. At this point Jack also realized that he'd been more concerned with their departure in Vegas than the fact Dave literally just broke in his house by crawling through his vents.

"Well why aren't you in a hospital?"

The question cued a genuine laugh from Jack, a sound he hadn't heard come from himself in a long while.

"Dude, I use bigfoot to write off my taxes- Do you seriously think I have insurance?"

"Alright, you got me there old sport!"

Dave raised his hands defensively in front of him, a laugh supporting his sentence. Jack felt a relief wash over his body upon hearing Dave's laugh again, tension dropping from his shoulders.

"How's your wounds, then?"

Dave asked him, peering towards where his sheets covered his legs. Truth was, Jack had not changed his bandages since his boss had hurriedly patched him and driven him home. He avoided looking at them as much as he could, but no one could avoid spotting the blood that stained pale white all throughout. Lacking an answer, he simply shrugged in response to Dave's question. Even the small effort of moving his shoulders and holding conversation felt like too much, drained of energy and filled to the brim with exhaustion.

"Have you eaten today sportsy?"

Dave seemed to notice the poor state of his body, eyeing him up and down with intent. Jack averted his eyes, still too apprehensive to meet Dave's gaze. He feared that he would see something behind his eyes that didn't show in his tone of voice; something resentful. When he didn't give a response, Dave gently lay the back of his hand overtop of his forehead.

"You're burning hot."

He concluded, with concern lacing his voice. Jack simply shrugged again, feeling despondent the longer he was forced to speak.

"Alright, I'll make you something to eat! You lay down, old sport-"

Dave pushed him back to the mattress with a hand on his shoulder, and Jack simply let him. He pulled the sheets up until his neck, feeling cold despite the alleged warmth pooling within him. He must've looked sick and gross to Dave, he thought to himself as he watched the man exit his bedroom. Although the thoughts couldn't be of long lasting, as the pain pounding through his leg started becoming his first priority again.

Jack was doing worse than Dave thought when he initially heard about the accident, earlier that day. He suspected his wounds were infected and needed attention, but he also realized the man had not been able to take care of himself. The kitchen was found quickly enough, rummaging through Jack's cabinets in search of pans, and something to make soup out of. He found ingredients that would suffice, soon standing over a pan in which he watched the water boil.

There, alone with his thoughts, he felt himself think back on Vegas again. Back then, he'd expected Jack to return on the same day, which he never did. For a long while he feared he would never see Jack again, immediately taking the chance when his boss informed him this morning. They'd both gone too far that night, but he was convinced that the way he kissed Jack in a fit of rage was what pushed him away. The whole trip he'd been fighting the urges not to press their lips together, and at that moment it all came out. If Jack wouldn't talk to him anymore after the fight, then he would at least have done it once.

But, as of now, Jack clearly needed assistance. Even if he never wanted to see him again, he had no one else to take care of him and Dave felt it was his duty. So, he finished up his signature soup and poured a large bowl, heading back to Jack's bedroom. Much to his expectation, he was still wide awake when he re-entered. He greeted him with a quiet voice, and Jack began trying to sit back up. It took a clear effort, but he insisted Dave would not help him when he offered to.

Eventually, when Jack had managed to sit himself against his headboard, Dave sat on the opposite side of his bed. He put a spare pillow on Jack's lap before sitting the hot bowl on it, waiting for him to wrap his hands around it to keep it steady. He thanked Dave, an honest but weak sound. They sat in brief silence as Jack blew air over the soup, trying to work up an appetite.

"I appreciate it, but you don't have to take care of me, y'know-?"

Jack was sipping on his soup by now, feeling the lack of nutrition catch up to him the moment a droplet hit his mouth. The taste surprised him, not having expected Dave to be much of a cook. Then again, he had briefly worked in the kitchen of several Fazbender locations.

"I don't mind old sport, besides, who else would?"

Even though Jack reasoned otherwise, it sounded as if Dave was only here because he took pity on him. He hungry swallowed down a gulp of soup before he breathed a sigh, responding with a little more life in his voice:

"I can take care of myself, I'll just sleep it off and be back at work in a few days- No big deal."

Dave barked a laugh, a genuine sound that somehow brought a bit of joy to the otherwise miserable Jack. Even if he tried to push Dave away, even if it was only pity keeping him here; Jack knew he would not leave, and that was comforting.

"Yeah, sure sportsy! With the way you're looking right now, I'm going to have to see that wound of yours soon."

"Ugh, really?"

Jack whined, annoyed at the notion. Despite not being able to deny that his wounds were festering at this point, he would rather let it sit than go through the effort of having anyone even look at it. The look on Dave's face was adamant though, and he nodded rapidly in response.

"When you've finished that bowl I'm searchin' out some painkillers, and then we're cleaning and rebinding it."

Dave's voice was demanding, which was probably for the best when taking Jack's stubborn nature in consideration.

"Alright, okay- Whatever... Painkillers and whatnot are in the cabinet below my sink, in the bathroom, down the hall."

Dave had already passed by the open bathroom door on his way to the kitchen, and immediately excused himself to go there. He found several packs of torn open ibuprofen and things of that nature, taking two pills he knew worked stronger in combination with each other. With a glass of water and the pills in hand, he returned to Jack, who'd finished his soup by this point. He swallowed the medication without complaint or questioning, and Dave sat with him until they began doing their job. Eventually, Jack noted that the pain subsided a tad, thought still very evident. Having decided it was about time, Dave kneeled down beside his bed and gently removed the sheets which covered Jack's lower body.

Much to his relief, the joint of his knee remained unaffected. That was the extent of it though, as the bandage that was wrapped between his ankle and knee was entirely bloodsoaked. Dave swallowed, trying not to show the horror in his face to Jack. He carefully pried at the loose end of the mesh, halting when Jack drew a particularly sharp breath. Looking towards him, he gave Dave a small nod that conveyed he could continue. He coerced for Jack to bend his knee and lean on the ball of his foot, able to unwrap what was around his calf.

By the time he was revealed the torn skin of his lower leg, Jack had shut his eyes and grit his teeth. It showed a familiar pattern of stripes that ran from his ankle to just below his knee, typical to the leg of a springlock suit. That machinery had torn his skin and dug in his flesh in its entirety, leaving him with deep gashes. Only a few showed signs of proper healing, and Dave immediately recognised the good majority of them to be infected. He drew a sharp breath, unsure of how to address this to Jack, who'd done anything but look at the wounds.

"Old sport, I think you're going to have to take a shower- A washcloth ain't cleaning this..."

He spoke softly, watching Jack's face for a reaction. Very carefully, he opened one eye to peer at his leg, only to divert it sideways immediately.

"What would you know about that-?"

Jack spoke, his voice small and soft as if he already knew Dave was right and simply didn't want to admit that. Dave's mouth fell open just to close again, contemplating his words. There had been plenty of times when had to bandage himself, open wounds that dug deep in his skin, which meant that he was quite the professional. He simply wasn't ready to tell Jack about the series of the, almost medical, scars he had to heal on his own. Instead, he simply said:

"Just trust me on this."

Jack breathed a shaky sigh of annoyance, sounding as if he was on the verge of tears. With the state of his wounds, Dave could only imagine the pain he was currently experiencing.

"I'll help you sportsy, you can lean on me."

Dave tried a gentle approach in convincing him, knowing he couldn't go longer like this. It seemed effective as Jack moved his legs over the edge of his bed, with a long series of groans and swears nonetheless. With blood finally running down again, a crimson red stream trickled out of a variety of the gashes. Dave stood up from his kneeled position on the floor, carefully picking up one of Jack's arms to lay it over his shoulders.

"You ready old sport?"

He asked, and Jack hurriedly nodded. Dave's arm found its way around his waist, the other holding the hand which lay lifelessly on his shoulder. Very slowly standing up from the bedside, he took Jack with him. He slumped almost lifelessly against him, groaning and whining at the minimal pressure on his leg. The way to the bathroom wasn't long, but it sure felt like it with the way Jack hobbled alongside him, pain clouding both his mind and vision. With heavy breaths, they arrived in his bathroom and Dave carefully sat him down on the toilet.

"Christ man-"

His leg ached, and his body with it. He spoke with the intent to bring humor in the situation, but failed to do so as he sulked onto the toilet seat. He stretched his leg out ahead of him, trying to minimize the pressure, as Dave rummaged through some of his cabinets. Soon enough he retrieved several towels, of which Jack could not yet be concerned with the pristine white color of them. Jack's bathroom contained a bathtub that doubled as a shower, the shower head attached to a holder on the wall at one end.

"Right- I'm gonna sit ya' on the edge here sportsy-"

He gestured to the ridge of the bathtub, which sat under the shower's end. Jack groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose at the mere thought of having to maneuver his legs over into the bath, the pain beginning to make him more irritated by the second. Before he could protest, Dave already had an arm under his shoulders and was putting him back to his feet. With only two steps he was on the bath's edge, legs still outside the tub.

"You wanna take your clothes off? They might get wet..."

Dave asked him, glancing at him. He wore only a loose shirt, which he slept in, and his boxers. With another groan, he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it away from him. Dave had seen him naked plenty of times during Vegas, and it didn't bother him anymore that he saw him like this. It was just one of the various fields where they had grown comfortable together.

"Ya' keepin' your briefs on old sport?"

He nodded, because even though they knew each other through and through; going puss out was just a little too intimate right now. It had been a while since then. Despite Dave's gentleness, it all still stung like a bitch, and that was putting it politely. Dave held his foot just above the ridge of the bath, guiding him in getting his legs into the bathtub. Jack swore like a sailor, cursing the universe and its creator in a wide vocabulary. His healthy leg wasn't much of a problem, and eventually both his legs were in the tub.

Dave allowed Jack, who was clearly drained from the effort, to rest for a bit. He, in turn, stepped in as well before taking the showerhead from its holder and turning on the water. He pointed the stream away from the two of them, holding his hand under the running water as he adjusted the temperature to lewd-warm. He sat on his knees beside Jack's injured leg, his pants already soaking up the water. In his effort of caring for Jack, he'd forgotten himself.

"Sportsy, this is going to hurt for a bit-"

He'd put the stream of water on the softest setting it had, but with the state of Jack's wound that would hardly make a difference.

"I need you to sit this out, old sport. I promise, it'll feel better in the end, but-"

He spoke to Jack, directly and with care lacing his voice. Rarely ever did he hear Dave speak in such a loving yet serious voice:

"This ain't gonna be fun."

It sounded almost like a threat as Dave brought the showerhead close to his injured leg, splashing his own shirt in the process. Jack simply nodded, grabbing the ridge of his bathtub with force. The moment the weak stream of water even so much as grazed his wound, Jack felt pain course throughout his body. It all felt too warm and too cold at the same time, a tingling feeling that was especially present in his leg; nearly sending him into a panic. A hand shot up to cover his mouth, almost certain he would've screamed if it weren't for it.

And through it all, Dave simply kept muttering sorrys and encouragements for Jack to carry on. The pain that clouded his vision still could not withhold the realization that he'd missed Dave. The way he sat there on his knees, in Jack's bathtub, with his clothes slowly soaking up the water. He'd put himself through anything if he thought it would benefit Jack, so much so that it was endearing. Jack had missed that wide smile which faltered in a more genuine grin when he cracked a joke that managed to make Jack laugh. He'd missed being alongside Dave, missed someone to give and receive care from.

The argument in Vegas was merely a reason for him to convince himself that Dave brought no good to his life, that he wouldn't miss him if they were apart. It was a reason for him to run away from Dave; from his feelings. He only now realized that suppressing his feelings would only make them come back tenfold when something penetrated the walls he'd built around himself. When he looked down at Dave, gently dabbing one of the deep cuts with a wet towel, he felt so incredibly sorry.

"Dave-"

His voice was fragile and weak, very obviously coated with pain. Dave looked up at him with concern, immediately retreating both the showerhead and the towel he was using to clean his wounds. He didn't look at him with pity, he looked at him with genuine concern and care. Dave always looked at him like that; with emotion.

"You okay old sport? We can take a break, if ya' need."

He said, his voice so adoring it almost made Jack swallow his words again.

"I'm sorry for lashing out like I did, in Vegas-"

His voice was small, always having struggled to admit and apologize for his mistakes. Trying to repair another's mistakes for the majority of his life, he wasn't accustomed to this anymore.

"I didn't mean what I said then..."

He continued, not sure if the tears dwelling in his eyes were from pain or guilt. It always was hard to tell what he was feeling around Dave, the man made him experience things that were otherwise foreign.

"It's alright sportsy- I did some things I shouldn't have too..."

He returned back to examining Jack's leg, as if to avoid the topic. Fragments of words and sentences he yelled towards Dave echoed in his mind, and he couldn't help but observe him. He sat on his knees, his clothes drenched with the water that he used to clean Jack's wound. His first instinct upon hearing about his accident was sacrificing his day to take care of him, even if that included breaking into his house. Dave cared about him deeply, despite his words and despite their fight which Jack had held for unfixable.

"Why'd you kiss me, back then?"

Asked Jack, unable to help himself. The moment had lingered in his mind for so long, he could still recall the overwhelming mixture of emotions that rushed through him then. Dave stiffened in his movement, not looking up at Jack like before. After a second or two, he began tending Jack's wounds again, albeit with a shakier hand.

"I just- You were so angry, I knew having ya' in the room wasn't a good idea but I just- When I pushed ya' out I was afraid you'd run away and I'd never see you again, so I wanted to- I wanted to have done it once, atleast."

One of the rare cases where Dave stumbled over his words, a tremor in his voice. Jack immediately felt guilty for having run away back then, now knowing it was a genuine fear of Dave's. He swallowed thickly, thinking of an according response but being interrupted by Dave:

"I'm sorry if I ya' didn't want me to, old sport."

He dabbed his wound, and Jack drew a sharp pained breath through his teeth. The tone in his voice made Jack consider that Dave had felt just as doubtful and guilty as he had.

"I don't think I minded, really- And besides, we're here now, are we?"

"Yeah-"

Dave's voice sounded of relief:

"Yeah, we are sportsy-!"

Jack smiled, even if Dave couldn't see it while being bent over his wounds. The rest went smoothly. Dave carefully cleaned his wounds with the stream of water and several towels, showing surprising expertise. The pain shot through him repetitively, but from the looks of it his wounds seemed much less dirty. They sat in silence for a while, wondering how Dave had equipped such a near medical skill. Eventually, he shut the tap off and slung the blood soaked towel around his neck. He helped Jack transfer back to the toilet seat, making sure to keep his wounds clear of any dirt. As Jack sat slumped on the toilet with Dave stood before him, he spoke:

"There's a bathrobe over there, if you want something dry-"

He pointed towards a small coat rack attached to his bathroom door, where a bathrobe hung. Dave looked down at his soiled clothes and only now came to the realization that he would've been better off undressing beforehand. In his concern about Jack, he'd simply forgotten. He thanked Jack and stripped to his boxers, taking it from the rack and tying it around him. In the meantime, he spoke to Jack:

"You got any antiseptic around here old sport?"

Jack raised an eyebrow and gave him a questioning look, not familiar with the word.

"Disinfectant."

Dave clarified, and Jack shook his head. It'd been a long while since his first springlock accident, and he didn't have those things on hand anymore.

"What about vodka?"

He asked, and Jack scoffed a laugh.

"Top cabinet, left to the fridge."

"Alright, be back in less than a minute!"

And with those words, Dave headed for the kitchen. It was better to at least disinfect it with something, even if that had to be vodka. He returned with a half filled bottle in hand, kneeling before Jack again. He poured some of the precious liquid on a towel, dabbing Jack's wounds with it. In an instant, the pain returned and Jack was squeezing the toilet seat like his life depended on it. He gently went over the wounds, making sure each and every one of them was clean and disinfected thoroughly.

Once done, he retrieved a first aid kit from under the sink. They were the only bandages Jack had on hand, but they were enough to suffice. With gentle hands, he wrapped up his leg from the ankle to the knee, careful not to graze his wounds. They were no longer bleeding, and the fabric remained almost pristine. Jack noted the expertise with which Dave handled once more, amazed at this newfound skill. Dave finished wrapping the gauze and began on a compressive layer, working much quicker now that Jack's wounds were covered.

Those hands, gently caring for him; wrapping him up. The idea that he wouldn't have to go through something like this by himself, always having someone to take care of him. It was comforting, much like Dave's presence. The way he would return, time and time over again, gave Jack confirmation. He looked down at him, a strand of hair before his eyes which stood fixed on his leg. He tied up the second layer, sitting back and eyeing his work up and down before standing up.

"That should do it old sport!"

He said, before turning around and putting away the first aid kit, grabbing another set of painkillers as well. Jack swallowed them gratefully, feeling the pain in his legs subside now that there was no longer anyone prying at it.

"Thanks dude, seriously-"

"Don't mention it sportsy, I'm happy ta' help."

He smiled at Dave, and received a grin in return.

"How about you go and nap, while I make dinner?"

He asked Jack once a silence had fallen. The proposal of sleep sounded appealing by now, the process of cleaning and wrapping his wounds having taken a toll on his body. He nodded thankfully, and so Dave brought him back to his bedroom with an arm under his shoulders. Finally, since the accident had happened, Jack slept peacefully for about an hour or so. With his fairly infected wounds properly cleaned, and painkillers in his system, it came easily enough.

He was rudely awoken by Dave, now dressed in one of Jack's sweatsuits and smelling of pasta. Patiently, he waited for Jack to gain consciousness again, and took him to his dining room. As he hobbled alongside Dave, he was suddenly incredibly thankful for his one-story house. On his dinner table stood two plates of spaghetti across from each other, smelling faintly of garlic. He wasn't familiar with the dish, usually just mixing his pasta with tomato sauce and calling it a day. Hell, he hardly knew he had the ingredients to whatever Dave had made.

Dave carefully sat him down on a chair, taking the one across himself. The meal was welcomed, given Jack had hardly eaten the entire day. They fell in conversation easily enough, Dave talking about the grand opening Jack hadn't been able to attend because of his accident. It was comforting to talk with him in such a manner, and suddenly his house felt more like a home. It should have been a contrast, seeing Dave in an environment where he never belonged, but it somehow wasn't. It was like he had always been there, with the way Jack simply accepted him into his house.

Even after finishing his dinner, they kept conversing. Time seemed irrelevant when they could recall memories from times when Jack was more mobile, drunken fragments of joy. It was a nice distraction from the pain in his leg, and he briefly felt just a little better. It was only when Jack began continuously yawning that Dave interrupted him and insisted he went to bed, which he reluctantly agreed to after a little bit of convincing.

Once again being held up by Dave wrapping an arm around him, he was brought back to bed. He noted that putting pressure on his foot hurt a little less by now, even when taking the painkillers in account. Dave sat by his bed for a while, simply sitting on the edge and watching Jack as he drifted towards sleep. He could feel Dave's gaze on him, but even despite that his presence was comforting.

In that moment there was so much he wanted to say, so many feelings intertwining within him. How thankful he was for the care he received, for forgiveness, for company no matter the circumstances. He wouldn't know what to do without Dave, but he knew he would not want to be without him again. And yet, he couldn't express it with words. He often wished he could; to speak in poetry that declared love in a beautiful manner, to have value behind his words. But no matter how much he tried, he couldn't form the phrases.

Instead, he cracked open an eye and reached for Dave's hand, brushing the tip of his fingers across his knuckles where his hand rested on the mattress. He didn't flinch at the contact, simply sitting closer to Jack and holding his hand open. The gentle contact of their hands sliding together would barely convey a fraction of what Jack hoped he could say, but it was meaningful nonetheless. He gave Dave a soft squeeze, mesmerized by the way his thumb rubbed circles over the back of his hand.

Jack cherished the way Dave held his hand until he fell into a deep sleep, waking up late in the morning the next day. He'd hoped, and halfway expected, for Dave to still have been there, but was quickly proven otherwise as he examined his room. The first thing he noted was Dave's absence, the second: what was on and against his nightstand. A bit dazed from the night still, he sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

The most notable stood against his nightstand; a black cane, sleek and adjusted to approximately his height. On the hardwood itself stood a basket with a variety in contents, including but not limited to: a container which had painkillers marked for every day of the week, several fresh bandages and a full bottle of vodka. He couldn't help but let out an endeared laugh at the gesture, ignoring the way he felt heat rise to his face. Dave was just as incompetent with emotions as he was, using gestures and gifts like these rather than words. Lastly, the cover to his vent was back to its initial spot on his ceiling.

He was definitely not walking at a speed that was anywhere near regular, but the cane helped minimize the pressure on his wounded leg. Feeling much better than the day before, he worked himself out of bed and towards the bathroom. There, he found Dave's clothes still drying on the radiator. Something that would seem simple to the unknowing eye, but meaningful to Jack. It meant that he would come to retrieve it later, that they would reunite again. He would come back, he always did.

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[5436 words]

Lovely note added by my friend: egdhehedweg 8===>