9. Photographs

When you find an old picture of us

And you clear away the dust

I hope you miss me sometimes

[Cocaine Jesus - Rainbow Kitten Surprise]

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Happy gay month, have OLD MEN YOAI ANGST

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This was a request by a guest on my AO3 work, plus someone asking for Davetrap angst, intertwined with an idea I had myself! Also this is good ending route Jack so he's a bit more emotion-feeling-esque

HURT NO COMFORT!!!

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The signs were obvious, really, but he somehow hadn't acknowledged it until now. Between the large muddy footprints, the unlocked door when he would return home, he had convinced himself it simply wasn't relevant. It was best to play the game of ignorance when it came to Davetrap, considering even the slightest bit of attention would cause him to latch on like a leech deprived of blood; a parasite and its host. He let him peer through the window, let him break and enter, all in the hopes of him simply getting unentertained. And, in his natural fashion, he hadn't cared for it. Not until now.

Thanks for the help, old sport <3

The letters under the old picture read, messy and partially faded. It was from their second trip to Vegas, he concluded when taking in consideration that he was missing his front teeth in it. Jack vaguely recalled that it fell into Dave's hands by the end of it; he had planted it here. An old photo of the two of them, a pitiful attempt to generate a nostalgic longing within Jack, a memory. It was coated in a layer of grime, an occasional disruption where Dave's animatronic fingers had held it. Panning his head around to scan his room, he cleared away the dust with his palm.

The two of them, bright and broad smiles towards the camera, pupils blown wide. Dave's hand rested somewhere on his back, somewhat leaning into him. The famous Welcome to Las Vegas sign shone harshly behind them, and Jack recalled the happiness he had felt in that moment. A reminder of how, sometimes, he missed the times he had with Dave. The times where nothing mattered, where the lost lives were irrelevant, and where things were fun. It wasn't a life worth forever living, it was a chaste towards a fabricated happiness that didn't actually exist. But it had memories attached to it regardless of that, memories of Dave, albeit in a slightly more alive state.

He couldn't tear his eyes from the picture, his hand grasping it so tightly his knuckles suffered a discolouration. He both wished to destroy and frame it, to simultaneously tear it bits and savor it with great care. The mere imagery of the two of them overwhelmed him with remembrances, the recollection of waking up with gentle arms cradling him was enough to make him reconsider Davetrap's offer for just a brief second. Those so delicately fragile memories that were carefully tucked away behind his careless facade, ignored for years, decades even.

Intoxicated nights, blurred thoughts, and choices that were ultimately to be regretted in the morning. He hadn't half the memory of what they got up to in the smaller hours of the night, but what he did recall was enough to move him. All those occasions where Dave's hand found his, more often than not followed by his lips, which would knock the wind directly out of his lungs time and time again. For as much as Dave was rough and uncaring in his mannerisms, he was gentle in his kisses although drunk, high and whatnot. They rarely spoke about it under the pretense that they would remember it the morning after to begin with, let alone acknowledge the value behind it. But that didn't mean it went unnoticed, not by Jack, although he was dense at times.

All those times where they would be riled up against each other's chest, in a dimly lit pub that was near abandoned, without a care in the world. Each other's company was, really, all they had cared for by then. And Davetrap still did, adamant on regaining what they had. It was impossible, Jack knew, and it would only disappoint if an attempt was made. Happiness couldn't simply be achieved, by neither of them, and Jack seemed to be the only one aware of this, no matter how painful that was.

He crumpled the photograph to a ball, sliding open the drawer in his nightstand and tossing it in. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't bring himself to destroy it entirely. That evening; he checked all his locks twice, at the very least, before retreating to his bedroom. The night that followed was an uneasy one, in which he tossed and turned into the smaller hours, only to fall into a dream filled sleep.

The surreal surroundings made him realize, albeit subconsciously, that he was dreaming. Dave was there, not quite in his bodily state, but not quite Davetrap yet. He was neither, yet both at the same time, as he approached Jack with a limp. His lips moved to form the words to a sentence, but his voice was delayed and didn't quite convey what Jack felt he truly said. A bed sunk beneath his weight, red velvety sheets embracing him where there had only been heavy air before. He didn't want to move, didn't want to exist, but he did anyway, and Dave synced.

Before he fully grasped it; they sank together into a sea of velvet fabric that was supposed to feel soft against his skin, but held no sensation in reality. His hands found Dave's, the only movement he seemed to be in control of until now. Then, in a time period that felt like it extended into infinity, he parted from his body. He watched from a distance, departed from his body and fading into the air, becoming the simplicity of nothingness. He watched himself embrace Dave with loving caresses, watched the other return the gesture, and watched as they became a ghost of the past.

He wanted to be reunited with his body; experience the feeling of Dave lifting his shirt, to regain both control and perspective of himself. Yet, a whole nother part of him desired to vanish into the nothingness, the absolute absence of everything including his memories. Torn between those two, he remained floating, observing himself and Dave melt into hues of purple and orange. Amidst the surreal chaos, one thought penetrated his conscious mind: he wondered if this was how Blackjack had felt upon having to watch his own body whither in that damned suit. To watch what once was fade away to become nothing, was perhaps one of the most terrifying feelings one could ever experience.

With sheets sticking to his sweaty body, Jack sat upright in his bed. Light had long begun to pour in through the crack in between his curtains and rain trickled softly; the day had already started for anyone but him. His breathing was awfully heavy, and his body raced with something akin to panic as he rubbed his eyes with the meat of his palm. The dream left both a sense of nostalgia and fear pooling in his stomach, the quiet of his room contrasting to the thoughts racing his mind. Had he slept through his alarm, or had he not set it to begin with? Not that it mattered; he had nowhere to be today, he thought to himself as he turned to his clock.

There, on his nightstand, lay another. This one in worse condition, with a stain that could either be buffalo wing sauce or blood. It contained them just as before; with Dave's hand on his back, this time in a foxy-themed stripclub. He simply stared at it from his spot on the bed, breathless and unable to process its implications. That simple photo, one of many they had asked petrified strangers to take, now seemed so incredibly intimidating it sent a shiver across Jack's spine.

He had been here, stood beside his bed where he most likely watched him sleep, and left that damned photo. While Jack dreamt of intertwined limbs and love laced sheets, he was being watched with intent. Although he was never truly scared of Dave, he was suddenly overcome with fear. Fear of the impact the recollection of those memories would have, if Dave kept adamant on this. He flipped it, in one swift movement, and breathed a heavy sigh. He dragged himself out of bed, away from the stale back of that damned photo, towards his kitchen.

It was there, where he found a window cranked wide open. His kitchen counter glistened with beads of water, and rain still trickled along a gentle breeze of wind. There was no way he had forgotten to close this window, not with his frantic checking of the evening before. Clueless as to how Davetrap even managed to pry it open, he was quick to firmly shut it again. With the counter remaining dank, he pulled his leftover pizza from the day before out of his fridge and ate in the kitchen. He couldn't bear to walk in his living room and face the seven foot animatronic that was sure to be standing outside his window, his expression depressing as ever.

Throughout the day, he constructed himself a plan. He would leave through his backdoor, walk around a few houses in the block, and get in his car towards the closest supermarket without anyone noticing. There, he would buy anything with enough caffeine to send a mortal human into cardiac arrest, and maybe a sweet treat. Can't forget that. It'd be enough to keep himself awake for the majority of the night at the very least, planning to catch Davetrap in the act. With a variety of monsters, redbulls, and anything else that most likely tasted like pure piss, he headed back home. Davetrap had vanished from his sight, off to Fredbear knows where, when he returned.

The rest of the day leading up to that night felt long, longer than it was in reality. He'd spend the rest of it mindlessly watching television, knowing exactly when Davetrap joined in behind him. He had learned to recognise the unnerving feeling he experienced whenever those eyes stood fixed on him, and he paid no mind to it anymore. Somewhere around eleven, he had given the illusion of going to bed; shutting off the lights, locking his doors and closing the windows. Upstairs and out of Davetrap's penetrating gaze, he pulled out his collection of energy drinks along with a comicbook to entertain himself, and sat on the top of the stairs.

Just when he began to drift towards a state not quite conscious, yet not quite asleep, a noise startled him painfully awake. The shattering of glass; loud, clear and without grace. It was only when he set a foot on the first step, that he actually noticed Jack. Behind the suit's hollow eye sockets , he watched Dave's eyes narrow, and then widen. Granted, Davetrap's lips were unable to curl into the shape needed to imitate a human smile, but he could see the enthusiasm regardless.

"You waited for me, old sport!"

Jack groaned, and rose to his feet.

"Why are you in my house?"

"Oh come on old sport, don't act like you don't want to reclaim what we had. I know you do, we still can! I can make good of all my unfulfilled promises, I can give you immortal life- We can fulfill Henry's legacy, we can-"

He rambled, oblivious to Jack's expression growing more and more agitated as he went on. Maybe it was the deprivation of sleep, or maybe it was the very mention of Henry's name, but something in him snapped. From his position atop the stairs, he raised his voice:

"What do you even know about Henry's pastimes, really?!"

Yelled Jack, watching Dave's shoulders dip low with a mechanical whir. It was astounding how easily you could read his expressions, even when he was locked in a metal mass. A brief second of silence followed, before Davetrap's posture turned defensive:

"Don't you try to tell me what I know about Henry, old sport!"

He returned the same tone of voice, now stepping further along the stairs. Jack remained in his initial spot, breathing a heavy sigh and letting the tension seep from his shoulders. Fighting against Davetrap was useless; he would remain persistent in his beliefs unless provided with hard proof, it was the mere reason for his functioning. Hard proof, huh, he could get that arranged.

"I have something to show you."

He simply said in reaction to Davetrap approaching him, his voice monotone and harsh. Stopping in his tracks, he gave Jack a questioning glare with his head tilted slightly to the left. Rather than entertain Dave any further, he descended down the stairs and slipped past him with the remaining cans of energy still in hand. Despite his cluelessness, he followed Jack as he retrieved his keys and unlocked the front door, completely ignoring the shattered window in it. He attempted to ask where they were going, but was ignored as Jack gestured for him to get in the passenger seat of his car.

The ride was long and painfully quiet. Jack had to crank open his windows in regards to the abhorrent stench Davetrap harbored, uncaring for the cold breeze that ran along his arms. His body was twitchy, continuously sipping on the energy in his cup holder in order to keep himself awake. He had learnt the way by heart, at this point, and suspected Davetrap would eventually recognise it as well.

The silence wasn't a comfortable one, it wasn't at all like the pleasant moments they would sometimes have in Vegas. Where both were drunk off their minds, coming down from a fit of giggles in a light quiet which they would embrace with all their being. Nothing like the silence after a kiss, where they both knew they wouldn't ever acknowledge it again, but where they found enjoyment regardless.

No, far from it. This was tension filled, Davetrap full of abbreviation and Jack accompanied with annoyance. He much preferred his counterpart in the flipside, which was both reasonable and good fun in comparison to the murder machine in his passenger seat. With his path set, he began to feel less and less sympathy for Davetrap with each one of his feeble attempts. He, in turn, did not understand why Jack had turned around and insisted on continuing the restaurant chain that they had attempted to destroy several times. It was confusing, having been so certain it was intended to reunite them. Now, sitting beside him in the middle of the night, all certainty had vanished.

Trying to divert his thoughts to something less depressing, he stared out the window and watched the stars race by. Countless dots, extending into infinity; a fascinating concept. He recalled his conversation with Henry regarding the conceptualisation of nothing, but he much preferred the idea of infinity. That, with how far the universe extended, there was a universe parallel to this, where Jack had accepted his offer. He began to recognise the route, and it clicked where they were going, although he didn't say it aloud. It couldn't be of much use either way, he felt doubtful Jack would answer his questions.

He pulled in the parking lot of his restaurant, shutting off his engine without actually putting the effort of maneuvering his car in a spot. Wordlessly, he stepped out and headed directly for the front door, Davetrap following steadfastly. The lights were bright against their eyes, which had become accustomed to the dark surroundings by now, and the restaurant itself was cold. Jack led them to the security office, where he gestured for Davetrap to wait outside the door as he gently kicked Harry awake. The phoneman gave his equivalent of a confused expression, sitting up from his makeshift bed under the desk.

"I- Sir...? It's- What time is it..."

"Don't even ask employee, here-"

He pulled a wad of mysterious cash, which may or may not have been fake, from the lining of his suit.

"-Get yourself a hotel for ta'night, and keep the questions to yourself."

Harry looked to the bills he was just handed, towards his boss, back to the cash, and then finally to the flimsy mattress he slept on. With a gentle nod and confirmation, he removed himself from the room. Fredbears knows his aching body would be content to finally obtain some proper rest. Jack invited Davetrap into the room, gesturing towards the filing cabinet he had purchased not long ago. Telling the other to look inside, he retrieved a total of five cassette tapes.

"These are-"

His voice was light, breathless, as he read one of the labels on the tapes. Jack nodded when Davetrap's gaze shot towards him, watching the surprise combine with a hint of fearfulness.

"Yeah- You should listen to them."

With a voice equally as airy as Dave's, he gestured for the cassette recorder. In turn, he scrambled to get it and inserted the first of several tapes. There was a fragile desperation in his movements, a rush to hear what he assumed was lost long ago. When your mere being functioned solely on your devotion to someone, the manner in which Davetrap clicked the play button was only logical.

"My lie worked."

Henry's voice coed through the room, heavy against the silence that had embraced them. Davetrap's hands, clashed tightly around the machinery, had a light tremble to them.

"William genuinely believes that undeath is a gift."

He slanted against the wall, his eyes fixed on the source of Henry's voice and his mouth hung partly agape. Jack watched, sitting on his desk chair with his knees pulled up to his chest and his chin resting on them. Watching Dave grab at the machine with trembling breathing, he wondered if this was the right decision. To him, Henry was a saint, an idol; the mere reason his soul kept repossessing his decaying vessel. With the harsh words those tapes contained, he feared for his reaction. But no, he sat there, and watched as Dave listened to words he had barely understood himself.

"Listen, Dave-"

The first tape came to an end with a click. Davetrap didn't listen, removing the tape and replacing it with the second in the series. He turned his back towards Jack, who drew a sharp breath and allowed him to. For beauty to exist without pain, was something that once again proved impossible for Dave as he played the second tape. Whatever joy he had initially felt upon hearing Henry's voice after decades, faded quickly into a feeling of dreading misery.

"On opening night, William's suit failed, during a dress rehearsal. This was my own doing."

Henry's voice suddenly seemed much harsher than it did when Jack initially listened to the logs. Davetrap choked on a sob, grip so tight Jack feared he would crush the device.

"What a moron."

At that, the recorder crashed to the floor. Henry's voice distorted, briefly continuing to speak before fading into silence with another click. Davetrap raised his shoulders, making his posture seem hostile and more imposing than it actually was. Jack let go of his knees, standing up from his chair.

"Why would you show me this?"

His voice was so incredibly void of emotion it scared Jack. He looked at him with hatred in his eyes, most certainly directed at him rather than the voice that was once attached to Henry.

"Why are you trying to torment me?"

Exclaimed Davetrap, his voice now shifting to anger. He took a step towards Jack, metal creaking as he grasped his shoulder. Dave hadn't scared him, never did, but as his fingers dug painfully hard into his shoulder blade, he feared for his damned life. He didn't quite understand why Davetrap had directed his anger towards him, rather than the idea of Henry.

"Why are you angry at me?! I didn't do all that to you-!"

He pried at Dave's wrist to no avail; the machinery made him much stronger.

"You're forcing me to remember- You think I nev'ah knew, old fuck?! What do you-"

"You knew?"

Asked Jack, with such genuine care that it momentarily made Davetrap loosen his grip. He looked back at his companion, with a whirlpool of emotion, and then croaked his voice back to life:

"Of course- I..."

He softened, just for a moment, as his gaze darted to the floor. There had always been a sense of awareness, it was near impossible for there not to be. He had found that it was far easier to simply ignore it, pretend it wasn't of relevance and devote yourself to what you did deem memorable. To an extent he blamed himself for the torture he forcibly experienced, convinced himself he wasn't potent enough. Hopeful in the belief that somehow, someway, he would be able to prove himself to a figure of absence.

"Do you think that I could ever forget that, even if I wanted to?!"

His voice was harsh, but his expression softened as he released Jack's shoulder.

"You start to notice, after a while, when you keep waking up with new injuries and stitches- Do you have ANY idea what it's like, to wake up with a gaping hole where your heart is supposed to be, old sport?!"

He took another step forward, his imposing figure looming over Jack as his voice grew increasingly louder. Clearly enraged at the recollection of his memories, he was prepared to let it all out on Jack, who pressed himself against a wall.

"To be a God-damn test subject, someone's supposed heartless monster?! I didn't know, if- If..."

He swallowed, harsh and thick, looking Jack directly in the eye. Something behind those void eyes twisted, the hatred replaced with what could only be described as a deep dark sadness. Taking a stuttering step back, he looked at the hand that had grasped Jack's shoulder moments earlier. He was invoked with fear, along with all else, and the suit trembled before him.

"If what-?"

Jack asked, carefully, while he inched closer to the exit door of his office. Davetrap was anything but predictable as of now, and if he felt it was needed he wanted a quick escape route. Oblivious, Dave turned along with such a puzzled expression it made Jack feel bordered on sympathy.

"If I could even love, without a heart-"

His breath hitched, the eyelids of his suit largely covering his own. It all clicked, not unlike the audible noise the tape recorder had produced earlier. He did, he could, and he had. Even without a heart, without most major organs necessary to function, he had loved, be it in a twister manner. Where whatever form of love he felt towards Henry was converted into exclusively devotion, Jack was different. He'd sought a replacement for the Henry-shaped hole in his chest, but that wasn't at all what he received. Instead, someone who shared and understood his misery even if he hid it behind a comedic facade; someone who saw him as a person, for quite possibly the first time in his life. He had loved Jack, who's eyes were now filled with fear directed at him. Had he ruined the last good thing in his life, by attempting to repair what he already lost? The thoughts were confusing, only manifesting in further anger:

"You, of all people, should know what it's like to pry rusty metal out of your own corpse!"

He pressed a finger to Jack's chest, approaching him again as he locked himself in place.

"To wonder, how you're alive with steel rods piercing your entire body- To beg for the pain to stop as you pull another one out of your flesh, wondering when you'll finally get out, knowing it might just take days... You also had to bandage yourself afterwards old sport, I know you did! I saw all those poorly healed scars, your ribs are still out of place, I remember feeling them as if it was yeste-"

"Stop-"

Jack's voice was fragile, more so than it had ever been, and shaky. The memory Dave was attempting to recall was engraved in his mind, so delicately he could nearly recall every second of it. It was the first time they'd ever been intimate together, an early Vegas morning where they'd stumbled in their room together, just barely sober enough not to pass out immediately.

Soaked in sweat, Jack had pulled his shirt off and thrown it in a distant corner, remaining bare-chested. Dave, in turn, had gently rested a hand just below his chest. He'd jumped at the sudden cold touch, but allowed him to trail his fingers along the crooked ribs that hadn't properly healed after his springlock accident regardless. Dave's face looked in awe at recognising something similar to himself, his other hand now trailing along the scars on Jack's body. He had returned the gesture. It felt comforting in that moment, and the escalation of Dave's hands cupping his face felt as if it was always meant to be.

"Please, stop-"

He cried out, almost desperate.

"Stop talking, just- I'm sorry for bringing you here, I clearly shouldn't have..."

The desperation intertwined with a form of anger, pushing Davetrap's finger away. Unlike before, where the machinery persisted, he allowed it to fall. The air between them was quiet, laced and filled with tension that had been building up throughout the night. Dave stood helplessly in the center of the room now, his hands clashed together and eyes darted towards the floor. He didn't know whether to yell, cry, apologize or simply take Jack in his arms and embrace him while he had the chance to.

He couldn't deny that Jack's reasoning was justified, he knew that, so he simply just stood there. He'd always realized Henry didn't value him, but he had ignored this under the presumption that there was something buried behind that stoic face that did see him as an equal. But hearing those words that so directly acknowledge his mistreatment made the fabricated memory of the past crumble in an instant, leaving him helplessly wandering his own emotions.

And, perhaps what disturbed him most, was the fact that the past was repeating itself. Where he had once looked at Henry for validation, he now looked to Jack for reciprocation of his feelings. And again, he was met with nothing; the sight of tears beginning to dwell in Jack's eyes made what was supposed to be his heart ache. The absence of his heart, with which he had still loved.

"I'm sorry, old sport, I'm so sorry- I ruined the last good thing in my life..."

Now was the time for Jack to be harsh, he knew it was, but Goddamnit did it hurt. He didn't want for Davetrap to feel this way, not after what he had already endured, but this might be the only chance for him to truly make clear on what he couldn't pry into his brainless skull before. There had to be a better way, he thought to himself as he watched Davetrap's foot nudge the cassette recorder. Allowing a Dave that still worshiped Henry into his home would be enough to drive him back to his old murderous habits, but if he were to mediate him, somehow.

"Crush them."

He sternly said to Davetrap, gesturing towards the recorder and its cassettes. If he would still persist in his devotion to Henry after hearing his belittling words, then Jack doubted that he would destroy possibly the only evidence of his voice ever pestering the earth. He knew he was able to, with the suit's heavy feet made mainly of metal.

"What-? No, I-"

His gaze nervously darted to the floor, where the device lay, and back to Jack. He couldn't bring himself to, no matter how crude hearing Henry's words was, his devotion persisted. It was the only reason he had even lived, a world of artificial beliefs so delicately constructed it was impossible to destroy. To abandon that, was to abandon life.

"Then stop."

Said Jack, raising up to a more persistent posture. He headed for the door, standing in the post with his arms crossed.

"Stop breaking into my house, and stop leaving those photos. Stop trying to chase a dream that was built upon your own suffering and misery, stop- Just stop trying to become what we were..."

It hurt for him to say that, although he wouldn't let it be known this time. He had a mission with a promise to fulfill, and the only role Henry played in that was that of a deadman. To side with this part of Dave was like a dog playing chase with its own tail; thriving off the idea of happiness waiting at the end of the ride, yet never being able to reach it. In the cycle of endlessly killing children and going to Vegas, there was no end, no relief. And that was what Davetrap couldn't wrap his head around, that was where they were different.

That night, Jack went home with a pit in his stomach. When he would return to the restaurant on the designated time, he would find all the cassettes to have vanished. And in the end, he couldn't help and feel sorry for both himself and the husk of a person that he still loved deep down.

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[4966 words]

I wrote this instead of finishing assignments and learning for my like? Ten? Exams lol... I dun think I'm gunna have time to write for like a few weeks so lik..... have dis tihiihhihihiiii

Requests are still welcome!! I do have another idea which I wanna work out (plus, yk, school) so it might take me a while to get to them:c