A/N: This was an idea and wanted to do for a whileand a request for call_me_what_whatever. This will be updated every month on the first, so check back then! There will be nothing different from the version of Ao3, so read where you prefer ^^ (okay, I lied, I know how to do this and this over here, so... after chapter 4 there might be slight differences)
Every form of comment is appriciated, so don't hestitate to leave on, no matter what! x3
Enjoy!

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No problems.
Drugs.
No drugs.
Looking, but not seeing.
But it was better he wasn't seeing what was in front of him, because it was a dirty back alley and would only depress him even further.
Boredom.
Sickening boredom and no outlet.
He had stopped eating, because he didn't need it anyway and it was only taking away his money.
Maybe that was a bad idea, as his body was now thinner than ever before and now his consciousness sometimes faded away.
Rain was seeping into his body, numbing it even further. Not that it was needed, but it was appreciated.
When you found your purpose in saving children's souls and finished that task, you're left feeling a little... useless.
And when you can't stay with your friends, because you don't age, it's even worse.
How was Peter doing? Probably well. At least he wished with every part of his being that he was.
The ringing was first unnoticed, then ignored and finally accepted.
"Jack!"
There was only one person who called him by that name. Alright, two people, but only one of them was male.
"Peter."
"How... how are you doing? You never answered my calls, so you're probably quite busy, eh?"
"Nah, I'm sleeping basically all day." He didn't want to lie to Peter.
"You should get a job."
"After Freddy's shut down, who would hire me? You need to be a special kind of stupid or desperate to hire someone with my criminal record."
"Don't you know how to change your identity...? Doesn't matter. What if I tell you that there's a way to NOT working under supervision and still making money?"
"Pff, sounds illegal."
"It probably should be. Here, it's the following, they send me this advert. "Ever wanting to be a leader? Deciding how things get run at Freddy's? Changing the game, so that maybe not so many kids die or are traumatized by this horrible place? THEN WE HAVE THE JOB FOR YOU!" It goes on and on, about the benefits, but here's the core of it: You take ownership of one of the old locations, reopening them and making them produce money. You'll get a real good chunk of it for yourself and Fazbear entertainment even gives you discount on the material, helps restocking whatever is needed and rewards you for "good management actions", whatever that may be. Oh, here's something else. "Of course, starting a new business is hard and so we will grant you help of our well-trained, experienced and at all time available staff!" I think they're referring to a Phone Guy..."
"Wait, they didn't stop with that?!"
"We can't prove anything."
"You're the proof!"
"Sorry, I meant, we can't prove that we employees didn't know what the footnote meant."
"That's some bullshit!"
"You can't save everyone, Jack. Try to save yourself for a change and call the number. Get a good job, make children happy and find a purpose for yourself. Or come back home, you know you're welcome here. I haven't seen you in at least ten years!"
And that's bloody good, because I'm a criminal and the police would pester you if you had."
"I don't mind that!"
"But Caroline would. Even if she wouldn't say anything."
The conversation flashed the Orange Guy back into the past, standing in the doorstep with his luggage, telling his friend that he would leave now. It were the exact same arguments.
Before he fully spaced out though, he caught the number his friend was reading.
"Please, call the number."
"... Yes. Maybe you can even visit it someday."
"Will you continue to ignore my calls?"
"If you don't call me every day..."
"It's just..."
"... AROUND SEVENTY-EIGHT TIMES..."
"Well..."
"...EVERY TWENTY MINUTES..."
"Fine! I'll call you next week. Be sure you have a lot to tell me by then!"
"Yes, dad! Bye now!"
"I told you to not-" With that he was cut off and Old Sport was smiling again.
Roughly one hour later he stood in his new establishment. Since he had no memory of getting here, he assumed that he probably was kidnapped and brought here after dialing the number into his phone.
Neat, he wouldn't have to steal another car to get here!
His kidnapper surrounded him, all with heavy baseball bats in their hands and speaking some language he wasn't really able to translate.
"Jemand hat mir einmal gesagt, dass die Welt mich überrollen würde."
„Ich bin nun einmal nicht das schärfste Werkzeug im Schuppen."
After those intimidating threats, they left the terrified Orange Guy on his own. Probably to gas him, he assumed.
Yet, nothing happened and so he decided to check out his new property. Tables, space, electricity and nothing else. Wew lad, that's some high class stuff.
At least he didn't had to pay...?
Oh. They robbed him.
"Excuse me, sir, are you..." A short pause. "... My Meme-Slut...?"
Orange Guy turned around. A Phone Guy stood in the entrance, inspecting a piece of paper.
"Yeah, sorry, I probably wasn't that reasonable after I got drugged and kidnapped."
"Oh, thank god! What's your name then?"
Not Jack.
Sadly.
If it were Jack, he would be happy.
He believed it was Jack, he believed that he looked like a Jack.
But after his time with Peter, the name lost its value, became random and disconnected to him. Either his real name wasn't Jack or... he lost himself a long time ago.
Quick, quick, away with the poisonous thoughts!
"I mean, if you WANT to call me Meme-Slut, that's fine, but you could call me Old Sport or-"
Old Sport. Why did he say that?!
"Why, hello there, Old Sport!"
The poor manager jumped about one feet into the air, as the dreadful familiar voice came out of his Phone Guy's speaker.
"NEVER DO THAT AGAIN."
"Sorry, sir, this seems to be an automated message... I, uh... have actually no idea why this happened. Usually automated messages are reserved for the police."
"Terrifying..."
"I'm sure it won't happen again. Are you ready to pick out items for your brand new pizzeria?!"
"HELL YEAH! LAY IT ON ME, DADDY, MY BODY IS READY!"
Weird the man glanced at his new superior. "...yeah... let's... just stay calm, okay? It's a cheap way to get money and reviving the franchise, while taking as little risk as possible, don't act this excited or I may start to pity you."
"Fine, fine. What's for sale?!"
"Maybe you shouldn't directly go for what's for sale, since they have quite the liability..."
"Liability?"
"Didn't you watch our infomercial on your way here?!"
"Probably, but guess who was high in that time!"
"Alright, let's first start with the basic traits an object can have, which would be atmosphere, entertainment..."
Already not listening anymore, Old Sport checked through the catalogue. "OH, HOLA! FUNTIME CHICA! Christ... no liability?! I'll tell you, with hips like these, the liability is through the ROOF!"
"Sir...? What are you talking about? These catalogues are way out of your prize range!" Seemingly peeved, the man snatched them away.
"Whatever, which of these ARE in my prize range?"
"Take this one."
Almost reckless he grabbed the little paper scanning it. "Give me the fun thingy there!"
"The duck pond? Great choice! I will order it right away! But... don't you want to order some plates first...? You know, so the guest can eat?"
"Meh, take the rainbow ones, I don't care."
"Can do!"
"Then I want the fan, because I remember how often it killed me and it's good in case I need to shred some government secrets or my animatronic-porn."
"Uh... no problem...?"
"And I want one arcade game! Stop whining about the prize, I'll manage."
"If you go bankrupt and if only for a second, you'll be kicked out, sir."
"Could you... stop calling me sir? It makes me feel like I'm shitting gold."
"O...kay...? Old Sport?"
"I want the discount ball pit! I always loved it when people break their necks!"
"Since you didn't watch the infomercial... there is a possibility for things to hide inside items you purchase."
"Like what?"
"Oh, rats, dangerous weapons and sometimes terrorist who fight in the name of Candy's."
"WHAT?! They still exist?! AWESOME! Get me ALL the liability!"
"That's the last item I'll get for you. You clearly aren't fit for shopping on your own..."
"Ah, Phoney, it takes some to get some and I want CA$H. Or do say it in other words, you need to be... BALLsy!"
"Death awaits us all. Right, I almost forgot: You may think you have enough own money for your living expenses..."
"What living expenses?! I'll live here! I don't need a home!"
"You... don't have a home?"
Confused they glanced at each other, not exactly sure of what to think. After a few minutes, they simultaneously decided to go on.
"Go now, Phoney and get me my stuff!"
"I'll be back in an hour. Don't... hurt yourself... okay?"
As promised he returned with the items. They placed them and Old Sport couldn't help but grab some ducks. After taking three, suddenly airhorns began playing and Phone Guy applauded.
"Congrats! You tested your game and bettered the pizzeria! Here at Fazbear entertainment, we appreciate your efforts and want to encourage it! Have a bonus!"
"Did you just give me money for grabbing three ducks?"
"It's called play testing."
"If I play on the arcade, would that count too...?"
"Yes, I think."
"BEST. JOB. EVER." And he was gone, glued to the race game he bought.
Silently Phone Guy watched him.
So... this was his boss... heh.
Could have been worse. He had heard of Phone Guys being left on their own devices, left with dangerous machines, all on their own... Old Sport was unreliable, but kind. At least he appeared like it for now.
After another three hours, Old Sport had made 1800 dollar, without even opening the pizzeria for a minute. Phone Guy asked himself how the franchise was staying alive, until his boss ran up to him.
"I need more Tokens!"
"I won't get more until tomorrow..."
"Ah, man! That sucks. Alright, until tomorrow twelve o'clock I want a stage and two animatronics! The weird Pepe and Pan Stan, my man! Oh, oh and give me Candy Cadette!"
Cautiously he ran the number through a calculator and decided that it would be fine. "I'll order the objects and come back tomorrow. Remember you are never allowed to leave for more than five hours, before checking back and that your name is, as a form of precaution, send to the nearest asylum, in case we have to get rid of you quickly."
"Great! Be here as soon as possible!"
The Phone-head stepped outside and paused. Shrugging, he locked the door, assuming that it would be better for the man inside anyway.

On the next day, Phoney stepped in, ready for a productive day, only to see that A. The new items had arrived and were already in place and B. His boss was laying on the ground, crying, next to him the Candy Cadette.
"W-what happened?!" Scared he rushed over, checking if the Orange Guy was hurt.
Candy Cadette moved downwards. "I'm Candy Cadette. Come get your candy here! I have candy all day. Every day. Candy. Candy. Candy."
"Tell me what happened!"
"He asked me to tell him a story and I told him the one of the drug dependent man without purpose, who chose to fill the void, where his soul wasn't anymore, with money he extracted out of a corrupt business that he owned himself. Sadly, the man never found any more purpose and the filthy blood money haunted him until he decided to set himself on fire and disappear forever."
"... Christ..." He never liked Candy Cadette, its uncanny intelligence was downright sickening. A glorified candy-dispenser shouldn't be smart.
"Would you like some candy? Or maybe a story for yourself?"
"No... thank you." Tugging on the ball of sadness on the floor, he gave his best to ignore the machine. "Old Sport, stand up, we have a business to run!"
"RIGHT!" Violently jumping up, the manger turned around. "ISN'T THIS BEAUTIFUL? I WORKED ALL NIGHT ON IT! OLD SPORT'S PIZZERIA IS FINALLY OFFICIALLY OPEN!"
His mood swing was... well, useful? Phone Guy decided to go along with it. "Yessir! I'll unlock the doors right away!"
Excited they stepped out to see... no one.
"Old Sport... did you remember to put up the poster with the date?"
"Uh..."
"Well. Let's print some new ones with the new date on it and hang them up?"
"Haha... uhm... yeah, sorry." Laughing sheepishly, the young man scratched the back of his head. "Where is the printer?"
"You didn't even print them?!"
"This is my first gig, m8!"
"Your first gig at THINKING?" The harsh word were instantly regretted. "S-sorry... I'll take care of it."
"Woah, getting all hot in here! Don't worry I won't force you to do it all yourself!"
"I don't really believe you..."
"What was that?"
"THAT MAKES ME HAPPY, BOSS."
The Orange Guy smirked a little as he watched his companion vanish into the back of the building. Somehow every Phoney was the same... and different!
Wandering around, his mind stayed fixated on his new co-worker.
The body was young. Of course, he hadn't mentioned anything and it could be nothing but a good moisturized skin or something, but... maybe one day, one Phone Guy had employed a young man, barely ready to work.
And told him to wear the damned suit.
Not all Phone Guys were nice.
BUT THIS ONE WAS, SO YEAY!
"Here are the posters, take them, I'll get the glue."
They kicked open the doors and began with the first posters, right next to the entrance and working down the streets. It took almost all day to walk around the whole city, but it was worth it. People, especially children began talking and pointing fingers as they saw them.
Okay, it might was because a fucking orange and an old phone were walking around like two idiots, but since there was no bad publicity, it was no problem.
The more the merrier!
It was getting dark once they were finished, but they smiled satisfied with their work. Sleepy, Old Sport yawned and patted his new friend on the back. "Tomorrow they'll be ALL OVER THE PLACE! It's going to be great! Let's dump the rest of the posters here." Carefree he threw them in the air around the burnt out, old building. Shortly pausing, he moved a little closer. "Can I have my Tokens now?"
"Be careful or you may get addicted!"
"Addiction is the only thing left that can make me feel alive."
"Oh... alright, here." Phoney handed over ten coins and walked away. "Makes sure that you're in top condition tomorrow!"
"Likewise!"
Suddenly the employee stopped. "Uh... in what direction do you go now?"
"...?"
"I'm... not that I..." Embarrassed he guy clutched his fist. "I'm somewhat... scared of the dark..."
And without further questioning, they walked off together.
The dark shadows occupied every corner, snuggling into the edges, protecting and soothing the wounds of the day.
But even they shrunk away in fear, as the monster moved.
It's rotten and rusted fingers clutched around the colorful paper promoting the new Freddy's. Slowly, as if moving was harder than it's supposed to be, it rose the fragile, slightly wet poster towards its face.
The voice had lured him out.
The poster would lead him.
Why, hello there... I knew you would come back.
We always do.
Thank you for your invitation. I can't wait.

Old Sport glowed with enthusiasm. Just a few games before he would curl up in one corner and freeze for the next few hours, while Pepe played "Who can say where the road goes" in an infinitive loop. This was already A LOT better than before.
His high score was getting higher and higher, he was already at 2750!
Now he finally figured out the algorithm behind the spawning patterns of the other cars and maxed out the possible score.
If he'd only...
"Old Sport?"
Screaming like a little bitch the guy jumped around, facing his employee, how screamed as well, startled by the loud noise.
They screamed for a while until the frog animatronic began to move, reminding both of them how Bonnie once ripped the head of a screaming customer. After he moved past them, they picked up on their conversation.
"What are you already doing here, Phone-man?!"
"It's twelve, the shift has started!"
"That can't be, it was just-" Sunlight had flooded the fairly friendly-looking establishment, making the owner realize that he hadn't even slept in the last two days. "Oh. Uh... alright then! Open the place, I will activate heating and the main control!"
As fast as humanly possible he went into the office, started the computer and activated the building for the day. It would be probably better to have only one command called "Day-mode", so he wouldn't have to sit ten minutes in front of the cursed thing. Under constant murmurs of frick and heck, the Orange Guy almost didn't notice his co-worker standing in the doorway.
"O-old Sport...? There is a... uh... "Cute bunny" out there that wants to be let in... would you mind to, uh... take a look at it?"
"A cute bunny?! HECK YEAH! Show it to me!"
"I don't really think cute is the right word for it..."
Bubbly the Orange Guard opened the door, saw Davetrap leaning onto the sidewall and closed the door right away. "NOPE. He stays out of here."
Frantic knocking came from said door. "C'mon, Old Sport, it's me! You can't shut me out like this! Open the door, before I kick it in! Oh, look children are coming..."
Effectively lured out, Old Sport growled. "If you dare to do ANYTHING, I'm gonna hecking bamboozle your ass!"
"Sounds sexy."
Crossing his arms and tapping his foot, to convey the maximum annoyance, he inspected his old... foe? "You look even worse from when I last saw you. Those burns... and your skin is almost off..."
"Happens when you get SET ON FIRE and left to ROT IN AN ALLEY. You're still looking magnificent! Bit deader than before, but well, we all age, right?"
"Your flattery is useless-" They heard people approaching and moved to the back of the building. "What do you want here? Why aren't you DEAD?"
"I could ask you the same, Old Sport. Why are you back again at Freddy's? There's nothing left for you here anymore."
Hurt, the Orange Guy stepped back. "Well, I want to earn money and have fun!"
"Great, my goals exactly. Now let me in!"
"NO."
"I'm basically an animatronic! I BELONG in there! Next to the fact that it would give your place a giant boost to have an actually smart animatronic in there..."
"A giant boost towards closure, as soon as the first kids start to disappear."
"I've had thirty years to think about myself, I'm a changed man!"
"And if it had been HUNDRED years, you'd still be the same! Someone like you never learns! You kill for the thrill!"
Dave narrowed his eyes. "I actually don't. You may need a reminder, but I killed kids to shut down the restaurant, not for fun."
"Yeah, as if I believe you! You're sick, Dave! You could have closed the franchise in SO MANY other ways!"
"Freddy's is pretty fucking resilient against getting shut down, I HAD to do something drastic!"
"Well, now I do something drastic and say NO to you coming in!"
"I'm freezing and rotting, everything hurts and I CAN'T DIE! Don't do this to me!"
"NO MEANS NO! Now FRICK off!" Aggressively he walked off, trying to ignore Dave's curses.
"I always KNEW we weren't all that different, but never excepted you to be more cruel than I ever could be! You and Phoney are really the dream couple. FUCKING HYPOCRITES!"
Distressed Old Sport hid inside, suddenly noticing how full the restaurant was. He hadn't expected so many visitors.
The children were hunting each other, chasing around the tables, laughing and screaming, some were chanting along to the frog's songs, while other were hooked on the arcades.
Dumbfounded the Orange Guard blinked a few times.
Parents were sitting and chattering around the tables, pizza, soda, or sometimes even the more mature option of coffee or tea in front of them. They were smiling too, even if they nervously eyed the animatronic every once in a while.
He was actually back.
It smelled like cheese and tomatoes, actually managing to make Old Sport's resistant stomach growl.
He made it back to Freddy's.
A grin, as wide as never before, took its rightful place on his face.
Home.
Phone Guy brushed past him, glowing just as much. Literally. "This is a massive success! This restaurant will be loved in no time! But remember, you still have to order supplies and print items! Don't forget that as well!"
"I'm on it!" Feeling as light as never before he skipped into the backroom, sat down in front of the computer and began to work down the list. Weird, how creepy the office was again.
Was it a requirement? Any and every office needs to be a mixture of deathtrap and horror attraction? Well, secretly he enjoyed the slight sp00ks and shivers the office gave him.
Cups? Check!
Napkins? Check!
Posters and menus? Check!
It felt like no time at all, until he managed to finish the list.
His cursor was hovering over the logout button, but a thought held him back.
Maybe...
No. A wild animal that is fed, will always come back for more.
But...
A CHILD-MURDERER.
If only...
AROUND YOUR ESTABLISHMENT!
Yes and he wouldn't leave, no matter was. Why should he leave anyway? There was no place to go, for neither of them.
Determined Old Sport reopened the internet to order a few extra things.
Wooden planks.
Blankets and pillows, a whole mountain of those.
Painkillers. Lots and lots of those.
Spare parts.
Battery powered heat-blankets.
A flashlight and...
A book?
Ah, couldn't hurt.
Smiling he finally pressed the logoff and leaned back. This was going to be great!
Cruelty was... not always the answer.
But sometimes!
Getting onto Dave's bad side would probably only encouraging him to do bad things.
And if he let him get inside, the children weren't safe anymore.
"Boss? Mind if you help me out a little...? It's actually getting REALLY full in here..."
"Oh, no problemé! You can always count on me!"
Overly excited he run around, only sneaking glances at the doors every ten seconds. The conversation snippets he could catch even furthered his happiness, as they agreed that it was one of the better establishments in the city. A little... cheap, but still charming.
His good mood was slightly dented, as he noticed a creaking in the back. Almost naturally he quickly excused himself and vanished towards the backdoor.
As expected Davetrap had squeezed itself through the cracks, stuck halfway between the inside and the outside.
They looked at each other.
"Uh... hello there, old sport! Mind opening the door?"
"YES?"
"I'm in a... bad situation, aren't I?"
"Oh yes."
"You sound more and more like Phoney with every word."
The Orange Guy couldn't help but to giggle. "You think so?"
Apparently calmer, Dave rolled his eyes, but his voice was softer. "That's not even an insult to you, right?"
"Of course it still is one! I'm the master of yiffs, the lord of the memes! I don't want to be compared to that dusty old guy! My performance is one hundred percent real, not PHONED IN, like his!" Smiling brightly he went up close with his animatronic snout. "You ain't getting in. BUT, if you behave, I'll have a little present for you at the end of the day."
"Urgh... I hate you, Old Sport."
"Well, in that case, bite me! My frontal lobe is right here, you know?" Smugly grinning he began a staring contest he won almost instantly.
The cyborg growled. "Open at least a little, so I can get out again..."
Affectionate he petted Dave. It was... natural. Dave belonged here as well. And as soon as he finds a way to control him, he'd maybe allowed him back inside.
NO. BAD ORANGE GUY. NO KIDDEN KILLER IN HIS HOUSE.
"Finally greased your fucking hands enough? Let me go."
"What if I don't?"
"I would actually bite you."
They looked at each other once more. Almost warmly. "Give me a second!" Orange Guy tipped against a button and shoved the bunny-zombie back out. "See you at closing time!" He blew him a kiss and closed the door, comfortable with the situation right now.
This was going swell, don't jinx it. Or do it, whatever would keep him more occupied.
The rest of the day went by in a flash, only three kids were hurt by the ball pit and no one showed signs of food poisoning. Pepe wasn't getting any dirty looks... yet, so there wasn't that big of a risk for him to get yiffed.
Phone Guy's children came over, shortly before closing time.
"Ah! Mike and... Mike Jr.?" Irritated he checked out the smaller of the two, who was crying hysterical for no apparent reason. "Are you... hurt?"
"He's crying because this place sucks so fucking much. You can't even crush your frontal lobe in the robot's mouth! I'd rather be at Candy's at least they there still use the GOOD robots!"
Panicked Phoney came over. "D-don't talk like that to my boss! And not being able to die in a restaurant is a good thing! Apologize, NOW!"
"Shut up, you fucking excuse for a real dad. I'm pretty sure mom fucked someone else and got us, just to hurt you."
"Ow..."
"See! You piece of shit can't even talk back to your own "son". We'll be off to a COOL place now, bye!"
They watched them leave, Phoney hugging himself. Old Sport patted his back. "Would it help if I told you that your wife isn't real and that those kids are probably robots themselves?"
"NO. THEY ARE ALL I HAVE."
Sad the Orange Guy nodded. "I'm... I'm sure you and your wife will soon be... happy again."
"Thank you." Obviously tired and worn out, the man rubbed his dial. "Should we close for today? You know, not allowing new customers in, starting to unpack the deliveries..."
"Sounds about right."
It took only another half an hour until the last customer had left. Somewhat happy they looked at the revenue. "I told you I would get the money back in without problems!"
"But let me guess, you've already ordered new things, didn't you?"
"YES."
"Let's see how bad it is." Sighing the co-worker exited the building, just to be greeted with the next heart-attack. Out there was a giant ball pit. A massive one. "OLD SPORT, YOU MOTHERHECKER! DID YOU ORDER THE DELUXE BALL PIT?!"
"YES!"
"THIS IS WAAAAAAAAAAY OUT OF OUR PRIZE RANGE!"
"YES!"
"WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO TELL THE HIGHER-UPS?! WHAT IF THEY WANT TO GET MAILED TODAY'S BALANCE?!"
"Fake the numbers!"
"I CAN'T DO THAT!"
"Should I do it?"
"NO!"
"We're like six thousand dollar in debt, who cares?"
"I DO! WE'RE GOING TO BE KICKED OUT!"
"Not if we lie!"
"YOU FREAKING----"
"Come on, out here it will get dirty! Help me bring it in!" Confidently the manager grabbed one side of it and began tugging it. "This is heavier than expected..." Curious the orange man inspected the colorful balls, which appeared to be out of nothing but plastic and air. Out of the corner of his eyes he noticed something else though... metal bars showing out of the sea of color.
He tugged on it, revealing... Davetrap.
"Why hello there, Old Sport. It's closing time."
"Did you try to sneak in again?"
"... No?"
Phone Guy freaked out. "It's the creepy bunny-thing again! Can't you just throw it in the dumpster...?"
Insulted the cyborg snarled. "He probably won't, seeing as you're still here as well."
"Wait, what does that mean?"
Old Sport ignored his employee's confusion and signed Dave to come out of his property, which he reluctantly obliged to. Expectantly he crossed his arms, waiting for his reward. Somewhat wary he watched the Orange Guy picking up a few boxes and separating them from the rest.
"Here, Phoney, get those boxes inside, afterwards you can go home! I'll have to take care of a lot tonight."
Hesitantly the young Phone picked up the first box. "Are you sure you'll be fine, boss?"
"Of course! I worked with this disgusting bunny-man before."
"That's not really true."
"Shut it Dave, or do you want him to stay?"
"YEAH, TOTALLY, WE WERE LIKE BESTIES."
The literal metal-head shook said thing. "If you're dead tomorrow and left me in massive debt, I will find and desecrate your (not existing) grave."
"Ahaha, me, dead, good one! Have a good night! Now Dave, help me carrying those to the back of the building!"
They began unpacking as soon as everything was there. "I don't hate you Dave, you know that, right?"
"Mixed feelings?"
Blushing fiercely the manager almost dropped the items. "Y-You heard w-when I did that?!"
Suddenly just as awkward, Dave crossed his arms. "Well... I... was in the area... yeah. I mean, what do you expect?! We were in the same establishment, OF COURSE I would see you quite often! When you're standing there, reading your poetry..."
Desperately trying to cover up his embarrassment, Old Sport arranged the planks and handed the Purple Guy a hammer. "We'll make you a small home here, so you won't be rained on!"
Surprised the man stayed silent, but began hammering the nails in. It wasn't easy, seeing as his hands were twice as big as they should be and filled with metal spikes, but somehow they managed to build a tidy box with the dimension of two fairly big closets.
"Looks great! Now to the next part..." Old Sport unboxed the next items, which as filled to the top with soft blankets. "Even better! Step in!"
Springtrap sat down. "... It's... nice. Thank you." Startled he looked up as the former Nightguard face-palmed.
"For heck's sake... Wait a second." Running into the pizzeria and back, he returned with a giant pizza, a lot of water and some soda. "You're probably starved..."
"Oh, no big deal, I've eaten at least once in the last forty years."
"FORTY- Okay, okay, eat!"
"I won't touch anything I plan to eat with these hands." He showed off the dirty paws. A moment passed. "Feed me!"
Reddening again, Old Sport growled, but complied. He first gave him the water with a straw, which was empty in less than a minute. Same went with the soda. The pizza would have probably suffered the same fate, if Old Sport weren't in the way, but the speed with which the man devoured this as well, was almost creepy.
"Do you... feel better? Or want more?"
"I need more. I didn't even feel my stomach for the last years and now I noticed that my whole body is nothing but pain."
"PAIN! RIGHT!" The third box was opened, smaller than the others. "Painkillers. How much would you need?"
"IT. ALL."
"Five then." He reached over and fed him them carefully. Smiling he leaned back. "Better?"
"What the fuck Old Sport, this were two seconds, how the fuck am I supposed to feel better already?"
"Geez, chill." Old Sport got out the next box and covered him in heat-blankets. "Or better not, I guess~"
"Was that a pun?"
"MAYBE...?"
"... Christ..."
"Aw, come on!" Groaning the Orange Guy went to bring more pizza and water for him. The sight that greeted him was making him chuckle. Dave was completely covered in the blankets, appearing almost small inside of there.
He joined him inside the box and closed the door, which he had already sprayed with a foam, designed to keep the warmth in and the humidity outside. It was pretty comfy, as he proudly noticed.
"Here, I brought you napkins, so you can eat it yourself!"
The noise that came out of the Purple Guy sounded almost disappointed. "Thanks..."
Smirking to himself he handed it over. "After all I need my hands free to pick out some of those pesky metal spikes. How are you even able to speak? Those screws should be right up in your throat..."
"Recently they rotted out... thankfully. You're... you're getting me out of here?"
"I'll get most of them out. But don't be fooled, as soon as you try to free your head, they'll be right back in there, so don't even try to remove it."
"Asshole."
"I call it precaution."
Peace reigned supreme over the small little world. Softly Orange Guy tugged them out piece by piece, replacing them with clean, safer ones. Whenever one area of his body was freed, Dave noticeable sighed out of relief, as the pain finally lessened for the first time of an eternity. Together with being warm, full and the power of five whole pills numbing everything made him unbelievable sleepy. Content he watched his companion working on his maltreated body.
As the line between reality and dream blurred, he began talking. "You know, Old Sport, I missed you so much... I... you were all I could think about. Sitting in this filthy backroom, I was so... angry... but I couldn't be angry at you for long... I missed you, Old Sport..." Closing his eyes finally fully, his next words were slurred. "If I wouldn't have come out of there I wwwould have died... but... not because of thosssse... injuries... but because you... you... you not being... there..."
Old Sport was burning red at the moment and he was so happy that the Purple Guy couldn't-
Oh. Dave was glimpsing between his half-closed lids.
Crap.
Slowly the trapped man reached for his cheek and laughed silently. "You're... still as... cute... as I remember you..."
This wasn't fair. Not even remotely. Old Sport always did his best and stayed away from Dave. He was a good boy and did whatever Phoney and the puppet told him. So why was he getting this easily... confused!?
Especially when said confusion was triggered by a goddamn ZOMBIE. A literally rotten piece of flesh that resembles a human. A serial killer, to top it all off!
Loneliness was dangerous.
He had missed Dave too.
But no one was allowed to know that.
He wasn't even allowed to admit that to himself--- ups.
Whatever, pull yourself together and focus on your task.
Twice as careful, now that Dave was sleeping, he continued with the modification. After a short minute he decided to replace some of the fur as well, at least at the hands and face, so that the man wouldn't need to be disgusted with his hands touching something.
And while he was at this, he might as well repair the torso as well, to keep him warm...
And while doing that...
And...
...
Dave reopened his eyes to notice he was still dreaming his favorite dream.
Old Sport was resting on top of him, seemingly asleep. Affectional he stroked his hair enjoying every second of this small dream. While doing the so, he registered his hand being covered in clean golden fur, it had replaced the broken and rotten parts.
Beautiful.
This dream was beautiful.
Simply being around Old Sport was repairing him.
Making him whole again.
Ah...
Maybe it was bad that he fantasized over very weird things, but sometimes he imagined how it would have been if he met Old Sport as teenager and would posing as animatronic to make him laugh and watching him struggle, while staying his point of support... sometimes even going as far as imagining Old Sport willingly becoming part of the joy of creation...
But usually he just fantasized about him seeking him out, freeing him from the filthy saferoom, saying that he regretted what he did to him and them running away and fight the whole word, despite how unlikely that was.
How old was his "old" sport actually? The first time he assumed him to be barely more than a kid, fooled into taking a job at this hellhole.
But as soon as he made that assumption, he noticed his old eyes. His surprisingly ability to get things done was another hint.
Suffering helped the process of ageing a lot. But finally he found out that Old Sport was like him. Aged to perfection, like fine wine and now free from those pesky obstacles that came with getting older.
Just.
Like.
Him.
Perfect.
Slowly but surely he realized that he actually was in reality. Blood pumped through his body, his almost free body, free of the poisonous, rusting edges which occupied his bloodstream for far too long...
This was reality.
It felt like a miracle.
His throat was dry again and he noticed the giant amount of water next to him. Old Sport and his amazing foresight. Carefully, as to not wake him up, he reached towards the liquid and absorbed it greedily. Almost purring, Dave slowly got back into the previous position, grinning satisfied as the Orange Guy clutched him closer.
As the fate of everything, the moment was broken apart but the fucking Phone. Henry might thought that they were useful, but he wished them all dead.
"SIR? ARE YOU HERE? BOSS?" His steps came closer. "OLD SPORT! PLEASE, THIS ISN'T FUNNY!"
Only now Davetrap realized it.
Old Sport.
He had called himself Old Sport.
Oh, how he could just eat him.
But... could he actually eat Old Sport? Would Old Sport regenerate quickly enough or could he completely absorb him? Could he just eat Old Sport for the rest of his life...?
What the fuck, he needed to get out of this. He was a child murder, not a cannibal.
The door of their little space was opened and Phone Guy was angrily looking down at them. The cold air was enough to finally make Old Sport wake up. He yawned and stretched his arms, apparently not even confused.
"Oh sweet, I'm still alive! FRICK, I FORGOT TO USE MY TOKENS!"
The Phone Man sighed. "This is your priority? You slept with a hecking creepy animatronic and your worry is that you didn't got to play?"
"It's like 2500 dollar I miss on a daily bases! Somehow I need to get that sexy chicken in here!"
"What... are you talking about...?" Phone Guy furrowed his brows.
"Yes, tell us what you're talking about!" Davetrap wasn't too pleased either.
"Uh... haha, I was, uhm... distracted... I of course meant, I need to... bigger the establishment... a-and make the customers happy..." Uncomfortable the Orange Guy scratched his arms. "So, uh... since you're here now, should we prepare for the day?"
"Yes, sir, that's my job."
Before the manager could stand up though, Dave hugged him with his half iron arms. "What if I don't let you go now?"
"You wanna hug me to death?"
"I'm pretty sure if I press hard enough, I could do some serious damage."
"Oh... okay, maybe. Now let me go!"
"No." Childish the Purple Guy tugged him closer, like a beloved Teddy.
Old Sport rolled his eyes at him and slipped a Taser out of his pocket. "Do you want a five hundred volt shock?"
"Wow, calm down! I just..." With some resemblance of betrayal in his expression, the bunny loosened his grip.
Happy smiling, the Orange Guy grabbed his Phoney by the hand and left. "We see us at closing time, alright?"
Lonely Purple Guy watched them run off. Already the pain returned, but this time it weren't his rotting joints that caused it. It was horrible to be locked out. It was painful, even if he used to hate the chain.
Since someone who was a fan of the franchise saved him out of the saferoom, his sympathy had increased by a lot though.
For a while he watched the sun creeping over the horizon, eating the clouds and heating the ground almost not at all, but the try was appreciated.
Children's laughs sounded muffled through the walls and rare windows.
An old hunger reawakened in his blood.
If Old Sport would get fired, he would HAVE to... run away....
This was this just an excuse wasn't it?
Being watched from every side as the weirdo, the police investigating him almost at every chance they got... The mascot-killer that they were seeking.
When Henry was around, he thought of them as artist rather than serial killers, his pink companion making only a short noise of disgust when he asked him about that issue.
"Serial Killer are mindless animals that are not able to control themselves. Never attempt to compare our work to those selfish, appalling, pitiable excuses of human nature again."
"But... don't we kill... like a lot?"
"Would you call God a Serial Killer?"
He didn't like to think back of those conversations. Really, it was... almost oppressive how these thoughts immediately took all space away from his mind.
Slowly he crept up to one of the windows. Thankfully, Old Sport had installed quite a lot more than on the requirements... or maybe this was one of the REALLY old locations...
Inside was everyone in a jolly mood, laughing, play fighting, eating and screaming, like kids are known to do. He hadn't seen that in such a long time, the nostalgia hit twice as hard. This little place reminded him of Fredbear's family diner... it was almost as if it someone tried to imitate it.
To mock him.
No. This is Old Sport's place. It was an accident.
Some of the little pests did spot him and began to gather around the window.
"Who are you, bunny-man?"
"It's a girl!"
"No, it's a man! And it's a rabbit, thank you very much!"
Dave had long decided that wasn't worth to question what difference it would make. The oldest of them began to open the window. "Dear bunny! What are you doing out there all alone?"
Grinning Dave eyes began to glow. "If you open the window all the way, I may tell you!"
"No! We can't let anyone in like that!" Responsible the girl of the group crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. She had a pleasant shade of blond hair and blue eyes. Her brother (assumed by their similar face structure, since his hair was brown) shoved her violently aside.
"Shut up, you never let us have any fun!"
The small, sick appearing boy among them tried to intervene with a half-hearted yelp. Everything about him was thin and pale, except his bright green eyes. "D-don't shove anyone..."
He was shoved away as well. "You shut up too! You're both such little pussies!"
Okay, okay, this was his shot at redemption. You changed, you can prove it now! What would Old Sport do?
Quickly he broken open the window with a punch, to grab the boy by his collar. "Listen here you little shit, if you don't stop pissing everyone off like that, I will go to your house and kill your pet, afterwards I will bash your head that long into a dirty pile of aids infected needles used by hookers to get high, until you will pass out from blood loss and die on your way to hospital, without anyone caring, because you're a piece of shit!"
The brown haired kid was so shocked, he began to cry and trash about, his legs uselessly kicking air.
"HELP ME!"
The girl and her small friend on the other hand began to snort a bit, seeing the big one this helpless. "Why should we? Aren't we pussies?"
Of course, retribution came in from of angry mom #1, who was screaming at the top of her lungs. "LET MY BOY GO, YOU FREAK!"
Orange Guy ran over, obviously confused at the situation. "What... Dave, what the hell!?!"
"He was a piece of shit to the poor kids."
"You... you wanted to help?"
"Yes?"
The mom was having NONE of it. "WHAT IS THIS?! WHO IS THIS MAN?"
"Uh... an..."
"I'm a cute little bunny!"
"Pls don't sue."
The little girl was tugging her mom's sleeve. "Please mom, he helped us! Oliver deserved that!"
"MARY, YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND THE SITUATION AT ALL, DO YOU?!"
Growling the bunny-man shook his head. "Stop screaming at your kid, that's a sign of incompetent parenting and does higher the risk of your kid being fucked up in the end. You want her to become an abuser?"
The blond pale boy nodded. "He is right, miss. If I remember correctly it was by... uh... thirty percent...?"
Both of them now were tugging on the women, who finally noticed all of the attention she was drawing to herself. Oliver had now finally dried his tears and crossed his arms in embarrassment.
"Yeah... I'm fine..."
Dave grinned. "You're a big boy now, right?"
"Leave me alone, bunny-man."
The mother grabbed his hand. "Let's go back to our pizza, shall we? Or do you want to leave?"
Her daughter began howling. "NOOOO! I WANT TO STAY!"
"Sh, Mary, you can't scream that loud!"
"But you did it too!"
Old Sport sighed relieved. "Miss, I will offer you some free Tokens and pizza to say sorry for the inconvenience if you'd like that."
"Yes... that sounds... good." They both looked a little less salty, so Orange Guy felt relaxed enough to tell Dave off. Before he could do so, he was interrupted by the children.
"Thank you, Mister Rabbit!"
"Yes, you're the best, Mister Rabbit!"
They reached to pet him, laughing brightly. Dave was looking just as surprised by the attention as his counterpart.
The little boy even bowed slightly. "I'm Isaac! And that is my friend Mary. The mean boy that just left is her brother Oliver. What is your name?"
"I'm Dave..."
Laughing happily they both now bowed. "Thank you, Mister Dave! Do you want to play with us? Oh, wait..."
Mary reached for the handle of the window, just to be stopped by Old Sport. "Don't let him in!"
"Why not?"
"Why?"
Dave grinned smugly. "Yes, why, Old Sport?"
"Stop with all your peer pressure! I won't cave in! We can't let him in, because he is a BAD man."
Pouting Isaac turned away. "Bad men don't help kids. Well, we just stay here and play with him!"
"Yeah, you can't stop us!"
A slight fight of will was going on between both of the adults, before they finally reached an agreement. "You could go out to him, but only when I'm with you. I don't really understand why you would want to play with someone who is obviously a corpse, but..."
"YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAY!"
In seconds they rushed for the exit, Orange Guy on their heels. He couldn't help but feel slightly... optimistic. Maybe there was hope for all of them.

--------------------------

A/N: (In case someone is wondering: The foam is polyurethane and had seemingly the right properties to work... but I have only done surface-level research, so...)
Little fun fact: I literally analyzed a dream, while being asleep. I was dreaming I was eating my breakfast out of my computer and turned to my mother to say "Seriously!? This isn't even subtle at all!"
Yes, I have weird dreams.
So, not planning on making this too serious, but opinions are welcome!