Chapter Text
Smoke and alcohol smothered Jack’s lungs when he took a breath of fresh air. Ah, Las Vegas. The city of sin, and the mob, it seems. Not like it’s common to run into someone who works in those businesses anyways.
Breathing was something that Jack’s always had trouble with ever since the first time he’d been springlocked.
That one big mob guy’s been dead since last year, so it’s much more less likely that they’d end up in a street racket. Guy was found dead in a cornfield in Indiana, funny enough.
Neither of the two are going to end up corpses in some shabby field. Hopefully, of course.
Yeah… Not like they have any plans on dying in some coked up overpriced party city. Well, Jack doesn’t. He doesn’t know about Dave.
Hey, maybe the purple guy’s been scheming to become one of the many lives claimed in a street racket.
Probably not, though. As much as it sounds rad, Dave seems like the kind of person to rob some expensive liqour store and get shot down by a cop off duty.
Yeah, he’s on a tangent. Guess that’s what happens when he agrees to mutually drink their hearts out together with the purple cryptid, who’s currently digging through his pocket for what Dave called a ‘surprise' to make up for getting the pair kicked out of the last bar on the street.
They’d already started walking off to search for some other place they could find that served either beer or drugs. Whatever they were in the mood for. Probably drugs. They still have some cocaine.
Hopefully, Dave doesn’t get them both dumped in some ditch.
Jack scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, stumbling back onto his feet after having fallen flat on his face. Man, being hazy with alcohol of dubious amounts in his system has always got him falling over his own heels.
Or maybe he’s too drunk to notice the difference between the sidewalk and the gutter. Who cares though? Definitely neither of them.
The sidewalk kind of stuck to his shoes when he went to scrape some weird plastic wrapper off of the soles. Eugh. Jack doesn’t want to know what’s wrong with the sidewalk.
“Found it-“ Dave started, flashing a toothy grin and pulling out what Jack would guess is a flask. Huh. “Thing’s been sittin' in my pocket for’a week by now.”
Oh. The flask wasn’t even closed completely. And it smelled foul. Absolutely foul. Jack could smell it from the four feet away he was from the purple man. Alcohol may smell strongly awful, but not that awfully harsh.
Yuck.
Jack scrunched his face, bringing a hand up to pinch his nose briefly. He wasn’t surprised Dave had such a thing, and he wasn’t surprised by the fact that Dave trusted the flask to still contain edible alcohol. “…You sure that thing hasn’t started fermenting into a mold mead or something?”
Dave raised an eyebrow and his grin grew a bit. He sat down on some nasty metal bench by a building. “You’d be surprised by how much more awfully moldy this can get.”
He unscrewed the cap the rest of the way and took a swig, dramatically sighing afterwards. “Ah, just as fresh as when I first put it in m' pocket!” The taller one neck-wise of the two offered the flask to the other. “Ya sure yer not up for a swig?”
Frowning, Jack squinted at Dave for a second. Is this a scheme? Ah, well you never know until you try, right? “Better not be lying…” The orange man begrudgingly accepted the flask and brought it to his lips with hesitation. It smelled awful, but Jack pushed that thought away and let the dubious drink slide down his throat.
Oh. Oh, it was awful. How endearing. Jack scrunched his face and his frown worsened as he forced himself to swallow, quickly handing the flask back to Dave. Hell, it felt like the springlock scars on his throat were reopened just for the purpose of getting irritated and stinging from the drink.
“What the fuck- That’s awful!”
“Ya sure? I think the taste's pretty dandy ‘n fine.”
“You can’t possibly be serious.” He cringed at the leftover taste, wiping any remnants on his lips away. Jack wanted zero evidence of drinking that. Oh god, it tasted horrendous. He hated it.
Jack would have gagged if it weren’t for the stinging pain in his neck. He brought a hand up to scratch at it subtly.
Damn thing's probably just given Jack seventy different diseases and maybe a brain eating amoeba. And he’s probably lost twenty two years off his lifespan. As much as Jack would like to have less years on his belt, he was not prepared to lose a bunch over some cheap moldy booze.
Dave’s grin flashed, “It’s not that bad, y’know! It tastes like a bowl of chocolate covered cherries.” Oh, he’s got to be fucking with him.
“Lies. You jest. It tastes nothing like that.” Jack huffed, trying to push the remaining taste of that foul drink to the back of his mind. He squinted against the glowing billboard lights that seemed to be created with the purpose of solely causing car crashes with it’s ungodly brightness.
“Yeah, I’m fuckin' with ya, Sportsy.”
“For God’s sake-" He’d strangle Dave if it weren’t for the fact that the purple cryptid would probably be immune to that. Hell, can the man strangle someone with that floppy rubber-like neck of his? Jack didn’t want to find out.
He scowled, shoving his hands in his very much frayed pockets. They’ve been kicked out by every other bar, so it’s not like Jack can drink that taste out of his mouth.
The night was long, and the endless lists of places were longer. Yet, in one single night, the pair had managed to get thrown out of every place that offered gambling and alcohol.
There was one point where Dave got them both kicked out for using the cards in the middle of a game to snort cocaine with. They sure don’t like their cards being messed up and bent for that reason.
Dave had always been a public bastard, to say it shortly. The purple man’s been spending years by now, chasing after a legacy that lied to him. He’s just as much of a husk as Jack himself is.
He goes by a different name. A name that made it difficult for Jack to recognize the man at first. Dave Miller, the Miller part was familiar. Jack had known Dave’s real name a bit after Dave went and offered the killing kids thing.
William Afton, that was his name. He worked with…
Never mind. Not the time to be like that. He doesn't want to remember anything that he's been hiding behind bottles from. The orange man scraped the bottom of his shoe’s heel on the cracked concrete to wipe off the weird muck that keeps building up on his shoes.
Jack remembered both of them fucking off to Vegas after that fiasco at Freddy's.
Car ride there had been long, and for the most part he’d just listen to Dave ramble on about kebab sauce or they’d ask each other questions. Though, the questions were cut short when Dave asked weird personal ones. It had been awkward the rest of the ride, which there wasn’t that much time left in the car.
He looked anywhere Dave wasn’t, staring at dingy flashing billboards and street lights. The alcohol hadn’t worn off yet, but there was still some semblance of reasoning in the orange one’s head.
And that reasoning left was tired. Jack could probably find himself a nice fancy box in an alleyway and sleep in one of those at this point. Yeah, that sounds more preferable.
His attention snapped back to Dave the moment the man pulled out a pack of cigarettes. The pack had been bought the moment they arrived in Las Vegas, and by now it only had a few cigarettes left.
Dave snaked a half smoked cigarette he hadn’t finished between his lips, glancing at Jack and offering a fresh one to the other.
Yeah, of course Jack accepted it. He’s probably the more chronic smoker of the two.
Which was funny since Jack never even smoked correctly. He refused to. The standing one of the two stuck it in his mouth halfway, before positioning it correctly after. He patted his pockets, searching for his own lighter which…
Aw, shucks. Jack never even had a lighter on him in the first place. God, he needs to buy one more often. Things keep going missing. Not like Jack cared much, since most of the items were disposable and cheap.
There was that time where his toothbrush went missing however-
Dave wipped out some old dingy lighter from one of the mysterious pockets of his. Seriously, what is Dave hiding in those pockets?... The purple cryptid flicked the lighter on, but it was very much almost out of fuel. It sparked for a few seconds before it went missing.
“Damn lighter… shoulda stopped usin’ it fer those wimpy blunts… Damnit.” Dave muttered, shaking his head and standing up. He cupped his hands around the lighter, and hopefully it was just the wind blowing out the fire. It sparked, before igniting finally. Dave motioned towards Jack with the cheap lighter.
Jack took the hint and leaned closer, grabbing onto his own cigarette to hold it steady and bumped it against Dave's, lighting both cigarettes at the same time, just a few seconds before the lighter died again.
The taller one huffed quietly behind his own cigarette. Probably because lighters cost a lot more here than in Colorado or Utah. And they were harder to steal.
Eh, Dave'll probably still find a way to rob a store for a couple lighters. Nothing new. The night was still long it seems. With cars street-racing in a busy intersection, and a bunch of other drunks stumbling in and out of bars and casinos.
Ah, what a time to be alive. There were plenty of things they'd done today. Drugs, drugs and alcohol. And maybe more drugs. Oh, and a few hookers here and there. But… mostly drugs, as far as Jack was barely able to remember.
Jack turned his head away from Dave once more, staring at a rat dragging a piece of something double its size. Probably not the worst kind of rat, since last time Jack's been to New York they've had worse.
Dave also seemed to observe the interesting critter for a few seconds before it scrambled off out of sight. Not much was in either's system at the moment, save for the last glass of beer and that moldy abomination of whatever Dave had in his flask. The orange man would've shivered at the memory of the taste if it weren't for his last remaining dignity.
Oh, wait, right, Jack was still smoking. Right. He breathed in some of the smoke, being reminded of how the city smelt much stronger of mulch and smoke and beer. He held it in his mouth for a moment, blinking away any worries and possibly any of his other plans after Vegas.
The city buzzed with life even at a time this night.
“...Man, I love this place.” The purple cryptid sighed deeply in some sort of joy. He also coughed up the cigarette smoke he forgot to avoid breathing in. “Always somethin’ interestin’ goin’ on.”
He hummed in agreement, Dave was right about that. About the interesting things going on, not really the first remark. Did Jack like this place? Did he like Vegas? He didn't really know. It felt like liking something by proxy because your friend does. “Yeah, always something interesting…”
Jack trailed off, kind of lost in the moment. He breathed out the smoke, holding back the cough that was supposed to follow. Man, he should stop smoking like that. He stared off into space, listening to the cars passing by and the drunkards in the street giggling and or arguing.
But hey, who was he to call them drunks? He's probably just as bad.
The city hummed with both bugs and overwhelmingly warm air. Jack wasn’t really a fan of sweating so much, but the nights when it cooled made it better.
There’s a lot of things Jack imagined himself building up the courage to tell to Dave. A lot. Some were confessions, small ones that could easily be drowned out as the years go by. Most were secrets, secrets that were obvious but Dave had just never tried to look into.
Just like how Dave never looked into Jack very well. How Dave never spared a second glance at any photographs hung up on the shabby walls, or stuffed into the bottom of poorly taped closed boxes. Or how Dave never thought about the blatant lies Jack’s told him.
Jack just… never really could tell Dave these things, could he? He’d chicken out from all the beer in his system and never tell Dave about before everything. He’d never be able to find it in himself to tell him. He’d just find some excuse and hide his sorrows behind an extra bottle that night.
Considering some of those things have a huge chance of ruining what they have, Jack isn’t ready to risk it.
Mulch and booze is what the street smelt like. Every walk taken had it feel like the poorly mixed cement of the sidewalk was pulling you down itself.
The man snapped out of his thoughts, not really aware of how long he'd spaced out. He turned to ask, but found himself unable to.
Dave had most of his weight pressed onto some nearby cheap bench table, leaning back on it with one hand to support himself, and the other holding the cigarette he was smoking. He seemed just as much lost in thought as Jack had been a few minutes ago.
Huh. Guess everyone has their own ‘drunk and getting spaced out’ moments. Jack blinked slowly, he didn't really know if he wanted to interrupt.
…Actually, why didn't he want to? Maybe he felt like this was one of the very few moments where Dave isn't all giddy and silly, or well, one of the few moments Jack's seen Dave like that. Dave isn't a serious person usually. There's always something funny going on when it comes to him.
Jack shook his head, now's probably the better time to head back to that dingy hotel. By now, most people who can leave are heading back home or back to wherever. Still, the city remains awake and thriving at a time like this. It's late, and by now if neither of the two make it back then both might end up sleeping in a box or an alleyway. Maybe both.
He leaned close to Dave, pulling the purple cryptid's cigarette out of his mouth, and patting him on the back. “Hey, you all there in the head?”
Dave paused, blinded for a second by snapping out of his thoughts. He squinted, before that same old grin returned to his face. He wasn’t really visible in the shadows of the billboards and streetlights. “Aw, ya worried?”
“Don't push your luck.”
“Yeah, yeah, you were totally worried, Sportsy.” Dave flashed a tooth in his grin, as he snatched the cigarette back to take a few more puffs. It was almost completely smoked, but Dave somehow made it last longer. The purple man winked at him. “Don't worry, I love ya too.”
Jack raised an eyebrow, putting his own cigarette back in his mouth to finish smoking it while it was still lit. “Whatever.” He huffed, “You think the hotel's gonna lock up before we go check in?”
“Nah, been there before. They workin’ 24/6.”
“Isn't it 24/7?” Jack didn't get a reply. Instead, Dave changed the subject. The purple skinned man leaned back against the bench behind him, using it to lean close to the other. “Y'know…”
Jack definitely started sweating bullets. Dave usually does that when he's about to pull some devious scheme or offer to pull a devious scheme with him. Dave's face was pretty close, smoke from his breath blowing against Jack's face. “Y'wanna find one last hooker before we hit th’ hay?”
“Uh, I'm not sure any hookers are out at a time like this.” Dave got closer, their noses barely touching.
“Don't be ridiculous, Sporty!” He grinned. The only thing between them at the moment was cigarette smoke. And the need to appear less homosexual. “Pretty sure there's still plenty o’ hookers out right now,”
Hm. This was probably not some devious scheme, if it was, that'd make this more awkward. Jack tried to muster up some sort of snarky smile back, but he's never been good at those. “You're sure you don't wanna go back to the hotel yet, Dave?”
Dave moved his cigarette to the corner of his lips, making room for‐ oh. Jack gets it now. Another thing he had to remember to say ‘no homo’ afterwards, else they won't get to sleep in the same bed like the last trip to Vegas. Another one of Dave's messing with him. “Not without snortin’ a couple more lines of cocaine.”
“Right, right.” Jack trailed off again. He was nervous in the way that anyone'd get nervous when someone's right in their face and they may or may not be about to kiss. “We still got that baggy?”
Dave leaned closer, and Jack quickly pulled his own cigarette away. Their lips met, smoke going into both of either's mouth. It felt nasty.
But Jack could care less. He snaked his free hand behind Dave's very much abnormally long neck, cracking open his mouth to at least let some smoke back out, else they'll both be hacking it up after. He inhaled some of the smoke, wincing at how much he wanted to cough. But not right now.
Tonight was probably going to be forgotten in the morning, but that was fine with Jack. He's okay with living in the moment.
Dave pulled away, puffing out the rest of the smoke in his mouth. He put out his cigarette, and Jack followed. He laughed a bit, humming out a “No homo” and he ended up coughing out years of smoking anything and everything.
The orange man stuffed the cigarette in his pocket for later, muttering a “No homo” in reply loud enough for Dave to at least be able to hear.
The taller of the two was still grinning, “Oh, and yeah. There's'a baggy back at the room.”
Jack paused, nodding before turning his head away to cough to his heart's content. Fucking finally. Muck had built up in his throat from the smoke and also from his own years of smoking. “We heading back now?”
“Nah, it's still night. We got a bunch more things ta’ do, Old Sport.”
Right. Jack followed after Dave as he walked off. Fucker walked like he’s got places to be, when really, they’re still looking.