Work Text:
Happiest Day Arcade - It was around two-thirty when I entered.
The final child fades in behind the puppet, it blurs together to mimick the child it once was like a ribbion twirling in the air.
A wave of a sense of accomplishment relaxes Jack's shoulders as he stares at the familiar motion chain-effect to the rest of the animatronics behind The Puppet. The souls emit an obscuring white glow, resembling stars in the night against the harsh amber lights. They perodically blink, fuzzy looking black tears down their cheeks as they idle or hid. They were as alive as one could consider them.
Jack doesn't know where to put himself, as he found the hardest part of his promise were all the parts after. The Puppet looked prideful in stark contrast, tossing its head back and watching like this predicament wasn't getting old.
"I'll see you later for their happiest day."
He realizes that it may have been a little rude to exit so quick, but with them, it was plain routine.
"Leaving so soon?"
"Oh, um. Is there something else you need from me?"
"You've done more than enough for me, OS(oh-ess). I just thought... If you wanted to rest here for a bit, you can. Time here is really slow compared to reality."
He weighs out the choice; he leans against hanging around here for a while, but on the other hand, he has to check on Scott back in reality.
"And I mean slow. Like, two hours here is barely a half-hour out there."
The Puppet looks like a rag doll as they sit down, one moment they're standing then the other they're airborne till it situates themself on the stage below it.
"I mean, I needed to catch my breath one way or another."
The Puppet nodded, patting the spot beside it on the stage it sat on. Jack hesitated for a second, then sat down. (He really ought to ask if it's a 'he' or 'she'...)
He rested his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together as his thoughts bursted from the metaphorical jar he shoved them in.
Today had been a whirlwind—more eventful than his life had been in a long time. From Dave's springlocking to how Scott confided in him the other day. Most of his memories of Freddy’s were a blur of fast food joints, indistinguishable from each other besides the mental note of which American state it belonged to. None of them really stood out. Until now.
He resolves with the fact he hasn't processed any of this till now.
He learned within the past decade that his life is lived easiest without thought, ironically, that's the worst way to live. He stared blankly at the most bizarre events first-hand, blood onto his own dress shirts.
He wasn't sure how to react to Dave's death, all he felt was a pressure in his chest. He never particularly cared about the guy, being the murderer whose messes he had to clean up, and all that. It's not that Jack foresaw Dave being fixed and turned into a "good person," but this ending felt unsatisfying.
Would it be right to call him William, now?
This location was notable in other ways than death, which was ubiquitous among Freddy's no matter what. Because this time around, Scott was a dead man who could tell a tale. Being around him made something click in place, like a summer idyll.
He'll never forget the wave of.... Not quite empathy, but like-mindness that crashed onto him when he heard about Scott remembering his past, watching the man collapse into guilt over people who've already mourned.
"Wanna play cards?"
The Puppet's question cuts through his thoughts. Jack blinks, surpised but not necessarily opposed.
"It's not like I was doing something else. Do you have a deck or something around here?"
"I do now."
Puppet shifts a standard-looking packet in one of its hand, transformed from what looked like thin air.
"Whoa. You never told me you could do that!"
"I learned by accident. Been using it to entertain the more lucid, I'll say, children. Anyway, do you know how to play Crazy Eights?"
A few memories ripple by Jack, but he stops himself from even considering that train of thought.
"I do. Also, what do you mean more lucid?"
He already had a good idea what The Puppet meant by lucid. His voice sounded a little too broken when he said I do and he had to compensate.
"Most of the kids are really disturbed after their deaths and shut down, reasonably. But Its lead me to being painfully bored, and most of them are gone before they can understand anything."
"Oh. That sucks."
Jack wasn't sure how to respond to that, having never been good at comforting himself, but he felt an overwhelming urge to say more.
"I got used to it."
He knew he'd get a response like that. Well that saved him one awkward interaction.
The Puppet grasps the cards with two of its clawed hands, handing them over to Jack.
"Coud you shuffle? I can't with these hands."
"Sure. I'm not the best at it, though."
Jack swiftly parts the cards. He'd never learned how Peter so deftly shuffled the cards, so he seperates ten to fifteen cards and buries them in the middle or the end of the deck repetitively. The Puppet tilts it's head at this motion, but it doesn't have anyoen else it can ask to shuffle.
"I might aswell do the set up, too."
"Thanks. Place my cards face up, but don't look at them."
He deals The Puppet five cards aswell as himself; fighting the immature urge to peek at the other's cards in the split second they scrambled to retrieve them. The Puppet is wise and places its cards to it's back, shielding them with two of its peg-like arms. And he learns The Puppet has an ace of hearts, oops...
Jack reviews his cards, focusing on the suite and ignoring the denomination unless it's an eight. Like how he used to play back then. He has three clubs, one diamond and one eight of hearts. His hand isn't the best but he can manage.
He tried to guess The Puppet's hand worth by its behaviour to no avail, it literally had the ultimate poker face hence its porcelain mask.
Jack starts by swiping a card from the stock pile, an ace of spades.
"Can't play."
He technically could but he didn't wanna waste his eight so soon. He takes a card from the stock pile, a jack of diamonds.
"Already?"
"Yup. My hand is pretty shitty."
The Puppet slides a two of spades with one finger. It seemed impressively dexterous despite the fact it only had three actively fraying claws to work with. He briefly wonders how long it must've took for The Puppet to get used to its body.
He only vaguely knows that it's a dead child too, but he decided agains prying further than that. Mostly because he had no idea what he was digging up.
Wait, it's a dead child too--
"I probably shouldn't swear infront of you."
"It's fine. I know every profanity under the sun by now, there was this whole drug ring by the prize counter one time. I'll never get my innocence back."
"I get that, I learned three new slurs working here."
"It's your turn by the way."
Luckily for Jack, he has a two of clubs. He reluctantly sets it down.
"Can't play, I don't have the same symbol thingy."
"Symbol thingy?"
"I meant I don't have a clover."
"Clover? It's a club."
"Huh? I was told it was a clover."
"Honestly, it does look like a clover, and I don't know what a club looks like or even is. So I'll give you pass. You sure you dont have a two?"
"Oh wait, I do. But what does that matter? It's a two of hearts; I can't play it."
"Wha--? You can place a card aslong as it's the same 'symbol thingy' or denomination."
"Denomination?"
"Who taught you how to play cards? Denominations are the value of the cards. Like the numbers or the Ace, Jack, Queen and King."
"What fancy word do you call the symbol thingys, then?"
"Suite. It's a suite."
"It turns out all these years my siblings have been teaching me the wrong game. Pity me, already!"
The puppet gently sways back and forth with soft, mechanical laughter. And in a way, Jack can spot the child in it.
"My older brother was even more of a smart ass when it came to these kind of games."
Jack regrets the words as soon they spill from his indulgent mouth, like gas releasing from a bubble. But The Puppet seems to get curious as it readjusts it's seating position, sliding it's two of hearts and leaning forward.
"May I ask how so?"
He would honestly prefer jumping into the endless void then elaborating.
"Um. He was really good at reading people, for one."
He pauses, his excuse being lingering a check over his hand a little too long and playing his eight of hearts.
"I change the suite to clubs, by the way."
"You bastard. But, continue."
Jack tried to look smug at this, but whatever came out must've looked like a nervous grit of teeth as The Puppet stared before struggling to draw another card.
"Once we played Bullshi-- I'll just call the game 'Cheat', and he managed to guess my hand completely twice. Got my little sister to surveillance because to this day I think he's cheating."
"You have a little sister?"
"Had."
It was still strange to Jack that both his siblings were dead. Being soulless left him numb, but there was something about knowing that when he reminisced, he was the only one fundamentally there.
Jack placed a ten of clubs. He had two cards left, meanwhile The Puppet had three. He wasn't too hopeful-- Having a jack of diamonds and one more club.
"Though, now I'm curious. You mentioned siblings earlier."
"In retrospect, they probably taught me a dumbed down version, as I was young and prone to a temper tantrum if I was left out. I hope that's not how they remember me. I had two older brothers, Jack and Peter."
It couldn’t be. He had to steady his hand so he didn’t drop his cards.
But her image came unbidden, sharp and painful.
"Dee."
"Huh?"
"Sorry, you're... You're Dee right?"
Dee pauses, straightening up. She never had the oppurtunity to see Jack stumble.
"How do you know that? I don't really identify with the name anymore."
"It's me. Jack."
She freezes entirely, her body rigid, and Jack knows instantly that something in his words has struck her. Her expression remains unreadable, her face a mask of porcelain. Smooth and impassive, he knew it was the ultimate poker face. He finds himself staring, trying in vain to see through the cracks of her stillness, but she gives away nothing. It's as if she's retreated somewhere deep inside.
In that moment, Jack's vision shifts. He doesn’t just see her as she is now, the constantly composed marionette.
He sees the red-headed, freckle-faced little girl she once was. The adorable child she had been, with a laugh that used to fill the house. The memories come rushing back, bittersweet, as he takes in the way she holds her arms protectively to her sides, a subtle gesture that speaks of a vulnerability she won’t show.
His eyes drift downward, noticing the cards she was protecting. An ace of diamonds, a queen of hearts, and a five of spades—cards that, in any other moment, might have been a casual observation, but here, they feel like pieces of some strange, cryptic puzzle he has yet to solve.
Jack moves without thinking, his body acting on instinct.
He crawls across the floor toward Dee, his movements careful but desperate, like a soldier navigating a minefield. As he draws nearer, his knee brushes the stockpile of cards between them, toppling it over. The cards scatter haphazardly, some turning dog-eared and creased beneath his weight.
He barely notices, his focus solely on her. Gently, hesitantly, he wraps his arms around her slender waist in the best way he can, given her current form. The hug feels incomplete, fragile, yet it's the only thing he can offer her. He presses his head against her chest, feeling the cool, hard surface of a lone button beneath his skin
"I can't believe it."
Dee finally whispers, her voice so small, so fragile, that it feels like she might shatter the air.
"I'm so sorry I let this happen to you. You shouldn't have to deal with any of this."
"Don't even. It's not your fault."
She unfolds her arms, as if testing the boundaries of her own resolve. And then, with a tenderness Jack had almost forgotten, she wraps them around him, holding him close.
And for the first time in years, they held on like nothing had ever changed.