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Jack knew this was against his better judgement.
Most men wouldn't have driven to an abandoned horror attraction in the middle of the night. Most men would still be soundly asleep, dreaming of old pizza and robotic bears, and wake up for a normal work day the next morning. Most men would've had the common sense to stay in the car, and drive back home.
Not Jack. Of course, he was never particularly known for his judgment or common sense. Besides, he had a promise to fulfill.
And so there he stood—at the ripe hour of three—with a box of matches in his pocket.
You can do this Jack, he thought to himself, lifting the dented trunk of his battered car. The licence plate looked as if it was just barely holding on.
You and me both, he thought grimly. He would do this quickly, dwell on it as little as possible.
Then Jack could go home and sleep through the next few months. If he was lucky, he would miss all of the standard American holidays and not have to think until late March. Wouldn't that be nice?
Focus, he told himself. Don't think about it too hard. Just finish the job.
Jack tried to empty his mind as best he could as he hefted the gallon from his car. The plastic was once ruby red, but wore a dirty maroon over time. It wasn't the first time he'd used it, and it probably wouldn't be his last. But Jack didn't want to think about it too hard. If he thought, then he'd remember everything. He'd remember the guilt. And he'd hesitate.
He couldn't hesitate tonight.
So he trodded up the cracked path, uneven pavement rocking his gait and sloshing the container in his hand. He stopped before he made it to the front door, taking a sharp left and sliding past the building. His footsteps became light as the sprigs and yellowed grass that peeked through the sidewalk bounced undertoe. He found his way to a small door in the back—one anyone else might have missed. The wood was weak and splintered, and the tiny rusty doorknob squeaked when touched. Jack pushed past the faded, "employees only" sign and entered the building. The door was unlocked, just like he knew it'd be.
Inside, the thick smell of mold met the remains of Jack's nose. Mold was a common part of Fazbender locations, but usually the scent of pizza and plastic drowned it out. In here, the air was thick, heavy and suffocating. The occasional light flickered from the ceiling, and faulty wires lay strewn all over the hallways. What any customer might have assumed was intentional decoration was almost certainly just laziness on Jack's part. A horror attraction was a brilliant idea for a Freddy's building, he was surprised no one had thought of it sooner.
Well, let's get this over with, he thought, quiet gurgling breaking the silence as he tipped the container forward. The liquid practically danced with excitement at the prospect of death, chasing it as it followed Jack's footsteps. He hadn't been here very frequently, but as long as he hit every part of the damned place and got back to the exit, it didn't matter if he memorized the layout. Although, the hallways twisted and turned, and the only symbol of a new hall was the tacky decorations. It was meant to be a confusing maze, for the panic factor. If Jack was a more anxious person himself, he might've regretted that choice.
Besides, that wasn't the only reason he built it that way. Customers, despite the confusion, would always have a way out. Any wayward souls, however…
Well, it was a bit of a labyrinth, wasn't it?
But Jack could only pray that his trap worked. It was almost impossible to tell how many spirits wandered the place—how many trapped souls were left to free. He could only be sure of one… one ghostly wraith that lumbered the halls like a forbidden whisper of once was. A creature who's body was rotting and peeling away to reveal the soul that still clung on. A beast. The fabled boogeyman of Fazbender's Fright. The main attraction.
Customers, employees, and horror fanatics described him as such. Jack had more choice words than they ever would, but they didn't know what Jack did. He hoped and prayed that he wouldn't run into him, or else this whole excursion may be for naught.
And yet, a small part of him murmured otherwise. A small part of Jack wanted to see him again before this was all over. Maybe a bigger part of him than he wanted to admit. But it was a bad idea, he knew it was. It already took all of his strength to get this far… and if he messed it up, he couldn't fulfill his promise. Where would Jack be then? Just another fuck up with a dog.
Although, would it really be so wrong to see him one last time? Was Jack really so weak willed that just the sight of him would send him home? Wasn't it only right—after everything he's done—to say goodbye?
But then, he had no idea how the other would react. What if he hated Jack after everything that happened? What if he was angry, and refused to see him? It was understandable really, especially if he knew what Jack was planning. But he was doing it for him. Would he understand that? Jack wasn't sure.
He then decided that it was best if they never met up again at all. Goodbyes had been said years ago, as curt and cruel as they were, and the other didn't need to know that Jack was here. It would only upset the both of them. Jack would be in and out, just as originally planned, and be done with this business once and for all.
At least, that's what he kept trying to tell himself. But Jack had done the deed of thinking, and it got him into trouble, just as he knew it would. He'd gotten so wrapped up in his thoughts that he'd lost track of where his feet traitorously led him. Now Jack stood outside of the last room in the building.
And he heard something.
His heart jumped at the sound. It was too loud to be apart of the usual ambiance, and too… heart wrenchingly real. It was too organic for something originally Freddy's, but it was almost animalistic. It reminded Jack of a wolf he saw at the zoo once as a kid, howling it's mourning cry at the sky. He had a sinking realization even before he peeked into the doorway.
Jack froze.
In the corner of the room was a shivering mass. The sickly light that fell from the ceiling highlighted a curve of shoulders and the top of a slumped head. The shoulders shook with the weight of a hurricane ripping the earth apart. Jack recognized the sound as the desperate sobs tearing themselves out from the huddled body.
His heart sank. His breath caught in his throat.
It had been years, now. Years since Bakersfield, years since Jack had seen him. Years since he'd encased him in this tomb.
It was Dave.
And Jack had never seen anyone look so pathetic. He certainly didn't look like a boogeyman now.
He was mumbling incomprehensible words beneath his wailing. Jack couldn't understand a word of it, outside of—he realized—the nickname Dave fondly called him.
Oh…
Jack felt as if the building was crumbling around him. His heart very well may stop. He stood there—horrified—eyes wide with realization, feeling as if he'd just been splashed by a frigid wave.
Oh… Dave… What have I done?
He couldn't tear his eyes away from the tightly curled figure in front of him. He was so miserable, and Jack couldn't help the guilt that wound deeply in his heart. This was his fault, he did this. Dave was a tragic man before, but it couldn't be anywhere as tragic as this. Dave wouldn't be here, trapped in his steel casing, if not for the man he insisted on spending time with. Jack felt sick to his stomach.
How could he have let it get this far?
He had to leave, he couldn't stand to look at this anymore. He took a step back, and stumbled over a broken tv that had been left in the middle of the hall. the silence of the place was cut by the sound of Jack's foot hitting glass. He dropped the gallon, and gasoline spilled across the faded tiles.
And Dave's head snapped up as quickly as it all happened.
He gasped between sobs, which came out as a kind of hiccup. The jaw of Springbonnie's suit creaked open as he gaped at the man in the doorway.
Shit.
"Old Sport…?" An unfamiliarly hoarse voice croaked. "Is it… is it really you?"
There was no way Jack could sneak out now, not after he'd been seen. Well… he'd wanted to say goodbye, hadn't? Now was his chance.
"I…"
Jack couldn't find his words. It was as if his throat grasped his voice, unwilling to let it escape despite how he opened his mouth and stuttered. He was practically choking on his own speech. Perhaps… perhaps it was it was more than words getting stuck in his throat.
"It's been so long…" Dave rasped, struggling to pull himself to his feet. At some point, he gave up, desperately scooting closer. "Please, come closer, I want to see you again-"
As Dave pulled himself near, Jack took a step away. His back hit the wall. He finally found his words:
"Dave. Stop."
The other looked as if he'd been shot. He recoiled into himself, and despair washed over his form. Jack felt another stab of guilt.
"Why? Old Sport… what's wrong?"
"Please, Dave…" his voice broke. "Stop talking."
Despite the animatronic face, Jack could see the betrayal in his eyes. It hurt as deeply as a knife twisting into his body (which was a pain he'd experienced first hand.)
"I don't understand. Don't you miss me? Isn't that why you're here?"
Jack felt his own emotions bubbling up in his throat, despite his attempts to stomp them down. He couldn't let something slip onto his face, now now. He couldn't show what he felt, it would make what he had to do so much harder.
"Stop, please," he clutched the sides of his head, pleading. Dave must've felt the anguish in his tone, and he acquisced.
This goodbye wasn't turning out how he thought it would, not at all. It wasn't much of a goodbye at all. It certainly wasn't giving him the peace of mind he hoped for.
I can't listen to this anymore, Jack thought. Instead, he said:
"I'm not here to stay. I'm here to- well-" he thought over his words as Davetrap's ears fell. Jack took a deep breath. "I'm here to set your soul free, Dave. You have to let go. And you can't, not when you're obsessing over me."
He winced at his own harsh wording.
"What do you…?" Dave began, but he must've known what Jack was implying.
"No, no, Old Sport," he gasped. "I don't want that, I want you. I don't want to let go, I won't."
This wasn't the anger Jack was expecting. It wasn't the furious reaction of one who'd been scorned. It wasn't rage at his fate. It was desperation. Desperation and… yearning.
Despair overwhelmed the guilt inside. Jack clenched his eyes shut, holding back the tears that threatened to escape. His heart began to race as his thoughts tore their way out of his mouth.
"Why?!" he cried. "Why- why, after all this time, do you still… care about me?"
There was another word hidden beneath the surface. But Jack wouldn't say the word "love."
"Don't you realize who did this to you? Me, Dave. I was the one who helped springlock you, I was the one who built this place! I came here tonight to burn this place down."
The world faded around him, and he couldn't stop. It was like there was a demon worming its way out. But Jack couldn't regret what he said, at least he'd be telling the truth for once in his life. Maybe Dave would finally get it.
"You're better without me," his voice wound down with a dry sob. "Doesn't freedom sound better than… this?"
He gestured to Davetrap's crumpled form. He lay still for a long moment, and Jack started to worry that he'd gone too far. Finally, Dave met his eyes.
"Of course I remember what you did, Old Sport," he said. "I guess I… wasn't correct about this place's origins, but I was sure you were behind it, and-"
He shook his head. "No, I can't move on, don't you see? I- I love you, I don't think my soul can find rest, not now. Not like this."
Jack wasn't quite sure how to describe his emotions, but he was certain he felt frustration. Even without trying, he'd messed up once again. How many more people's live would he ruin in trying to fulfill some old promise?
"Well, what do you want me to do?" he replied, exasperated.
"Take me with you!" he practically burst out. "Don't leave me here—like this—please."
Jack flinched.
"Dave… I can't."
"Please… Don't leave me alone again. I've been alone for so long."
He sounded so broken… how familiar. Realization had began to creep in before the conversation started, but now the truth was frustratingly clear.
Dave was right. He'd never move on in this state. If Jack burned down Fazbender's Fright like he originally intended, he was sure that Davetrap would find a way to survive and come back as he always did. Nobody had managed to kill him yet, what made Jack think he could do it now?
But… what if there was another way to finish things? It was a treacherous thought that began to snake its way into his mind, but he listened to it. What if there was another way to tie up the loose end that didn't involve burning down the place?
…What if he heard Dave out?
It was a dangerous thought. Dave was still a killer, and his attachment to Jack was… unhealthy, to say the least. But maybe there was a way to work through it together. Maybe there was a path that lead to a better ending in the long run.
It certainly wouldn't be easy. It certainly wasn't convenient. It had the chance to be painful… for who, Jack wasn't sure.
But he found himself speaking before he could stop himself.
"…Okay."
Davetrap's head shot up in disbelief.
"What, really?"
"Yeah, really," Jack sighed. "Look- you're right. I guess. I can tell you won't move on like this. You'll probably like- drag yourself out of the fiery wreckage or something."
Dave nodded vigorously.
"I'll take you home with me… but you have to listen first."
"Of course, anything!"
His eyes were wide, and puppy-like. Jack wasn't sure how honest he was being, but only time would tell.
"First, no more killing people," Jack began. "No more attacking, luring, or maiming. None of that, no more."
Dave slumped his shoulders, and looked down at the floor. "You… really hated that, didn't you?"
"Yes," Jack pressed. "Second: no more schemes or hare-brained plots. Specifically ones that will inevitably get the police involved."
Dave looked a little disheartened, but nodded with a new vigor.
"And finally… I'm bringing you home so you can try and get better. I want you to try and move on. Please don't forget that."
There wasn't a moment of hesitation in Dave's response. "I promise."
Jack wasn't sure if he entirely believed him yet. But—well—he had time to prove him wrong. He hoped he would prove him wrong, he hoped he was doing the right thing.
He held out his hand and Dave took it. He was heavy, but Jack helped him to his feet. He held back a sharp gasp as he took in the details of his current state. His suit had acquired much tear since he'd last seen him, and it appeared that the classic Freddy's mold was seeping into Davetrap as well. He had a bit of squint, but Jack chalked it up to the shitty lighting. Bits of metal stuck out from his hand, and poked Jack's as he held it.
"Come on, I'm parked outside."
As the two walked side by side, he felt unease. The green, dirty halls of Fazbender's Fright passed by in a slow, sickening blur. It was as if the building was saying a goodbye of its own. He didn't know what would become of the old place, now that he was left with little reason to burn it down. He might still light it up though, to tie up any loose ends (and because he was partial to arson). He pushed through the front doors this time, taking one last glance at the greenish walls and the tacky sign.
Jack knew this was against his better judgement. And yet, a small flicker of foolish hope sparked itself in his chest. Dave oggled his car with wonder, as though it wasn't the most basic vehicle in the world, and Jack was silent with thought. The path laid out before him was uncertain, but he wondered if maybe, just maybe, he could finally do something right. He wondered if he could finally free somebody without a more powerful being looking over his shoulder.
He was on his own.
I hope I know what I'm getting myself into…