Chapter Text
Fire. And a wreckage. Arnold’s legs and torso were pinned under the weight of his totaled truck, with the flames licking at his back and smoke drifting out of the cracked window.
Just a few minutes before- it had to have only been minutes, the Mimic smashed through the front of his car and got the both of them into a crash. It only had eyes for the data drive, plucking it from Arnold’s hand and cradling it to its chest, hobbling off into the night. God knows where that thing is now; and Fazbear Entertainment was going to send another team after him, into that death trap to join the other corpses he saw in the mascot suits.
He wasn’t much better off than them. As he blearily stared at the road ahead, with his vision fading in and out, all Arnold could think was that they couldn’t repo his truck now. Not in a way that mattered. After all, he was going to die.
Perhaps it was the sleep deprivation getting to him, but that realization seemed like the funniest thing in the world. Arnold wheezed out a low chuckle, taking in as much smoke as he wanted to risk without causing the truck to press into the back of his ribs. He was going to die. All of that effort to follow orders, to get through one more shift for the spare hope that he could drag himself out of this hole he found himself in, to survive monster after death trap after ghost and animatronic.
And he was going to die.
If Arnold knew this before driving here, he would have just chanced taking a nap and ignoring his orders. The results would have been worse, what, with being jobless and fully out of a home, but he’d be alive. Surely, that was worth something.
Oh, who was he kidding. Arnold would have thrown himself into Murray’s Costume Manor either way. He loses everything, regardless of what he does. Might as well get some permanent shut-eye at the end of it.
The fire was getting unbearable at this point. It crisped his clothes and would start burning his skin soon. Something warm and wet was soaking into his shirt, but he didn’t want to think too hard about what he knew it was. Ignore the fresh pain starting to sear his back. It was starting to fade as soon as it came, he wouldn’t need to worry about it for much longer.
Black spots were dancing across his vision, growing larger and larger. They stuck with a sense of finality, leaving everything they touched blurred and dimmed. His eyelids were getting heavy, falling and blocking what little was left of his sight. The sounds of the fire crackling around him faded into the background, mixing with a faint rumbling noise that seemed to grow with time.
But there wasn’t time to ponder that. At long last, everything went dark. And he was finally, finally able to rest.
—--
“...ey, I think he’s..”
“Is there anyone else who can…”
“...just me. Don’t worry, I…”
…this did not feel like rest.
Arnold was awake, in a stiff bed, with the smell of chemicals lingering in the air and a tube stuck far up his nose. In any normal circumstances, this would be extremely uncomfortable, but after nearly two days without sleep, this might as well be the fanciest mattress in the world. And yet, he still felt tired. Groggy, maybe. Perhaps his body overslept to compensate..? It made sense- it was a miracle he was even alive right now.
Two voices continued to murmur a few feet away, their words escaping his brain’s grasp. Something to his left made a beeping noise every few seconds. Repeating over, and over, and over like a clock’s ticking. But it couldn’t be a clock, it was too.. Synthetic, compared to the gentle clicking noise that naturally came from the teeth of gears snapping into place.
One of the voices hummed, then spoke up.
“I’ll tell Arnie when he wakes up. May I get some time alone with him?”
Oh.
It was him .
Arnold would recognize that voice anywhere. Especially after last night.
It might not have been the real Dispatch guiding him around the Manor, for who knows how long, but the anger that flared up in him definitely was. He had no reason to be upset with Dispatch- correction, he had no reason to be upset with Dispatch for last night . There was plenty to be pissed at when remembering the past jobs he had Dispatch hovering over him like a gnat.
Arnold heard a murmured “Of course,” then footsteps, and finally the creak of a door opening and then shut back in place. More footsteps followed after; heavier clomps, with no regard for keeping the quiet atmosphere intact.
He must have pulled up a chair afterwards, that would explain the scraping noise, and then sat down. It was already obvious that he was probably in a hospital, and for some godforsaken reason, his superior came in to check on him. Not like anyone else would. Anyone who would understandably be concerned was either dead or too far away, if Fazbear even told them about his condition.
Arnold refused to open his eyes. There was no need to show Dispatch that he was awake, and have a conversation that he was too exhausted to even think about. He was content just to listen this time, like how their conversations usually went.
—
Drew sighed, propping his elbows on his knees so he could knit his fingers together and use them to hold up his head. He thought he was getting better at keeping up appearances, but maintaining a smile that didn’t cross the line from polite to over-enthusiastic for every conversation he had in the past two hours was exhausting.
But, Arnold was much worse for wear. A nasal cannula ran from his face to a oxygen concentrator just to the side of his bed. An IV followed from his wrist, trailing up, up, and up until it hit a bag full of medicine, water, or other mystery liquid. Drew didn’t spend enough time in hospitals to hazard a more specific guess.
Splints made of pillows propped up Arnold’s ankles, arms, and back. He looked like a doll stuck in specialty packaging made for shipment. The bandages didn’t help that image, wrapping tightly around wherever the fire had touched and then some.
“What happened to you, Arnold..?” He whispered.
The machines in the room nearly drowned out his words, whirring and beeping shoving down his voice like an unwanted weed. Despite how intrusive it made him feel, this could be used to his advantage. Fazbear Entertainment gave him a few things to tell Arnold, so he might as well practice the way he wanted to word it.
Drew pulled out a folded paper from his back pocket and opened it up, scanning over the blocks of text. Technical jargon, stipulations, citations of some random laws that really ought to be familiar by now, and after some time sifting through all of the corporate padding, he got to the important news. Truck, bills, company property, and that fun little addition Drew pulled a few strings to get added.
“Ahem.. greetings, Fazbear employee. After recent events concerning your last assignment, Fazbear Entertainment has no choice but to make good on the consequences outlined in your contract. This entails repossessing your truck, and docking your pay from $10.50 an hour to $7.” Drew chuckled, glancing up at Arnold’s unconscious body. “Hey, better than minimum wage, right?”
Arnold stirred, his head tilting toward Dispatch’s voice, then jerking away to face the ventilator. That was a lot more movement than he’d shown before- was he awake?
No, probably not. The doctors said he’d need an extra day or two. And regardless, he still needed to practice, so Arnold had better sleep for just a bit longer.
“Glad to know you agree.” He continued, “Now, your stuff was originally going to be up for auction, as per clause 8.1.5, but by some miracle, all of your belongings have been gathered by one person for you to pick up at your leisure.” Drew tried to keep his voice appropriately monotone, but remembering how the auction went down made his smile audible in his words. Seeing how angry everyone had gotten, you’d think smoke would start pouring out of their ears!
He squinted down at the paper, and.. Ah, this part. The burning question everyone wanted the answers to, himself included. No need to bring that up now.
“Your failures would normally be grounds for termination. But, after a quick examination of your truck’s dashcam footage, we have decided against it. Instead, you will continue to work for Fazbear Entertainment, and with your experience dealing with the rogue endoskeleton, lead an extraction team through the remains of Murray’s Costume Manor to retrieve anything salvageable. Does this sound good?”
Drew’s faithful audience of one didn’t respond, only moving his head further on the pillow to get away. His voice wasn’t that loud, Drew knew that. Arnold’s unconscious body was just being dramatic.
“Perfect. Now, looking at your records, you’ve been teetering on the edge of homelessness for the past year or so.” There was a tiny rustling noise, imperceptible over the suffocating atmosphere in the room. “We recognize that it can be difficult to lead and manage a team under these conditions. So, Fazbear Entertainment is delighted to offer for you to stay with one of our employees at their private residence, until you can get yourself back on your feet. In other words…”
A large grin spread over Drew’s face, and he leaned in closer to the hospital bed. “You get to live with me! How does that sound?”
Heh, that was a pretty good run. Drew leaned back in his chair, a smug grin on his face. A few things he could change, like saying Arnold’s change in pay with his new responsibilities, but for a first try? It was pretty good, if he said so himself. Drew looked up, and-
-oh.
Oh no.
Arnold was staring right at him.