Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Dyle first saw the flyer, he had just huffed under his breath and ignored it. That pink was atrocious, and he may have been between jobs, but he wasn't that desperate.

And then Dyle kept being between jobs, and the flyer kept popping up. Around the corner at the deli he always visited? It was there. The bench he favored at the park? It was there.

It got to the point that he could no longer ignore it - and that's why he finds himself in this dingy office. Dust lingers on the shelves, but the floor is suspiciously clean, sparkling despite the yellowing from age. The computer is practically ancient, taking forever to boot up as he makes himself comfortable in his chair, adjusting his cap. He adjusts his cap again. Then again. And then he just throws it to the side with an annoyed scoff.

"Bark!"

What the fuck was that?

Dyle cranes his neck, and there, on the dingy computer interface, a small dog logo awaits next to the password login screen.

It barks again.

Dyle just stares at it before deciding he could care less. The keys crackle beneath his fingertips, and he vaguely worries he'll break them, but he manages to type in the ridiculously long employee number he was given, and the screen changes.

"Hello!" an overly cheery voice greets. "I am system FNAF1-P3BBL3, but my name is Pebble. Bark! I'll be your guide for your stay!"

He supposes that's fine. This place is renowned for its mechanical genius, after all; Dyle really shouldn't be shocked by an old-ass computer managing to run a high-tech AI.

"The phone should ring any moment now, bark!"

Ring it does. The loud noise nearly makes Dyle leap out of his skin, clutching at his chest and flinging the phone across the room with the other - although it just continues to ring.

Cautiously, slowly, Dyle gets his wits back - and then he curses, getting up and grabbing the phone before plopping into his creaky desk chair once more.

The line clicks a few more times before someone finally picks up. Dyle would've thought this was an automated message, if not for the squealing whine of an old air conditioner in the background.

"Uh, hello hello," the man on the other side drawls, managing to sound exasperated and exhausted at once - a feat Dyle is sure he'll be able to complete once he's done with his shift tonight. "This is the mandatory greeting call. I've actually worked in your office before you, so I know it can seem underwhelming, but you'll be busy by the time the night ends… haha."

A tinkle of glass. The man clears his throat. "Uh, shit, I gotta read this entire thing-? 'Welcome to Dandicus’s Pizza, a magical place for kids and grown-ups alike, where fantasy and fun come to life. Dandifer Entertainment is not responsible for damage to property or person. Upon discovering that damage or death has occurred, a missing person report will be filed within 90 days, or as soon property and premises have been thoroughly cleaned and bleached, and the carpets have been replaced.'"

Dyle blinks. "…Sorry?"

"I know that sounds bad," the other guy sighs, and Dyle can hear shuffling, like he's searching through a packet or pamphlet of some sort. "But it's just policy, so don't worry…

"So, yeah, the animatronics are… some interesting pieces of work. At night, there's something wrong with their code sequence, so they may wander around. Uh, don't worry about it, but you may not be seen as a toon to them?"

"What?"

The other guy sniffles. "Heh, yeah, they may see you as an endoskeleton. Since they're trained to repair each other, they may try to… I dunno, force you into a suit. But like, the suits have stuff in them already, so… imagine having your eyes and teeth evicted. That's what'll happen. You're probably shocked, but they obviously can't tell you this beforehand, or you wouldn't have signed up-"

"For good fucking reason," Dyle mutters, then throws his hands up - forgetting that the phone is wired, and nearly tugging the plug from the wall. He curses, and then lowers it back to his ear.

"-So just check your cameras, and close doors when necessary. But only when necessary; the owner is kind of a stickler for money saving… And have a good night!"

Click. Dyle wants to slam the phone down with a burning passion, but instead, he gently lowers it into the red plastic case, and then screams into his hands.

Breathe, he reminds himself. The doors are locked from the outside, you have to stay in here.

Dyle's eyes trail to the vent, but it's far too small for him.

"Bark!"

"Oh, not you again-"

"I see you've had a lovely call!" the dog assistant cheers, and a crappy audio of some sort of party popper plays. Dyle just stares at the computer in disbelief. "Are you ready for your first day - or, haha, should I say night?"

The computer whirs, and Dyle just sighs heavily.

He's getting the feeling that it's going to be a long shift - and not just because of the apparently murderous robots.

An old graphic of the doors pops up, glitching on the screen. "To open the doors, press the green button. To close them, press the red button. Bark! But be warned, sometimes the building doesn't have enough energy to keep them closed, so be careful to conserve what you can!"

Dyle's eye twitches. They're going to put him in a building… with robots that want his blood… and still want to cheap out on money. How skeevy can someone be?

This owner is already on his bad side, and not just because he's probably gonna be dead by tomorrow morning.

Another graphic pops up, this time of the same vents that Dyle was staring at earlier. "Some animatronics can be a bit mischievious!" Pebble remarks with too much joy for such a worrying sentence. "Don't worry, you can scare them off with your flashlight! But beware, your flashlight has a limited battery, and you don't want to waste it!"

"Yeah, that seems to be a common theme," Dyle mutters spitefully, toeing at a chipped tile. "Get to the fuckin' point, dog."

The audio transmission stutters, like it knows what he said. "S-Sometimes, you may have the urge to leave the office. Please, for your own safety, refrain from doing so, bark! If you need to use the bathroom, there is one at the back of the office."

That was a bathroom? It was barely big enough to contain a feather, let alone a toilet. Yet another tick against the owner; no decent person gives their workers approximately two inches of piss space.

"Do you have any questions?" The dog asks, animated tail wagging.

Dyle stares at the screen for a long moment. "Yeah, I-"

"Good! If you have none, then I'll be going offline. You can boot me up if you need me to repeat the instructions!"

He sighs again.

At least the dog is cute.

Despite the danger that probably seeks him out from the shadows, the night is quiet. There are no windows in the office, but Dyle can almost imagine the glimmer of the moonlight on his face.

Until he hears screeching metal from somewhere in the distance, pulling up the cameras.

Something moves in the shadows of the kitchens, just out of sight from the cameras, but he can see its reflection on the floor tiles.

Sprout.

He'd never known the friendly chef's body could deteriorate so badly, his apron torn and speckled with something that looks suspiciously like blood. One of his arms is mangled, wires and cords hanging taut - giving it the gaunt appearance of an arm that's been torn apart at the elbow and put back together to be longer.

The animatronic's claws scrape walls in the background, and Dyle shudders, not because he's scared, but because he's always hated the shriek of metal on porcelain, and now is no exception.

"Is that necessary?" he grumbles, watching as the emaciated strawberry dramatically stomps through the hall, dragging his feet like his body is too heavy for his frame. "Like, you're giving yourself away."

Despite that, the fucker keeps coming, and Dyle closes the doors with an exasperated look. "C'mon now, at least try harder than that…"

The clock pauses, and then snorts.

Maybe he shouldn't be goading the seven-foot tall killing machines into upgrading their tactics.

Eh. He doesn't really care.

Finally, after a few tense moments, the beating of metallic fists on the shitty doors stalls. Dyle waits, and waits, and waits - until the energy bar beeps at him, and he curses, slamming his fist onto the green button.

The hallway is dark, shadows peering down at him. Every flicker of the overhead lights, shift of the streamers that decorate the ceiling - it makes him twitch.

For a long moment, nothing is there.

Dyle heads back into the office.

"Pebble," he calls, sitting in his seat and twisting to face the doors. His position is as relaxed as he can force it to be. "How long until energy regenerates?"

The dog AI barks, and its animated tail wags. "One minute!"

Fuck.

Dyle shrinks into the extremely uncomfortable armchair.

Surely this can't go wrong.

He peeks an eye open. He hadn't even realized he'd closed them.

…Nothing went wrong?

Pebble barks again, his tongue lolling out on-screen. "I closed the doors for you once energy was stable enough, bark! I hope you don't mind."

Oh, this beautiful dog. Dyle wants to kiss its forehead, but the screen is as dusty as his mother's grave, and he'd rather die. Probably.

"Thank you," the clock says after a beat passes, a gloved hand fiddling with his braided chain. "I appreciate that, Pebble. You may have just saved my life."

"My pleasure!"

Pebble is his new best friend. Fuck that phone guy.

The rest of the night goes relatively smoothly, with only Sprout active. Dyle manages to learn most of his mannerisms - lurking in the shadows for a few minutes before stomping his heavy ass down the hall - and starts writing them on the back of paper plate art projects.

Hopefully the kids that made them don't mind, because it's kinda life or death.

If Dyle doesn't manage to get out of here and call the fucking cops, perhaps the notes could - at the very least - help another.

The morning comes with a hefty sigh and a brushing of dust from Dyle's monocle.

It's not a win. Not really. Dyle is exhausted, his fingers are sore, and he's trembling.

With weak knees, he stumbles out of the door, and into his car. The screech of metal in the hinges makes Dyle flinch.

"Fuck," he sighs, leaning his face against the steering wheel. "Tomorrow is gonna be ass."

The drive back home is kept in silence, heavy and thick with exasperated tension. Dyle wants to cry. He wants to scream. He also, maybe, kinda wants to drive off the side of the bridge.

He stares at the railing longingly, and rides past.

Hopefully tomorrow will be similar.

Chapter Text

Back in the crusty office, Dyle stares longingly at the front doors on the security camera.

Maybe if he wasn't such a coward, he would go for it; but alas, he is, and he'd really rather not fuck around and find out what the afterlife is like.

Pebble's animated face beams down at him as the computer slowly boots up, screen glitching once - twice - and then smoothing out.

"Welcome back!" the dog AI greets, tail wagging in an almost endearing manner. "I'm glad to see you've returned safely. Due to new protocols, as of every night, you will now receive a phone call!"

Dyle blinks.

O…kay? He doesn't care anymore.

The phone call from yesterday was irritating, but it was informational, and Dyle isn't one to ignore what little help he can get.

"Hello hello," the voice on the other end drawls, sounding even more tired than yesterday - and that's an achievement, really, considering he'd already had the tone of a man who was just waiting for the sweet release of death. "Uh, yeah, I didn't expect to have to talk to you again… Not to be rude or anything."

"Yeah, well, it's still rude."

The man just ignores him; he's really starting to wonder if the line even goes both ways. "Mm… y'know, I don't really care for formalities. The company isn't, like, listening to this recording. They're too broke to care what I say. So from one guard to another, the twisteds? Those scraggly-ass things? They're going to get more active."

Oh hell no. He thought yesterday was bad, what with that pizza freak chasing him down, but sure, it gets worse. This is fine.

…At least this guy is warning him?

"Watch out for the twisted in the cove. No one really knows what she looks like now, but she's fast, man. She'll have her jaws on you before you know what's happened."

Fast twisted, huh? Dyle isn't quite sure what to expect yet, considering everything that's been going on. He knows Sprout was fast, but this one - whose name he doesn't even know, no thanks to Phone Guy - is an undetermined variable.

Dyle only realizes that the ticking of his clock has sped up when he glances back down at the computer, the glossy screen reflecting his whirling face.

He takes a breath.

Phone Guy speaks.

"Look, she doesn't like being seen. She likes the shadows. Just keep routinely checking the cameras and blind spots, and you'll be fine. And when I say she doesn't like being seen, I mean it - don't look at her through the windows, no matter how much you want to. It'll end badly.

"Just… listen, man, be safe," the phone guy sighs, sounding more human than before as Dyle can hear shuffling - presumably papers, or even a hand being dragged down his face. "I don't want you dead, that's why I'm doing this. Just keep doing what you're doing."

"Oh," Dyle blurts. "So you can hear me."

"I'm not mentally strong enough for this shit."

Click.

Dyle stares at the phone in a mixture of thinly veiled rage and confusion.

It's one thing confirmed - these messages are real time, and this guy seems experienced - although whether it's with guards dying or being a guard himself, Dyle isn't quite sure yet.

Perhaps tomorrow.

"I'm not letting you in," Dyle drawls, staring at the doors as he taps his foot in impatience.

The pizza freak is back, and draining his energy again; supposedly the twisted's favorite pasttime.

"Can you just go away?" the clock mutters, rolling his eyes up at the wall. "Being here isn't really doing anything for you or me, so…"

No matter how much Dyle talks, though, Sprout doesn't seem interested in communicating. Instead, he seems far more into slamming his fists against the security room's walls, resulting in a wet, meaty thunk - like the twisted's knuckles are splitting - with every hit.

"Rude."

For some reason, behind the repetitive thundering hits, he feels like something is wrong, like he's forgetting something.

Computer? On, and Pebble's currently offline to conserve energy.

Doors? Closed, so he doesn't get pummeled into the next life.

So what could it be?

His gaze wanders to the monitors overhead, and he throws his hands into the air. "Aw, fuck! Now look what you've done, your friend is out and about! Thanks for nothing, you meathead!"

With Dyle's words come slow silence, like Sprout knows what's coming.

If he doesn't open the doors, by the time the unnamed gets here, they'll open out of lack of energy.

If he does, then he risks getting hit either way, as he isn't sure of the speed.

He's really, really screwed.

The doors open with a click, and Dyle stares out into the abyss. Somewhere, within it, something is staring back.

There.

A blur of shiny ammonite lunges for him, fangs and dripping maw unlatched from what could've been a pretty face before, but most certainly isn't now.

Isn't that…?

The face of his childhood stares down at him, and Dyle slams down the button, gleaming metal swiftly overtaking his view.

"Fuck," he breathes, clutching at his chest with a gloved hand as he stumbles back, dropping into his seat. "Shelly."

She always was his favorite. An unpopular opinion, sure, but Dyle likes dinosaurs, and so did she - not to mention that she seemed to have as many fans as he did friends, which is to say, none.

Shelly was his role model, when he was younger, bright and determined and kind despite everything.

Now, as he stares at his own reflection, he wonders if she even knows what she's become.

The rest of the night is mostly a blur. He can't get her face out of his head.

Those eyes. She seemed so mad, but not at him - her gaze went through him. Dyle doesn't know what's going on, but something's wrong. These animatronics can't be just stir-crazy - as he knows now.

Vee comes, every now and then. She's not quite as fierce, but more quiet, her eyes glaring into the camera with red sclera as she smiles. It's crooked, and ugly, and maybe there's flesh stuck between the television's teeth, but it's a smile nonetheless.

He thinks he really hates this job.

Dyle knows he really hates this job.

As he gets into his car and leans his head against the steering wheel, he lets out a shuddering breath.

"God, the money was not worth it."