Chapter Text
Chocolate or lavender?
It's not often that a grocery store customer could see a bald guy carefully picking a flavor of shampoo in a hair care aisle, but if that was anyone's kink, then today was their lucky day.
You press your lips together as your narrowed eyes flick between the two shampoo bottles in your hands. You look to the right: chocolate. A good choice - he seems like a guy who'd have a sweet tooth. But then again, that did not necessarily translate into liking chocolate-scented shampoo, did it? So, you look to the left: lavender. Not a bad choice either - he would probably enjoy the scent of flowers.
That thought sparks another one, and another, and then you're imagining buying a bouquet of flowers and bringing it home to give it to him (because you'd be living together at some point, obviously). He'd smile and thank you for the gift, and then he'd kiss you gently, cupping your face with both hands-
A tap on your shoulder makes you whirl around, almost dropping the shampoo bottles you were holding. You blink as you return to reality, and find yourself face-to-face with a tired-looking employee. They regard you with half-lidded eyes and wordlessly point to the clock on the wall near the store entrance. It's 22:02.
You realize you're not only going to annoy this employee if you stay any longer past closing time, but also that you're going to be late for your shift as well. You hurriedly mutter a "sorry" to the employee before finally throwing the lavender-scented shampoo into the cart and placing the chocolate one back onto the shelf.
Several minutes later, you find yourself in your car, staring at the shampoo bottle you've picked out. Dammit. You should've gone with the chocolate one.
You carefully put the bottle back into the bag and start the car.
When you pull into the driveway of your house, you notice that the lights are on. You frown as you finish parking and turn off the engine. After grabbing the grocery bag in one hand and house keys in the other, you hobble towards the front door, leaning sideways as the groceries outweigh you. You've never been particularly strong, no matter how much you like to imagine picking him up and spinning him around.
Sure enough, you find Dee sitting in the kitchen, writing something in her notebook. You silently approach the table and place the bag down before turning to her.
"Why're you awake?" You say instead of a greeting.
She doesn't even look up to meet your eyes. "Peter called and it woke me up. Couldn't fall back asleep."
"Well maybe you could've fallen asleep if you stayed in your bed," you say, your eyebrows furrowing. "Was it something urgent?"
"I think he just wanted to talk," Dee shrugs. She closes her notebook and clicks the pen off before finally raising her gaze. She doesn't look tired in the slightest, and you wonder if she was ever in her bed in the first place. She nods at the bag of groceries. "You want help with that?"
"Only if you go to bed after," you say, pulling out a carton of eggs.
Dee puffs out a breath. "Here I am, offering my help out of the goodness of my heart, and you're trying to make this into a transaction?"
"You can always go to bed right now instead," you raise an eyebrow in a clear challenge. She huffs again, rolling her eyes, but hops off her chair and digs into the bag as well.
You and your sister unload the groceries in silence for a bit, the ritual familiar and easy. That is, until Dee pulls out the shampoo bottle.
She tilts her head in confusion, turning the bottle in her hands as you stand next to her, sweating. You manage to keep a flat face, thankfully, when she looks up at you.
"Who's this for?" She asks innocently, as if gears aren't already turning in her head.
"Uh," you, like the good liar that you are. "You?"
"I didn't ask you to buy me shampoo," she remarks. She glances back down at the bottle, then back up at you, and smiles, showing teeth, narrowing her eyes in such a way you know what she's going to say before she does. "Is this for... your workplace crush?"
"No!" You object immediately. "Why would I- why would I buy shampoo for my- I don't even have a 'workplace crush'!"
"Sure thing, bro," she teases, her smile only growing. "As if I don't hear you talking to him late at night."
You freeze. You didn't know she could hear that.
"That- That doesn't prove anything!" You say, refusing to back down.
"Mhm," she hums before turning away from you to place the shampoo bottle on the table. "Tell him I said hi. And I want to see him sometime, okay?"
"No promises," you mutter, grabbing the bottle and hurrying off to put it into the bathroom.
You wish you could see him as well.
***
It started off innocently enough.
You got a new job at Freddy Fazbender's after a long period of being unemployed. This wasn't your first choice, or the second one, but, well, beggars can't be choosers. You've always been a night owl, so adapting to the night shift didn't seem like that much of a challenge.
On your first day, you arrived at the restaurant half an hour before midnight, the start of shift, so the manager could show you around. The place wasn't that big, so it wasn't before long that your orientation finished, and the manager vacated the premises, leaving you alone.
Alone with the tape.
The manager briefly mentioned it to you when they showed you your office, explaining that they were recorded to help new employees adapt more quickly to the job. You weren't sure what could be so difficult about your job as a night guard, which mostly consisted of staring at the monitors and trying not to fall asleep, so you decided to ignore it.
But, well, your shift lasted for six hours, and you foolishly forgot to bring any sort of entertainment with you, so your gaze eventually landed on the tape. You shrugged and decided, "why the hell not," and put it into the player.
"Well hello there!" Came the voice from the tape player. "If you're hearing this, then you're the unlucky fella who got the night shift! Congrats! Hope you're prepared for six hours of staring at the screens until your eyes bleed and you feel like tearing your hair out!"
You unconsciously touch the smooth skin of your head. Well, you don't need to be afraid of that, at least. But the line about eyes bleeding was... worrying, to say the least.
The manager that showed you around the place did look tired, and you just wrote it off as it being the end of their shift, but now you're beginning to suspect that all Fazbender's employees might just hate their jobs. Which was awfully ironic for a place that is supposed to bring happiness and wonder into children's lives.
Unlike the manager though, the voice on the tape didn't sound exhausted. On the contrary, it seemed energetic and lively. You find yourself sitting up straighter in your chair to get closer to the tape player, taken in by the cheery mood of the person talking to you.
No, not talking to you. Recording the tape. Why did you think that?
"So anyway, I'm supposed to give you instructions or whatever," the voice continues as you lean back in your chair again, trying to relax. "Yeah, let's see here..." A shuffling of papers can be heard, and you think about this person flipping through a company-issued instruction manual. "Okay so, point number uno: assess the perimeter... make sure all the exits are closed..." More paper shuffling before there's a sound of something being dropped onto the floor. "Ah, whatever! What do these corporate pricks know anyway?"
You chuckle unexpectedly and promptly stop yourself, masking it as clearing your throat, as if there was someone around to act in front of. There was yourself, of course, and you are not laughing at a stupid tape in front of yourself.
"The thing is, your job is easy-peasy, no need for all that jargon," the recorder says. "Just sit on your ass and watch the cameras to make sure no one breaks in. To be honest with you, the only valuable things in this shithole are the animatronics and the springlock suits, and you sure as hell are bound to notice if someone was trying to haul those out."
You imagine someone trying to slowly carry those huge machines out of the restaurant with two hands, and let out a breath of air.
The voice, meanwhile, drops lower, speaking secretively. "You know, you could theoretically just sleep through your shift. I wouldn't blame you, personally, I'm sure it's boring as fuck here at night." The tone then returns to its usual cadence. "Though, of course, if someone stole something while you were on the shift, you'd be in a hell lot of trouble. And not just 'stop cursing in front of the children, go mop the floors' kind of trouble. They'd probably make you work double night shifts! Imagine working here more than you have to! That'd be absolute hell!"
"Double night shifts," you repeat, smiling unwillingly. Okay, this guy is funny, you have to admit. Maybe you could let yourself chuckle a little.
"And if someone does break in, just stay in your office," the speaker says. "You have reinforced doors on both sides, just close 'em and call the police. No need for heroism, not after what happened to the last guy..."
You blink in bewilderment, but the voice carries on, leaving no room for questions (not that you would've been able to get an answer, anyway).
"Well, that's about it," he says. "Not sure what else to tell you. Uh... don't sexually harass the animatronics? I know the night is the time for freaky stuff, but keep it in your pants, you hear me?"
You might have to retract your previous statement about this guy's sense of humor.
"I never know how to finish these things." A long pause. "Good luck, I guess!"
And then a click as the tape finished.
It suddenly becomes very quiet in the office, the only sound being the whir of the fan. You sit there, staring at the tape recorder, silently wondering if this guy records all of the company's tapes and thinking whether there are more.
Hold that line of thinking, Jack. You don't even know the guy. And his accent was insufferable and hard to listen to. Why would you want to hear more of him speaking?
You find that you don't know how to answer.
Instead, you reach toward the tape and rewind it. Wouldn't hurt to make sure you got all of the advice correctly, right?
***
When you get home in the morning that day, you find Dee already awake. She's standing in the doorway with her arms crossed, watching you take off your shoes.
"I'm hungry," is the first thing out of her mouth after you put on your slippers and turn to her.
"Make some breakfast, then," you say, raising an eyebrow. "You're old enough to use the gas stove by yourself."
"You're my legal guardian, you're supposed to take care of me," she raises her chin defiantly.
Ah, so she's brought out the big guns. Well, there's no winning the argument now.
Since your cooking skills are rather meager, all Dee gets is a slightly burnt omelette, but she seems happy enough as she digs into it. You reheat yesterday's pizza leftovers for yourself, not forgetting to put a glass of water in the microwave along with it, as Dee keeps on insisting that it makes the pizza "fresher". As you bite into the stale crust, you are very much doubtful of that fact, but you don't want to argue with her about that again.
"How was your shift?" Asks Dee after wiping her mouth with a napkin. She always ate so fast, as if the food was going to be taken away from her at any second, and you felt guilty about that.
"Fine," you shrug. "Kinda boring."
"Won't it get lonely? You don't even have any coworkers," she narrows her eyes at you. There she goes with psychoanalyzing you as usual.
"I'll be okay, Dee, don't worry about me," you reply, waving a dismissive hand at her. "Worry about your school instead, why don't you? We're leaving in thirty minutes, go get ready."
She gives you a look that says "we're not done with this," but, nevertheless, gets up from her table and skips up the stairs to her room.
You take one final bite out of the pizza and think about how you did actually have some company for the night, albeit one that you couldn't exactly talk to. So maybe the shifts won't be all that bad.
Half an hour later, you're getting into your car to drive Dee to school. She gets in the backseat and places her shoulder bag beside her. Then you wait until she buckles her seat belt, checks that it's buckled properly (twice), and makes sure that the belt is working by tugging on it. You pretend not to know that she does it, instead occupying yourself by picking a CD disk out of a case you keep in your car and inserting it into the player. After glancing into the mirror to see that Dee is done with her ritual, you start up the car and pull out of the driveway.
You drive slowly and stay a larger-than-necessary distance away from other cars. You instinctively tense up when someone honks, knowing that Dee is going to tense up as well, so you look into the mirror to check that she's doing okay. She's clutching the hem of her skirt, staring resolutely at her knees. You move your eyes back to focus on driving.
Car rides have always been tense ever since your parents died. You've tried to suggest biking to school to Dee before, but she firmly refused because she didn't want to arrive at school all sweaty and tired (her words, not yours). You're not sure how spending half an hour on the edge of panic is better than that, but you've long since come to realize it's useless to try to convince her to do something she didn't want to.
You stop the car some distance away from the main school entrance, where the rest of the kids are being dropped off. Dee waits until the car is fully still before unbuckling her seat belt and grabbing her schoolbag.
Turning in your seat, you give her a smile. "Good luck today," you say.
"Don't oversleep and forget to pick me up," she replies flatly, already opening the door and jumping onto the asphalt. "Bye!"
"That was once, Dee!" You try to argue, but she's already closed the door. You sigh and watch her walk towards the school's front entrance. You see her notice a friend among the crowd of teenagers and wave at them before you lose sight of her.
You're happy that she's such a social person, making friends easily despite how closed-off she can be. You're glad that she has a life outside of your shared house, outside of you. Being a teenage girl with her brother as her only friend would probably suck.
But being jealous of your little sister would probably suck even more.
***
After you return home and get some sleep, you wake up and drive to school again to pick Dee up (which you are not forgetting about ever again, thank you very much). As usual, before Dee goes up to her room to do homework, she crashes on the couch, throwing her shoulder bag onto the floor, and turns the TV on before starting to flick through the channels, looking for something interesting.
Meanwhile, you go to the kitchen and open the fridge. As usual, it's mostly beer and soda that Dee likes in there. You close the fridge.
"What do you want for dinner?" You ask, coming back to the living room and heading to the phone.
"Please no more pizza," Dee whines. When you glance at the TV, you see that she's settled on some nature documentary about lions. It seems that every documentary is about lions these days.
"Okay, uh... Chinese?" You offer, mentally already trying to recall the number of the restaurant that delivers in your area. You reach for the phone, but before your hand can wrap around the receiver, it rings. You pick it up. "Yes?"
"Hello, Jack," says Peter on the other end of the line.
"Hey, Peter," you say before turning around to lean your back against the wall. "It's Peter," you tell Dee, who is watching you instead of the TV now.
"I've gathered," Dee says, raising her eyebrows.
"How are you?" Asks Peter, his voice distorted slightly by the noise of the phone line. "How's the new job?"
"Fine, and fine," you reply dismissively.
"Jack," Peter sighs, but stops before he continues the sentence. Instead, he asks, "how's Dee?"
"Still alive," you say, smirking even though he can't see you.
"Jack," he repeats with exasperation clear in his tone.
You concede. "She's fine, Peter."
"Are you talking about me?" Dee calls out, her elbows resting on the back of the couch, her head in her hands. "Tell him my new English teacher sucks!"
"Her new English teacher sucks," you tell Peter obediently.
You hear Peter chuckle under the crackles of the signal. "Why?"
"Why?" You repeat, acting as an unwilling translator between your two siblings.
"He's making us write essays," Dee says, dragging out the last word and rolling her eyes.
You frown. "I thought you liked writing?"
"It's not creative writing, it's... uncreative writing!" Dee complains. "It's restrictive and boring!"
"Apparently she doesn't like writing any more," you recount to Peter, ignoring Dee's offended "hey!". "Which is a shame, since we wanted to give her that typewriter for her fifteenth birthday."
"We were?" Peter says incredulously before catching on. "I mean, oh, of course! What a shame that she hates English now!"
"She can't hear you, you know?" You say with a smile. Damn, you love them both so much. "Anyway, how have you been?"
Peter then goes on to recount the recent troubles he's been facing at his workplace ("I swear, it's like these employees just refuse to listen to reason!"), but thankfully everything is alright at home.
"Caroline says hi, by the way," he says.
"Tell her hi from us as well," you reply, as it is customary between the two of you. "I have to order takeout now, so free the phone line, if you would."
Peter sighs again. "Jack, you need to learn how to cook one of those days."
"What? Sorry, the signal got bad suddenly, I can't hear you," you say, using your free hand to knock on the receiver. "Okay, I have to hang up now, bye!"
"Jack," Peter starts, but cuts himself off. "Goodbye, brother. Have fun on your night shift."
"You know what, I will," you say before ending the call. You turn back to Dee, who is still watching you over the back of the couch, that lion documentary playing behind her. "So, Chinese?"
***
At first, you think it's the same tape.
You find it at the same exact spot as yesterday when you arrive at the office on time for your shift. This time, though, no one was there to greet you, and you were the only person in the building. You would've wondered how exactly your employers know whether you come to the shift or not if it weren't for the red light of the camera blinking in the corner of your office.
But back to the tape. As you make yourself comfortable in the rickety desk chair, your eyes involuntarily drift towards the tape, but you forcefully tear your gaze away. If it's the same one, there's no reason to listen to it again, is there? You've already pretty much memorized every word on it.
Minutes pass as you stare at the monitors with only the fan to keep you company as you occasionally glance at the tape. But what if it's not the same one, your inner voice whispers to you. You damn your own curiosity and put off listening to the tape for as long as possible, until it eventually gets the better of you, and then you're already turning on the tape player.
"Well hello there," the voice starts, and you feel disappointment plummeting in your gut. But then- "Welcome to your second day here at Freddy's! You didn't die, lucky you!"
That was definitely not on the last tape. And you would know that, after replaying it in your head as you drifted off to sleep this afternoon.
Which, uh. You totally didn't do.
"I realized I forgot to mention some stuff when recording the previous tape, so here I am again! Hope you aren't sick of me yet. But that's the beauty of a tape, isn't it - you can turn it off at any time you want!"
Oh, no, you're definitely not doing that. Even if the voice was somewhat grating, you weren't a quitter. Which is the only reason you continue listening.
"Thankfully, you probably didn't notice anything last night, since the animatronics are pretty shy around new people," the voice continues. "Except for maybe Freddy, that damned bastard."
You aren't sure why he would describe animatronics as living beings, but you think there's a certain charm to it. Maybe after working for so long with these machines, he got overly attached to them. You can almost imagine him coming into the job and greeting each animatronic by name before doing... whatever it is that day shift employees do.
"So, uh, if you see any animatronics move or whatever, just know that it's perfectly normal! You're not in any danger, anyway. The worst they can do is uh... well, actually, that's a funny story. So I once tried to throw Foxy in the Grand Canyon (had a bad day at work), and when I picked it up (or, well, tried to), it kicked me in the balls! I'm telling you, that fox was out for my life, and no one believes me! It's just all 'oh, you activated a mechanism when you grabbed its legs' and 'the Fazbender's doesn't cover your medical bills, employee'! No sympathy in this company, I swear! What if that fox chomped off my dick, what then, huh?"
You find yourself laughing at the ridiculous story before catching what you're doing. You clamp your mouth shut and look around, but you're the only person in the office, of course. Besides the tape, that is.
"What I'm trying to say is: be nice to the metal fucks! If you get annoyed by them or want to take a beauty nap, just close those doors with the buttons, and you'll be fine and dandy! Just be careful about the generator power, make sure it doesn't reach zero. I assume you can read numbers, yes?"
"Of course I can," you snort. For a brief second, you actually expect the tape to respond with another jab at you, but it just continues on as if it didn't hear you.
"A ridiculous system, I know! Shouldn't the doors stay closed after the power runs out? But apparently it's a safety measure so you don't get stuck inside your office. Hell of a safety measure, in my opinion, but who the hell listens to me around here?"
"I do," you say quietly before closing your mouth with a click of your teeth. Why the hell are you responding to this thing, anyway?
You glance around the empty office again, and conclude that no one is here to judge you. Whatever, it's not like you've always been the best at staying silent, especially for six hours straight. If talking to the tape helps you bring your vocal cords out of stasis, then so be it.
"Anyway, the point is, uh... I forgot." There's a bit of a pause during which you stare expectantly at the tape player before the speaker chuckles, making you blink in surprise at the sound. "Well, whatever. I'm sure you don't even check these tapes, since being a night guard is such a busy job."
You feel a flare of indignation rise up inside you. Who the hell made him believe that he's doing a useless job, when he's done so much to help you stove off the boredom already? You wish you could see him in person and thank him. You wish you could see him in person.
The tape goes on. "Again, no idea how to end these things. Don't get kicked in the balls by Foxy, I guess."
Click.
Not even a minute passes before you get your hands on the tape player, rewinding it to hear the recording once more. You half-lay on the table, watching the tape spin as the speaker recounts his story about Foxy. You pause when he chuckles, and rewind to hear that sound again. And again. And again.
Okay, maybe you do have a problem.