Chapter Text
"Arnie? Arnie, are you there?"
The mans' question was met with a prolonged silence.
"Damn it!"
Cursing at his desk, "Dispatch" tossed his headset down into the table of his cubicle. This late into the night, or morning rather, there was no one else around the office to bother with his little fit. Only him, and that blood curdling echo of shattered glass and scraping metal still ringing in his ears from the radio mere moments ago. His heart was racing, and as he downed his sixth cup of coffee for the night Dispatch couldn't help himself from bouncing his leg wildly in his seat. Gripping his mug with one hand while frantically tapping his fingers against his knee with his other. After setting down his mug Dispatch took a hold of his mouth.
His thumb nearly tight enough to bruise his jaw as he let off a shaky breath and glared towards the floor with wide anxious eyes. The connection was lost the second that crunching grind of metal began. All while the address of Arnolds' last known location remained. Still blinking across his screen, and Dispatch couldn't stop staring. Without warning the lights suddenly came on. Voices both laughing and groaning about the day ahead flooded into the room as his co-workers took their seats beside him.
A man clapped him familiarly enough along the back in greeting, but even then he couldn't be bothered to take his eyes off the screen.
"Hey! Burning the candle from both ends, huh? You ever even leave last night?"
Dispatch couldn't find it in him to respond, but even if he'd wanted to the other was right back to work. Just like they all were. He sat frozen. Breathless yet heaving, and for the longest while that seemed like just about the only thing he could do. The walls felt too close. The clack of keyboards and detached voices too much, and that's when he heard it.
The scrape of metal legs sliding closer towards a desk, but in that moment it wasn't. It was the van. Its metal twisting, glass exploding, and that scream– Dispatch abruptly stood to his feet. Causing the chair he'd been sitting in to knock back against the floor. Several eyes turned to face him then, confusion and annoyance marring their features, but Arnolds' scream was just about the only thing on his mind. It rang over and over.
Cutting off far too soon each and every time in an endless loop growing louder and louder. His pulse rose just as quickly as his shallow breaths, and it was all Dispatch could do in that moment but to run. Hands reached, familiar voices called out to him in alarm, but he just kept on running. Through the halls, down the stairs, and past the scrutinizing gaze of Mr. Afton, Dispatch burst out of the front doors in a furious bid to reach the parking lot. He fished out his keys with shaking hands. Scraping the door once or twice before it finally slotted into the lock.
His plain tan rambler may not have been a looker compared to the other modern cars in the lot, but she's never failed him before. He'd make it. He'd find Arnold– he had to! With one churn of her engine Dispatch painted the asphalt in a nasty skid of rubber before booking it towards the street like a bat out of hell. The traffic thinned the closer he got to the outskirts of town and, despite his best efforts, his petal kept hitting the floor as he drove. Rain began to trickle across his windshield.
Growing in intensity the further he went, until he was left with no choice but to turn on the wipers. The steady rhythm of the blades gave Dispatch something to focus on other than the thudding sound of his own heart. So he took it. He took it for all it was worth, and never in all of his life was he more grateful for that irritating sound. Dispatch drove for what felt like hours. His knuckles white where they gripped the wheel, leaving his hands shaking as the rain poured even harder.
It was coming down so heavy now that he almost missed the upturned van on the other side of the road. Until he saw an outstretched hand. Dispatch slammed on the breaks. Nearly swerving his car off the road in the process, before he brought it to a stop. He shoved his shoulder against the door as he opened it, not bothering to shut it behind him as he hurried off towards the flaming car. The fire seemed to be dwindling under the rain but Arnold was still in there.
"ARNOLD!!"
Once again, silence.
"I'm gonna get you out of there." He promised, sliding on his hands and knees through broken glass, "J-Just hang on– Goddammit!"
Arnold remained unresponsive. Even as Dispatch took a hold of his arms and drug his limp body out of the van. He took care to be mindful of the glass as he pulled him out. Well, as best as he could given the mans' substantial heft compared to his own lithe frame. Though eventually, after a strained effort of heaving and lifting, Arnold was free. With heavy breaths and hands splayed across either side of Arnolds' head Dispatch hovered over him.
Kneeling along the asphalt as his eyes scanned the technician for any signs of life. His long dark hair clung haphazardly in tangles across his face. A face so pale and exhausted compared to that warm olive glow under the sunlight just two mornings before. What should he do? Check for a pulse? Was Arnold even breathing?
Without much thought Dispatch pressed his fingers against the mans' throat as he laid his head over Arnolds' chest. He was relieved to find a steady pulse beneath his fingers as his head was lifted from an intake of air. It was only when it happened again that he let himself believe that Arnold was alive. A smile found its way across Dispatchs' face between the gentle huff of a laugh, but was all too quickly dropped as he lifted his head off the unconscious man beneath him. This was no time to be celebrating. He needed to get Arnold to the hospital– now.
Dispatch was hardly a handyman, but he did what he could to drag Arnolds' slumbering body off to the car. As soon as he got there he opened the door. Tossing the technician into the passengers' seat before securing him with the belt. He shut Arnolds' door behind him with a hefty click before sliding his hand across the hood. Hurrying off towards the other side of the car past his own open door before promptly dropping into the leather seat with a wet plop. He was heaving again.
An unfortunate reminder that he was more woefully out of shape than he remembered himself being, and after a moment to catch his breath Dispatch lolled his head over towards his tech.
"Arnold?" He nudged, hoping to wake him.
Still nothing. This was supposed to be a simple retrieval job. Nothing more. What happened back there? What the hell even was that thing– and how did it mimic his voice?
"I'm gonna take you to the hospital, alright? Just hang in there Arnold."
Dispatch adjusted his mirror and was surprised to find a few bags joining the faint wrinkles of his own face. Crisp blue eyes, verging close to steel, stared back at him with a hint of exhaustion. However he knew that was nothing compared to Arnold. Who, even while sleeping, seemed so worn and broken. Dispatch spared the man a guilty look as he gently brushed a strand of hair from his eyes. Arnold began to turn towards the touch and it was enough to snap Dispatch out of the odd moment before he suddenly pulled away.
With a deep breath to steady his nerves, he placed his hands back at the wheel and started the car. Every so often along the drive Dispatch couldn't help glancing Arnolds' way. He'd slumped against the window as soon as they got moving, and with every look he shot towards him his grip on the steering wheel only tightened. He'd been told this was a one hour job. Sure, it was a shit thing to do to make someone who'd already worked over thirty-six hours work one more, but the job was guaranteed for double pay. Not just for him, but for his tech too.
He thought the worst that would come out of this would be some harsh words over the radio like always. Not this–! Never this…
"You can tell me Arnie." He spoke, for no one in particular, "It's okay."
A grin, plastered as all get, stretched across Dispatchs' face like gritted teeth. He forced a laugh between his smile, but it did nothing to push back the tears. Blinding him slowly but surely as he held the wheel for dear life.
"Tell me how much you hate me."
He waited, but no answer came.
"Alright," Dispatch answered as he swallowed back a sob before quickly wiping his eyes to clear his vision, "I'll just let you sleep then. You've had a long day, Arnie. You've earned it."
The drive was dreary with rain. The only other sound aside from the grating squeak of the wipers and endless downpour were Arnolds' soft breaths. He reeked of sweat, filth, and grime, but worse than all of that was the blood. The scent of iron was so thick in the air that Dispatch could practically taste it. Arnolds' shoulder was drenched from the looks of it, and there were several more splatters of blood dotted all across his jacket and pants. He'd been privy to Arnolds' experience with the first handful of mascots come to life.
Namely the elephant and Jackie, but the technician hadn't been limping just then. That didn't start until after his fall with Big Top. Though Dispatch had long since lost communication by that point. Specifically, when the "Mimic" had explained what it was to Arnold. Through his voice. Listening as he instructed Arnold deeper and deeper into the facility was just about the most disturbing thing Dispatch was sure he'd ever gone through while working for Fazbears'.
He was already responsible for throwing Arnold into this mess. He didn't need the added guilt of every new situation the tech found himself in being his fault by proxy. Dispatch had spent hours fumbling with frequencies. Doing everything in his power to get his voice back on the line, but no matter what he tried the Mimic always seemed to be one step ahead. Jamming each new signal he managed to intercept over and over on repeat ad nauseam. Upper management had told him about a rogue endoskeleton.
They'd told him to withhold that specific information until his technician had entered the building, but they never said a damn thing about whatever in gods' name that thing was supposed to be!! That thing– the Mimic or David Jr. or whatever the fuck its name is– was beyond science. That thing was haunted. Plain and simple. Dispatch wasn't a religious man by any means, but he could only pray to any god that would listen that that thing was dragged back into the fiery pits of hell where it belonged. His gaze once again found its way cautiously drawn to Arnold.
Dispatch had watched nearly everything last night. Aside from the manor, that is. He could have gone home but he wasn't able to move. Forty-seven minutes of absolute nothing. No coffee– no bathroom breaks– no stepping out to clear his head. Just a man in a dark room all alone staring at a static screen.
Dispatch had waited on bated breath that whole time. Only for the radio to activate as he listened in on what he thought was the end. With the state that Arnold is in, it very well could have been. Would he have been able to live with himself? What if he just sat there, motionless? Would Arnold have made it to the hospital then?
Then again, why should he care. He's a dispatcher. He's not supposed to care. That's why upper management trusts them with their sensitive information, and not the technicians. None of this has ever bothered him before. So why was it bothering him now?
He almost couldn't help himself from looking over at Arnold again, but once he did his heart suddenly dropped. Staring back at him from just outside the window were two swirling eyes. Burning red like fiery coals. It followed them.
"ARNOLD!!!"
At long last Arnold finally opened his eyes, just in time to suddenly jerk his head over towards the window. Dispatch braced his arm across Arnolds' chest before slamming the breaks. The Mimic flew off of the car in record speed as it rolled down the asphalt. Crumbling the road with each landing against the soggy black top.
"W-what's going on! Where–?!" He tried to ask, before Dispatch cut him off.
"Hang on to something– NOW!!"
It was all the warning he could spare, but thankfully the technician complied. Grabbing onto the dash and overhanging door handle to steady himself. Swerving the car with a sharp right turn, Dispatch managed to hit the approaching Mimic with the tail end of his car. Before promptly peeling down the road, tires screeching. Unfortunately in the opposite direction of the hospital now.
"I-I don't understand. It got what it wanted. Why is it still after– wait. Y-your voice."
Arnold suddenly looked up from his knees and over towards him.
"Dispatch?"
They'd never met face to face, or rather, Arnold hasn't. Dispatch has known about Arnold for quite some time. Keeping updated profiles of their technicians was standard protocol, and every dispatcher was required to be familiar with each and every one that was registered to them. They've never crossed paths enough to actually talk to one another outside of the radio, but that was by design. He was meant to be a voice. Nothing more.
However, despite the protocol so rigorously drilled into his head, Dispatch couldn't help but smile as he caught those amber eyes staring back into his own.
"The one and only." He answered with a wink.
The man suddenly shoved at his shoulder.
"You're a dick!" Arnold shot back.
Still, that did nothing but draw his smile wider as he faintly huffed out a laugh. It was dry, and far from lively, but it was real. So genuinely real for the first time in ages.
"Great to hear." Dispatch remarked, smiling as usual the way he often did when they spoke, "Now, what's this I hear about quote on quote, giving the Mimic what it wanted?"
The frown across Arnolds' face was a new experience to see first hand. He was so oddly expressive. For someone so tired anyway.
"I didn't give it anything!" Arnold argued, "It crashed my van and left me to die while everything burned around me! My body gave out as soon as I hit the pavement."
He believed him, but Dispatch couldn't help but give Arnold the tiniest amount of grief over it. Anything for things to go back to normal again.
"So it has the data diver." Dispatch concluded.
"...Yes…"
The technician was hesitant with his answer, and Dispatch was well aware of the reason. He dropped his head with a sigh, before diverting his full attention to the road ahead.
"No Arnold." Dispatch answered seriously, "I'm taking you to a hospital."
Dropping the detached pleasantries was a fireable offense per upper managements' orders, but they weren't here right now were they? Arnold sank back into his seat with a weary sigh of his own.
"Thank you," He muttered.
Even after finally getting some sleep after two whole days Arnold still sounded worse now than the night before, and thanks to the Mimic they were going to have to take the long way to circle back to town. Dispatch adjusted his rear view– just in case it was somehow there, but as he looked in the mirror there was nothing. Only the blur of heavy rain darkening the trail behind them.
"We're gonna have to take the back roads through the forest to get to town." Dispatch relayed, tilting his head over towards the technician as he added, "Unless you want to chance a run-in with your new buddy?"
While there was a playful lit to his tone, in truth he hardly wanted to entertain the idea himself. Though, as expected, Arnold quickly shook his head. Causing the water drenching his hair to spritz between Dispatch and the windows of his car. The man groaned in annoyance. Wiping his face from the spray with a drag of his hand. Though, before he could complain, Arnold spoke first.
"No, no, no!" He urged, fists balled almost protectively towards his chest, "Don't take me back to that thing– Please!"
There was a wild look in Arnolds' eyes, and if Dispatch hadn't seen what he'd gone through first hand he might have thought the man was crazy. However he had and what he'd seen, from Arnold nearly skewering his leg on rebar to the astronomical heights he'd fallen down and survived, it was safe to say that he was rather justified to look that way. Dispatch lifted his hand. Hovering it in the air hesitantly at first, before letting it rest on Arnolds' shoulder. The technician jolted at his touch. Frantically jerking his head over towards Dispatch the moment his hand settled there.
He wasn't sure if this was helping or not as his thumb dug slightly between the blade. For as good as he was at talking to people, being in the same room as them felt like a whole different ball game altogether. Still, the man hadn't ripped his shoulder away at the very least. So there was that.
"I won't." He assured, surprised to feel the tension in Arnolds' shoulders release from those two simple words, "We're going to take the long way, but we're getting you to that hospital."
Arnold fully sagged back into his seat. Eased by the promise that this was all over, and from there the drive seemed to take a comfortable beat of silence. The rain coming down like a soothing backdrop now that neither of them were left to soak outside. It took Dispatch a moment before he realized his hand was still rubbing tiny circles into Arnolds' shoulder, and being aware of that fact was enough for him to suddenly pull back from the man yet again. He glanced down at his own hand with confusion. Not entirely sure what was up with him tonight, before placing his hands nice and steady back along the wheel.
"What's your name?"
That groggy voice cutting past the long pause of silence shouldn't have caused Dispatch to jump the way he had, but after running into the same nightmare Arnold had to face all night it seemed he was still a little on edge.
"My what?"
"Your name." Arnold repeated, "I've always wanted to know. So what is it?"
Now that, he definitely couldn't go giving out. They still had a job to go back to after all of this was said and done. If Arnold slipped up and said his real name over the radio they'd both be canned on the spot. Professional decorum or however upper management explained it.
"Here at Fazbear we value team effort. No one employee should be given the credit of a whole team. So remember dispatch; you're a unit! Together you share the praise, and the responsibility of our technician staff." He recalled, the lines drilled time and time again into his head during each and every bi-annual eval.
It was a polite way of saying, "Keep the company from facing potential lawsuits and we'll cover your ass in return" in so many words. Dispatchers were responsible for ensuring that information, when read back for courtroom case files, was as squeaky clean for the companies' reputation as possible. That meant plausible deniability. With the barest of information possible for technicians to read between the lines.
"I–... I can't tell you that Arnold."
The technician rolled his eyes with a scoff.
"Do you honestly think I still have a job after this?" Arnold rebutted, "I wrecked the van! The company van! Afton and Emily have fired people for far less!"
Dispatch glared towards the window.
"You do if I can still help it." He argued, "I was there for everything! I have footage. We'll prove the accident happened outside of your control and that you did everything in your power to secure the schematics. Insurance will cover the van."
"How can you be so sure?"
In truth, he wasn't. However, he wasn't about to give up on his tech so easily. Not after the hell he went through just to come out of this night alive.
"You know just how persuasive I can be." He teased, letting himself appear more confident than he was, "Just sit back and relax while I handle all the sweet talk, and you'll be well on your way to earning that twenty-five dollar gift card in no time."
Arnold folded his arms with a huff.
"You think I give a shit about some stupid gift card?" He shot back, "When you dispatch fucks were placing twenty dollar bets on whether I'd live or die tonight?"
Huh. He'd nearly forgotten about that. Though the reminder gave Dispatch an idea of a small way he could make it up to him.
"Speaking of," Dispatch began as he dug into his pocket, "catch."
Without warning he tossed Arnold a massive wad of bills. The other fumbled with the catch but ultimately caught the money in his hands. Arnold looked to the rolled up cash with confusion before turning back to dispatch with that same lost look.
"Your cut." He explained simply enough, "I was gonna stuff this in your locker when you weren't looking buuut, since you're here, might as well pass it off to you now."
Arnold looked to the wad again for a long while before letting out a slight snort.
"Sure you were. Besides, pretty sure I earned more than that." Arnold argued.
Dispatch didn't even have to look to hear the smile in his voice. After going so long without it he was made painfully aware of how much he'd missed that cocky tone.
"Ah-ah," he tutted, wagging a finger off the wheel, "that's what we call the dealers' cut, Arnie."
That earned him another scoff, and the warm return of a lively chuckle.
"Whatever you say, Patch."
One nickname. One simple little nickname was all it took for a flood of ease to wash over him. For the first time, after nearly two whole years of talking over the radio together, it finally felt like they were having a real conversation. One where he didn’t have to watch every single word he said. They'd gotten around the limitations in a handful of creative ways, sure, but not like this. Never so… casually.
Letting the name roll in his head he gave it some thought. Patch. Yes. He supposed Patch was a decent compromise.
"Hang tight Arnie." Patch relayed, "We'll get you that gift card yet."
Seeing the path leading into the woods he took the dirt road on their left. It'd be a longer drive compared to the way back but it'd be worth it to avoid that death contraption. Hopefully soon, they'd be able to put this horrible night behind them.