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oftenwantedafton · 3 days ago

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contact | arnold/dispatch

chapter 2

Explicit content, 4.7k words, new 6/24/25

ao3 link

Arnie’s mouth tastes like metal.

Bleeding from somewhere. He’d really taken a sharp knock there on that last trip back to the security office. Another grim souvenir from MCM, he thinks bitterly, adjusting the rearview mirror and peering anxiously at the scenery behind him. Nothing. No pursuing homicidal endoskeleton. The factory stands tall and proud against the predawn sky, looking deceptively innocent and normal. He’s accomplished his mission, and better still, he’s escaped. Sure, he’s covered in cuts and bruises and his coveralls are singed and torn in several places, but he’s alive. And God damn does that feel amazing right now.

He cranks the driver’s side window down, inhaling deeply. He’s desperate for something to drink. A long shower. And then he’s going to sleep, hoping the living nightmares he’s just witnessed won’t be pursuing him into the dreamworld.

A burst of static interrupts his thoughts.

“Arnold? Arnold, are you there?”

“Yes, yes I’m here.” He allows himself a grim smile of satisfaction. Dispatch had kept it professional throughout his time at Murray’s, and he’d done the same, far too preoccupied with the dangerous task at hand to even consider anything inappropriate regarding the man on the other end of the line.

But now it’s over, and even if he’s not exactly in the mood at the moment, he’s not opposed to a little more praise before he heads home. He’s a bit disappointed he’s switched from the nickname back to his full name, though.

“What happened? I’ve been trying to reach you for hours. Where were you?”

Arnie frowns. “What do you mean? I just spoke with you a few minutes ago. The job’s finished. You said I can go home.”

“Arnold, I haven’t spoken to you for several hours.”

A chill licks along the technician’s spine, and it has nothing to do with the open window beside him. “What? What are you talking about?”

“I lost contact with you after you arrived at MCM.”

He shakes his head, trying to clear the fog of confusion wrapped around him. “No, that’s not…you guided me through the facility. I secured the blueprints and the Data Diver like you instructed me to.”

“I never told you to do that. Arnold, where are the schematics? Where is the device?”

“I put them right where you told me to,” he repeats, baffled. Perhaps he isn’t coherent. The fatigue must be disrupting his words.

“Are you telling me they’re still inside the building?”

“No, of course not. They got sent right where they were supposed to go. That’s what you told me would happen when I placed them in the inventory compartment. They got transferred…” His voice trails off, a feeling of unease creeping over him. “You told me to do it,” he repeats again, almost pleading.

“You admit you failed to retrieve the schematics, then? That you abandoned the tech that was entrusted to you?”

“No! No, I didn’t…” The cold, dispassionate tone of the dispatcher stings more than the laceration still intermittently weeping blood on his arm.

“Arnie,” Dispatch says, and the nickname’s appearance at last nearly makes him want to weep, “there will be repercussions for this. Serious repercussions.”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“Willful misuse and destruction of Fazbear Entertainment’s property are grounds for immediate termination.”

“Willful misuse and destruction?” He repeats, the bark of mirthless laughter coming out as a feeble cough. He’d inhaled some nasty things inside that place. Probably quite toxic. “I risked my life in there, do you realize that? I almost got killed!”

“Poor job performance is not an excuse. I advise you don’t use that as your defense when you’re in the courtroom.”

“Courtroom? What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’ll be receiving a phone call from HR shortly. I suggest you remain awake to answer it. You’ll also need to return the van and any other assets from the company.”

“This is crazy.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “None of what you’re saying makes any sense. I did what you asked me to do.”

“You’ve been given your instructions.” A pause. Dispatch’s voice softens slightly. “My hands are tied, Arnie. There’s nothing I can do to help you.”

“Bullshit,” he snaps. “You know I would never do any of those things. There must be a mixup somewhere. You know me,” he says again, well aware of the raw ache in his voice.

Silence. Then the sharp click as the call is terminated. He slams his hand down on the steering wheel in frustration. This can’t be happening. After everything he went through tonight…

He needs to talk to Dispatch face to face. That’s what he needs to do. Explain what happened, even though he doesn’t relish the thought of reliving that hellish experience again. It’s the only way.

He checks the time on his wristwatch which is still functioning despite the cracked face. The shift is almost over. He can wait for him in the parking garage, now that he knows what section of HQ he works in. He’d go inside to speak to him in person, but he doesn’t have the correct security clearance and he isn’t entirely certain he won’t be carted off to jail the minute he steps foot indoors. It’s risky just going to the garage, but he has to chance it. Because to accept defeat now…

He’ll lose everything. Every last thing he has. He can’t afford legal fees, especially if he’s no longer getting paid a salary. He’ll have to find another job. Transportation. The rent is almost due. He’ll lose the roof over his head if he can’t make payments.

He strikes the steering wheel again. How had things gone so wrong so quickly? He’d done his best, and considering he’d done it on no sleep, he’d thought he’d done a solid job. To be told otherwise…

He pulls into the garage bay marked with the number twelve a short time later, finding it much better illluminated now. He waits inside the van for a few moments, half expecting a security detail to surround him, but nothing happens. So he exits the vehicle, walking forward until he has a clear view of the door leading inside the building, then leans back against a cement post to wait. Not the one Dispatch had shoved him against, surely; they must have been further away than this.

You don’t even know what he looks like. How are you going to identify him?

He’s beginning to realize just how half-baked this plan is. His brain is just addled mush at this point. He’s never felt so confused. So lost. So helpless.

His head lifts every time employees begin filtering from the entrance, but he dismisses each one as a plausible candidate. The workers barely spare him a glance, or if they do, they keep walking by hurriedly. He can only imagine how horrific he looks. Good. It will further prove his case.

The minutes drag. He shuffles his feet, trying to redistribute his weight. His eyes are growing heavy again. Maybe he should just go home.

The door opens, and his eyes skim by, prepared to dismiss another employee, then quickly slide back again.

It’s him.

He can’t say precisely what it is about the man that distinguishes him from any of the others; he’s just another person in business casual attire. But he knows. He knows it’s Dispatch, and at that same moment the man’s gaze meets his, his footsteps abruptly halting, eyes widening slightly at his appearance.

“Arnie.” It’s whispered softly, but there’s an echo in the garage. “You shouldn’t be here,” he says, his voice firmer. Cooler. He’s recovered already. Not surprising, given his job position. He has to keep calm no matter what situations arise.

“We need to talk.”

“There are cameras,” he says, his teeth slightly gritted. “You’re lucky they haven’t dragged you out of here already.”

“You wanted the van back. So here.” He digs into his pocket, the one without the hole, and tosses it towards the dispatcher. They land with a jingle beside his polished Oxfords. “And now I need a ride home.”

“Not my problem.” His eyes flick down to the keys, then back to the technician’s face. He bends to retrieve them and tosses them back. Arnie actually manages to catch them. “Leave, while you still can voluntarily.”

“You threatening me? Going to call the cops?”

“I should.” He frowns. “Walk with me.”

Arnie pushes away from the cement post, moving towards the other man. He resumes walking just as the technician reaches him.

“I need to talk to you about what happened.”

“You should be telling it to a lawyer.”

“We both know I can’t afford one, so cut the crap. Do I look like someone that’s been out gallivanting, stealing from the company?”

“You look like shit,” Dispatch replies.

“Yeah? You try working over forty hours straight and tell me how good you look.” The other man snickers. “You look good,” he says softly, unable to prevent the admission from slipping past his lips. Even now, even after everything…

Dispatch pauses beside a sleek looking sedan, something Arnie knows he couldn’t afford in a million years. “Get in.”

“Giving me a ride after all? You sure you want me dirtying up this pretty car?”

“Get in,” he growls, and the technician hastens to obey, walking to the passenger door that the owner pops open after sliding behind the wheel.

Real leather seats. He can smell it; hear it creak as he sinks down into it.

“Company’s been paying you well. No wonder you don’t mind sending men to their deaths.”

“I don’t do that,” he replies, jabbing the key in the ignition.

“Yeah, you do. I found bodies inside that building. Stuffed inside those gross costumes. How many men did you send in there before me?”

“It wasn’t me. My orders come from above. You know that.” He starts the engine. A quiet purr. Nothing like the van.

“But you knew they’d gotten killed.”

“Unconfirmed.”

“Confirmed now,” he snaps. “I saw them. You knew, and you sent me in to get killed anyway.”

“I sent you in to succeed. You’re the best we have.”

“Oh, spare me the flattery. You’re off the clock now. You don’t have to keep lying.”

“I’m not lying,” he says tightly.

“Neither am I,” Arnie replies. “I did my job exactly as instructed.”

Dispatch reaches for the garage door opener on the sun visor. The technician keeps half expecting someone to intervene, preventing him from leaving, but nothing happens as the driver pulls out of the bay and turns towards the exit.

“What did happen in there?”

“Oh, now you want to know?” He asks, his query dripping sarcasm. He’s never been this curt with the dispatcher before. Never once talked back. But he can’t stop himself from continuing to do it. He’s too weary.

“Why do you think you’re in my car?”

“I honestly have no idea.”

“I’m taking you to my place, so we can talk.”

The technician starts at that, lurching forward a little in his seat. “You are?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” He eases back, running his thumb over the armrest. “Your place as nice as this car?”

“It’s decent.”

“That’s a yes if I ever heard one.”

A faint smile ghosts the driver’s lips. Attractive, like everything else about this man. He hates how weak in the knees he still makes him; how fluttery his stomach has been this entire morning. He should hate him, but he doesn’t. He can’t.

They don’t speak again for the remainder of the journey. He’s brought to another parking garage. Dispatch lives on the nice side of town, right smack in the middle of it, in a multistory apartment building with scenic views. The guest gives a low whistle as he enters, watching the owner drop his keys on a table by the door, then bend down to unlace his shoes. Arnie toes off his work boots. They’re already half unlaced already. It’s been a hell of a shift.

“I’ll let you take a shower first. I’m sure you want to get cleaned up. I’ll get some clothes for you. Should fit well enough.”

“Thanks.” He follows him into a bathroom that’s larger than his bedroom. Everything is so pristine. Gleaming. He nods when Dispatch retrieves a spare toothbrush from the mirrored medicine cabinet and sets in on the counter for him. Again when he returns with a folded undershirt and briefs.

“Those are fresh towels.” He points to the rack beside the shower.

“Okay.”

The dispatcher rests a hand on the doorknob, hesitating. “I didn’t tell the Uppers yet.”

“What?”

“That you failed. Or…whatever happened. I said you were still working on it. Waiting to hear back.”

“You lied?”

“Yes. I bought you some more time.”

“But what was all that about me getting fired and being sued?”

“That’s what’s going to happen if you don’t do this job, Arnie. I can’t stress that enough. You never would have made it into that garage today if they knew the truth. I put myself at great risk for you. I hope you realize that.”

“You put yourself at risk?! What about me?”

Dispatch holds up his hands. “Calm down,” he instructs, his voice soothing.

“Don’t tell me to calm down. You have no idea what I’ve just been through.”

“You’re right. I don’t. So get cleaned up and then come talk to me. I’ll be in the living room. I’ll try to patch up some of those wounds of yours too. Basic first aid is a requirement for us, of course.” He swallows, and Arnie’s eyes linger on the movement of his Adam’s apple straining against the shirt collar. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he says, his voice hoarse, then he exits the room and shuts the door behind him.

***

Arnie brushes his teeth twice, unable to detect where that metallic taste had come from earlier. At least it’s gone now.

He spends a great deal of time in the shower, remaining under the hot spray long after he’s washed the grime away. He towels off slowly once he exits, trying to think about what he should say to Dispatch, how best to plead his case. He supposes he should just tell him everything outright, leaving out no details. He swipes a forearm across the foggy mirror, regarding his reflection in the damp looking glass. His undereyes are deep purple. His scraggly facial hair is shifting towards a fuller beard. He hardly recognizes himself.

He likes the scent of the clothing he pulls on. Dryer sheets. Fabric softener. The garments feel nice against his skin after being in those tattered coveralls for so long. He doesn’t know where to leave his clothes, so he keeps them folded on top of the laundry hamper for now.

He finds Dispatch seated on a plush looking couch in the living room as promised, his tie loosened, his gaze seemingly fixed on the television screen in front of him, the volume turned down low.

Arnie sinks down onto the cushion beside him.

“How was the shower?” He hands him a glass of cold water and he gulps it down eagerly.

“Oh, I needed that. Good. I left my clothes on top of the hamper. I didn’t know…”

“That’s fine. Let’s have a look at your injuries. That one on your arm is bleeding again,” he observes.

The technician hastily folds back the shirt sleeve, curling it over his shoulder while the other man examines the laceration.

“Too shallow to need stitches, but these will definitely help. I think it’s the position on your arm. You’re moving it around too much. That’s what keeps reopening it.” He rummages inside a case lying open on the coffee table, applying a row of sterile strips across the edges of the cut, then covering it with a dressing. “Where else did you get hurt?”

“Uh…” Arnie begins pointing out the various cuts and bruises he’d acquired, allowing the other man to examine and treat them as needed. “You still think I’m crazy, making stuff up?” He asks softly.

“I never said you were crazy.”

“But you don’t believe me. I’ve been thinking about it over and over again, and the only conclusion I can come to is that that damn endo copied your voice somehow. That must be who I was talking to all along.”

“How is that possible?”

“I don’t know. I’m just a technician, remember?”

“Anything else I missed?” He reaches for his chin, gently turning his face towards his.

“I tasted metal earlier. I don’t know—”

He’s interrupted by Dispatch suddenly leaning forward to kiss his mouth.

Arnie groans, a surge of heat instantly pooling in his groin. Despite his exhaustion, his body reacts to the kiss like a match being struck. His lips are licked apart, the other man’s tongue thrusting to meet his.

“I don’t taste metal,” the dispatcher pants, now sucking his bottom lip. “Just toothpaste.”

“Are you sure? Maybe you should check again.”

An amused little hum vibrates across his jaw. “Are you questioning the quality of my work?”

“No, but I’m more than a little tired of you questioning mine.”

Arnie regrets the words as soon as he utters them. The mood sobering, Dispatch pulls away. “I need to know what happened. And as much as you deserve to sleep, we simply don’t have the time to spare. I can’t stall the Uppers forever. So tell me everything. Start from the very beginning.”

So he does. Right from when he’d had to find another way inside the building, the main entrance barred shut. The animatronic performance for investors. The security office. Upgrading the Data Diver for the first time. Switching on the power. The first encounter with the Mimic, possessing one of the costumes. Discovering the other team member inside another one. Being pursued by the Jackie in a Box. Finding the Big Top showroom. Another pursuit.

At this point the technician pauses to eat the meal he’s presented with, surprised by how much of an appetite he suddenly has. Scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, orange juice. It’s heaven on earth.

Another wave of fatigue drags against his eyelids, but he forces himself continue his tale, recounting the necessary steps to construct a springlock suit, another pursuit in the doll hospital, the harried journey to the administration wing where he’d had to avoid encountering a roller skating chicken animatronic, the flight from the terrifying tiger animatronic in the darkness. Securing the blueprints at last. Returning the Data Diver to the inventory compartment. His instruction to go home.

Dispatch’s face remains impassive throughout the story. Arnie has no idea what the other man is thinking, and when he still doesn’t receive a response, he flat out asks for one. “Well? What do you think?”

“I’m not sure.” The dispatcher stands and stretches, beckoning him towards a bedroom. Queen sized bed at least. Maybe King. Certainly bigger than his own.

“What now?”

“Sleep.” He flips back the comforter, gesturing for him to get into the bed.

“But you said we only have a short amount of time. What are we…?”

“You need to sleep, and so do I. Don’t argue, Arnie.” He begins undressing, leaving an undershirt and briefs on, his work clothes folded nearly over the dresser.

The technician climbs onto the mattress, scooting over when the other man waves his hand, gesturing for him to shift positions. He watches as he closes the blinds, then sinks down beside him.

“Sleep,” he says again, turning on his side, one arm casually draping over his chest.

Arnie swallows thickly, forcing his eyes to shut. He’s been dying for a bed for hours, but now that he’s in one, sleep is the furthest thing from his mind.

Luckily his body knows better, ushering him there before he can dwell on the situation any longer.

***

It’s dark in the bedroom now. No more sunlight peeking around the blinds.

Arnie tentatively settles a hand over the one still clasping his ribs.

“Awake?” Dispatch murmurs drowsily. The sleepy tone makes his voice more sultry and the technician’s cock twitches with interest.

“Yeah.”

“How was it?”

“Good.”

“Hmmm.” His hands slips free of Arnie’s, skimming now beneath the hem of his loaned shirt. “It occurs to me that I didn’t examine all of you this morning.” He no longer sounds tired, his voice as clear as it is over the line.

“Oh, it’s fine there,” he murmurs awkwardly as fingers caress his abdomen.

“Really? What about here?” He shoves beneath the waistband of his briefs and strokes his erection.

“Um…”

“I think this bears further investigation, don’t you?”

“What about…uuuuh…what we talked about earlier…mmmm...time limit thing…” It’s difficult to get the words out when the other man keeps stroking him so perfectly.

The mattress creaks as the dispatcher shifts, planting a sloppy kiss on his mouth. “You want to talk or you want me to suck your cock?”

“Fuck.”

“That’s what I thought.” More creaking. The waistband of his briefs are roughly jerked down. He raises his hips to allow them to be pulled further along his thighs. A kiss on each hip. His fingers stutter through the man’s hair.

“God,” he hisses when he feels the head of his cock engulfed in warm wetness. Suction. A tongue teasing his slit, lapping at the precum spilling from it.

“There you go, Arnie. Delicious.” His head bobs up and down a few times, then his fingers curl around the spit slickened flesh, sliding along it, eliciting juicy, wet sounds to accompany his gasps and moans.

“Please…uhhh…”

“Does that feel good?”

“Yes, but…”

“But what?”

“Suck it. Please, suck it.”

“Then I can’t talk to you. I thought you liked my voice,” he teases.

“I love it. But I need…”

“You want me to suck your cock?”

“Yes.”

“Until you cum?”

“Fuck, yes.”

“Should I swallow it all down?”

Arnie grabs a handful of the man’s silky hair and lifts his hips, shoving his cock through his lips. A startled little moan greets the invader, then a pleased hum, his mouth working much more fervently now, sliding down to the base, gagging and sucking and driving him straight to climax.

“Jesus,” he gasps when the dispatcher finally releases his dick. He wishes he could see his face just then; watch him swallow that creamy load down.

“I’d no idea you were so…religious,” Dispatch says, climbing back up to kiss him. Arnie tastes his release, the bitter remnants clinging to the corners of his mouth.

“I want to do the same for you.”

“I certainly won’t protest.”

They trade positions, moving a bit awkwardly in the dark. Arnie kisses a path down the dispatcher’s chest, planting one outside his briefs before he extracts his cock, swirling the tip of his tongue over the head.

“Mmmm…that’s nice.”

It is nice; nice tasting him, and nice hearing that pleasant voice crooning, praising as he begins sucking and stroking his dick.

“Arnie…I want you to do something for me.”

“Anything,” he murmurs, drunk with lust.

Dispatch’s hips lift and shove a little further, tapping the back of his throat. He feels a hand sink into his hair, holding his head there. “You’re so good, Arnie…”

His nostrils flare for more air but he holds the position until he’s finally released, gasping for a deep breath as his mouth pops off of his slick cock.

“That’s why I need you. Because you’re the best…”

A slight warning bell goes off in the recesses of his mind, but he ignores it, too caught up in pleasuring the other man with his mouth.

“That’s why…just like that, good boy, Arnie…” The hand in his hair tightens again. “That’s why I need you to do me one favor. Just one, Arnie…”

He wants to tell him he will, but he’s got his entire mouth and part of his throat stuffed full.

“That’s it, Arnie…choke on that cock…I’m going to cum down your throat…” He delivers on his promise, spilling his seed. The technician’s throat convulses, milking the remaining cum from his cock. His next bid for air when he’s finally granted freedom whines shrilly. His jaw aches and his throat is burning as he flops down beside his partner, immediately reaching for him, pulling his body closer.

Dispatch kisses his cheek softly. “You need to shave.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll do it later.” He sighs contentedly. He thinks he’s going to sleep a little more now.

“So…about that favor.”

“Hmmm? Didn’t I just do it?”

“Not quite.” The dispatcher licks his ear, then tucks his lips beside it. “I want you to go back in and get those schematics and the Data Diver back.”

Arnie’s blood runs cold. He stiffens, sitting up, suddenly alert, pushing the other man away. “What?”

“You heard me. That’s how you’re going to fix this mess you’ve gotten yourself into. It should be even easier now that you know the lay of the land.”

“Did you not hear anything I said? There’s something in there killing people! And you want me to go back in and get you the plans to make more of those things!”

“The Uppers want that, Arnie. I’m just following their orders. Now you need to follow yours.”

“No.”

“No?” He feels the mattress shift as the other man climbs off of it, switching the bedside lamp on. “Are you refusing a direct command from your superior?”

“We’re not on company time,” Arnie replies through gritted teeth. “And there’s nothing you can say or do to get me to go back inside that building.”

“I beg to differ. You will go back in. And you will finish that job. Because if you don’t, Arnie,” he warns, leaning to grab a handful of his hair, wrenching his head back, “then you lose everything. And I lose everything. I’m not going to lie for you again. And I’m not going to give up everything I’ve worked for. So do your job. After you get cleaned up,” he adds, relaxing his grip. “You’re getting blood all over my sheets.”

The technician barely spares a glance to verify this claim. “I can’t believe this.”

“What did you think was going to happen, Arnie? We were going to ride off into the sunset together? This is the real world.”

“You don’t give a shit about me at all. You’re just using me.” He swings his legs over the side of the bed and rises to his feet.

“I’m doing what needs to be done. Now it’s your turn.”

“Why did you even bother with any of this? Why not just send me back in immediately?”

“Because you’re of no use to me if you collapse from exhaustion.”

“Why did you ever start this with me?” He repeats, stepping forward. “You know I would have done it anyway.”

“I didn’t know for certain. Thought it was better to sweeten the deal.”

“This is my life you’re playing with! Mine and everyone’s that came before me!” He grabs a handful of the dispatcher’s shirt and shoves him back against the door.

“It’s good you’ve got your energy back again. Use that when you’re in Murray’s.”

“You son of a—”

Dispatch shoves at his injured arm, distracting him long enough to move away from the door and pin him against it instead. He tries to move but the thumb is digging painfully into his wound. He can feel the blood trickling down anew, warm and sticky.

“Go back in, Arnie,” he pants, his eyes flashing.

“And then what?”

“And maybe I’ll be waiting for you on the other side, if you still want me.”

“You’re lying.”

“Am I? Do you still want me, Arnie?” He releases his arm and crushes his mouth with his.

“No,” he spits, trying to turn his face away.

“Now who’s lying?” He grasps his chin and tips it forward again. “Do this for me Arnie. For us.”

He whimpers at the sound of that word. Us. Real, or an illusion? Just another manipulation tactic?

He thinks about what will happen if he disobeys. He’s trapped between a rock and a hard place. Over a barrel, and this man damn well knows it.

But what choice does he have, really? At least if he takes the risk there’s a chance. He’ll get to keep his job. His van. His apartment. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll get a little more time with this devil standing across from him.

“I’ll go back,” he croaks.

“I knew I could count on you, Arnie. You’re the best.” He plants a kiss that feels far too tender on his forehead. “Now go get ready. I’ll find something for you to wear and get that arm patched up again before I drop you off back at the van. We can make an exception for the uniform requirements this time. Go on, now. You know the way.”

Yes, he does.

#arnold x dispatch #fnaf arnold #fnaf dispatch #distress signal #fnaf sotm #divider @thecutestgrotto

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