Dsaf oneshots

The void's lonely

Hey dudes, sorry that it took a while to get this thing out, it was going pretty well but then over christmas almost my entire family got either sick or indjuered (including my father having a storke) and my motivation to write really took a nose dive lol 

He didn't know how long he'd been there.

Jack used to keep count of how many days had passed but he'd long since given up on it. Last time he checked it had been 100 years on the dot, but there wasn't any point in keeping track. Not when he could never leave. Never see his family, or the few friends he had, or Dave.

Jack stopped at that thought. He could never see Dave again. He didn't know why he stopped, he'd thought it a million times before, yet this time it seemed to sting more than before. The fact that he'd be alone for all of eternity and that there was nothing he could do about it.

All of it felt so unfair, why did everyone else get to move on and have an afterlife when he couldn't? He fixed it all, didn't he? Freed every last soul, defeated Henry Miller, and for his efforts he got to rot?

He could still feel his body in the real world after all. Charred and burned, yes, but he could still feel it. Feel as he was eaten by maggots and worms and whatever else was down there. It was disgusting. It felt so insanely gross to feel himself decomposing.

Jack wondered what his body looked at this point, was he also rotting in void? Whether he'd look down at his arms or legs he'd only faintly be able to make out colour, as if the void was physically turning him gray. Not like he could really tell anymore, since his vision had gotten so bad by this point that his glasses weren't working.

All he could see was a massive black blur, intercepted on occasion by hallucinations.

Those were usually quite scary. Maybe that was the wrong word, maybe unnerving would be a better descriptor. They would just sit there and try to comfort him, talking about how he'd be free soon, and that everything would be okay.

He didn't believe them though, they were just figments of his imagination, some desperate attempt not to spiral into insanity, right? Right? But they still felt so real and lifelike, Jack just couldn't seem to wrap his head around it. Maybe some desperate, delusional, hopeful part of him wanted to believe they were real.

Not like anyone was around to judge him, because everyone else was gone. Everyone else got their perfect little afterlife, or at the very least justice, except for him. What he got was to rot for the rest of eternity until he was insane enough that he didn't care any more.

The idea was bittersweet, really. On one hand he obviously didn't want to go insane, but if it meant his suffering wouldn't be as bad, then he could potentially accept that.

After all, he'd already gone through the motions of denial and trying to find his way out so many times by now, it might be better to just succumb to it. Get it over with, you know?

But who knows, maybe he already did. Would Jack even know if he went crazy? Nobody was around to tell him or judge his behavior, so how would he even tell? Sure he was seeing things that weren't real, but he did that back in the real world too!

It just didn't make sense, how after 50 odd years freeing souls, stopping Dave from killing kids, and dealing with general anarchy for his entire life, he couldn't even die with dignity. The first time he died it wasn't that bad, all things considered. He got a second chance, after all. But this was worse than even a thousand deaths to spring locks, because this time he did it to himself.

He lit himself on fire, even if it was for the greater good and solved everything, Jack still died at his own hands. God, he wished Henry had simply never existed. If that stupid, worthless, disgusting excuse of a man had simply died in some freak circus accident or some shit the world would be a much better place.

Dee would have gotten to experience a semi-normal childhood, Peter and Caroline could live as a regular married couple, and Jack would never have been condemned to this hell.

All he could hope was that they were doing well now, and that they hadn't taken his inability to join them too badly. Maybe they were still waiting for him to arrive, but he hoped not. The mental image of the people who he loved and who he hoped loved him the same, waiting for something that would never happen for the rest of eternity was not something he wanted.

How he longed just to see them again, just to feel someone else's warmth and touch again. To feel Dave's touch. To hear the voices of those he held so dear, or anyone's voice at all. Not those hallucinations, but a real voice, coming from a real person, with a real body and soul and hopes and desires.

That was all he wanted, but he couldn't even have that.

How cruel was the universe, that only now, permanently alone, did he feel true emotion? Only now did something feel real and vivid, and how he wished it didn't. If he still only vaguely knew what emotion he SHOULD be feeling in any given situation, then maybe this would be more bearable.

But it wasn't bearable, it was as if all the emotions he'd been missing for the last 50 years had all immediately flooded him when he first entered the void, and they had never left after that. In fact, it was as if they had been multiplied tenfold since then, growing stronger day by day.

It hurt, it hurt so badly. If the physical pain of rotting and slowly being eaten wasn't bad enough the mental distress he was experiencing was practically all Jack experienced at this point.

The pain may have helped him stay grounded, but what was the point anymore? In the real world he had a reason, and that was to save the children that Dave had so senselessly murdered, sometimes Jack would even hurt himself to make sure he didn't just dissociate. He didn't have any reason to anymore though, it served no purpose. He served no purpose.

He had fulfilled his promise and done all of The Real Fredbears dirty work, and was therefore no longer useful, and so, he was cast aside. The man was now nothing more than an empty, sad, useless husk. Little more than the cocoon a caterpillar builds, except there was no butterfly to make the process worth it. Just a hollow space that would soon meet the same end as the piles of brown, dried leaves left to rot.

He was perfectly aware of that, and he hated it. He hated The Real Fredbear for giving him such a horrible ending after he did everything he was supposed to. Why was he being punished for doing the right thing? It didn't make sense. On top of that, he also resented Blackjack for getting to move on. That stupid mutt had done nothing of value, except drag Henry to the void.

Even then, he could have just killed him and put an end to it all, but no, he had to play savior. God fucking damn it. Had Blackjack just been a little bit smarter, then Jack wouldn't have had to waste almost the entirety of his life cleaning up the mess that was made. Even if he hadn't gotten a second chance at a good life he still could have died with some semblance of justice

But no, here he was having suffered nightmares and trauma over his dead siblings for years, only to end up falling in love with the man who killed his sister. Fuck his sorry excuse of a life.

Of course, it WAS all Henry's fault, but that didn't just magically make Jack not want to rip Dave's throat out every time he saw him. It was weird, being hopelessly in love with someone you wanted dead, but Jack managed. Or, well, he managed when he wasn't stuck in the void for however long it had been, completely alone with just his own thoughts.

Maybe, if things had gone better, he could have let go of that hatred and resentment and tried to make amends when the version of Dave on the flipside. But things didn't go better, and that was the issue. Everything went wrong, and there was no way to fix it, no matter how badly they wanted too.

Nothing would stop the inevitable marching of time, nor stop the rotting. It would be day after day, stuck, for all of eternity.

And, as much as Jack wished it wasn't, tomorrow is another day.