Headcanon: The First Time "Dave Miller" Met You as a Night Guard
Notes: My first William post i guess
【 pro/com/dark ship & fic DNI】
When you first started working as a night guard at Freddy Fazbear’s, you didn’t expect much—just a paycheck and a relatively quiet shift. The place had an odd reputation, but you figured it was just a silly rumor. That is, until you met him.
He called himself Dave Miller.
At first glance, Dave seemed... off. He had that air of someone who had seen too much, who had been around too long but was still pretending to be just another employee. His uniform was slightly rumpled, his sleeves rolled up lazily, and his ever-present smirk carried something almost theatrical—like he was playing a role he found amusing.
Your first real interaction happened in the break room. You were fixing yourself a cup of cheap coffee, trying to shake off the exhaustion of your first shift, when you felt eyes on you.
"Night shift, huh? Brave soul.”
You turned to see him leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, silver-gray eyes watching you with an unreadable glint. His accent—smooth, refined, yet teasing—made the simple comment feel oddly weighty.
"And you are…?" you asked, raising a brow.
"Dave. Dave Miller," he said, offering his hand in an almost exaggeratedly casual manner. His grip was firm, his palm slightly rough, like someone who worked with their hands but didn’t want to look like it.
At first, he was just there, popping up during your shift under the excuse of “checking in” or “making sure you hadn’t run off yet.” But over time, you started noticing things about him—little details that didn’t quite add up.
For one, he seemed to know the building too well. Not just in a “long-time employee” way, but in a way that made it feel like he had built the place with his own hands. He had an uncanny ability to predict when an animatronic would act up, when the cameras would flicker, and which hallways to avoid when things felt “off.”
Then there was the way he watched you. Not in a predatory or aggressive way, but like he was sizing you up—gauging whether you were worth paying attention to or just another passerby in his story.
His teasing comments and playful jabs made it easy to dismiss his scrutiny, but the way his eyes lingered on you told a different story.
"Not scared yet, are you?" he’d smirk, after catching you flinch at a noise down the hallway.
"Dunno, love. Guess we’ll find out.”
At some point, the two of you fell into an odd sort of camaraderie. He was your reluctant guide, offering sarcastic commentary on the job while slipping in oddly specific advice. “Don’t bother locking that door—waste of power. Just keep an ear out.” “If you hear something in the vents, don’t panic—yet.”
You didn’t realize how much you relied on his presence until he started showing up less—disappearing for hours at a time with flimsy excuses. Something about him gnawed at you, like an itch at the back of your mind.
And then one night, you stumbled upon him in the parts and service room. He wasn’t supposed to be there. You weren’t supposed to be there. But there he was, standing too still, his usual smirk absent as he stared at something on the table—something you couldn’t quite see from the doorway.
When he turned to face you, his expression was unreadable.
"You shouldn’t be here, love."
For the first time since meeting him, his voice held no humor. Just cold, quiet finality. And in that moment, you realized something unsettling.
Dave Miller wasn’t just some eccentric employee.
And whatever he was hiding—you were getting too close to it.
titsay
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