Chapter Text
“I’m curious” said William. “What do they say about this place?”
Henry was silent. He hadn’t said a word in the day they had him. His face was gaunt and pale, his eyes glazing over with a lifeless mist. He hunched over himself on the checkered floor of the first Freddy Fazbear’s. Not once had he said a word to him.
It was getting on his nerves.
“Say something!”
As if to oblige him, Henry looked up. “Did you really think people would keep coming?”
“I asked you a question.”
“A stupid one.”
“Do not play games with me, you miserable wretch!”
“I’m not,” Henry said with an audacious roll of his eyes. “It’s just silly for you to think that Freddy’s would live on as this…special place. You tainted it, William. You destroyed whatever safe haven those children had. Now, I may not have all my memories of the prior timeline, but even I can guess how badly you messed up.”
William growled. “Shut up!”
He rounded his hand into a fist and struck his enemy with a blind force that sent Henry reeling back, his glasses tumbling off of his face. A new bruise formed on his cheek, and William grinned.
“You’re not the one in control, old friend. My family now harnesses the power of life itself. What does yours have?”
Henry coughed, splatters of blood dripping down his mouth. “Its dignity.”
William’s insides blazed with fury, and he pulled his arm back, ready to deliver another blow. Only to be stopped by a flat voice.
“Don’t.”
He turned around, spotting Elizabeth coming back from the safe room. She had with her a dusty, old fanny pack. The zipper was open, showcasing a butcher knife from the kitchen, along with several vials of Remnant. She stared at the broken man on the floor with blank, unmoving eyes. “If Mikey sees him hurt, he won’t want to stay.”
“Ha, you underestimate how much your brother loves him.”
She gave him a hard glare. “Not for long.”
William watched as his daughter turned sharply, likely getting everything ready for her brother’s turning. The red fur sticking to her sweaty skin was a clear indicator. It’d been hard to find enough parts to put together a rough Foxy model, but for Michael, he would do it.
“Is he here yet?” Evan asked. He stayed rooted to the stage, dim lights dancing on his golden fur. “I thought I heard someone driving by.”
“No, sweetie, I’m sorry,” Clara said, pity lacing her voice. She glided toward him and rested a hand on his large shoulder. “I checked, but the parking lot is empty.”
William growled in displeasure. His eyes cased what was once the first iteration of Freddy Fazbear’s with disgust. Dust covered every surface. Tattered tablecloths splayed over broken tables. Paint chipped off the walls and gathered on the floor. There were still stains on the walls. On the floor. Even on the ceiling! The damn ceiling!
“There’s no respect for artists anymore.”
Well, all except for Michael. Michael was a renowned animator. He lived comfortable, as any Afton should. An artist, in every sense of the word. William wondered how he even got the money and resources necessary to go.
Then he thought back to those strangers at the block party he followed his son to. The Jamesons had also sunk their teeth into his firstborn. Aleta Jameson was no saint. She was an interloper, and she would be dealt with accordingly.
“He won’t come.”
William grumbled in annoyance. “What was that?”
“He won’t,” Henry promised. “He got away from you twice now, after you kept ruining his life. You think he’ll join you again?”
William hummed thoughtfully. He knelt down to the man’s level, a sneer on his face. “A part of me certainly wants that to be true. After all, it would mean he doesn’t care enough about you to come to your rescue. However, hope has never gotten me anywhere.”
He stood up to his full height, his sneer morphing into a grim line. “He will come to save you.”
Because he loves you.
William immediately swallowed down that train of thought, when the still quiet of the room suddenly shifted. The air in the room moved erratically, coiling around the walls of the pizzeria. It was like a spark had been lit. Like the eyes of a beast opening at the smallest change.
He could feel it. The way an erratic coolness shriveled up his spine. He could feel the way his eyes lit up, heat burning at his insides. Not for the first time, he wanted to pull Henry up by the collar and grip his neck until he was the same color of purple that Michael was so long ago. He wanted to watch his rival’s eyes roll into the back of his head as he pleaded for a son that would be too late.
Oh, how he wished to inflict pain on the Emly family and those uncouth interlopers who called themselves Michael’s family. His many “little siblings” that buried his firstborn’s love for his true brother and sister deep in the caverns of his mind. The former vice principal, whose insane ramblings would cost her her life, if she wasn’t careful. That mindless former employee of his, who flaunted his title of “uncle” despite meeting a meaningless end the last time around.
Not even the robots would escape the Afton family’s wrath. The Puppet and the Pirate Fox would get their due diligence. That defunct Funtime Freddy model was a traitor. A deceiver. Though, it wasn’t his fault. No, it was the fault of the hand puppet that whispered in his ear. That told him to spare every life. It was the same one Michael made, so many years ago.
William wondered if Michael’s mind had always known the truth. Maybe he was trying to protect himself. Maybe he was content to live without the knowledge he had inside the deepest cogs of his head. The very thought caused a sea of bitterness to swirl in his stomach.
A sea that was only broken by the restless voice of his wife.
“Someone’s here.”
Henry nearly shifted upright, but William brought a heavy, metal leg on the side of his stomach, holding him in place. “Ah, ah, not so fast, old friend. Our guest has arrived.”
“No,” Henry whispered. “God, please, no.”
The sweet satisfaction he got from this was unparalleled.
Michael stood in the doorway to the pizzeria, eyes immediately fixed on Henry’s motionless body. His mouth formed a grim line, and those eyes of his narrowed in distaste. He had nothing on him, as far as he could tell. No small bags or pouches, or an indent in his clothing. He smelled of the bubblegum body lotion he loved to use. Sweet, and with a tint of sour. Just like his boy.
“Before we do anything,” Michael began, “You need to hold up your end of the bargain.”
“Of course,” William rolled his eyes. “Your precious Henry. Because he is the only reason you could ever make contact with your real family.”
His son didn’t answer. Michael was always quiet as an adult. He hid behind masks and underneath his guard caps, and William didn’t realize it until he was too late. Until history had already repeated itself.
“It’s not like you already had a perfect family. A father, a mother, two younger siblings who look up to you. But, no, you needed more. You needed him.” He kicked Henry in the chest, and hearing the man’s pained whine brought a sickening smile to his putrid face. “What has he ever done for you?”
Michael frowned at his words, but he still hadn’t moved from the doorway. He didn’t look away from the duo of former partners, not even sparing his brother and mother a glance. It ate away at a cold, desolate part of him, that his family could truly be so ignored by one of their own.
What hurt even more, was the clear, untethered love in Michael’s eyes. “He makes me feel like I’m home.”
And, as quick as a whip, the look was gone when he locked eyes with him. “That, and he helped me burn you the last time.”
He stopped. In his breathing, in his thoughts, in his emotions. He stopped.
William could only really reach one conclusion.
“You remember,” Evan said. “You really remember.”
“It took some time for me to accept what happened,” Michael said, walking slowly toward William. Determination flashed in his eyes. “I had to accept that some things are set in stone. I had to accept that your mistakes aren’t mine to fix. This could’ve been a second chance for you, and you threw it away.”
“It isn’t as simple as–”
“Yes, it is. The choice has always been simple. Evan dying was inevitable. Somehow, someway, it would’ve happened. That day was your test. To see what you would do with that anger. And you failed. You failed when you killed Charlie.”
Henry made a choked noise. He tumbled to a bleary, wobbly sitting position, his glasses on the floor beside him. His cheeks were stained with tears and mud, and William wanted to cover his eyes so he would stop staring at his damn son. He wondered how fast Michael would run at him if he took out a knife and sliced it across the old man’s neck. Only pressure ever willingly drew his son to him, and if he had to use that, he would.
Without a word, William began untying Henry, his wife and son protesting in the background.
“William!”
“Dad, he’ll run with Mikey if you do that now!”
“No, he won’t,” he said with a smile. “He knows we’ll just keep coming for him.”
Michael scoffed, but he didn’t deny his words.
Henry rose slowly, hobbling to a standing position. He quickly grabbed his glasses and let out a heavy breath when he saw William’s son, and it took everything in him to not pull him back and take out those annoying eyes of his.
It was like time stood still for the two of them. Neither one spoke any greetings, and their expressions never changed. All of that emotion was wrapped into the way Henry wobbled his way to Michael. Into the way Michael walked a few steps closer to him.
His son’s hands cupped the interloper’s face, and his eyes seemed to open wide. It was likely all the memories he’d just gotten. They seemed to spring to the surface. Into his cheeks. Into his mouth. Into his skin that glowed.
“Are–Is everyone safe?” Henry whispered.
Michael nodded, a short sniffle leaving his nose. “Yes, they’re all okay, Dad, they’re all okay.”
Another piece of WIlliam’s heart shattered.
“You remember now? Everything that happened last time?”
“Ha.” Another sniffle. William saw tears in his boy’s eyes, and his fingers twitched with the need to wipe them away. “Yes, everything. And you?”
“Only bits and pieces, I’m afraid. B-but, Mike, you can’t be here. They want to change you. They want to make you one of them. A skin suit, an animatronic, whatever!”
“I know.”
“Then why?” An audible crack in Henry’s voice made William bristle with annoyance. Michael couldn’t back down now. Not when they were so close. He spent years dreaming of this moment, and he wouldn’t let someone as inconsequential as Henry Emily bring that down, no matter how much of an equal he claimed to be.
“Because I love you. It’s as simple as that.”
“You can’t give up now, Mike. You have a second chance. I’m not going to let anyone take that from you.”
“You’re not “letting” me do anything,” Michael said, in a way that sounded like a promise. He leaned closer to Henry, and William thought he caught something in his expression. Something he couldn’t quite explain. “I need you to trust me, Dad, alright? I need you to trust that I know what I’m doing. This was always going to happen. You trusted me last time, and I want you to trust me now.”
Henry’s body seemed to wilt at those final words. It looked like bitter acceptance. He pulled Michael in his arms and hugged him tight, his shoulder still shaking. To his chagrin, his son hugged back, and his eyes didn’t even meet William’s. Instead, they landed on the ground. One last act of defiance from his rebellious firstborn.
His mouth moved as he mumbled something, but he couldn’t quite catch what it was. Likely another pointless promise that he would be alright. Henry only nodded this time, slower, and full of mirth.
Another tight squeeze from Michael, and the hug was over.
“Go,” Michael said. “Be safe. I love you.”
Henry squeezed his hand one last time. “I-I love you t-too. I love you so much!”
A second later, Henry was glaring at William in the doorway, and he shot off to a place he did not care to know.
And then, it was just them in the room. Just the Afton family.
William put a hand out toward the dank, dusty hall before them. “Follow me.”
Michael seemingly bristled at the smile he gave him. Or was it the words he used? He almost laughed at the thought. It was almost second nature at some point, coaxing the kids into walking away from the dazzling party room lights and into the cavern-like safe room. And they fell for it.
Every time, they fell for it. For his bright, yellow fur. For his toothy grin. For his warm, inviting body. They called Freddy’s their safe place. And it felt so damn vindicating to know that he was taking all of that away from them.
Oh, but seeing one of his own children fear him for it. That wasn’t what he wanted. Not at all.
Unfortunately, he was in a different body now. He couldn’t invite his son into his arms with the promise of warmth and the softness that always came from skin. He was rustic now. All blood and body parts tangled in with one another. Eyes that weren’t eyes. A mouth that wasn’t a mouth. Hands that felt like he was poking them with rods.
He wasn’t human anymore. That was what he wanted. And, yet, every waking moment was one where he wished that wasn’t so.
“Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet now.” William chastised.
“Come on, MIkey!” Evan chirped. “Lizzie’s waiting for us! She really wants to see you!”
Clara made a clicking sound. “Evie, don’t pressure your brother.”
“But Mum…”
Michael looked at them all with distaste, but was smart enough to not say anything. His steps were slow and purposeful as he drew closer to him and followed them all down the west hall. All the while, Clara and Evan chatted happily, forms drawn together as they practically herded their lost family member into the fold.
Fazbear’s was dilapidated, as always. William bristled at the familiar scuffed walls. How the wind howled as it passed through the little cracks. How the base seemed to wobble. Like it was a hair’s breath away from being taken down.
He could almost feel the phantom raindrop dripping onto his suit and falling. Deep, deep, within the trenches and bits of metal that had encased him. He remembered each time the metal had dug itself into his body. Into his eyes. His mouth. His hair. And then the blood had pooled around him, making the locks lurch all over again. Because blood was still, somehow, water.
He didn’t remember much of the days that followed. Save for Henry finding what was left for him and making what was now the first in a long line of decisions that would damn William to hell. There was no way to tell time in a room forgotten by society. By the world. He briefly wanted to ask Michael how those first few years alone had been in the first timeline, but thought better of it.
In truth, he didn’t want to know.
“Fortunately,” he started, “The safe room isn’t blocked behind a wall this time around.”
William opened the door with a flourish—
—and Elizabeth was nowhere to be found.
“Lizzie?”
The room was just like how he’d last left it. Normal, with secrets beneath the bleach and air freshener used to hold it all together. The metal slab of a table, fraught with endless scratches. It was the only thing he found from that other timeline. Somehow, some way, it bled into this one. Into this room. It found a home here, reminding him of all of his glorious deeds.
But Lizzie wasn’t here.
“Should I go find Lizzie?” Evan asked.
William thought for a moment, and then shook his head. “She’s likely getting tools from the bushes. She’ll be back in due time.”
“What about Henry?” Clara asked. “What if he got to her?”
“We would’ve heard something. Don’t underestimate our little spitfire, dear.” William chastised her teasingly. All the while, he studied Michael’s face. Be it a twitch, a sneer, or a raised brow. He would catch it.
Funny. There was nothing.
A part of him told him that this was his son accepting his fate, but he knew better. Michael Afton was stubborn, and that was something that not even a name change could take away.
“Alright, then,” he began, “Evan, my boy, get the Foxy model from the Parts & Service room while your mother and I attend to your brother.”
“But I wanna stay and help!”
“You are helping, baby,” Clara promised. “You’re helping by getting your brother’s new body.”
Like clockwork, his wife’s tone did the trick. Evan beamed at her words and slowly left the room, taking with him the echoes of his life and death. The little crunch that sometimes joined his speech. The echoes of his voice that came from an empty cavern underneath them.
His poor baby—
No. No, he couldn’t think like that. Look at him! His little Evan was alive, and strong, and so happy to be with them. These machines looked like prisons, but they would be this family’s salvation.
William shook his head. “Before we do what must be done, I will need you to intake as much Remnant as possible.”
He grabbed a slim vial from the cracked tray on the work table. Silver liquid sloshed around inside, splashing and jittering about. He could hear faint whispers and shivering screams. All of them, begging to be saved from this torment.
“While I would love to kill you already, your body is much too big to fit inside Foxy. We’ll have to increase the Remnant in your system to compensate. You remember what that was like, don’t you?”
Michael visibly flinched, staying silent.
William grinned. “You are used to it, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”
He flicked the needle and held on to the syringe as Evan stumbled back in. He held the defunct Foxy model by its shoulders. Its hinges creaked loudly. Fur crumbled to the floor, old and grimy. There was visible rust along the metal, and leafy green moss attached itself to the feet. The eye patch was still there, hanging on Foxy’s head. One of its ears lost its fur, showing the coalition of bars that shaped the body part.
It even had a golden tooth. The hook was less shiny than he was hoping, but it was nothing a good clean up could do.
“Ah! Just in time, Evie.” William said with excitement. “Your brother is about to undergo a very special change.”
“You’ll do great, sweetie,” Clara said in her sickly sweet voice. She bat her lashes, as if in promise, and smiled widely at their son. It was supposed to be comforting, but, judging by Michael’s face, he felt anything but.
With bated breath, William held out his hand for Michael’s. It was ultimately his choice. The ramifications of a host getting so much Remnant while the body rejected it was dangerous. It could shut down Mikey’s organs before he was ready. Render his brain useless. Cause him to forget something important.
At least, that was what all the test results on children told him. Such fickle creatures, hellbent on destroying his family’s legacy.
He couldn’t wait to kill them all again.
And, as slowly as William had done, Michael let him take his hand and plunge the syringe into his skin.
Michael hissed in pain, eyes furiously closed. He grit his teeth and balled his hand into a fist, keeping it steady so as not to overwhelm his body. William watched with satisfaction as his son’s eyelids began flapping open and closed. The movement in his legs stuttered, knees knocking so subtly, you needed to stop time to see.
Michael stepped back, finally taking back his hand. He breathed long and shallow breaths as his eyes seemed to lose their focus. He was staring at nothing, it seemed. Something far off into the distance. His back collided with the wall, as a heavy groan left his mouth.
William cooed at the display. “It will all be over soon, Mikey. You just need to sleep.”
For a split second, his son’s eyes cleared. Crystal eyes stared back at him, narrowed and still.
But the moment was soon over, and Michael’s body slid down the wall as his eyes shut tight. He was out like a light in seconds.
“Evan,” instructed Clara. “Ready the—”
BANG! BANG!
All three of them stood stock still in place.
“What was that?”
“I’ll check,” William whispered. “Stay here.”
He already had a feeling about who it could be. He would be having a talk with his son about promises when he woke up, but right now, he needed to deal with whatever problem had sprung up while he wasn’t looking.
Despite the heavy metal that made up his body, William was an expert at covering the sharp sounds of his footfalls. It helped that the wind outside was practically screeching. It howled through the bare cracks in the walls, blocking the noise he heard before. He could still sense something else in here with him, however.
He let his hand graze against the plaster, scratching at peeled paint and posters that were held up by the remnants of tape and glue. The color was faded now, so much so that he couldn’t recognize some of the characters without looking at their chests. William leaned against it as memories continued to rush into him all at once, and it took almost everything to push away the whispers of a simpler time.
But not even time had the courtesy to wait for him.
A thin, gangly form tumbled out of the backstage entrance. It grunted harshly, cursing underneath its breath. It had long, red hair, and part of its outer casing cracked when it collided with the floor. Red fabric covered most of its lower body.
Elizabeth.
Something primal and fearful stored itself within the pit of William’s stomach. “Eliz–”
Two other forms leapt out from the backstage door and grabbed hold of his daughter. His little girl.
“NO!”
William rushed forward, determined to tear Elizabeth away from their insufferable hands, when something long and scratchy looped around his neck and pulled him back. His teeth clenched at the friction. His hands reached for the rope, fingers digging between it and his neck. He didn’t have nails to curl around and pull at it, so all he could do was scratch endlessly.
He let out a wild, enraged grunt. He watched Elizabeth try to grapple with herself and escape, but the arms of these intruders held her tight. They wiggled around, holding her in place, as the light from the storefront window caught their faces.
Cassidy, with her black hair tied back, held Elizabeth’s legs together.
Jacob’s arms arched up from her armpits, causing her arms to go immobile.
It was them. Michael’s insufferable so-called family. They were trying to ruin him, again. End him, again. Take away all that was his, again.
His eyes locked onto Cassidy’s form, and he found himself itching to claw at her skin. Watch the blood pour out like water. She’d taken so much from him. That annoying rage of hers had festered and latched onto his soul even when they were far apart. Even when she could never find him.
Though, he also had her to thank for keeping his soul alive in the first place, didn’t he? Yes, maybe he would give her a quicker death than Jacob’s as a thank-you.
William didn’t understand why Jacob was exempt from his son’s hatred. Jacob had helped to kill Evan. Jacob was an annoying little rat. He remembered those days, where Michael’s friends would influence him.Tell him to talk back. To leave. To want to leave. And every day, he would hope and pray that something would happen to them.
And something did. In the last timeline, at least.
Three dead men in a dumpster, their eyes devoid of anything. Anything at all.
He could do that again. And he would. As soon as he took care of this little rebellion.
William jerked his head back, fighting the heavy rope. Every movement felt like it was burning him from the inside out. His fingers continued to reach desperately for a way out, but the straw was almost attached to his neck.
It was like his head was vibrating. Pushing itself to his limit. All so he could look behind him. Another grunt left his mouth, and he was forced to completely look away from his little Lizzie and lock eyes with the blurry figure in the darkness behind him.
The features were hard to make out. His ears lost their focus, losing the sounds of a three-person tussle. So many dark colors. All of them, spinning. He couldn’t stay still, for fear that the material would dig itself into his insides. All he could do was stare and stare and hope that something would give.
Oh, he thought. Another familiar face.
Sammy had never looked so angry. Maybe it was because William never bothered to interact or think about him. Or maybe it was because he was such an obscure part of this twisted tale. Either way, the sharp glare of his gaze was enough to render him still for just that moment.
His hands wrapped around old rope. William grinned.
“H-how is sh-sh-she, Sa-a-am? H-how is Ch-Char–”
He felt the rope tighten. “Don’t. Don’t you dare say her name, you son of a bitch! She trusted you! You were her uncle!”
“I-I never asked f-f-for a niece.”
Sammy’s nostrils flared. “You won’t be getting another one any time soon.”
William used that. Used that bit of silence and stand still to reach. Reach and turn. Turn and pull.
Sammy came crashing into him, and the two of them tumbled to the floor. William immediately grabbed him by the throat and stood to his full height, not bothering with any of the fun and games. The time for fun and games was over with.
“Sammy!” Jacob yelled. Elizabeth clawed at his arm, loosening his grip. She fell to the floor, only to be jumped on by Cassidy.
“A little too late to save a friend,” William mused. “I’ll be taking things from here.”
William’s hands squeezed. He felt the skin. Felt the bone. Felt the nerves. Felt Sammy kicking underneath him, gasping for air that just wouldn’t come. He watched the boy’s eyes begin to cloud over. Irises wobbled between awake and asleep. Those hands of his worked to even latch onto him, but he simply flicked them away.
Oh, he hadn’t felt like this in years. Him, in control. Pulling the strings. Feeling a rush of excitement as life was extinguished in front of his eyes.
Sammy continued with his futile efforts, and William couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. It was all so comical, wasn’t it? They likely didn’t have a plan when they came in. What? Just grab Elizabeth and expect a fair trade? How obtuse.
They couldn’t even rescue one of their own! Jacob Ancell was taking much too long with his attempt to pull him off.
It was like they weren’t even try—
BANG!
Something hot and heavy hit the side of his head. William’s head.
He toppled over Sammy’s body.
Everything was becoming unclear. Nothing was…
The room was spinning now.
Evan…
Michael…
Lizzie…
Clara…
He looked up. Scott stared back down at him, bat in hand and a triumphant look in his eyes.
“I didn’t wanna do that,” he said. “It would take too long to finish with you. But, then ya had to go and almost kill another kid.”
There was movement above him. Maybe. Or maybe it was just the wind blowing through old cracks in the walls.
Maybe it was nothing.
William didn’t know.
All he knew, was nothing.