Chapter Text
When Henry Emily was 5 years old, his mother died. He could count the years not because Evelyn Emily was beloved, but because of how much of an influence she had on his life.
He had no memory of her beyond flashes of big blonde hair, beyond her being soft, beyond her smelling like pancakes. He was five after all, nothing more concerning than scraped knees and his lincoln logs. His room was nice, green and yellow and orange (orange was his favorite color) and Mommy had stocked it full of plenty of books. It had been a playroom previously for his siblings.
Carl Emily was 10. Carl was the reason Mommy and Daddy were together. Daddy loved Mommy, but Mommy was his Jolene. She’d stolen daddy’s heard which was not a particularly nice thing for Mommy to do. Carl was his father writ small, but he was a talker. Carl was, without a doubt, the most social of the Emily’s.
Veronica Emily was 7. Veronica was sweet and kind and a mother in the making. She babied him (he knew that and loved her for it.) She had a dog, the family dog but it was Ronnie’s doggy. Puddles would never come and sleep with Henry. He begged the dog but he’d just nose against his hand with an animal “sorry” and padded away.
He was five. He was the baby.
(Once, Charlie had asked him about her grandparents. They were doing some sort of report at school about family trees. Do we have anybody famous? Anybody exciting? she’d sat at the kitchen table wearing her green army jacket he’d scrounged from somewhere. She’d drawn images on it and he studied them with all the love an astronomer had for stars.)
His biggest memory of his mother outside of “blonde” and “pancakes” was a bear. Fred was somehow what his tiny mind had processed as “Furry” “Freddy” was furry, and Furry was fred. She’d laughed and spent days carefully hand sewing him a creature with two big button eyes and a round cuddly body. She’d put beans in his butt (that had been the height of humor) so he could sit. Fred was his best friend until Stanley.
Mommy worked in a restaurant, daddy was in construction trying to become a contractor, and Mommy was smart-
(Your mama was a fucking spitfire his dad murmured She was bold, she was daring, she was brave. You could do worse, being like your mama then me.
He hated how much he was his father’s son. hated it.)
Mommy died. Someone said it was her heart.
(Myocardial infarction. He’d learned the word when he’d briefly toyed with being a doctor. His mother was a spitfire who had gotten too mad - that was what the town had said.)
Daddy - Pete Emily - went nuts.
(That was what they said in their small Montana town. That Emily went crackers at the hospital. You hear? He jumped the doctor. Beat the shit out of him. Not his damn fault. Man deserved to be arrested)
This was the belief around Montana (they had moved to Utah soon after). Peter Emily had done his family no favors. He had taken Henry’s big brother Carl, his middle sister Veronica, and Henry - the baby - to a cabin that he’d built for their mother in the middle of nowhere.
(Smooth wood and carved bannisters. It’s our castle. his father had said proudly, The Emily estate. Fancy for rich folks like us. Henry wished he could remember what his mother had thought of the place. It was intricately carved. His father had talent and skill he’d passed onto his son. What he’d made out of wood his son and put into metal and advancement.)
He had packed them up, Carl grumbling and Veronica plain scared. Piling them into the truck with Puddles the mutt (that had been the dog’s name) Henry had clutched his bear and looked at his big brother and sister and felt relatively secure in their arms but he was Daddy’s baby bear. That was what Daddy had said. He’d taken a look at Freddy (He’s freddy! See? And Henry had patted his fur trying to indicate that Freddy was soft, Freddy was love, Freddy was joy.) his daddy had laughed. My little baby bear huh?
Daddy wouldn’t hug him when they left. Daddy didn’t touch any of them. He just told them out and led them into the cabin and locked the door behind them. Then daddy had gone to the workshop and locked himself in. His three children stood on the threshold of what was to be their home for the next year horrified by their father’s apparent madness.
(One would wonder why Henry was so determined to protect Will. Why he put up with Will’s idiosyncrasies. Why he had been so angry with Will locking himself away from his family. Why later, he saw so much of Peter Emily in his actions, in his mannerisms, in his face. If he could save Will, since Peter-
Peter.)
For the first few days Carl had tried every door. When he’d broken a window his father had stormed out, nearly raised a hand to his oldest son, then retreated and looked so wounded that Carl had looked away and Peter had run off.
“You gonna leave me too boy?” Pete had looked so sad, “Take your siblings and go?”
Carl began to cry when he left, trying to pull himself together because Henry remembered being scared out of his mind, clutching his bear and squeezing it as hard as he could. Mommy had made that. Suddenly he wondered if daddy hadn’t been so lost if daddy would take Fred and hide him or hurt him and he had to protect fred. Mommy had made Fred.
Mommy had made Fred and daddy had laughed and said he was his baby bear. Daddy seemed determined to get rid of every memory of Mommy. He took down all the family photos dotted with dust and covered all the mirrors in his madness so he didn’t see how his family had twisted in the dusty glass. He’d growl like an animal at his children if they came close with Carl dragging Veronica back to their room in the loft. They slept. They slept a lot. Henry saw Daddy one day pulling dresses out of the closet. He frowned, following his father with his gaze.
Daddy had carved the window to the loft like a flower. Peering out into it Henry saw the stack of clothes and books and items ablaze. Daddy’s burning things. He tugged on his big sister’s arm and she peered, sleepily, out of the window.
“Those are mom’s…” she paused, “He’s burning her stuff. Carl-”
Carl watched the window and Henry, in a moment of clarity - the first he’d probably ever have as a human being - grabbed Fred and pulled him into his arms.
“Ronnie.” he murmured, “Ronnie. Help me hide Fred. I don’ want daddy to take him. Please Ronnie.” He did not want Fred to go into the fire
(not yet.)
He did not want his daddy to take away the only thing that reminded him of his mother-
(Like his best friend would, years and years later.)
“Dad’s not gonna take Fred.” Veronica muttered. She had her arms around puddles, the dog staying near the children, “I’ll fight him if he does Nugget. Don’t you worry.”
(Henry had been a chubby child, but it was because his mother had adored him and the whole family called him nugget after Carl had said apparently he looked like a chicken nugget as a baby. He hated it normally but now he cuddled into his older sister - the siblings watching their father try and move about the cabin. Dad’s working through something.)
(Will’s working through something He told that to people over and over. He kept Clara from leaving, kept Suzanne from calling people, kept Michael calm. It was fine, it would be fine. It would be fine…)
The next thing they decided to try was kindness. Daddy would sit in the living room and cry holding his mother’s picture. It was - the children realized to their horror - their father had kept.
Carl went first. He was tall and broad shouldered (he played High School Football and sold cars now. Charlotte had never met him. Sadly she never would). He’d brushed blonde hair out of his eyes and tugged on his dad’s flannel.
“Dad. Ronnie an’ Henry gotta go to school.” he paused, “It’s…It’s Monday dad. I know, I know I don’t wanna go to school either but-” he laughed weakly, “Dad.”
“Teach them yourself.”
“Dad I’m 10. I don’t -” Carl looked taken aback. Peter was an advocate of his children being smarter than he was, “I don’t know…I don’t know how to-”
“Get. Back.” His father growled, “Don’t touch me. Do not ever touch me.” His father whimpered, “...Don’t. You look just like Peggy. Don’t. I don’t wanna look at her for real yet.” His father murmured, “I wanna see her here first. I gotta…I gotta look at her here first.”
Carl had gone upstairs and punched something wooden hard. Veronica had taken care of him and the three had hid when his father came upstairs to fix it. That night, Henry crawled into his brother’s bed and rolled against him, fred tucked in his arms.
—
Veronica tried next.
Their father had stocked the cabin. She made breakfast, enough food to feed an army, and when he’d come out of the garage and stared at it he’d gone back into the garage. He’d looked angry, furious, and Veronica and Peter and Henry had boxed everything up. Henry had gone down at night and seen daddy like a half starved dear eating food out of the fridge. He’d run away but they still didn’t see him.
Puddles stayed by her side as she sat in the chair staring at the food, “...I guess I’ll wrap it up.”
“You shouldn’t have to do this Ronnie.” Henry frowned at the food, “Daddy’s gonna get better. And we’re gonna go home and he’s gonna help finish the Walten’s house and -”
“Don’t you get it!” She hissed, “Don’t you? We’re stuck here!” she glared at him, her features fury, “Fuck you!” Henry shrank back and ran upstairs, big fat tears curling down big fat cheeks as he squeezed fred harder and harder, worried he’d pop a seam.
Days turned into weeks.
—-
“We gotta make a break for it.” Carl was glaring out the window, “Just go, pack food and go. Dad’s lost it.”
“Daddy’s not lost!” Henry whimpered, “Daddy’s in the garage! He’s makin’ stuff!” That was the best part. Daddy made things. He was the church’s Santa Claus. He’d make all kinds of lovely handmade toys. Things that hopped and things that danced. He’d draw and sketch and the whole town loved him. Henry needed his father-He didn’t call his youngest son nugget. He liked him. He called him his baby bear. He’d made him toys. Daddy was just sad, daddy was just so unbearably sad it hurt.
(Will’s just sad.)
Staring out at the forest, Carl wiped his hands over his pants, “Henry.” his brother stared at him, serious, “Daddy’s not okay. Dad…Dad’s not good right now. His brain went bad.”
“Get him a new brain!” Henry wailed, “He needs a new one! We could make one. We could make him a new brain so he can make stuff for us again. And make houses for people like the Waltens.”
(The Waltens were the house daddy had been working on. Mr. and Mrs. Walten were gonna have a baby and daddy had let him come over because he wasn’t in school yet. The Waltens also had a little girl and a kitty cat. Henry liked the kitty cat even if it made him sneeze. His little friend had called the cat “kitty”.)
“Henry.” Veronica’s voice was kind, “Daddy misses Mommy so much he can’t go without her anymore. He misses her. She was sick Henry-” Veronica looked ready to cry herself, “She was so sick…”
“She wasn’t!” He paused, “She just went away to heaven. Daddy’s gonna see her again.” he nodded, “We’re all gonna see her again.”
(Pastor Bakker had been a light for the Emily children. He had taken them aside at church, taken an especial interest in them and while the adults had tried to corral Pete, the children became beloved of the town. Andrew Bakker had told Henry about heaven.
In Heaven, Henry. Your mother will be there. My cat will be there. I had a cat, did you know I had a cat when I was a boy? I had a cat. And my mommy told me I’d see Prince in heaven again. You’ll see your mama. She’ll have a house for you and your daddy. She just went ahead and she’ll be keeping it for when you come see her. And you’ll want to do lots of good things in your life so you can tell her all about it when you see her again. Right? So you go, and you have a family and you do something good and then when it’s your time God will take you up to your Mama and your daddy will be there and you’ll tell her all the good things you did. She’ll be so proud.)
The older siblings exchanged looks.
“Just go to sleep nugget.”
“I don’t wanna sleep anymore! I sleep all the time!” he slept so much his head hurt, “can’t we…can’t I have a book? Please?”
“Just - try! Please okay?” Carl’s voice was firm and hard and almost loud. He turned away, arms across his chest.
He did not sleep. Instead he bit down on Fredbear’s leg to keep from crying.
—
He hid Fredbear. He had to. He tucked his bear into the pillow on his little wooden bed and padded downstairs to find his father sitting at the kitchen table with oatmeal and a cup of coffee.
“Daddy I’m bored.”
Daddy would never hurt him.
(will would not hurt anyone.)
His father turned, his features dark. He’d never seen his daddy like that. His dad looked like he wanted to growl. His wild hair hadn’t been brushed. He stank, he smelled like he hadn’t bathed.
(Henry had done that once as an experiment. He didn’t bathe for three whole weeks. Mama had to catch him and he’d squealed as she’d ducked him in the tub. Henry had refused to allow his own daughter a chance to do this.)
“Where’s your bear?” his father sounded drunk, “You’re not without that thing.” his father lowered his gaze, “You carry it. You carry him everywhere. Your mama made that for you.” he sniffed, as if he could smell the ratty unwashed creature, “Need t’take care of it.”
“He…ran away.” Henry looked away, “He went to the woods. Can you make me something new?”
Silence. His father was glaring at him like he wanted to eat him. Like he wanted to rip him to pieces. His father glared at him, staring him down…before rising.
“C’mon. I’ll make you something nice.” he nodded and Will realized his father was drunk, “Nothing like your mother’s thing. That she made before she left. She left us Henry. She didn’t haveta die lie that!”
“...New?”
“New.” and his father smiled, “New.”
—
Daddy’s workshop hadn’t been used. That’s what scared him.
He had been crying, Henry saw. A pile of blankets had been piled in the corner and the place was full of alcohol bottles. His father sat at the stool and stared at his son, “...What d’you wanna make.”
“...A-” he considered, “Kitty?”
“Can do that.” his father turned with a grunt and a belch, “We’re gonna make a kitty. See, first we’re gonna draw the kitty.” He nodded, rubbing at his head, “I’m gonna…I’m gonna draw a cat. How many legs does a cat have?”
“Four daddy.” He sat patiently.
(Henry Emily had a gift. That gift was his mother’s iron willed patience. Evelyn Emily could stare down a bear, a mountain lion, and live to tell the tale. His heart was hammering, the baby boy looking at the bear of the man who raised him and meeting his gaze. This was a useful skill. Henry Emily could stare down monsters. His mistake was that he tried to befriend them. His mother knew when to wave them off.)
“Four legs. Big long tail…” His father had grabbed a piece of paper, “Ears. Pointy cat ears.” He nodded, “S’cmon together.” he set it down, “...Okay. We drew it. Now we’re gonna pick some wood.”
This was the most lucid his father had sounded in days (weeks?). He gestured, “C’mon baby bear. We’re gonna…we’re gonna go look at some wood.”
His father had stacked boards, and woods, and trunks in the corner of the garage. Henry, padding over, pointed at them and his father nodded, “Name um’ off. C’mon Henry you can do it. Daddy…your old man’s gotta sit.”
“That’s cedar.” Henry pointed at the trunk, “That’s pine. Like for Christmas.” he tapped another stack of boards, “That’s pecandy wood.”
“Pecan.” His father laughed, a deep grunt, “Good. Which one do you wanna use?”
“Pecandy!” His father had laughed when he got it wrong. Maybe, Henry thought with the clarity born of fear, “Pecandy! Cause it tastes like candy and like pies like m-” he paused, “Like my teacher used t’make.”
His father had gone from father to wary bear as he picked up the piece of wood, “C’mon son. We’re gonna make you that kitty cat. I just gotta sober up first.” His father looked down at his boots, “Might help me.”
“Why?”
HIs father stared at him, staring at his shoes again, “...Every time I sleep I see your mama. Every time I wake up I see your mama. She ain’t here no more. But she’s gonna come back. I just…I gotta make her something nice. All I do is make things.” He muttered, “Only thing I’m good for. Makin’ stuff.”
Henry realized he was crying, his chubby fist dragging across his eyes. His father ignored him, slamming a hand on his workbench, “...Gonna make my kid something. C’mon Pete. Get it together. Get it fucking together!”
(“What the bloody hell do you want with me?” Will was drunk, staring at his hands, “Why. Why the hell are you still here Henry?” His best friend’s lips turned into a sneer, “Is it because the only thing I’m good at is making things?”
Henry hit him. Henry hit him twice. Henry Emily hit his best friend in the whole wide world, the man who he’d adored, the man he felt he could have loved and wished he could have loved better so hard he broke his nose.
“Don’t you fucking dare assume that’s all you’re good for. If you do that again, if you say that again, I’ll kill you. If the only thing you’re good for is making things then you’re a machine that can be replaced..”
He should have. Dear God he should have.)
The cat was bad. Henry knew it was bad. It’s head was lumpy and it lacked his father’s smoothness. One leg was too long and the other was too short and its tail was too short like it had snapped off. His father presented it to him like an archeologist who had discovered a tomb and the three children sitting at the table had exchanged glances before smiling.
“That’s great dad.” Veronica smiled, “Can…Can you make me puddles next?”
“Yeah.” Carl nodded, his features turning to Henry with something like gratitude, “Can I have a lion? Cause …cause my school’s mascot is a…is a lion…”
“I can do that.” His father nodded, shuffling towards the fridge, “...Veronica.”
She shot up, sharp.
“Dad?”
“These’re good sandwiches.” He nodded mutely, “Thanks for making um.”
Their father padded back to the workshop.
Weeks turned into months.
—
“Peter hasn’t hurt you?” Pastor Bakker had arrived with the Sheriff who was talking to their father in the garage. Carl and Veronica had approached their saviors wearily. Their features grim.
(It was a haven, a peaceful haven. That did not mean that it was not…difficult.)
“Dad’s not right.”
“I know Carl.” the pastor squeezed his hand, “Your dad’s…Well. Your daddy’s-”
“Daddy’s getting better.” Henry burst out, “Daddy’s making stuff again. You know he’s better when he’s makin’ stuff. We’re fixing his brain!” he had a collection of misfit animals to prove it. Cats and lions and mice and bears and foxes and rabbits.
“Father.”
Peter Emily had showered. What made Henry proud was that his father had showered two days ago. He was doing that more and more. Veronica had even convinced him to trim his beard, “I’m-” He nodded, “My kids-”
“Pete.” Bakker was on his feet and wrapping his arms around the big man, “Pete, Pete, Good God man, we looked for you. We looked for you.”
“If I keep my kids here.” Peter murmured, “If I keep them here. I can help them. They won’t get hurt if I keep um’ here. They won’t. I-”
“Pete. They gotta go to school.” Sheriff Blake had a hand on his shoulder, “Look man. Come on home. We’ve got you. And Eve-”
All three children panicked, Carl shaking his head violently. Veronica grabbing puddles so hard the dog whines. Fred is still hidden away but Henry has the cat clutched in his little hands.
Peter growled, staring at his children.
“You gonna take me in?”
“Pete we’re gonna have to if you don’t come quietly. These’re your kids but-”
“You’re goddamn right!” The sheriff backed up, “Those’re my kids. My kids! I can do what I want with um. If I want them to stay out here forever with me I can do that! If I want them to go with Eve I can do that!”
Everyone in the house’s features froze. The thing, the thing that no human must speak of. The thing that no creature must suffer. The unspoken thing no one entertains.
Peter looked ashamed, “...Fuck. Fuck Terry. Terry…Father…”
“C’mon Pete.” The sheriff had a hand out and it wasn’t hard to see how the lawman’s features were focused, intent, “Let’s go. Kids? It’s time to go home.” Henry bolts upstairs and grabs Fred, pulling him out of his hiding place. The kids gather their things and ride with the Pastor.
“Daddy- don’t put daddy in the back.” Veronica sniffed, “Please, Please Sheriff.”
“I ain’t gonna make a fuss.” Peter Emily nodded mutely, “Be good Ronnie. We’ll figure out how to make things work.”
—-
Peter Emily was charged with three counts of child endangerment and released on a technicality regarding his mental state. He had to attend counseling with the pastor who had stepped in. The pastor had stepped in to take care of the Emily children too - Henry thinking of the cat he’d left back in the cabin.
“I think.” Pastor Bakker was sitting in a rocking chair, “You saved your daddy Hen.” He nodded, “I do.”
“What?” Henry was sucking on Fred. He could not take Fred to school so he spent his time with him at home. It helped to avoid the looks of the kids at school, “I saved him?”
“Human beings…” the Pastor lit a cigarette, “Humans are funny things. God made us in His image hmm? I like to think He made us to build too. To wire things together, to write things down, to craft things with our hands. He made us to love and be loved by Him but we’re made in his image and we can can’t we?”
He supposed that must be true.
(Things make sense here Henry. Will’s voice was glass, broken on the floor I can create. I have to. I have to.)
“So when you reminded him, of his purpose, why - I bet that’s why he was willing t’come back so much. You taught him how to create things again and reminded him of his most important creations. You three. God does nothing without reason son. Things like this will make sense in time.”
The idea of making things.
The joy of creation.
—
The Emily’s moved.
Carl cultivated a rebellious nature that had him leave home at 16, knock up a girl at 18, and sire a collection of kids that Henry had visited before Suzanne got pregnant.
Veronica had - to his surprise - left for the big city. She became an attorney and he knew she had a nice girlfriend who made her pasta and a dog. Puddles 2- he’d once joked.
She did not think it was very funny.
And He-
Henry Emily…
—
“I made him for Michael.” Will was beaming, “And I’m about to finish it’s head. Want to see?”
The endo was beautifully crafted. It was a work of art. Will looked pleased, streaks of grease across his features and a wild manic grin on his face. It softened, his features bright and proud. Just as proud as they had been when he’d shown Henry Michael six years ago, “See?”
“The voice box-?”
“This is for Michael.” he patted the endo, “This is inspired by Michael.” The creature was round and painted with stripes and a bright smiling face, “Little shit keeps popping out of places and startling me.”
It was said with immense affection but Henry studied the Endo. It was tall and human shaped, a work of art.
“You know those kids. From Easter.” he frowned, “they talked about seeing something like this. Weird coincidence.” the kids of Hurricane alternated between being afraid of Fredbear and Bonnie and adoring. He’d chocked it up to that but this endo was so human shaped…so well crafted…
Nah.
Will’s eyes went wide as he stared at him, “What? Really. That’s insane. They must be imagining things. You know Hen, some people consider Fredbear and Bonnie frightening.” He gestured, “This however…here.”
He pulled the blanket back with a flourish.
Henry could not help but be surprised. The shock was genuine. The awe was genuine. William Afton is a fucking genius.”
“...It’s Foxy.” The metal features were smooth, “God Will, this is Gorgeous..”
“I can’t wait to see the look on his face. Oh he needs fur and paint and a little polish but Michael’s my little warrior.” Will looked proud, “Did you hear what he did to that little bastard? The boy’s going to need months to heal from that. Doctor says it might not heal right.”
Henry’s features fell and he studied Foxy, “...Will? You might want to take Mikey to see somebody. He’s a sweet boy, like you. That wasn’t normal.” Henry rubbed at his head, “I think you need to show him this and spend some time with him. That’s not…work related. Listening to him. To other stuff that’s not this.”
William Afton’s features froze, going icy, “...You don’t like the gift for my son?”
“That’s not it at all. I just think…he should get to know you. As his father.” Henry stared at him, features firm. Sometimes, the tall thin British man sitting in his cave reminded him of a perpetual Peter Emiy, chasing something that wasn’t there. Will looked confused, staring at Foxy before looking at him. He looked sad, confused, “...I hate you so much sometimes.” Will muttered, “Figuring all this out without needing a book or a damned manual. If I didn’t know about how your childhood was as fucked up as mine…”
“That’s not an excuse man.” Henry stared at Foxy, “It’s not. Blaming your childhood’s not. Just try okay?”
“I-” Will stared, “I’ll call him now-”
“No.” Henry muttered, “No. Go outside Will. God. Like Disneyland. Ask him what he wants to do.”
“But-”
“Just-” Henry sighed, “please. For me? For him especially. It’ll matter.” Henry murmured, “It’ll matter to him. Trust me.” he paused, “But if he likes making things, make things with him. We were made in God’s image. In his will. Creating things is how…we fufill that.”
“...All right.” Will sounded annoyed, “all right. I’ll…spend the day with him.” he paused, “He seems to like making things but he loves Foxy and I thought…” He paused, “I thought he’d like him.”
—-
The silence of the pine trees. The echo of the world around him.
The Emily family cabin had been shuttered for years. He wondered who had, if it had been Carl remembering his father growling like a bear. If it had been Veronica, out there with her massive dog wagging it’s tail behind her.
He hadn’t.
He hadn’t thought he’d need it.
Or he’d be the one back here, the heir to his father’s legacy.
The moment he saw the decaying wooden creatures his father had crafted in his madness, Henry began to sob. Each twisted figure was Charlotte’s body, each animal was Will’s creations, each cut, each wound, each little thing had a memory attached that was Michael and Elizabeth and little Evan…
He tried not to drink. He really did. But the first few days (weeks? Months? years?) passed in a drunken stupor before he looked up and saw his father’s cat staring back at him. He grimaced, his lip curling. He’d slept on the couch, living like an animal, sleeping in his father’s crusted blankets.
Humans are made in God’s image. His father murmured, the priest backed up, William listened obediently, Which is why humans create.
He went to the garage and began to craft rabbit traps.