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He laughed.
Those little shits thought they could get the best of him? He, who had gotten away with it? He, the most ingenious person alive?
Drip.
And now he was the one in control, just like always, mocking them, as he put on the same suit he killed them in.
His manic grin spread from ear to ear.
His sides ached from laughter.
Drop.
Tears even welled up in his eyes from it.
They were as weak as the first time he encountered them.
What fools.
Drip.
What could they gain? They weren't even physically there.
He would just wait for them to go away, then return home.
He fondly remembered.
Drop.
Remembered the gasps of air escaping those tiny lungs of theirs.
Recalls how terrified they were in their final moments.
How pathetic.
He howled with laughter again.
Then he felt something.
It was sharp and sudden.
Then again.
Then he realised.
He roared in pain.
Eyes welling up with tears from the agony.
One by one, the metal joints he made pushed into his, driving through his flesh.
He fell to the ground, his ragged breaths causing the springs to tighten further.
The spirits watched on. William thought he could almost see them smiling, but his vision was growing hazy.
He screamed.
Who could he call for?
“EVAN!”
But no answer.
Was he not a spirit too?!
Why didn't he help?!
Evan was so much quieter than the other children.
How loud did he scream, he wondered?
As much as him?
Blood seeped through the suit.
Evan was meek. Never caused much trouble but he couldn't stand his snivelling.
“Daddy, F-Foxy is gonna eat me!”
The child would blubber.
“Michael was being mean!”
He'd complain.
“Stop crying like a baby!“
He would say back.
”Whiny little brat!“
Evan didn't come to help him.
He tried again.
”ELIZABETH!!“
Oh, how he missed Liz sometimes.
”Daddy, guess what I did today?!“
She would run up to him every day.
”Oh, please daddy, I won't beg for anything ever again!“
She pleaded and pleaded for a pony.
Elizabeth was a loudmouth though.
Too curious for her own good.
”Daddy, I want to see Circus Baby!“
Arrogance.
She disobeyed.
She paid the price.
He waited. Again, nothing but the spirits.
His limbs were numb and he was sure he could hear the faint tune of the music box, as if it was laughing at him; the tune he hummed frequently, now cruelly forcing him to suffer.
The spirits laughed, almost innocently.
William, trapped in his own creation, coughed up blood and tried to yell once more.
”CLARA!“
Why did he rely on people he could no longer rely on?
Why were their names the first?
She wasn't going to save him.
She was dead too.
He killed her. Directly.
His head rolled back and he squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to die remembering the Summer of 1966.
He was a fresh-faced young man, living life before he went to Oxford, making some money in a Pizzeria nearby.
He saw this heavenly sight one day and wanted her.
Needed her.
”Clara...“ His voice was hoarse.
He watched her dance. She invited him to her shows.
She kept all the plates spinning in the house.
She was a professional, truly.
Graceful. Nimble.
And one day, when his parents weren't home, they just couldn't resist.
But even when Michael came, they danced.
And when Elizabeth came. And Evan.
Just less so.
He wanted to hear that record spin again, one last time.
'I can't believe it's just a burning memory'
And he remembered how it ended.
”I'm leaving, William!“
She was serious.
”I'm going back home to England and Michael is coming with me.“
She claimed he was abusive. Ignorant.
A fool.
But she was the fool.
She didn't see the knife.
How it plunged through her.
How she looked at him and cried as she stumbled, her grace and precision gone as she became pale.
He caught her in his arms.
Their final dance.
The record stopped spinning.
She wasn't going to come either, he concluded.
His screams were primal now. He begged for someone to help, still.
”HENRY!! GET IT OFF ME!“
Maybe he was still in the building?
But would he want to help him?
Henry Emily.
He came all the way from Utah to Oxford University, to see their latest technology and add his ideas to it.
The two hit it off immediately.
Even when Henry went home, they wrote to each other.
Henry was what made him move to Utah. He told them of a place that was perfect for them, a 5 minute walk away from his home.
There were days they'd spend hours, toiling, trying to make something work, to no avail.
William would become enraged from it.
Henry would calm him down.
Then one day they fell out over business.
He wanted more time with his family, he said. He couldn't spend all day with William developing a new endoskeleton.
William wondered why they were so perfect.
It made something in him turn.
So, he killed Charlie.
But that only made matters worse.
He was too distraught to work with him then.
Why did Henry back away from him?
He wasn't going to come.
Hot, metallic blood seeped from his mouth.
The locks gripped tighter.
There was no one else.
No one to come.
He spluttered and gasped deeply.
Blood began to enter his lungs now.
Then he finally remembered.
He shuddered and sobbed.
”M-michael...“
He wasn't going to ever help him.
How could it end up like this?!
”No...Michael...“
And there was a new feeling.
The last William Afton would ever feel.
Regret.
He regretted how he treated Michael, more than the others.
Turned him away. Shut him out.
For a moment he was even frightened of Michael when the boy told him,
”I fucking hate you! You never loved me! I hope you die alone.“
Then he left.
He was his last child and he pushed him away. He couldn't take how much the boy, who resembled him so greatly, caused him to question himself.
He blamed him for it all.
He didn't talk to him for years.
Then he made him 'find Elizabeth'.
The music box was louder.
He wasn't dead yet.
He just waited.
Why did he turn to thinking of his family to try distract from the overwhelming pain?
”Daddy, do the Bonnie voice!“
The children would call.
”Let's dance again, William.“
Clara would extend her hand out to his.
”I'm scared, daddy...“ Evan would try to hide behind his legs.
”Can we go yet, daddy?“ Elizabeth would tug on his clothes.
”Oh, Will, give it a rest!“ Henry would laugh.
”Dad...do you ever think I'll grow up and be like you?“
Michael would ask him as a kid.
And now they couldn't.
The spirits went away.
Now he was truly alone, his blood oozing from every orifice.
He wanted to hear them again.
Wanted to scream for them.
But he couldn't.
It was over.