Chapter Text
William remembered it clear as day. The last real conversation he had with Michael.
He had told him that he wished it was Michael instead. Instead of Elizabeth, instead of Evan, instead of the children's mother.
He no longer remembered her name. It didn't matter much anymore. She had moved on quickly after she left the boys with him.
He remembered the hurt, the anger, the pain and utter betrayal coming just from Michael's eyes. They hadn't spoken for the rest of that day, and not at all for what remained of the second.
And then tragedy had struck William again when Michael had seen that stupid kid walking around near the SpringBonnie animatronic. It was falling, William remembered that. He and so many other people had gone to push the kid out of the way, but Michael got there first.
It collapsed on top of him, crushing him instantly. They had pushed it off of him, but it was already too late. There was blood everywhere. Bones sticking out of Michael's skin, limbs pointed at angles they should never have been.
Michael had been rushed to the hospital, but was declared dead on arrival. His elder boy hadn't even gotten time in the hospital, unlike his brother.
The funeral had been two weeks later. Henry had come to lend a hand. Everything had been a blur for him. There was no one left. Everyone he loved was gone. His children, the reason for the franchise's whole existence, his whole existence, was gone. Buried in the same cold, mahogany coffin as his eldest child.
He almost found it ironic, laughable, that the dream born with Michael died alongside him as well.
When the nightmares began, and he decided to set the children's souls free, he saw Michael again. He was still there, his sweet little one, the boy who gave him purpose after so many years of not having it! But then he remembered what he had said. Remembered that Michael died thinking William hated him, so William left the boy's spirit be.
He continued his work as he remembered what would have become of Michael had someone else- had he- gotten there before Michael had.
"I'm going to become an artist, Father. Do you think this still life would get me into art school?"
The smushed banana on a canvas was unimpressive, but really was Michael's sense of humor.
"Maybe not art school, but any school for stand-up comedians would take you."
The 19-year-old had gasped, fake offense plastered on his face.
William hid in the suit remembering that moment, the children's screams of rage nearly drowned out by the memory.
And then there was Michael, floating between the dead children and his father, anger etched onto his face.
"Are you happy with what you've done, Father?"
William sighed, tiredly.
"No, Michael. I'm so sorry."
Michael said nothing for a moment, his mind reeling with everything he wanted to scream, shout, yell, and cry. He wanted his father to hold him, listen to him cry and understand his pain. But his father couldn't truly understand his pain until he felt it for himself.
"You will earn your forgiveness, Father."
The pipes over William's head burst, water spraying all over the room. The springlocks all over his body went off, William screaming in agony, but Michael would not let him be heard. The door slammed shut, locked on its own, and William was left to die as the boy who started it all began it's ending as well.
William never hated Michael. He just wished he could tell him that now.