Work Text:
Notes: Wow! People really loved “putting things back together”! Thank you so much! Anyway, I’m going to continue to try and achieve that balance of fluff and peepaw tainted dark ominous fluff with more funny tales of the Afton and Emily family that hopefully tug at the heartstrings!
—
You would honestly think he would know better.
You would. You really fucking would. He is raising a toddler, Charlie has a hard time remembering to blow her nose. When she coughs the world is exposed to germs. She rolls around in mud like the cutest most disgusting most frustrating little piglet. Suzanne used to laugh it off. It’s hard, taking care of a sick toddler.
She came home two days ago from preschool with a runny nose and the sniffles and two days later she was wrapped in a blanket on the couch with theodore and stanley and a host of other stuffed toys keeping her company.
It does something to you, being the parent of a sick child. He’s stopped sleeping, he’s barely eating himself, all the does is just sort of sit there and watch her sleep before turning the TV on to whatever show she liked. He wondered if things would be different of Suzy were here, if Charlie would react differently to Suze, if she and Sammy-
Sammy.
That’s how he knew. Getting morose, getting upset. That’s how he knew he was getting sick, his mind got foggy and he had trouble thinking. Then the sneezing and coughing started. Then the fever started…
“Daddy are you sick?”
No. I’m just sneezing for fun. He counted to ten and resisted the urge to cough. He had zero patience when sick. He couldn’t afford to do that, he was the only person Charlie had and she was small and cute and he was responsible and if something happened…
He wiped his nose and shook it off, “Dad’s fine peanut. I think I caught your cold.”
“Oh no!” She looked panicked, trying to hop off the couch, “No no! That’s bad!”
“No- aw Charlie no-” Henry held up a hand. Their warm little house was suddenly filled with despair. She looked terrified, chasing him with her blanket, “Sit back down Charlie.”
“No! You have to sit down! You have to-” she doubled over in a fit of coughing and he felt his heart break, “You have to be better I’m going to -”
“Charlotte Caroline Emily.” Henry hated putting on his adult voice. He felt a shiver run through him and he stared her down, “You need to sit back down, take your antibiotics - take your medicine. I’ll join you and then you and I can go see the doctor okay?” He scooped her up as she continued to cough against his shoulder. The doorbell rang and he frowned. Shit. I forgot to tell Will.
He sighed, “Peanut. Daddy has to go tell Uncle Will we can’t work today.” He kissed her head, “Then maybe no more nest. Maybe it’s time for you to sleep in bed.”
“No!” She whimpered, “No bed! TV!”
He snorted back laughter and held her against him, her tiny body soaked in sweat and shivering. Sighing, he padded through the tiled foyer to ease the door open. The emily’s house was warm and inviting, cream and gold with strange knick nacks that Suzanne Emily had picked up. Family photos lined the walls, white and green and blue. It was warm and comfortable even with the general air of malaise.
Will, to Henry’s surprise, looked to be in a good mood. He had his toolbox in one hand and a thing of coffee in the other as he frowned, “...Henry you look like shit.”
He brought coffee. Henry cursed the world and all the things in it. Will never brought coffee. Rarely did he think of anything beyond work and asking if he was okay or Charlie was okay - especially as they approached the deadline for the investors to take a look at Bonnie. He was focused, dedicated. Now he stood there like a big purple stork and Henry sighed, rubbing Charlie’s head.
“...Charlie’s got the flu. And I have the flu.” he shrugged, “I know we’re on a deadline. Can you maybe take Bonnie home? I look like poop and I feel like poop.”
“Shit.”
Charlie cackled, then looked at Uncle Will grinning, “You said a bad wo-ord.” she ducked into her father’s chest giggling.
“I said an adult word.” William Afton stared her down, “You should know better than to pay attention to what adults say unless they tell you to pay attention.” Something twisted in Henry’s chest. That’s my kid. Don’t tell her what to do.
“You said a b-a-d wor-” She got no farther before more coughing happened. Henry raised an eyebrow as Will moved to set the coffee down, and enter the house. Henry adjusted his glasses, “Will, look, I can’t work today-”
“So I’ll grab the head.” He frowned, “You look like shit Henry. You really do. Let me make you some lunch.” He smiled at Charlie, “Both of you.”
“Are you okay?” Henry Emily tried to remember the last time that William Afton had gone out of his way to cook something for someone else, “...I can make food…”
“Nonsense.” Will held up a hand, “You look like-” He grit his teeth, “Poop.”
Oceans rose and fell, tides crashed, people laughed a thousand and one different kinds of laughter as William Afton, unbalanced and bent and broken in some very small noticeable ways, said, “Poop”. Henry laughed despite himself until he dissolved into a fit of coughing. He felt Will’s hand on his shoulder, “Let me just - get something from my car first?” He set the coffee down and jogged out to his vehicle.
By the time he’d returned Henry had set Charlie down, wrapping her up and surrounding her with stuffed creatures like a mummy in a sarcophagus. The TV was playing softly as he fell into the easy chair just in time to feel a comforting hand on his shoulder.
William Afton was fussy - he’d known that since college when he’d come back from a weekend with Suzanne to find their shared living space spotless. Still, William Afton appearing with a painter’s mask over his nose and mouth waving a hand, “Relax. You need water? Anything?” He looked deeply uncomfortable before he gestured at Charlie, “Does she?”
“...Nah.” He yawned, “I’m-” henry felt his stomach growl, “Fuck. I’m hungry.”
“Soup.”
It was unbearably domestic which made Henry a little sad. Will could be gentle and charming and kind if you knew him, and it felt warm and familiar to have him in the kitchen when he was the reason he hadn’t lived off potato chips and homemade nachos and ramen in college. Before he knew it an absolutely wonderful smell was emerging from the kitchen and Charlie was stirring on the couch.
“Pea soup with a little extra bacon drippings.” He nodded mutely, “Why you still keep your spare bacon grease in the fridge I do not know.”
“It’s easier than trying to toss it.”
“Put tinfoil in the sink - make it into a cup with the drain, then pour it in the tinfoil cup and let it harden in the drain.” he gestured, “Surprisingly simple.”
“Well I’m not a super cooking genius.” He accepted the soup, “God that’s good.” he blinked at Will, who was standing there in his jeans and flannel like he was hoping to be asked to bring him a martini.
“I left some for Charlie.” Will gestured, “I’ll go get bonnie and just - take him home I guess.” He frowned, “How did she get it?” he stared at the room, “Poor girl. She looks awful.” Charlie had curled around Theodore jamming a thumb in her mouth.
“I’m not sure.” henry yawned, having more soup, “School probably.” I’m surprised Michael hasn’t gotten it. They go to the same preschool.”
“Clara would take care of it.” He sounded confident, “If she has, if he’s been sick, she hasn’t told me about it.”
“You don’t know if your kid’s sick or not?” Once again they came down to their fundamental differences in parenting, “That’s…terrible.”
“It’s not my business to know or otherwise.” He frowned, “You always assume the worst of my family. Why are you so convinced I don’t know how to take care of them?”
Because you’re more concerned about me? You’re really concerned about me He licked his lips, Because I know your parents were kind of shit about it.
William had once relayed a story of how his mother treated him when he was sick. Snippets of his friend’s life made his stomach curl. He didn’t want to think about it. He wanted to think about the nice warm blanket, about Will handing Charlie a small bowl of soup, and about his best friend leaving. That was the best part to be quite honest. There was something homey about the place with soup and warmth and he tried not to think about Will being kind - like he couldn’t figure out how to be kind to the other people in his life. It was, as his therapist had said, An unhealthy fixation.
—
Will showed up the next day with Bonnie in tow and didn’t say a word before producing noodle soup with tomato. Charlie beamed when he passed her a ham and cheese sandwich, “I’m feeling so much better!”
“That’s great.”
“Daddy still feels like shit.”
William sighed, then winked at her, “Are you a grown up suddenly? You seem very ready to grow up, in fact, I’d say you’re ready for school…”
“I’m ready for school.” She shrugged, “Someone has to be. Daddy’s not.” she pointed at her father who was wrapped in blankets and shivering. Henry watched his friend move over, hovering, before rising to head to the medicine cabinet.
“I don’t go to school kiddo.” Henry sighed, “I’m just gonna be late for the investors meeting.”
“I’ll take care of it.” William’s voice was smooth, “I’ve got Bonnie ready to go. With money from him we can finish Fredbear then…we are good to go.” He beamed, then smirked, “I told you I’d pull it off. Who’s the best, eh?”
Normally William’s desire to be praised for the simplest of tasks was just a strange quirk. Sometimes, Henry reflected, he was like a dog that was waiting for a treat - a nod, a good boy. He loved him-
(”Come here.”
Henry held out his arms for the long and lanky creature to come to him. Bill looked desperate, eyes bleary and red from crying, mind swimming with alcohol and narcotics. He looked like a boat in a harbor that had been lost at sea, a creature who needed a lifeline. Henry wished he could have loved him more.
He really did, as long as the man held himself in his lap bawling like a child. Feeling love perhaps for the first time ever. Stroking his hair, he really did wish he could love William Afton better than he did.)
“I’ll come back once it’s done and we can go over some plans for fredbear. I’m telling you, while your designs are a bit - edgy - they liked it. It’ll save us tons of money and-”
“Will. Bill. Go home.” Henry looked weak, “Please. Charlie and I need to sleep.” he found strength, “Stop trying to take care of me. I’m a grown man and we’re not married. Go home to your wife and take care of her instead of being here.”
The look of shock on the other man’s face was brief but he nodded. If anything at these moments - Will called them his Most British of moments - kicked in. If one group of people could be so oppressed as to turn off any human emotion at the drop of a command from someone they saw as an authority, Henry was grateful for the American revolution.
He only called him Bill when he wanted him to do something. Everyone had called him Bill at school. Will hated it. It’s so…garish. Gouache as my mother would have said. It was a good motivator and after he’d apologized the first time, Will had acquiesced.
It’s okay when you do it, I mean everybody needs a phrase to know when you’re fucking up right? Just like how I’m more than willing to yell at you if you’re about to burn yourself or make a miscalculation. Henry, you are too damn creative to be trying to manage your own life.
Will wasn’t creative enough. He was too…cold. Too unwilling, too unsure. The man could read people, he could read people better than Henry. No, he was…unsure if he was wanted or accepted or…
I am officially too sick He was ruminating. He did that when ill. He tried to climb to his feet and failed before trying a second time. Hot feet touched cold floor and Henry winced.
“Do you…want me to-” he pointed, “Your slippers-”
Are you fucking serious?
“No.” Henry’s voice was firm, “I’ll see you in a couple of days okay?”
Will, Bill nodded. He scooped up his bag of tools and headed out the door without a look back. I hurt his feelings. Fine. Good.
William Afton had a family. He had a wife who he needed to spend more time with. Henry would have killed him, everyone on the cul-de-sac, and possibly everyone in hurricane to get Suzanne back to tuck him and Charlie in on the couch, tsking in sympathy, before joining them. I’m going to catch it anyway you lug. Might as well have some say in it.
Will had that.
Clara adored him. Clara was devoted to him. He had three beautiful children who would dote on him. Henry Emily was, dare he say it? Jealous.
He had to sit with it. He couldn’t go off half-cocked and be angry. It wasn’t Will’s fault that Suzanne had died. It was the fault of a country that didn’t give half a damn about women. It was the fault of a country that had let little Sammy and Suzanne die…
In the early days, in the earliest days after Sammy and Suzy had been gone, he thought about going to the doctor’s office.
He thought about taking a shotgun. Will had a shotgun. He thought about breaking into the other man’s shed and taking it. That man had been too damn cold about such a broken group of people. He’d take it, he’d take it up to the man, he’d put it to his temple, he’d watch him…
“Daddy are you crying?”
Charlie was staring up at him.
“...Sorry peanut.” He coughed hard into his hand, “When daddy gets sick daddy thinks too much about things he shouldn’t. He gets like Mrs. Osborn’s kitty with string.”
Mrs. Osborn was Charlie’s occasional babysitter after preschool who had a kitty. Mrs. Osborn was an older woman with kind gray eyes who declared that butterscotch was Charlie’s defacto kitty. Butterscotch was obsessed with string, with twisting twirling and tangling itself in it. When the cat had gotten too tangled Charlie had saved it by cutting the string and saving the soft creature who declared that she was his forever. He’s gotten so protective of her! It’s adorable!
“No string.”
She took his hand and all was right with the world, his demons chased away.
“No string. Back to the TV daddy.”
—
William Afton tried to get himself to leave his purple towncar, tried to will himself to breathe, tried to function.
Two days ago, Clara had mentioned leaving him.
It had been a happy argument (if such a thing could be considered happy) and he’d promptly offered her help, going so far as to open the door and bow mockingly. Then, he had run off to Henry like an errant schoolboy, like a besotted asshole, and thought…
And thought…
Clara Miller-Afton was charming, dedicated, and secretive. That had been what led to their tryst. No matter what anyone at school had thought, he knew perfectly well that what mattered was a person’s personality not their appearance but a single evening’s fuck-through-the-fields had ruined any hope of…what? Driving a wedge between Suzanne Davis and her beau? Finding some way of quelling the …desperation for Henry Emily that lived in his mind?
Michael. It all came down to Michael.
Don’t be bloody stupid. It’s not about Michael. It’s about you. It’s about you and your sick disgusting perverse little habits Billy. It’s about what you’ve been doing out in the shed you little monstrous-
His father’s voice fled his head as he remembered Henry very politely but firmly asking him to leave. Bill. He only ever called him Bill when he was pissed off.
It hurt. More than he wanted to admit.
William Afton shouldered the happy meal, the mcdonalds burgers for he and Clara, and tried frantically to finish the flash of whiskey he’d purchased at Hazbin Liquor next door to the restaurant. He failed, belching and wiping his lips before sighing and staring at the house in front of him. It was warm, cozy, just as good as Henry’s. Better than his even. Whatever Henry had he did it twice as well, three times as well. Four times as well. Because maybe if he did…
“Damn it.”
He felt like crying.
Rising, he pulled out the food, wiped a hand over his head, tried to look presentable, and walked into absolute and utter chaos.
Michael had Jeremy over. Of course he did. Of course there wasn’t a moment’s peace and he had bought Michael a happy meal and he and Jeremy would fight over it…
“Why didn’t you tell me he was coming over?” Clara had Evan over her shoulder, trying to get the baby to stop crying. He pointed at Jeremy who was bouncing up and down on the couch, “I’m going to look like a jack ass - you asked me to pick up dinner -”
“Will? Shut up.” She looked heartbroken, “Just go out and get another one. Michael wanted a sleepover. He earned it. He gets straight damned A’s on his stupid little preschool report card and…Jeremy! Please no shoes on the furniture!”
“We’re in space!” The little boy bounced, “Space explorers!”
“Ya!” Michael joined him, shoeless (thank god) “Space!” His son had his foxy in one hand and a cardboard helmet in the other, “We’re going to space! We’re space pirates!”
“Stop it both of you!”
The house quieted. William Afton could quell a hurricane with his voice. Jeremy’s lip trembled and Michael took his hand. The scene was so domestic, so kind, to have just a single friend like that he thought about striking the toddler as hard as he could. Bounce off the damned walls. He and Henry had never had that. I’ll bounce you both off the damned walls. I’ll bounce you downstairs you little shit and break-
Something began to cry upstairs, “Do you see what you’ve both done? You’ve woken your sister. Michael sit down. Jeremy. Behave or you will go home.” He’d drive him there himself but-
He didn’t trust himself to.
“William for godsake-” Clara looked pained and shrank back when he stared at her, “...Have you been drinking again?”
“Shut up.”
He approached Elizabeth and Evan’s room to find his daughter fussing, crying, sitting up and staring at him and wondering where anyone was in her desperate state of loneliness.
“It’s all right sweetheart.”
He had been surprised how much easier it was to parent Elizabeth than Evan and Michael. Evan was easier if soft, Michael was a spooky punishment from an uncaring universe, but Elizabeth was sweet personified. And she was the only girl in a house full of men. Clara had her hands full but Elizabeth…
She raised grasping chubby hands to him as he picked her up in his arms.
“Your brothers were being awfully naughty weren’t they?” He stroked her hair, “They woke you up. Silly little boys.” He held her against him as she cried against his shirt, “Daddy’s here princess. My little princess. You’ll never leave me will you, never say no. Never hurt me like they do. You need me.” He felt phlegm and sick coil in his chest and shoved it down. She was chewing on his shirt, he realized with a laugh.
“I’ll have your mother come up once your brother calms down.” He kissed her head again, “Please sleep now. For your daddy?”
She did as she was asked. She was a good girl.
—
Clara Afton, Clara Miller that was, had settled Michael and Jeremy in front of the TV in their little sleeping bags with bellies full of shitty American fast food. She paced into the kitchen to find Will with his own hamburger and french fries, reading something as he sipped on a coke. She joined him, “...Did my sandwich get cold?”
“Probably.”
She shrugged, unwrapping it anyway, “Thank you for picking up dinner.”
“You’re welcome.”
“How is…” The elephant in the room. Clara Afton would be a non-entity in the history of the Afton family. A ghost that held the world together, like air, like earth, a nameless thing everyone knew about but no one acknowledged, “How is Henry?”
She knew her husband loved him. He didn’t love him as just a friend or a brother, he loved him because of some twisted circuit in his brain that associated Henry Emily with warmth and safety. The stork like man in front of her, the brooding figure, had been the subject of much debate in school but she had won him, he had tied her to him, like Hades and Persephone, like The Phantom and Christine…
No. Henry’s his Christine.
“Will can I ask you something without you being angry? Can I ask you something to…settle my mind?” She had been wondering it for years now. Their fight still fresh, how he’d been spending so much time with Henry and trying to play nursemaid…
He stopped eating, carefully setting his sandwich down. The air in the room changed. She sat in a tiger’s cage, a wolf’s den, and for all her husband’s love of rabbits of all godforsaken creatures he was a wolf in rabbit’s fur. A predator.
“What?”
“Do you love Henry?”
He stared at her blankly, “Of course I do. He’s my friend.” he snorted back laughter and the air warmed a bit, “Are you serious?”
“No.” she murmured. She swallowed her fear, “Love him. Like…death do us part altar at a church love him.” she held up a hand, “I won’t get angry, or leave, or anything. I just want to know. I had an aunt like that-”
“What business is it of yours?” He looked angry, “What the fuck are you going to do with this information?” Something had cracked in him, “Why do you need to know about any of my business…”
“I just want to know! I don’t know if I can help you love him, or if I can replace - no I know I can’t but we - you can talk to me about it!”
The tiger stayed it’s paw, the wolf closed it’s mouth.
“I think you need that. Someone…” she closed her eyes and felt tears prick them, “Someone to talk to. Because I know and I’ve seen how you look at him and I know you need him and I-” She stared at the living room, “Discounting our children, discounting your family, None of that matters. There is only you in this. And I just- all I want to know is if it’s true so that I can be your friend.”
If Clara Afton had been remembered, her likes and dislikes known, she would have been a candidate for sainthood. To know your parter was in love with someone else, to accept that, to hope that somehow they could learn to love another was the most powerful thing any human being could ever do. Lesser beings than her had killed over that. Shot their husbands, stabbed their wives, buried their bodies in the backyard.
Something unreadable crossed his face and he opened his mouth before dissolving into a fit of coughing.
—
Day One.
–
“I’m fine.”
He’d been trying to will himself to be fine. If anything to get out of the house, to get away from Clara, to go to his shed in the woods, to try and find some sense of peace.
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve been saying that for the last three hours.” Clara was doing up her earrings, “I’m taking Michael to school, then I’ll be home. I’m going as quick as I can. Please, please don’t try and help with the twins. I think you and I both agree we don’t want Evan and Lizzy getting sick do we?”
No. He did not want that. At least in Elizabeth’s case. He lay back on the pillows, “I held her last night. I’m sure she’s fine.”
Clara froze, “Well. I’ll keep an eye on her.” She grimaced, “This bug is going around. Everyone in Hurricane has it.” She shook her head, “It mostly tends to zone in on adults however.”
“Stupid bloody backwoods hicktown-” Will tried to rise, to sit up, and fell back against the pillows. He looked pained.
“Maybe I’m not fine.”
“No, you’re not.” she snorted, “Henry has the flu. He told me so. He said it runs it’s course in about five days so you are…going to be here and I am going to take care of you.” she planted her high heeled feet and stared him down. William Afton stared at her, rose gold hair, bright sharp green eyes, elegant slacks and a blouse. She was pretty, more than pretty.
She’d always been at his beck and call however.
“Please. Sleep.” she sighed, “Be angry with me, hate me, hit me, but please. Please William Afton, please sleep.” Her hands hovered and he wondered if she was going to hit him. Turnabout’s fair play.
He lay back and closed his eyes. Just five minutes. he muttered to himself, Just five minutes.
His dreams were strange. He dreamed of a thousand eyes watching him. He dreamed of half lustful men and women tearing themselves apart at his feet. He dreamed of accolades, of hundreds of children with toys, he dreamed of robots that ate children and he dreamed of a purple shadow until he awoke with a start, sweat soaking the bedsheets.
The twins were crying. He blinked, trying to clear his eyes.
Don’t bother the twins. That had been clara’s dictum, I think we both agree we don’t want Evan and elizabeth sick.But he’d already exposed Elizabeth so what was the harm? What was the utter harm? He tried to move and felt his age.
Fuck that. He was a goddamn adult. He’d-
Staggering to his feet he found a dark purple terrycloth bathrobe and slipped it on before moving to the bedroom door and - finding it locked. He frowned, willing himself to focus on the brass knob, but it did not move. Three single clicks as he tried again and again and again to turn it over. It’s locked. That was odd. It’s locked from the outside. The master suite had it’s own attached bath so they didn’t need to worry about Michael painting the tub with those stupid bath paints like he had when he’d bought them for him. That door locked, the inner door locked, but the house was old. His perfect house was old and some idiot had put a lock on the door that made it lock from the outside.
Panic set in. Locked. No, no one locked him in. No one locked him in, no one did that anymore. Father was dead. He was dead. He’d done the deed, after mother, after everything. That had been the final straw, when he’d started locking him in the garden tool shed leaving him out there like an animal-
He began to pound at the door, “Let me out!”
No one did that. No one locked him in. He hated confined spaces, he hated darkness, he hated it, hated it, Let me out, let me out he had to go. To Henry, to Michael, to Clara, to his children. Who locked him in, who would dare. give me names, I’ll slit their throat. I have my gun. I do. I-
When he got feverish he got delusional. Henry poured over every slight, William lived in a manic fever dream. Everything he kept in the lock box of his mind ran around like rabbits in a field. He pounded at the door a third time, “Let me out! Damn it not in my house! Not in my own home-not here!-” He shoved at the door with a thud and then shoved again only to connect with something smaller and soft.
“Will! Will it’s me! I’m sorry I forgot. I completely forgot. I’m so sorry, I normally do so Michael won’t get into our things Will…oh Will-”
Clara’s arms were around him, holding him. Why? Why would you do that? He sobbed into her shoulder. He wanted to hit her, knock her to the floor, bash her head in.
He chose to sob. To babble about his father, to beg to be let out as she shouldered him with difficulty and helped him to the bed.
“I am so, so, so sorry please forgive me. Please…”
“Don’t do that.” William Afton grabbed her wrist, “Please. Please don’t. I’ll be good. Never lock me in anywhere. Please, please father don’t do that…” he turned, “Clara I think I’m going to be sick.”
She half dragged half hauled him to the bathroom where he could throw up in peace, trauma and terror and anger clawing at his mind.
He passed out when she put a hand on his brow and stayed put unaware that she stayed beside him staring at her bruised wrist.
—
Day Two:
Clara was setting boundaries.
He didn’t like that. He knew she was seeing a therapist, seeing somebody who was supposed to help her focus on herself. That she found him odious and that he was abusive - but in locking him in something had changed their dynamic and he was wary and sick-
Whatever Henry had given him, he was sick.
“Why are you still here?”
She blinked. She had returned from rocking and feeding Evan and Elizabeth to sit in a chair beside him. She blinked. She really did look pretty in the light. Less like a doll, less like a thing. He regretted he still had those words in mind, she was a toy in a toybox, but for the first time perhaps in forever she was a toy he liked.
It wasn’t fair. She changed the game. She’d scared him. Nobody scares me. Not even Henry scared him. She’d done something that scared him. That made her dangerous. He didn’t want to respect her.
“You need water. You look like shit.” She paused, “You look terrible Will.”
“Let me die then.” it was said defiantly, like a schoolboy. He did not want to die, not specifically, but he certainly felt that if the reaper were to knock on the door he’d accept it if only to get it to stop. He hated pain.
“You’re not going to die.” There was an edge to her voice now, “You are going to be fine, you just - got this bad.” she sighed, “And I don’t trust you to take your medicine on time. You’re a terrible patient William Afton.”
“What about the children?”
“I wear a mask when I help Michael, when I feed the babies.” She shrugged, “And I change my clothes.” she rolled her eyes, “I’m paranoid. We have a toddler and two almost one year olds. I’m scared. Remember when Michael ate that crayon?”
He ignored her.
“Is it that bad? If it’s that bad you should let me die.” He wanted to. Every bone in his body was aching, “Is it that bad?”
“Are you-no.” she sighed, “We live in a house full of young children my love. I’m just trying to be careful because I love them. Wouldn’t you do the same?”
The first response was yes. The real response made him sigh, “...I’ll be honest. I don’t know.” stupid new chess board, stupid toys, stupid new game.
To her credit, she didn’t flinch at that. She set her book down and folded her hands in her lap. Staring at him she settled back in her chair, “Thank you for being honest with me.” she paused, “I think that might have been the first time you’ve ever been honest with me.”
“No.” he paused, “...well maybe. Yes.” He shook himself, “I get delusional. When I get sick. Feels like I’m vibrating out of my skin, like every part of me wants to be squeezed.” He sighed, “I normally wouldn’t tell you any of this. You should be grateful.”
He laughed, weak, “That’s not me being an asshole, that’s me making a joke.” he paused, “Is it funny? Hen always said I was funny.”
“Sometimes, people tell you what they think you want to hear because we care about you and we don’t want to see you hurt.” she paused, “I am beginning to think however, that if I really did care about you I would call you on your bullshit.”
“I wish you didn’t care.”
She stared at him, confused.
“Not because I don’t want you to.” he rolled over onto his back, “Because you deserve better than having someone who can’t give you what you deserve.”
He wouldn’t remember this conversation the next day, or ever again.
—-
Day Three/One.
Clara was beside him, people were bustling downstairs. William Afton stirred and found he could sit up easier. Blankets, soup, tissues, all were stacked beside him and Clara lay, a thin skeleton, nearby.
“...Clara?”
“Caught your bug.” she lolled her head back, “Jackass. Getting me sick.”
Thoughts raced through his mind. You shouldn’t have done that, you should have just let me die, taken me to a hospital, called somebody, we have money, we have a lot of money, we- she lay there prone and wrapped up in her own blanket, “Henry’s downstairs. I called him to help with Evan and Liz and Michael.”
She looked up at him, eyes glassy, “Michael misses you. He was asking for you for days. I’m sorry I forgot to tell you.”
“It’s fine.” he pushed a hand to her forehead, “Christ. You’re on fire.”
“Not literally I hope.” she laughed, “Are you still feeling like shit too?”
“Less like shit. More like crap.” He laughed weakly and felt new unfamiliar feelings stir in his chest, “...Let me…let me call Henry-” she looked sad and broken under the blanket and he could fix that. That was fixable he just needed his Henry…
“He says you’re less contagious on day three.” she murmured, “I think you could go out and see him. If you’re willing to risk it.”
She smiled at him, dazed, “You missed him. Your de-facto work husband.”
At the word husband he flinched but she was smiling lazily with love and affection, “You get delusional, I get honest William Afton.” she sighed, “Ah, if I weren’t so naive and empathetic and all the things I had drilled into me since I was a school girl. I’d divorce you and take half your money and our children and leave you to jack off to that bear of a man every night in your bachelor’s apartment.”
“Clara.” It was so unladylike, so unbecoming of her, he rolled off the bed and struggled to his feet, “What the hell Clara.”
“Am I lying?”
The worst part was, she wasn’t.
“...I…can we talk about this when you’re not sick?”
“Oh sure.” She curled up, “Afraid to face me like a man, when I can actually stand up to your bullshit because if something happened to me right now people would notice. Henry knows I’m sick, the job knows I’m sick-” she dissolved into a coughing fit, curling up on the bed into a fetal ball, “fuck you.”
“Jesus bloody tapdancing Christ Clara I’d never-” Think about it in the house.
She wasn’t supposed to know he thought about that. That in moments of duress and anger he thought about knocking her through a window, through next week, into something without thinking. That wasn’t normal, he knew he wasn’t supposed to do that.
Her only response was a throaty chuckle.
Downstairs Henry had Michael clinging to his leg and Charlie on his shoulders and when William appeared and the memory of his own attempts to play nursemaid ran through his head. He felt his cheeks burn with shame.
“Will!” Henry beamed, “Hi! How’s Clara?”
“She needs…” he frowned, “...I don’t know what she needs. She’s in the early midst of this. What does she …what does she need?”
Henry seemed to think about it, “Soup helps. I can’t cook worth beans and rice but I can take the kids out to the Chinese place. You guys still like egg drop soup?” his smile was warm and normal and very firmly telling Will, Do not mention the situation we had ever again.
Michael peered upward at him, round little face anxious, “Father! You’re not sick!”
“ Hi.” William waved, “No. I think I am. Your mother is …very sick. And I um-”
“Brain fog.” Henry said knowingly, “Let’s leave your mom and dad be kiddos. To Chinese food! Hurrah!” He hefted Charlie off his shoulders and Michael into his arms. The little boy staring over his shoulder at his father who waved weakly. He saw Henry had moved the bassinets into the living room. He’s a better father and husband than I’ll ever be.
No matter how much he had, no matter how much he tried to create for himself, he was always, always superior in only one damned aspect…
Sighing, he trundled up the stairs and back into the de-facto sick room.
—
Day Four/ Day Two.
Clara Afton stirred feeling warm hands on her head gently stroking her hair. She’d been dreaming of dancing at the met. She’d always wanted to dance at the Met, living a glamorous life in New York. You do not train, you do not bleed for years to not want that…
Still. Gentle hands.
“...Who-” Was it Chad Baker from high school? Kenny Rogers from college? Her-
She stared into the face of her husband who looked considerably better, sitting at her side and holding her hand like he was a normal person - perhaps overly concerned. She blinked, bright eyes wide, and smiled tentatively.
“Hello.”
“Hello.” He sighed, “I think you’re in the thick of it.” he paused, “I’m making this up as I go. How’m I doing?” another pause, “I’m not good at taking care of people…besides Henry.” he looked embarrassed, “But he…is not here and you are and we are married.”
“That feels lovely.” she closed her eyes, “You’re doing lovely thank you.”
William Afton was quiet, continuing to stroke her hair. She lay back and pretended for a moment she had given up dreams and body and soul to someone who would truly appreciate them.
“You’re right. I do love him.”
“Mmn.”
His hand took hers, “But I can’t be with him. He doesn’t want me.”
“Mm hmn.”
“Do you want me?” he stared at his hands, “I’m an asshole and a bastard and a piece of a shit. If I were a real man I wouldn’t be asking you this while you’re convalescing.” He stroked her sweaty red gold hair, “If I were a real man I’d be able to…talk to you face to face. Rather than ask you for comfort when you need it.”
“...I think you can be taught.” Clara murmured, “Maybe. I don’t know. Do I have much of a choice? I have less freedom than you.” she sighed, “But it’s nice of you to admit you have faults.”
His hand shook, “...I can do it. If you tell me what to do I can do it. I can. I’m not stupid, I hate it when you all think I’m fucking stupid, I-” he waved it off, “Sorry. It’s easy to pretend to be good at this. I can’t here. With you. You’re stripping me bare by being so brutally honest and I can’t bloody go anywhere.” he shook his head violently, “I hate being locked in. I hate it.”
“Will.” she stared, “You’re not a child. I’m not your father. Or your mother.” her gaze met his, sharp, cutting through the haze of sick and fog and horror, “You are my husband. You should be taking care of me. Be a fucking man.” she winced, “But…I just want you to love your children at this point. That’s honestly all I can ask for.”
“Nothing for you?”
“No.” She murmured, “No. I’m too damn tired to pretend that I like you right now. My heart hurts. I really want to like you. I love you. I didn’t know you could love a person and despise them utterly but I feel like I’m knocking on death’s door and I don’t want to be alone.”
“Maybe I could be…honest with you from now on.” he laughed, “I mean now you know my deepest darkest secret.” that wasn’t it, it was close, the one above the one below on the ladder, “we could be better friends rather than just, I got you pregnant and married you because I’m trying to be a decent person.”
“Okay.” she sighed, “Let’s be good friends. Hi. I’m Clara Afton.” she coughed hard, “Nice to meet you.”
“I’m William. Friends call me Will. Assholes call me Bill.”
“You are very much not a Bill.” she sighed, “I married a Will. I promise I will never call you Bill if you hate it so much.”
“My father called me that.” he whispered, “I killed him.”
Silence filled the sick room. Clara opened her eyes, struggling to sit up. She pulled away from him and stared at her husband in horror and respect and terror and all of the worst of human emotions.
“You told me he killed your mother.”
“Yes.”
“And…and you-”
“I shot him.” he stared at her, “On a hunting trip. Because he beat me like a dog and would lock me in the shed and treated me less like a boy and more like an animal.”
Now he did this. Now, when she was sick, weak, vulnerable…
William Afton stared at Clara Miller-Afton with the hope of a dog that had brought a game bird to it’s master. He’s not well. not just not well in a sick room kind of way. He was not well in a way that evolution had wired his brain different and his father and mother - damn them both - hadn’t helped.
She was in the room with a killer. Staring at her like it was a good thing.
“Are you going to do it to any of our children-”
“No!” His eyes went wide, “No. Never. Not in a million years.” he stared at her, “Never. Not even because you asked me to - I-I like Michael. I mean he still pisses me off but I like him. I like Evan even if he’s always a sobbing mess. Elizabeth is my princess. I like our children.” He frowned, “I wish I could love them better, but I’m trying.
Clara closed her eyes and put a hand to her head, “You couldn’t have waited, to do this, when I wasn’t sick-” she felt like she wanted to scream, “Does Henry know?”
“No.”
The thing, the single thing that saved him from being arrested so early in his murderous rampage, the thing that damned so many, was the fact that Clara Afton was human.
Saintly. Powerful. Gentle, but human.
Humans are not perfect. No human is a true saint. Humans are selfish and foolish and no matter who they are they have all hurt someone. In this case, she chose hurting five innocent people for selfish reasons. A desire to be loved above all others.
Her first thought, staring at her husband, was pleasure. he told me first.
(-warped me first)
He told me first over Henry.
“...Would you kill him?”
“No.” William Afton sounded like the voice of God, “Never. Never.”
“Would you kill to protect our family?”
“Yes.” without hesitation, “And I can. I’m very good at it. It’s very easy, it-”
“I don’t want to know.” she held up a hand, “I don’t. William, as long as you don’t hurt our family. As long as you don’t let our family be hurt…that’s you.” she let out a sob, “God help me, I’m happy - I’m happy because I believe you when you said you told me first and not Henry. I’m jealous. I’m so damned jealous of that man sometimes…”
“Don’t be.” Something had changed in him. He took her hand and kissed her fingers, “Don’t be. I can love two people. And you…you. You accept it. Me.”
“I wouldn’t-” She dissolved into another fit of coughing. She listened to murmuring from the door and fell asleep.
—
“Clara.”
She’d lost track of time and found William sitting beside her bed with soup, “I had Hen reheat it. Please try and eat something.”
“So doting.” she smiled at him, “Such a good husband.”
“Please be a good wife and eat something.” He even sounded different, “...You-”
She had a spoonful and he stared at the bowl. His long hair was matted to his head, “You remember what we talked about? You passed out, it’s 3 am.”
It came back in fits and starts and flashes. William. capable of murder. Happy to do it. Promises. As long as you don’t hurt our family… she turned to stared at him, gaze haggard.
Her voice was a weak croak, “My mother hit my father. He was I think like you in some ways. Not the …admitting casually to murder, but -” she shook her head, “I don’t know. Maybe I’m delusional now too. You sound happier that you admitted it. Are you happier?”
“There is…” he frowned, “A weight off my chest.”
“About Henry and your …history.”
“Yes.”
“Even if I could tell anyone. I can’t do anything about it.” She murmured, “You’re my husband. Your interests are tied with mine. For good or ill. I think you married me…to try and be a gentleman but goddamnit I can’t do anything.” she sighed, “That hurts. So I’m going to be a shitty human being and cling to the notion that my husband chose me to share his innermost secrets with. No one is perfect. And you showed me your mother’s crime scene photos that one night.”
“It was her birthday.” he paused, “I…I probably shouldn’t have honored it like that.” He bit his lip, “It was wrong. To do that to you.” No apologies. She settled in and stared at him, green eyes slits.
“So. Maybe we pretend it was a public service. Michael and Evan and Elizabeth don’t need a murderous grandfather.” she laughed weakly, “And if you give me your word, you won’t hurt anyone …I mean no one’s perfect.”
“No.” he murmured, “No one is.”
—
“How’s Clara?” Henry attached Fredbear’s head to the body, “Will I’m not gonna lie, you and she seem happier. She’s less uh-”
“Nervous?” William Afton fixed a leg, “Yes.” something had changed between them. She was less nervous, less shy around him. There was no adoration, no false bravado, but they did share looks that Henry picked up on. Sweet looks, almost friendly, almost caring.
“She’s a great gal man.” Henry put a hand on his shoulder, “You are very lucky to have her.”
“I am.” William Afton smiled, “I really am.”
—