Chapter Text
William Michael Afton does not like his job. He accepts that it’s needed, he has to have a job because otherwise he will be without money and he can’t pay his rent but he would much rather devote time and energy to work and study, to building, to experimentation, than to paltry work. Utah might be cheap, but it’s not that cheap and he entertains - brief - that housing should be free and work and labor should not be taxed or charged or given without adequate recompense.
This is because he is forced to work in a restaurant. The manager is a grim man with no homey charm who listens to him say “hello”, snaps his fingers and asks, “Can you do that every night?” the man is fleshy and balding and William has a firm image of a large sweaty pig. Be polite, be polite. He had decency and goodness and a facade beaten into him and what he has learned - what he keeps learning - is the world does not care if people try.
“I’m sorry what?” he stared at him, confused," Can I talk every night?"
“The accent!” The manager gestured, “Hell, you’re practically born to be a waiter. You’re hired. Keep it like that and people will be tossing tips at you.” he waved a hand, “Something fancy, you have anything black tie? The manager gestured, “I’ve got something you can wear. Just show up tomorrow and get ready to kiss ass kid.”
It took every ounce of will that William Afton possessed not to strangle the man, but he managed it with a confused and annoyed expression, “Sir…” he ran his fingers through his hair. He knew Americans liked the accent (He had used it more than once) but to be dragged into service for it…
Just smile and wave. It was the American dream. Work like a dog, smile, control, control - It wasn’t the first time he’d been here or seen it and he honestly didn’t give a damn at the individuals milling around the restaurant trying to pretend to high society. All of these foolish Americans pretending to be fancy.
You’re being unreasonable. his inner voice, gentle and friendly, patted an imaginary hand on his shoulder, It’s work isn’t it? Just hold your head down and save as much as you can and go back to school in the fall. Most of his family money was held in trust because of his mother’s-
No. can’t think of Mother right now.
He resolved that one, this was going to be temporary. Two, he was going to save every penny he could and do something with it. It was worth it to steal food from the kitchens to eat if he could shorten his stay in this…odious location. He rose, wishing he was two years older, wishing that the world was different, sticking his hands in his pockets and padding away from Pierre’s with a glare over his shoulder.
—
Working at a restaurant has rhythms and rules (any restaurant. Diners, pizzerias, entertainment establishments). There are rises and falls, ebbs and tides of guests. Rushes. The dinner rush, the lunch rush. William was, as his manager David said gleefully, “Classy. Perfect for the dinner crowd.” So he found himself wincing, staring at the purple vest the bastard had offered him, “There. What do you think?”
It’ll clash with the dark red drapes. You’re turning this into an Edgar Allan Poe movie. he turned, studying himself in the manager’s mirror. The man had no reason to be vain enough for a mirror. Still, it suited him perfectly, lanky and healthy, tall, handsome. He looked more like the manager than the man currently running the operation. He adjusted it and smiled, “I think it looks lovely.” his teeth grit, “Sir.”
Truth be told it did look nice. He looked nice in darker colors, purples and blacks and grays and sometimes rarely - very rarely - blood red.
“Get your ass out there and sprinkle on the charm.” The manager had returned to his desk, shuffling papers as William stepped out of the office and found sincerity, superiority, and a casual sneer belonging to an employee certain of their place in the universe. The restaurant was little more than a shack, carpeted with curtains and tables with candles. A mural of Italy (some sort of countryside at any rate) was painted on one wooden wall. It led to a lower area, almost a stage. The space was being used terribly.
“Behind!” A cheerful voice sang out, “Dishes and-Oh hey! You must be the new waiter!” The figure shifted dishes with the ease of an expert and William Afton turned to face his accoster.
Dressed in white with a black apron tied around his waist, the young man was broad shouldered with a beard, features bright and beaming. The figure was so jovial, so happy, that William found himself smiling, “...Is that what you’re supposed to say? Or were you just looking at my ass?”
His conversation partner went bright red and he scratched his neck, “I uh - that’s what you say in the kitchen so you don’t get stabbed by the chef.” The young man shrugged off William’s attempts at flirting still smiling to himself, “You must be new. ‘M Henry. Henry Emily.” He shifted a tub full of dishes under his arm and offered William a hand, “Don’t mind the hand.”
“I’d-”
The broad man was still smiling, his embarrassment shifting to pink flushed cheeks. He tried for a smile in return and the other man looked happy with it, so he supposed he must have done well. Shaking the bus boy’s hand made him wince. It was sticky and ungloved and Henry shrugged, grinning, “Quicker to grab the tips. Here.” He extended a stack of bills, “I always share my tips with people in the area.”
“You-” William stared at the wad of cash, “...I don’t need it. Thank you.”
“Yeah but, I want you to.” He shrugged, “We’re at the height of dinner…Bill.” Henry peered closer, “That’s what Jodie said. I’m blind as a bat without my glasses. Bill or Will?”
“William.” William’s voice was firm. Just what are you thinking about Billy? Silly little bastard. Standing there…, “Please.” he scratched the back of his neck, “I’m not…I don’t like being called Bill.”
“Will! For the sake of expediency.” the bus boy gestured, “Did uh - did Dave walk you through how to take a table?” Henry was short and broad with glasses - big eyes bright and cheerful.
William looked confused. The bus boy - Henry. Henry. Henry was staring behind him at a very annoyed looking couple. The woman wore pearls and the man wore a suit and both of them looked at William and Henry like they were dirt at the bottom of their collective shoes. William brushed his hair back, a muscle working in his cheek.
Henry moved to a family with a little girl in a white dress eating steak, “How’s everybody doing tonight? How’s everything tasting?”
What the hell is he doing? William folded his hands behind him as the hostess, a bored looking woman in a long skirt handed him two menus. He stared back at Henry who gestured - finger clearly pointing to an empty table as he chatted up his guests.
“Oh yeah? And how old are you princess?” the little girl kicked her feet as William stared head on into the face of his patrons, “Good Evening, I’m-”
His mind drifted back to Emily.
“Six!” she grinned, “I’m six.”
“Sixty? Wow you look great for your age…” he whistled, “sixty. Man I wish I looked as good as you do…”
“No!” The kid giggled as Henry pointed again at the empty table, “I’m six!”
“Sixteen.” Henry nodded, sincere, “Happy sweet sixteen.”
She fell into her mother’s lap chortling as William swallowed. The woman he was dealing with was looking at him like he had corn growing out of his ears and the man looked annoyed, “Our table?”
“This way sir, Madam...” If Henry could do this then this had to be easy, “Welcome to Pierre’s. I’ll be your waiter this evening…”
The man and the woman nodded mutely, the man holding out the chair for the woman. William stood by the table for a moment. They need to tell me what they want.
“We’re going to need a minute.” The man raised an eyebrow at him and William Afton stalked away. No need to be in a snit about it. He grimaced and rubbed at his hands, No need to look down at me like that at all. The woman chuckled as he left and it took all of his energy to not return to the table, hold her down, and strangle her. As he was moving to the back, a firm hand caught his wrist and pointed, “Can’t leave. More orders.”
The hostess had decided to move, and seat people in various positions around a large portion of the restaurant.
“...where’s your pad-here.” Henry passed him a pad of paper and a pencil from his pocket, “Be quick. Whatever works for you and uh - have fun!” Tables go from one to six on each side!”
“Twelve? I’m responsible for twelve bloody tables?!” He stared back at the guests, families with children and patrons (not adults) who looked just as bored with the decor and menu as he was, “I-ah.” He frowned, “I’m… “
“Take this.”
Henry’s gaze was warm and gentle behind big glasses. Like staring at an animal, a loyal and loving animal. Something gentle.
(Henry has a rabbit’s eyes. He’d thought that for years. Despite him being so enamored with bears (he’d never explained it. Something to do with his father and his father’s eventual incarceration? Yes that had been it. Big eyes, soft and warm. Rabbit’s eyes. I remember when you’d look at me with love and kindness.
He remembered Henry’s gaze steely, behind glass, the world burning around them. I misread you. You are the farthest thing from prey.)
“I-”
“Nametag! It’s the communal one since Dave didn’t issue you one. And it’s…his. So! Have fun! You’ve got this slugger!”
The newly christened 'Dave' frowned.
—
There is an age old adage. The customer is always right. The term was coined in the 1900s by three successful American retailers-
(of course they were American. Of course they were American. Capitalism drove the ills of the Western world like a drunken ship captain. Only America had clamored into the boat like Ishmael and asked with a bright eyed gleam “where are we going?” as they tumbled over a cliff.)
But the phrase was echoed throughout history (tellingly, European history). Le client n’a jamais tort (The customer is never wrong), Der Kunde ist König (The customer is king) and finally, il cliente ha sempre ragione (the customer always has a reason.) The notion that a business, lives, homes, dreams could be made or broken by Johnny Jones and his lovely wife and two point five American children simply because they did not have the right flavor of pasta was upsetting.
That said, there was something to be said for a predator with people at such a vulnerable moment. America had done the unthinkable, harnessed the power of creation, destroyed countless lives, beat back unmitigated evil. She was an uneasy ingenue on a throne of blood and swords and atomized fire.
When you spend your life being afraid of people, being afraid of being hurt you learn to hunt. You watch people who could hurt you and see what you could give them to make them go away. You watch people and see what you could give them to control them so they’d never hurt you again. The same did not apply to business. It did apply to humans looking to recover.
The American people were observed.
The American people were watched by William Afton who observed taste and desire, who watched children schooled in the idea that they would never go hungry or want for anything. Books about marketing would predict that Americans coping with sudden excess would have unimaginable amounts of money to spend on unneeded goods. Or meals prepared by others. An excess in goods post world war 2 meant that everything from fabrics to metals could be repurposed and that food previously donated to the war effort could be used for pasta and pizza and the hideous attempts at french cuisine that Pierre’s tried to field.
Having been born near France, he would regularly talk guests out of it. Americans liked him. They liked listening to him talk and once he got over being gawky and not used to regular conversations with total strangers they found him charming. He watched them, he watched them eat, talk, tip - or forget to tip.
He watched them and silently thanked Henry Emily who had for those first few shaky weeks stood behind him, whispering that “Table two needs two glasses of champagne” and “Table six is waiting for the appetizer.” before he got the hang of it. The other man never uttered a word of complaint as William adjusted his tie and his vest and tried to look his best. The better he looked the more he was tipped and tips were a lifeblood of their industry.
Unfortunately David had been right. People loved his accent.
It’s so easy to please them. He’d thought. Just wave a set of shiny keys in front of them and watch them smile.
William adjusted to the guests but not his coworkers. There was the chef, a line cook, two more waiters named Theodore and Allen, two busboys (Henry and a man named Craig) , and then Jodie - the hostess. They had a friendly rapport that made the work go by quickly. He could see how they’d joke (“Watch out for table 3. He’s on the sauce.”) and they’d share tips (Henry had started this tradition.) They loved Henry. He was easy to love. He was warm and cheerful and carried the group of them. He was a natural leader who led by example.
William was a leader who led by fear. In his robotics class he was the person who would volunteer in group projects and frighten people into submission, refusing to acknowledge the talent of others. He was only willing to smile at praise to himself, thinking he was owed submission and support. Surely if he was talented, surely if he was kind and made himself open, people would befriend him and be kind to him. Surely if he demeaned himself he’d be accepted and people would praise him. He was talented. He was good looking. He had an accent that made women swoon, he was charming and he was incredibly smart. He could do things for people.
Still, people avoided him beyond polite joking and assistance. He did not receive any tips as gifts from his coworkers besides Henry. After the first night of this he stopped sharing which probably did nothing to earn the respect and love of his coworkers. He stayed alone outside of group projects, he stayed afloat and saved his money living off barely paying his rent and eating at the restaurant. He stress ate, he barely slept, spending all of his time bending over a circuit board grateful that he lived alone, and curled up most often than not sitting on the couch with the static of the TV for company.
He was alone in America with only early memories of Disneyland and the escape from his grandmother’s death that his family had attempted. He was comforted vaguely with memories and nightmares of his mother and father, with memories of books and how he had been chased from the land of his birth to this new strange land wishing for more confidence and support and more understanding of human nature. He was not stupid. He wanted to make friends and have more genuine support but he was alone and left with being chief waiter.
(William Afton had a fondness for science fiction. He compared his time to that of John Savage - wandering into London After Ford and being gawked at by strangers who found his European ways and accent (his damned accent). Later he was a “stranger in a strange land” by Heinlein. There is nothing that makes you feel more different than people seeing you with experience, history, or differences about you.)
What was worse was that David made him - in his mind - his favorite. No one likes when others are chosen to be favorites and despite America’s aversion to communism he would soon come to recognize that being supported by one’s manager, while beneficial, was not to be desired. Teachers pets, employees of the month. It led him to getting a raise and when everyone found out) everyone but Henry, their indifference turned into outright annoyance.
So the weeks passed. He lived, he went to work, he studied, and he ate. No food going to plenty meant that he embraced the idea of not going hungry.
They were counting tips as he idly picked at his vest and counted the till. Just another day. Just another day in the monotonous slog of living.
“Hey.” Henry passed him a box, “Chicken parm and an extra large side of pasta.” He joked, “You’re gonna need a bigger vest soon. I’d talk to the boss about it.” he smiled, “And here’s your cut-”
(Henry was so magnanimous he garnered most of the tips in the restaurant. He was always willing to share, always willing to stare at him like he wanted to be closer to him. Henry was the one bright spot in this new drudgery, waiting for school to come back.)
“What are you talking about?”
Henry chuckled, patting his own middle, “Starting to get chunky buddy. I get it. You’re pretty focused here but keep up like that and you’ll look more like Dave instead of just acting like him.” He looked sympathetic and sad, “...do you want to talk?”
“I-” He stared downward, “...Ah.” Somehow in the haze of depression and sadness he’d put on a considerable amount of weight. Living like a monk in an apartment shaped monastery all he’d done was eat and sleep and work and study. His trousers had gotten tight (he’d assumed he’d shrunk them in the wash) and his shirts had and the vest had as well but rather than the slim overly confident figure he realized he’d gotten …pudgy. Indeed pudgy bordering on fat. He stared at himself in shock, one hand on his middle the other on his mouth. American sized. He felt sick. How the hell did I not…
“...I’ll be fine.” He lied, “Excuse me.” He grabbed the chicken parm without a second thought before he finished his work and headed home. He finished his food the moment he got through the door, padding to his couch and lying back on it, arms wrapped around himself as he allowed himself to fall into a depressive slumber.
The next day he was surprised to see Henry waiting for him as he parked his car.
“Listen.” Henry murmured, “I was thinking and I talked to some of the crew and I wanted to invite you to Juniors tonight.” He smiled, beaming, “We go every night and I figured you could use some people. You don’t know anyone around here. I asked around and I asked folks in our robotics class-”
“You?” he paused, “You asked- you’re in Professor Burke’s robotics class?” he tilted his head to look at the other man with new respect, “How…”
“You’re kind of the star of the show man.” Henry smiled. Then his features softened and looked a little embarrassed, “You don’t notice anyone else.”
Of course not. He was the best. He was the smartest out of all of them, Professor Burke had said so. David had said so. The authority figures in his life said so while others just stared and shrugged. He stared down at himself. Fuck Dave.
“I’d like that. Thank you.” he paused, “...Henry…Henry Emily. Fire extinguisher.”
The bus boy blinked, “What?” he paused, “Do you mean- oh! Fuzzy!” he beamed, “Yeah. Fuzzy the fire cat. Tries to put out fires.” he shrugged, “It’s uh - not going so well. Truth be told I have more fun in shaping robots then making them do stuff?” he shrugged sheepishly, “But there’s no money in art anymore. That’s what my dad says.”
“Nonsense.” William waved a hand, “It’s good. I didn’t know it was a cat though that could use work.”
“I’m trying to make it do stuff. It can’t look like things if you’re doing that…” Henry looked regretful when it came to his decision. Will stared at himself before smiling weakly at Henry, “I could…offer you suggestions when you feel up to it.” He nodded, “Not that you need it. Well, you do need it. But when you feel up to it-”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Henry seemed surprised, amused about the other man’s behavior, “I just invited you, the lone wolf, out with friends. Your response is to tell me I need help with things.” Henry shook his head and crossed his arms, “You are something else entirely.”
“Well. Not everybody can pick up on when people need assistance can they.” Will muttered, “Like say, when a manager just throws you out to talk to other people.” He shook his head, “I don’t deal with people well. I’m more direct than most people appreciate.”
“I-”
William crossed his arms, “I wouldn’t be offering you my time if I didn’t care.” the last part burst out and William closed his eyes, “If you didn’t help me in return.” he gestured, “If you weren’t…” he winced, “Kind.”
William studied Henry who looked offended, upset, before he sighed and stared at his shoes, “Okay okay.” He waved a hand and Will felt his heart leap for reasons he couldn’t explain, “I guess. Just. Watch your tone yeah? If you want to make friends you gotta be nice.”
“I don’t do nice.” Will muttered, “I do - respectful.”
“That and a nickel will get you a ticket to the movies.” Henry shrugged, “C’mon. Let’s go sign our time sheets.”
“What does that mean?” Will stuck his hands in his pockets, “Respect and a nickel will get you to the movies?”
“...It just sounded cool.” Henry waved a hand, “Don’t worry about it.”
—-
Junior’s was jumping in terms of guests, people laughing and shouting and drinking milkshakes. It was a complete 180 from Pierre’s, full of stuffy people. William, constantly with an eye for capitalism (with a capital “C”) thought that owning Juniors would be good, eating at places like Pierre’s would be better.
It didn’t help that he’d somehow become addicted to Pierre’s food, wolfing down his own portion of the night’s leftovers and selecting a milkshake form Juniors. Allen grinned, one sliding an arm around Jodie.
“Hey Emily. Where’s your girl?”
“In Nebraska.” Henry Emily smiled and William Afton blinked. Girl? “Visiting her dad’s ranch. So Will! Are you seeing anybody?”
“...No.” He set his shake down, “I’m focused on my studies-”
“That’s it!” Theodore snapped his fingers, “We’ve gotta get you laid Afton!”
His eyes narrowed, “I’ve been with-”
“You gotta tell me.” Craig, the other busboy, pointed a finger, “Are European girls …easy?” Jodie swatted at him, focusing her attention on Allen for a long slow kiss. William ignored the two of them, focusing instead on his milkshake and on Henry who was covering his face.
Your problem, Will, is that you have a hair temper trigger. You need to listen to your inner voice more… but his inner voice usually agreed that reactionary action is the best response.
“For Europeans. Most find Americans boorish and rude.” he finished his shake, staring him down, “Especially in regards to sexual practices. Unpracticed, as it were.”
Silence all around the table before Theodore reached out and slapped him on the shoulder, “All right all right stiff! Ease up on the guns mister. How do they say it, “Keep calm and carry on.” he grinned, “That’s what they say right?”
“Fuck off.” Craig muttered, “Sorry, Will. Theodore’s an idiot who likes to drink on the job.”
“You shut up.” Theodore seemed more aware now, pointing a hand at him, “You fucking shut up you piece of shit.” Craig was nonplussed, staring him down as Theodore staggered to his feet, shoving past Jodie and Allen with a shriek, “Fuck you. You clown. I was being funny.”
“Guys guys. Is this really how we want to - y’know. Show our fun after work adventures to Will?” Henry gestured helplessly, unaware that William Afton was hiding a look of amusement, “C’mon. The guy needs friends. Look at him.”
William cringed under the hundreds of pairs of eyes staring at him, it felt like that. The place crescendoed in sound and light and noise before he rose, squeezing himself out of the booth and nodding mutely, “Lovely…to meet all of you if you’ll excuse me.” he swallowed, “Henry - thank you-”
“Nope.” He was up, somehow moving quickly and dragging him back to the booth, “Nope. Nothing doing. No stress, no depression. Teddy, get out.” He pulled Will back into the booth, Will sucking in his stomach to stare at Theodore in horror, “I…”
“Fuck you guys.” Teddy flipped them off one by one, “Especially you Emily. If I find out any of you told Mr. D’Amaro that I’m…” Will could see that the other man’s eyes were red, “...We have a shitty job!”
“Drinking on the job?” Craig gestured, “Goodbye Teddy.” He waved a hand, “I get it. It’s a shitty job, but c’mon man.” He pushed at him and Teddy stumbled out past the constant shouting and noise of the restaurant around them. Will stared at all of them, confused, “...Shouldn’t you go after him?”
“Why? Fuck him.” Allen shrugged, “If he gives you shit after this you come see me buddy.”
“Thank you.” Will was stiff at that. He put his hands together, “I’m fine. I can handle myself.”
“Hokay partner.” Allen winked, leaning against Jodie, “But Jode’ here. She’s got friends. You just say the word partner.” He nodded, “Henry you were right. This guy is okay outside of work.”
“Yeah.” Craig nodded, “You’re kind of standoffish-”
“You look like a cartoon butler.” Jodie pointed, “Y’know. I dunno, the people in the funny papers.” she shrugged, “You’re a lot more approachable off the clock.”
“I’m approachable on the clock too. I just expect a lot from people.” he gestured with his empty milkshake glass, “It’s no different than what people would expect out of me.” he shrugged his shoulders, “I’m used to it.” He gestured to himself, “I hold myself to a high standard.”
The others exchanged glances and Henry stepped in, “What he means is, he just wants to do well. Cause he’s all by himself.” Henry made it sound like it was the most heartbreaking thing in the world, “
He frowns, considering them. Their looks turn from confusion and frustration to sadness, “...You all by yourself Afton?” Jodie spoke up, “Seriously?”
“I have an apartment.” he gestured, “I’m working. Obviously. I’m fine.” He was, but Henry was looking at him with a stoic stare, “But I am - well the closest people are the people I go to school with to me. So.” He stared at his hands, “And I’m fine with that.”
“So Emily.” Allen nodded, “Good. Look man, you don’t have to come to every one of these.” His tone said “We’d prefer that.” William didn’t miss it at all, “But reach out okay? You now know…” he pointed at himself, then Jodie, then Craig, “Three other people besides Emily. He said you two are in the same class so…”
“Right.” He nodded, “I’ll do just that.” I’m never doing this again. But it was still pleasant to be included. That said…he felt like a 100 year old man in the way of youth, despite all of them being around his age, “Goodnight all.” He squeezed himself out of the booth, dropping what little money he had on the table for his shake, padding out the door
Still. It was enough to see that he - as Allen had said - knew three other people besides Henry. Four if you counted the absent and angry Theodore. He smiled to himself, feeling considerably more grounded than he had been.
—-
“-I haven’t taken shit from the damn cashbox!”
William stopped in the doorframe to Pierre’s. Utah snow dotted the landscape and one of the good things, one of the few good things about being heavier was the need for less padding in the winter - marginally so. Opening the door to work however had shattered his marginally good mood. Theodore was glaring at the manager. “Dave” had his ham-sized arms crossed over his chest, glaring mutely at theodore who was red eyed and unsteady on his feet. Drunk. Again.
“Don’t fucking lie. You drinking?”
“No!”
A chorus of angry shouts from the other employees. William noted the restaurant was closed, the whole of them in their work attire as the sky darkened outside, “Everything all right?”
“Afton.” Dave pointed, “Answer me honestly. Craig says that this loser was stealing from the cash box and that he was drunk. Is this true?”
“I-” he stared, “I don’t…”
Cashbox? He knew nothing about the cashbox beyond he put cash in there when people had paid and Jodie took it to the back of Pierre’s. He did know, for sure, that “Teddy” was drinking.
“I’m aware that he’s been drinking wine in between rushes.” he gestured, “He’s been drunk at work before. I’ve had to cover his tables.” William murmured, “In fact, I’ve had to cover his tables frequently recently…”
“Screw you!” Theodore was solidly built but gangly - tangled limbs that stretched out for William Afton like a spider. He curled his hand into a fist and punched at his accuser, shouting. The fist didn’t connect with him however.
Henry Emily went down with a slump, dazed - and something inside of William Afton snapped.
(This is the crux of who he is here, this timeline, this part of himself. He does not yet kill entirely for fun and profit. He does not yet relish in suffering. He does however have a sense of justice that amounts to-
His inner voice -
His dear Bonnie -
Shrugging his shoulders like a demented Bugs Bunny. Doc. Get the bastard.)
Slamming into Theodore, Teddy, he tackled him to the ground and began to hammer on him - one fist after another. Henry, he hit Henry, he hit the only person who was nice to him here in this godforsaken hell hole. Henry, Henry he hit his Henry and he had to pay.
The world fazed into a haze of red and black and he felt himself being dragged off, chest heaving. He coughed, trying to stagger to his feet. Jodie had Henry’s head in her lap as Allen and Craig kept William restrained. Something dripped off his fingers and he wiped at his face, trying desperately to catch his breath.
Teddy stumbled to his feet, his features looking like mashed potatoes. He glared at the group, shoving the manager away before he pushed at Will, staggering to the door and shoving himself out into the snowy darkness.
Will struggled to catch his breath still, finally calming down when the manager brought him a glass of water, “Could play lineman with moves like that.”
What? “What’s a lineman?” he pushed the water away because Henry Henry Henry - Henry was staring at him with a stupid grin on his face, his cheek going purple, “Henry!” Henry lay dazed on the dark red carpet, staring up at the ceiling, “Henry!”
“Nothing.” Dave shook his head, “Forget it. Thanks kid.” Will heard nothing. He moved to sit on Jodie’s other side, “...Why did you get in the way Henry?!”
“Oh. Just a desire to be a good guy. Superman don’t you know.” He waved a hand, “Don’t worry about it. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He turned to Jodie, “Hi Jodie…”
“Stop being stupid.” Will shook his shoulder, “Wake up. You’re not going to die you stupid idiot. I’m not going to let you.”
“He’s not dying.” Jodie looked confused, “Though Theodore might. You throw kind of a scary punch…”
“What she means is, a mean right hook.” Allen patted him on the shoulder, “You fight a lot Afton?”
Yes “I try not to.” he pushed his lips together, “I suppose I don’t know my own size and strength anymore.” Apparently being American sized had it’s advantages. Henry. Let’s go. Do -Does anyone know where he lives?...”
Of course they did. Pierre gestured, “Afton. You and Craig and Allen are working. Jodie. Take him home.” Dave waved them all off, “I’ve gotta calculate how much that little bastard stole from me…”
Will did not want Henry to leave. He did not want his friend to leave who had willingly taken a punch for him. No one did that, no one had ever done that not even his own mother and father-
He smoothed his hair, “Shouldn’t we call the police?”
“Why? Things got handled.” Dave was already moving to the back office, “We’ve got orders guys.” People had been queuing up, Will realized. They were lining up at the door and he wished for nothing more than them to go away so he could go after Jodie and they could all help the hero get better. I’d like to do that. Be a hero like that.
Bonnie said nothing.
He did up his vest, smoothed it down over his chest and put on a fake smile hiding real pain, “Good evening. Sorry for the delay, and how many in your party sirs…”
The sir was said with a purr. People ate it up.
—-
He did not go to Juniors, instead opting to go home to his apartment, putting Henry’s order into his fridge - recognizing he’d probably eat it. He turned on the light to his kitchen slash dining room. The place was typical - he didn’t really have the money or the energy to decorate it the way he would have liked. Still, most of the money in the room had gone into the human shaped skeleton lying prone on the rug. It had been set on a tarp, oil stains darkened across it. He smiled at it.
He set his own meal down, frowning at it and realizing that he’d probably eat Henry’s he saved half of his chicken parm for later and sat down across from the human shaped figure.
“Did you have a good day?”
The figure said nothing. William set his fork down and sighed, “You know something, Bonnie, Normally I’d be happy to have you here and explain to you the details of my day but Henry took a punch for me.” He smiled, “I don’t like the rest of them but he took a punch for me. And suddenly this places seems…twice as lonely.”
He frowned, staring at it, “I think I get why I’ve been stress eating and why I haven’t been sleeping well. I miss people. Not that people like spending time with me anyway.”
The skeleton said nothing.
“But they do. I mean Henry does. And there have been other people. Maybe other people could.”
He nodded mutely, “Maybe I could be something more than I am.” He smiled, “This could be the start we’ve been looking for my dear. And I…”
He smiled, and his smile was genuine and warm, “...Well. I’ll contact Henry tomorrow I suppose. I hope he’s all right.”
He went back to his dinner and slept well for the first time in days, the endo’s gaze glowing in the light of the moon. Things watched the Aftons as they slept, watching, waiting, planning.