Work Text:
Claustrophobia is genetic.
Researchers believe that a defective GPM6A gene is responsible. Chances are (according to many sources far in the distant future irrelevant to the past yet perhaps prescient.) if one of your parents is claustrophobic you will be too. Humans name fears like stars in the sky because they are scared of stars and the dark and everything everywhere all at once and-
William Afton is scared. He’s scared on every plane in every reality but the one thing that keeps him up at night and scares the hell out of him are locked spaces. Locked small spaces in particular which is why he’s been sitting in the bathtub for 10 minutes trying to will himself to stop screaming because the lock is fine. Henry will let him out. Henry always lets him out, Henry always takes care of him, Henry is good and this isn’t Clara’s fault this is no one’s fault this is an old house…
It’s an old house.
(And this was an accident. An accident. He has a very good attorney who can swear it was an accident and then take every single previous owner for every penny they have. He’d be a rich man, not some idiot who had slammed the door too hard when Clara had shouted his name…)
He does everything with the door open at least a crack. It’s a cute quirk (Clara thought) but when he was sick and she accidentally locked him in, the whole world learned his terrible secret. He’d been reduced to a sick crying puddle of nothing in the hands of his wife who he loved but did not trust and his friend who he adored but who he did not like.
“It’s the door bud.” Henry sounded pained, “Look it’s going to take a minute but…it’s like you said. It’s an old house. Are you okay?”
It’s an old house. Fuck your house. Fuck this house, fuck all of this.
“Honey.” Clara sounded strained, “Honey it’s okay I’m going to help you. We’ll get you out okay?” Such a wonderful wife. A good dutiful wife probably laughing behind her back. William Afton. Stuck in his own bathroom
“I know you will, dear.” His voice sounded strained and squeaky, “Just please. Please stop talking.” He’d stripped out of his shirt hours ago, staring at Clara’s stupid swan soaps. It’s not the small spaces. It’s because I can’t leave. He could stand minutes, seconds, hours at a time in enclosed spots -
(It was less, the smaller the space. It helped to have a key. He should not have to have keys in his own home, he should have no locks in his own damn home, he should be able to do everything, see everyone in his own goddamn home-)
He heard swearing and snorted back laughter. His chest burned as Henry called through the door, “Will? I’m gonna take the door off its hinges. I think that might be easier, okay? You guys should think about moving. This place is falling apart. It looks like the door warped.”
(He should have been able to fix things in his own goddamn home. This was supposed to be his castle and his fortress and Henry his most loyal and loving white knight had to charge in and save the goddamn king-)
This was so stupid. So damned stupid. He felt like a giant hand was squeezing his chest, pushing on his ribs and chest. Press and squeeze, press and squeeze… I’m just an ant being swallowed by a large cat.
“Honey, talk to me.” He could imagine Clara leaning down, pressing her ear against the door, hair falling across her face, “I know how much this scares you-”
“Do you.” he means to sneer, “Do you? Do you really think you know how much this scares me Clara Laurent Miller-Afton?! Do you think you have the slightest damn idea how much this scares me?”
“Will.” Henry’s voice was a large wall of protection for Clara, justified shield against his justified sword, “Will. I know you’re scared-”
“I don’t think you do Henry, I really do not think you understand at all how scared I am.” He squeezed his knees, “Get me out.” How long had he been here? Hours? Minutes? Days?
That’s unreasonable.
Think.
You haven’t been in here for hours or minutes or days. Henry was a bastard and an asshole but that was what he liked about him and he wouldn’t have taken days to come. He’d never take days. He’d take a punch for him, he’d protect him, and in return he’d kill for him and Clara and it all seemed so familiar and so trite.
How long had he been in the bathroom? He’d just come in here to get something hadn’t he? Aspirin. That had been it. He’d come in there for aspirin and -
“Father?” He’d come in for an aspirin because he’d been drinking. He was getting old you have to take baby aspirin for your heart his doctor had said that but he was stressed fucking Fazbear kept calling him and Michael kept calling him and everyone was yelling...
“Father are you okay?”
Michael.
—
Claustrophobia is a mark of weakness. Faith in science is a mark of weakness and while his mother is pious and his father doesn’t give a damn both don’t see biology as something that can be compensated for but rather as something broken in their child. He was expected to be afraid of nothing because his father was walking some long dead line that led from his mother to him and his father would not have his son be weak.
William wasn’t weak. He did everything the man asked, he read, he studied, he buried pickles the rabbit under his blankets and hid him if mother came in to wash anything. He suspected his mother was a secret ally against his father’s tyranny. He knew once that she’d found pickles and had sewn up his little vest - he suspected it at any rate though she never mentioned it.
Pickles had companions at one point. A toad (imaginatively named toad) and a cat named tails that had been stolen at a rummage sale at the parrish. They had tea parties and he pretended they were members of parliament to come to see him at the council. Toad was a very stuffy sort of fellow much like Mother’s family-
(He had no memory of mother’s family. He had never met them and only had the vaguest recollection of a car and a lot of shouting before it sped off sputtering dirt and grime down the road.)
Who did not agree with Tails. Tails was too weak. Always insisting that they were going to have to do “something to help the people” but the people weren’t doing anything good. Toad and Tails had great conversations about this and it was left to Pickles (and by proxy his good friend and fellow autocrat one William Afton) to make judgements based on their nature.
He desperately wished he could put toad and tails in places of honor somewhere so their achievements for queen and country (as his father said) were noted, but father believed that everything in the boy’s room must be for his benefit so he hid them in a box in the closet. He was allowed to keep his books, clothes, and shotgun-
(Essential. His father was a great fan of hunting. William had often wondered if his father only felt alive with something in front of him ready to die.
It’s genetic.)
Out, but pickles and his fellows and their table (made of a box) and tea set (smaller pieces of paper.) had to sit in silence. He hated stuffing them away. Tails did not like the dark and Toad complained.
He could not part with Pickles.
He would never. He did not recall why the thing was so important but it was soft and friendly and no one was soft and friendly to little Billy Afton and he vowed that he and pickles would never be parted because he would be terribly sad if he was. He could not leave things behind. Especially small things they needed his protection. He was constable of the township and if something happened to toad or tails…
Or Michael.
Michael Michael was never going to lack for anything. Michael was never going to have to hide who he was, Michael-
—-
“Michael go away.” Michael had not been the reason he was in the bathroom and he desperately did not want him to see him screaming.
“Father, it’s okay.” The smaller voice sounded concerned, “It’s okay. Uncle Henry’s gonna take off the door and he says he’ll help you put a new frame in and-”
“Go. Away.” We’re moving. This is the second time I’ve become locked in something here. I may as well spend the rest of my life in a damned closet if I stay here. We’re going to buy a big house and it’ll be brand new.
“I’m not leaving.” Mike’s normal cowering didn’t waiver, “You need me. Don’t be scared. I’m here. You don’t have to be scared…” Michael sounded so desperate. His little Michael, terrified for his father. He does love you Will. He’d found it in him to love the boy, to be a better father than his own had been because there is something to be said for when a human being looks at you like you are their whole world.
(What an excellent thing he had made. So lifelike, so lovely, so devoted.)
And he was a fighter. He looked like him and he acted like him and-
“Michael get the fuck out of my bedroom. Clara. Take him out.”
“Will-”
“Out.” He was not going to cry or scream in front of his son.
“No! Put me down! No no no!-” he heard something click and Henry sigh a long suffering sigh before lifting the door away from the frame just in time for William Afton to spring out like a rabbit. He ran from the doorframe - bolting across the room and out the open door. He went down the stairs, almost tripping as he landed hard on the ground and kept going. He ran past Charlotte and the twins, throwing open the door and landing on the soft grass heaving. Above him, the late afternoon sky glimmered, the wide expanse of Utah in the distance. He breathed, rolling over onto his back as he felt something small land on his chest with a scared whimper.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry-” the little boy cried into his chest and William curled around him for a moment, a single moment, before he gasped. Rolling away from the child, he heaved again and willed his breathing to calm down as Mike cautiously, carefully, approached him as someone would approach a wounded animal.
“You don’t like being locked in places.”
“No.” William Afton shook his head, “No. I don’t.” he couldn’t make his chest to stop hurting. What if it doesn’t what if I’m having a heart attack. His head was matted with sweat and the shock of warm sweaty skin with cool night air was overwhelming.
“Mom says I’m not supposed to ask why.”
“Your mother is correct.”
“Can I hug you?”
There are certain requests that human beings cannot refuse. No matter how callous, no matter how vile, no matter how evil. One and done, one single moment, one single request. William stared at his son before opening his arms to let the little boy fall into them and squeeze him.
Michael was clearly struggling with his breathing, clearly keeping something back. He exhaled, inhaled, then spoke-
“I thought I'd be funny…It… if I closed the…the door. Father. I’m so-”
William Afton’s heart froze, clutching the little boy still. He could squeeze, he could snap the little bastard in half. He was so small, it would be so easy. He heard Michael whimper, saying something beneath the roaring of the ocean in his mind. He heard Michael shout, snapping back to reality as he let the boy go.
Henry and Clara stood above him like God staring down at a sinner, like angels looking down at pathetic men. He couldn’t hate them, there was only animal panic and fight but Henry offered him a hand and Will saw his son was crying and looking upset. Why do I always make him cry. Why do I always make him happy? Why does he keep coming back? He should leave. They should all live.
He collapsed into Henry’s arms as he staggered to his feet and leaned heavily on him, staring straight ahead. His heart hammered and he began to breathe hard when he was inside, “Will. It’s okay. It’s okay…”
More roaring.
More ocean noise.
More distant ghosts shouting. Stuck you little sod? Look at you! Just a little clump of dirt! When he got into the bedroom he whimpered, staring at the bathroom in horror.
“It’s okay bud. It’s okay.” Henry was right there, “I-here.” He paused. Henry moved away and William cried out in distress before he pushed something soft into his arms. Michael’s rabbit.
He squeezed it.
Michael locked you in.
He didn’t know. He squeezed the rabbit harder, He didn’t know. He didn’t know. Just breathe…just breathe… He felt someone squeeze his shoulder and he nodded, “I know.”
“What can we do.” Henry murmured. He rubbed the other man’s shoulder, “Will. What can I do? I promise you Michael is so sorry he-”
“Not right now!” if he thought about it. If he thought about it, he’d scream, “Not right now!”
“What can we do. Do we need to call somebody?”
“I…” No, “I just need to …sit here. Get my heart to stop pounding.” he curled tighter, “Please leave.” the thing keeping him frozen was shame. He hadn’t had a moment like this since…when? College? Henry knew. How had Hen known there had to have been a reason there-
“Okay pal. I’m going to send Clara up in a bit okay? She’ll want to see you.” if he could, he would have stabbed him there and then, killed them all, ran out, his mind blank, something screaming in his mind…
No! He stared at him, scared to close his eyes, before Henry stroked his hair. He left him, leaving the door wide open.
And William Afton thought.
—-
William Afton’s mother’s family was rich.
Extremely rich, the sort of rich where you inevitably had at least one wayward child who married someone “beneath their station.” That was his mother Jacqueline, cold, hard, mean. She was just as bad as her husband, if not worse because her sickly sweet gaslighting smiles made William believe there was something better than what he had and what she and her husband would offer.
Except in March of 1954, She was thrilled. She was sashaying around their cottage, beaming. Nana had been banished to tea with friends and William had a few moments with his copy of “Wind in the Willows” that he was quietly reading to tails and toad and pickles.
“Will-” His mother actually knocked, she knocked, and there was time for him to shove his friends under his pillow sitting cross legged on his bed with his book in his lap. She sashayed into the room and smiled, “No shoes on the furniture my little billy. Good. Good boy.” She leaned down to kiss his forehead and William blinked, “No shoes!” She stroked his hair, “Do you remember your mum’s family?” she laughed. Years had been taken off her features, “No, of course you wouldn’t. Your mum was in the- you were very young.” She cupped his cheek, “But. Your mum had a family.”
“...They…” he had to formulate the right thing to say that would keep his mother kind, “They didn’t treat you well.” he tried to scoot over to the pillow to protect his toys, “They were mean.” he did remember. He remembered more than she would want to hear, yelling, screaming. Running. It was just …fuzzy. Bits and starts.
“Very good!” She kissed him again, “But. I have some wonderful news. Your grandmother and grandfather? Are dead.” She beamed, “They died. Isn’t that wonderful? They didn’t like that I married your father. They were so angry with me! But they’re not here anymore. And my brother and your cousins are going to come and meet you and me.” She stroked his hair, “And they might give us some money if they see how good you are, hm?”
“I-” the thought of money was good but mother being nice was better, “I have to be good?” he could do that. He could be very good. No thoughts, good thoughts, bad thoughts, no bunny-
(He had overheard someone at school talking about the film “Harvey”. The kids at school had laughed at it but there had been something that stuck with him. Then the cab driver says “He’ll become a perfectly normal human being. And you know what stinkers they are. He became obsessed with this idea, that he could summon a creature that would be his friend, that the friend would make him extraordinary rather than the sort of kid dragged out and beaten senseless-)
“Billy this is important.” His mother knelt before him, “This is very, very important. I need you to shine. I need you to show them how smart you are.” she smiled, “They’re going to come and stay with us for a day or so. Please be kind to your cousins.”
Cousins. The notion that he had other family besides his family was interesting. What was more interesting was mother being nice, gentle touches, and being kind. Kind mother was really interesting.
“What are you reading? This?” her brow furrowed, “Would you like me to read it to you?” she spread her skirt and leaned back. She frowned and Will knew something had changed when his mother had moved the pillow to the side and ignored his few toys tucked beneath the pillow. She stared at the rabbit, her features soft, before she passed it to William.
The bottom fell out of William Afton’s world, light met the heavens. He snuggled in beside her, head on her chest. He had never had this, never. Perhaps he never would again. He squeezed pickles in his arms and smiled.
The would-be dead approached God. Why couldn’t this be a regular occurrence? Why damn us in such a way? What is wrong with you?
God was absent, perhaps reading, perhaps writing, perhaps simply forgetting to exist.
—
His cousins were cliche, in a word, awful.
Shelby was massive, a boulder of a creature with a splatter of hair on his head like moss on a rock. Trystan was the epitome of the rich tasteless caucasian that was given the world simply by virtue of being born, and he knew it. His ancestors founded Empires and destroyed them 250 years later because they got sloppy. Patricia was Trystan in female form. Hers was a high calling, she would birth the heirs of men like Trystan made for killing human civilizations.
To Will however, they were family and they’d made his mother happy therefore he would run into the road if they demanded a car.
His uncle was also named William and when William regarded William he saw a man he’d like to be because his Uncle Bill was…not cliche…kind.
“So this is little Billy!” He beamed, “You look just like our dad! I’m sorry.” He chuckled and William laughed back, “You’re going to have ladies falling down at your feet when you get older. And your mum named you…”
“William Afton.” He smiled and he saw his Uncle smile.
“Jackie.” His uncle rose and wrapped his arms around his mother, “Jackie Jackie Jackie I missed you…” William smiled at how happy his mother was and smiled at his cousins who were staring at their cottage like it was a run over cat they’d hit with a car. He beamed at them, Trystan raising an eyebrow and snorting in contempt.
“John.” Uncle Bill offered father a hand, “I’m Bill. A pleasure.”
William completely ignored how his father looked like he’d swallowed a lemon, shaking his hand. Uncle Bill was tall and powerful and rich and William decided I’m going to be just like him. He was all smiles, easy, shaking hands with everybody. He smelled good and he was nice. His father looked like he was sucking lemons and that was really really funny. There were good people, Nana (even though she made father cry), and now Uncle Bill. Bill looked pained when he entered the cottage he frowned and kept looking at his sister before he shook his head sadly and gestured, “Trys, take your brother and sister up to your cousin’s room. Bill. Can I count on you to give your cousins the tour while I talk to your mum and father?”
“Yes sir.” He nodded, “You lot want to see my-” he paused, “Do you…want to see my room?”
“Of course cuz.” Trystan beamed, “You’re family. Do you have any games? We could play a board game…”
“I…I do not. But I could - we could get a ball. Play with it. Father likes it when I play sports.” he beamed and his gaze went straight to Uncle Bill who was smiling back. Kindness. Genuine kindness somewhere in his soul and family. Who knew?
“Go on then.” Shelby gestured, “Let’s go lads.”
Upstairs, William’s room was small and he was grateful to his father for having the wherewithal to make sure that he didn’t have toys out. Trystan went for his shotgun, “This is a nice piece of hardware mate. You shoot with it?”
“Hmn.” William wished his clothing was folded, hung, something, what little he had did not look impressive. If they were not impressive mother would be sad, “I do.”
“You and I ought to hunt together.” Trystan murmured, “This is a good gun cuz.”
William sighed. He hated how hunting made him feel, seeing creatures fall apart or blast into nothing. Seeing things fall to him. He was good at it, he was a damn good shot, good at butchering things, but things were small and soft and his mother had let him be that way and he did not want to think about how he was pushed to kill things frequently and how he’d liked it, “Yes. We can do that. Let me show you my ball! It’s not very good- but!...”
He had three pieces of sporting equipment. A bat and ball, a kick ball, and his shotgun. He went for the ball, ignoring how Trystan looked down at everything.
“What’s this?”
William turned to the bed to find Patricia holding Pickles by one arm, “That’s mine! I-I mean that’s my rabbit please put him down. He gets sick if he’s up too high…”
“Sick?!” Trystan snorted. He picked the rabbit up, “Toy. A toy.” He snorted, “Patty he’s sick. Toss him down then. Give us the ball babyman.” Trystan snorted, “I thought you were interesting for a moment.”
“Be gentle with him. He’s very old-” William moved forward and Patricia tossed her head and tossed Pickles onto the bed letting him slide between the side of the bed and the wall. William leapt for him, dropping the ball. He fished pickles out from the jaws of death just in time to see his cousins leave, the ball dropped to the floor. At least his cousin had set his gun down.
“Have to hide you pickles.” William hugged the rabbit gently, “It’s not that I don’t love you. Please don’t look at me like that love.” He squeezed the rabbit and kissed it’s head, “We’ll have a town council when they’re gone okay?”
He did not see Shelby standing in the doorway with Patricia beside him, their features rife with contempt.
—-
“So. Will.” Uncle Bill nodded, “Do you like school?”
“Yes sir!” they had a real meal for once. A duck ( a real duck!) and potatoes and gravy. He was determined to watch his mother, to make sure his manners and consumption were appropriate for their family.
“I love school.” he murmured, “I like all the subjects. I’m especially good at math and science and literature and-”
“Enough!” Bill laughed, “Trys you could stand to learn something from your cuz. What do you want to be when you grow up Billy?”
“In charge.”
His father barked out a laugh and Uncle Bill chuckled indulgently. He glanced at his mother who was smiling warmly. He would have died for those smiles, lived for them, “That’s a broad spectrum of ideas. In charge of what?”
He considered, for the briefest moment, sharing his toys with his uncle but his mother insisted that he be polite and proper and he saw Trystan glaring at him angrily. He was angry and Will ignored him, trying to breathe through his nerves, “Something. A town councilman perhaps. My nana says I’m very smart.” He smiled, “She says I could be a mayor.”
(He would find his real purpose later. Mayor is nothing, King, president, the laws of men were paltry. Why be a man when you could be a God.)
“Well. It sounds like you’d be a good case for the bench. Barrister William Afton.” He nodded at his sister, “I like the sound of that. Jackie, the boy’s a credit to you.”
“I helped too.” John Afton had finally spoke, glaring sullenly at his wife, “You know. S’two man job so to speak.”
Trystan burst out laughing while Patricia giggled behind her hand. Bill glared down at his brother in law like a man stepping on an ant, “I would have assumed that it was implied James.” Bill muttered, “But I can see that you’re not entirely all there are you. Boy’s bloody malnourished, my sister looks like a ghost haunting your cottage. You need to take better care of your family.”
Will shivered as his father rose to his feet. It was only then that he saw his father had been drinking, his motions staggered and his features wet. He belched and glared, “At least my boy’s smarter than yours apparently.”
Trystan’s good nature evaporated and Will felt another shiver, this one far closer. Father would smack him perhaps, Trystan would do far worse.
—-
Clara did not appear so much as wrap around him. He squirmed, shoving, but she held on tight and he slumped in her arms.
“Don’t fucking look at me.”
“Will-”
“Don’t. I mean it.” he squirmed harder, good nature gone, “We’re moving. I don’t care where. We’re getting out of here. This is the second time I’ve been locked in somewhere here and I won’t have it damn it.”
“It’s something that’s fixable-”
“I won’t have it do you hear me?” He shoved her off him and looked down, “I won’t. I won’t have it. It’s my home. I will go where I want in my home. I will go where I want in places that are mine do you understand me you bitch? I won’t be restrained.”
“William I won’t be spoken to like that…”
“Oh won’t you? You should be very afraid of me Clara. You should be very fucking afraid of me you know what I can do!”
He expected her to cower, he expected fear. She tilted her head at him and sat carefully on the bed before glaring at him, her expression nasty, “If you’re such a big bold man, a big brave man, why are you crying?”
“I…”
His face was soaked.
“...Just go.” He slumped, defeated. He was a small man, he’d always be a small man, “Please. Please Clara I’m sorry I just-” he took in a deep shuddering breath, “Don’t. Please. Please Clara.”
She sighed, “Will. Give me your hands my love.” She took his hands, “I love you. We’ll move. I promise. We’ll find the money and make it work.”
Money. Money trapped people. It was always money, it’s pursuit, it’s gain, it’s loss. Money built a cage around men and he’d resolved long ago to be the cage builder, not the animal trapped.
—-
Pickles was gone.
His room had been ransacked, parts scattered. His gun was in it’s place, untouched, like a sacred relic. He hated the thing but pickles was gone and toad and tails were gone too. He frantically tore through his blankets and pillows and sheets before he heard a laugh outside. Stopping his search, he peered through the attic window-
In time to see Patricia and Shelby - Trystan supervising - dropping his toys in a large hole in the field.
He should have known. Uncle Bill liked him. He thought he could be a Barrister, he thought he could be something good and be a strong man and help people. Trystan did not think that, Trystan was glaring at him and William - aware of every human being watching him - had seen it.
“Stop!” The field was full of mud, his shoes sinking into the grass, “Stop! Oh please stop!”
“Don’t worry Billy.” Trystan had grabbed the rabbit by one arm, “I’ll put him down. He gets sick when he’s up high yeah?” The older boy tossed golden curls and, with the air of those trapped in his station, heirs to cruelty, dropped Pickles into the hole.
William didn’t think. He dove, rolling into the grassy space. Trystan laughed harshly. The rabbit sank, button eyes staring up at the distant sky. Toad and tails were gone, William frantically digging for his loyal councilors, his only friends. He thought his foot touched something cat shaped but it was gone, too far deep to dig for. Toad was sinking deep and he could only save one, he could only save one-
He grabbed for Pickles, his heart cracking over his friends, “Trystan!” The gray sky was cracking. The hole was full of mud, toys drowning, broken things close to hell, “Trystan please! Get us out!”
“Drop the rabbit mate and I’ll pull you out.” He heard his cousin laugh. The sky cracked open and Will stared upward, “It makes you weak.”
He heard Shelby frown, “Trys, we have to pull him out. It’s starting to rain.”
“I’m going back in before my dress gets wet.” He heard Patricia scoff. William Afton held his rabbit as tightly as he could to his chest.
“Jesus christ Trys.” The hole was small. too small for any of them to fit, “It’s fucking pouring. Kid’ll probably drown.”
“You want him Shelby? You go get him.” Trystan grimaced. William held the rabbit, clinging to the side of the wall as rain began to fall, “Do you want me to tell father about your meetings with the girl in the village then?”
Silence from up above. William sat in the hole, praying, hoping, the sides pressing in. It would be fine. It would be fine, the hole wasn’t that deep, he could climb out. That was it. He began to move upward. He was covered in mud, a muddy creature lost in a field, “Shelby! Shelby please!”
A round face appeared at the hole and William saw in a flash of lightning, that Shelby looked heartbroken, “...Sorry mate.” Shelby frowned, “I…” and he took off away from the hole.
The world dissolved into mud, dirt, rocks and stones. William wondered where his other friends were, his only friends drowning in mud and muck. He wanted to puke, clutching Pickles to his chest. He wept for a moment.
Something continued to crack and his imaginary rabbit friend took it’s place at the top of the hole.
“You’re stuck Billy.”
“I can get out!”
“Bet you can’t.”
“Go for help Bonnie!” He raised a hand, “Please! Go get Uncle Bill! Or…mother!” Tails and Toad were ruined. He shoved pickles into his shirt, desperate and dug his fingers into the muck, “i’ll get out! I’ll show you!”
He made it halfway before he dropped to the bottom of the hole again, the world dissolving into country slick.
—
“I have to take Elizabeth and Evan to their appointment Will, please take Michael. He’s got homework, he can just sit in a back room” Clara kissed her husband’s cheek and William Afton sighed, shouldering his bag, “He’ll complain.”
He had not been able to sit in the same room as his son since the incident. Though he and Clara had been looking at houses. He was convinced that Michael was laughing at him, chortling with his little friend Jeremy and Jeremy’s parents at his failure.
“Get up. We’re going to the restaurant.” He had to supervise the people installing the arcade cabinets. The Fitzgeralds had something stupid going on with their damned farm so he had to waste a saturday since Henry and Charlotte were out of town. He hissed between his teeth, “Get your homework. You’ll finish it. I don’t like the B I saw on your last test.”
“I-” Michael lowered his head, “Okay father.”
It had been a week since his…attack. His sheer embarrassment. Since the little bastard had wrapped his arms around him trying to choke the life out of him and…
”He’s not really doing that. You know that right?”
“Shut up.”
“...I-” Michael frowned, “I didn’t say anything.”
William stared at the son, wondering where the big yellow rabbit had gone, before he nodded, “Right. Sorry. I was talking to myself.”
They pulled into Fredbear’s parking lot, “Michael…”
He looked up at him and William blinked. He always drove with the windows open. How had he not noticed that before? He was noticing how he always left himself an escape route more and more lately, how there was always a means of egress, to the wide sky, to something that wasn’t -
The hole.
—--
The rain came down and the mud was slick and William kept his arms around him trying to keep his rabbit safe and dry amid the mud and rain.
How long had he been down here? He didn’t know. Every root was a gnarled finger, every stick, every rock an eye, and the worms. The worms crawled down and fell out into the soft earth and William Afton was very sure he would never go out in a field again, he would never go outside, the worms were in his hair and his face and he had long since passed crying.
He was being buried alive (he wasn’t). He was going to be eaten by worms (not yet). His mind cracked along worn and withered foundations and his mouth worked just when a rope slid from the world above down into the hole.
“Will!” Shelby’s voice, “C’mon mate! Grab it! I’ll pull you up!”
“Will!” His uncle bill’s voice now, “Come on now lad! Grab the rope!” The worm wriggled in front of him as he sobbed and sobbed and sobbed before grabbing out for it and holding it as tightly as he could. Pickles, nestled against his chest like a slimy ball of mud, safe in his arms.
—
“So.”
Thankfully one of the Fazbear people, a man named Andrews, had shown up at the diner, admiring the place, “That’s the plan basically. Two new characters. I expect we’ll double our revenue.”
“How the hell are you picking these animals?” The man was pink, sunburnt in the Utah solar energy, “I mean most people go with a theme…? The guys I worked for - Showbiz - before they went out of business had a theme. City animals.”
“No they didn’t.” William raised an eyebrow, “They had bears and rats too. I’ve seen the rat.” He waved a hand, “It’s not that impressive.”
“Yeah well, the rat has friends and a whole stage. You need to come up with another gimmick. It can’t just be “fred and bonnie”. The investor snorted and sipped at his beer. Will kept some in a cooler just for these moments, adults struggling in a world full of children, struggling with age and everything else. The investor sipped and snorted, “Ask your kids. Hey where is your kid anyway?”
“What are you talking about?” Will sipped at his own drink. The place was swelteirng hot and other kids were running around. The investor frowned, “The kid you came in with? Sullen, kind of looks like a mini-you?” the afternoon crowd of kids were shouting and screaming, throwing things at each other. William sighed, Something soft hit his leg and he grimaced, ignoring it as he rose, “Will you wait here?”
“Sure.” The investor waved a hand, “I’ve got time before I have to drive back to Salt Lake. Spending the night with a…” the man grinned and winked, “Well. Spending the night.” He winked and Will ignored him. The whole place was full of shouting and noise and he wished he’d managed to grab an aspirin or something to help with the pounding headache he’d been nursing since this morning.
“Michael?”
He looked over to the left, then the right. A kid slammed into the back of his legs and he staggered, “Watch where you’re going.”
“Sorry Mr. Afton.” The kid looked apologetic for a brief moment before darting off. He ignored him, opening the door to the back and gagging on the smell of pizza. He’d consumed so much Italian food over the past few years, it made him sick - the thick smell of stinking cheese, the pepperoni, the sauce…he gagged. Turning another corner into parts and services he inhaled the familiar smell of oil and grease. He stopped.
One of Fred’s spare arms was resting on the table. A second head for Bonnie had been left beside it. He patted it fondly, tilting his head before he heard a soft Help.
“Hello?” His mind jumped to ghosts and he snorted, “Who’s here show yourself!”
The Help echoed louder. He looked over his shoulder, “...Where are you?”
“Dad!” the sound echoed, “Dad! Help!” William followed the noise outside.
They’d been digging a hole for a new septic tank for the past few days now. Cheap (they had to cut every damn corner they could) but the workmen must have knocked off somewhere the noise-
The noise was coming from inside the hole.
—-
“Trys. Say you’re sorry to your cousin.”
Sorry. William Afton was staring at nothing. He closed his eyes and remembered worms. He closed his fist and felt dirt. Say you’re sorry.
Uncle Bill was sighing, “I’m sorry lad. I’m sorry about your things. Trys. You and I are going to have a very stern talk about this.”
“Yes father.” Trystan’s eyes were full of lies and sarcasm, “I’m very sorry for stealing your toys Cousin Will. I’ll find a way to replace them for you.”
“Toys? That’s what this is all about?” John Afton snorted, “That’s what the bloody fuss is? Trystan you’re fine. Little rat tends to spend too much time in make believe land.” he waved a hand, “You’re fine.”
“John.” Uncle Bill frowned, “Look at the boy. He’s traumatized.” Uncle Bill gestured. Will was covered in muck and mud. He looked like a walking turd, a pile of mud. Pickles was close to his heart. He stood, staring at nothing, “Will, I’m sorry. Trys. Apologize.”
“Of course father.” Trystan extended a hand, “I apologize, cousin Will.”
William Afton said nothing. There was only a black flash and he remembered screaming and clawing and the taste of his cousin’s blood in his teeth.
Uncle Bill said he had to think about it. Think about giving them money, think about getting them out of debt. He said it warily, looking at William like someone would look at a wild animal. At least he seemed - worried. No one had ever looked at him like they had cared before.
“Didn’t expect he’d do that, but I’m glad he did.” John Afton glared at his son, then nodded, “Teach you how to be a proper man.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your cousin.” His father gestured at the retreating motor car, mother staring at them blankly, longingly, as if she could have gotten in and gone and left father and son alone, “He asked t’see your room. Told me he wanted to take a look at your gun. ‘Course I let him in.”
White lightning ran through little Will, little Billy Afton’s mind. He tasted blood on his teeth, he felt that all encompassing seeping rage within him, “You-”
“Me.” His father backhanded him casually, “You’re under my roof. Your property is my property. You’re my property and don’t forget it. Upstairs. Wash. Now.”
Pickles was ruined -effectively. In order to get the mud stains out of his little vest he’d had to steal down to the creek - but the rabbit was no longer smart looking. He was worn and he still smelled of mud and wet earth and dead worms.
“If I’d been able to get out you wouldn’t have spent so long down there.” Secret words whispered in the quiet of the night, “If I’d been strong enough and brave enough Pickles, I could have saved Toad and Tails.” He sniffed, “I’m s-sorry you’re not so h-handsome now but I still think you are.” He tried to summon up emotion and failed.
“If I’d been better, Trys wouldn’t have stolen from me. And he wouldn’t have let him.”
A child should not taste loathing. Early brains are sensitive. Such intense loathing warps a person but surely, surely nothing bad could happen with such a deep wound carved with an expert knife. The brains of a child are meat on the table of the world, carved and served to the population at large to sustain them with the child’s talent and skill.
Or psychosis.
—--
“Dad! Help!”
A hole. Will stared down at the deep square of the ground. Bits of pipe and the remains of the lunch of the soon-to-be-fire workmen of Fredbear’s Family Diner were scattered around. Michael had a soccer ball beneath him. Will saw his leg had been twisted at an odd angle. He broke it. Of course he did. Damned workmen should have stopped him
There was no reason to assume responsibility here.
“Dad!” Michael’s politeness, his properness, was gone in favor of crying, “Dad please. My leg!”
“Michael stay calm.” He hovered at the edge of the hole, “What happened?”
(He dimly registered that any normal parent would be scrambling into the hole to retrieve their child, lift them out, frantically run them into the building and shout for an ambulance.)
“T-The-The ball went- I kicked it too hard.” He was sobbing, “I kicked it too hard and it went into the hole and I went t…t get it and my leg…”
The little flame of pride that he had in his son grew brighter. Most children would be sobbing their eyes out. Not Michael. Michael was strong
Michael is strong. He’s good. He can-He can-
Bonnie the rabbit appeared on the other side of the hole staring down at Michael before looking back at tilting his head to the side. Michael was saying things but the words roared in his ears and William Afton felt bile rise in his throat.
“Make him climb out.”
“-W-What?”
“Make him climb out. It’ll make him stronger.”
his leg is broken. I’m not stupid. His leg is broken. It’s not important. I need to go in there and get him. I need to go in there and get him, I need to-
The rabbit stood up and twirled before crouching on the edge of the hole. William saw, or thought he saw, twin human eyes staring back at him - dead and glassy like a doll within the rabbit’s bright yellow face. More bile rose in his throat and he sat back on the grass.
“You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t do it Billy Afton and your little friends drowned. You could go save your son, retain some sense of heroism for the comrades you lost - for your little dolls…” The rabbit shrugged, “Or. You could make him better than you, make him climb out. Hurt or not. Life hurts you and you keep going. Life hurts you and you keep going.”
“Daddy Please!”
“Get-” the world spun and William turned back to the hole, “Get to the wall and I’ll pull you out.”
(Down below, the bottom dropped out of Michael Afton’s world. He stared upward at his father and felt, for the first time in his life, the secure network of support that had been built between his parent and himself waiver. The instinctual human knowledge of This is not how this is supposed to go. He is supposed to jump in and save him. He is not supposed to hesitate. He is supposed to-”
“Michael! Do as I tell you damn it!” Red hot fury was at least familiar. He couldn’t disappoint him he’d be angry. His father shouted again from above, “Get to the wall! Get to the bloody wall and I’ll…I’ll…”
Michael, grim, determined, stinking of mud and dirt and rot, began to crawl. The pain in his leg blinding.)
“Look at him go.” Bonnie tilted his head down, “Look at him go. He’s probably in unbelievable pain. You didn’t hurt yourself going down that hole. He did. But he’s still going. You’ve made a wonderous thing.” Michael was unphased by the space, the earth, the worms, the smells of the stupid damn septic tank. He’d left behind the ball, secure enough in himself to do as he was asked to do and…
“I’m at the wall.” The little boy was sobbing, sobbing, “Pull me up. I did what you asked daddy. Please. Please…” the sobs had turned to incoherent animal wailing, like a fox caught in a trap, “Please…”
“To hell with you.” He glared at the rabbit his mind had conjured as his only friend and dropped down into the hole a few feet away from his son.
The walls began to press, worms and skulls and dirt emerging from them. He heard his friends drown, his little fucking toys drown in the mud. Just once. Just once let me be the hero and let me do the right thing just once just once-
His heart pounded as he scooped up Michael, the creature crying out in pain in his arms, “Listen. Michael. Listen to me very carefully. Arms around my neck. I’m…” he exhaled, “I’m going to get us out and try not to throw up on you.”
The little boy couldn’t even manage a laugh. William leapt for the dirt, bracing himself against the pipe and leaping out of the hole in a tangle of limbs with his son wrapped around his neck like his childhood toy long ago. He shifted, turning and putting his and Michael’s whole weight on his shoulder. Adrenaline brought him back to his feet, vision clearing, as he carried a sobbing muddy Michael to the diner - passing Henry talking to the workmen.
Henry’s features widened, comical in their surprise, “...Will-Mike-”
“Fire those sons of bitches before I get back or I will kill the two of you and bury you in your goddamn hole!” he dimly registered more words, not hearing them, putting Michael in his lap and peeling out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell heading for the hospital.
—-
The nurse put Michael in a big soft bed and gave him lots of medicine to make him go to sleep. He’d done that, waking up briefly to feel his mother’s arms around his neck. He woke up again to find Evan and Elizabeth piled on top of him like puppies, the two babies gurgling and trying to hug him with uncoordinated limbs.
Father was there.
He felt like he’d failed, staring at the man. William Afton dozed or rubbed at his face and Michael began to cry again.
“...Why are you crying? Does it hurt?”
“Did I get to the wall?” He remembered that. He remembered his father ordering him to the wall, “Did I do it? I didn’t get out. I thought I could I’m sorry I’m sorry -”
“No no.” His father took his hand, “No. You got to the wall. You did very well to listen to me Michael. You should always listen to me.”
His mind was a haze of drugs and relief as his father took his hand and squeezed it in his larger calloused ones. He’d done well. Obviously, his father had jumped in and that had been a part of the plan. He made it to the wall, he’d made it and dad had jumped in and saved him. Daddy hadn’t been mad. He was safe with his father.
He settled back on the pillows, “I got to the wall. Even with a broken leg.” he laughed weakly, “I really did. I thought you were just gonna come save me but I did it I got to the wall even though my leg got all messed up.”
“Of course.” His father’s gaze was blank, staring at the wall before he smiled down with the warmth of God himself, “Next time, you’ll climb out.”