Chapter Text
William Afton was nothing if not brilliant. A man of cold ambition, he sought to do what no one else had done before. Granted, at first, he was little more than the owner of a small-time pizzeria, but big things can come from small places. As much as he hated the phrase for how foolishly optimistic it was, he had to admit that he was pretty much living proof that the phrase was at least occasionally true. Regardless, he would still stand firm that he was a brilliant man. After all, who else in this world had found proof that there was, indeed, life after death? Who else had found a way to keep the mortal soul pinned to this mortal plane through the use of anguish and metal? Who else could laugh in the face of their demise, knowing that it was no end?
Who else had the sheer determination and grit to do what needed to be done, may the consequences be damned? None, save for William Afton, the man who had conquered death itself! Of course, it was hard to marvel at his own greatness at the moment. He currently found himself standing up on shaky legs, looking around at the small room. He had to admit, his old friend and business partner had got him, he got him real good. A fake pizzeria, a revival of their oh so beloved franchise, really, how could Wiliam resist such tempting bait? He would have to hand it to Henry, it was a brilliant trap. And la pièce de résistance? It was a whole Afton family reunion, his daughter and his wife saying hello for one last time, and even his first victim had wormed her way in.
Hell, he wouldn’t have been surprised if the boys had found a place somewhere in all of this, but he digresses. Really, William was almost touched by all the familiar souls trapped in the building with him. Almost. All his nostalgia was really doing was wasting his time. Time that could be spent on finding an exit to this infernal death pit Henry had devised for him, or perhaps on concocting a method to achieve revenge on what little remained of the Emily family… Or perhaps to find out what that infernal whistling was. William was certain that a gas leak wouldn’t have been a problem, per say, but the idea of having to deal with an explosion so soon was not appealing to him.
However, this was far too melodious to be the whistling of a gas pipe, no, this was the kind of sound that could only be created by a person . But that couldn’t be right, there was simply no way that the others could be up and about from the fire, and Henry had done a good job with the sealing mechanism for the door so no one could possibly be down there with them. Or at least, that’s what all logic dictated, however, the reality was that there was someone there with them. Sitting on the floor of their faux-oven was someone who most certainly had not been there before their impromptu incineration. The figure was wrapped in a cloak as dark as the abyss, with a snout of gleaming silver fur poking out from within the cloak’s hood. He also seemed to have similar paws sticking out from his cloak, in place of both his hands and feet. Shortly after William noticed the man, he stopped his whistling and tilted his head upward, William’s steel gray eyes meeting the glowing crimson eye of the apparent wolfman, a cruel smirk splitting his snout.
Death: “Well well, William Afton, in the flesh.” He says with a chuckle, shaking his head at the sight of the man, as if he was somehow amusing. “It’s about time you kicked the bucket.”
William: “Kicked the…?” He mutters before his eyes widen ever so slightly in realization. He examines his hands, shocked yet unsurprised to find hands. Real, actual human hands, covered in flesh. He couldn’t feel anything, but that didn’t change the fact that he had real skin. With an unimpressed glare, he turned to see it. His favorite suit, or at least, what’s left of it after all these years. Burned and shriveled, all of its use gone.
Death: “Perhaps I should of sayed ‘kicked the conejo’, eh?” The wolf says with a laugh as he stands up from where he was seated on the charred metal floor.
William: “Your word choice matters little.” He says, turning away from the suit to look at the wolf with an unamused expression. “I still have enough Remnant to remain in this form, so I can get back. I always do.” He says, a chuckle leaving his mouth. It was cut short as the wolf lets out a chuckle of his own.
Death: “Really now? And just what makes you think I’m gonna led you do that, cabron?”
William: “Because I am no fool.” He states simply as he turns to the wolf once more, addressing him with the bored tone of an uninterested teacher lecturing a particularly dull student. “I’ve figured out what’s going on here, it wasn’t exactly hard. You are most likely some kind of Grim Reaper, here to collect my soul or some other such nonsense. However, my research into such subjects have revealed few commonalities, save for this; You cannot force me to move on from this ‘side’ as it were. It must be my choice. You may try to torture me, if you wish. However, know that there is simply no agony you can inflict that matches my springlocks. So please, do go ahead and waste both of our time.” He finishes, and for a moment, William was left with the dull satisfaction provided from stunning Death into silence, a scowl plastered on the wolfman’s face. His satisfaction soon fades to confusion, however, as Death lets out one short bark of laughter. Then another. Then another, until the wolf was almost doubling over laughing at him.
Death: “Hahahahaha, oh, oh eres un cabrón inteligente.” He manages to say between laughs before straightening his back and standing tall once again. “You’re right, I can’t force you to cross over. However, who says I have to?” He asks, and before William can ask for clarification, he feels a sharp pain in his leg. He fell to the ground with a scream of pain, looking back to see what had happened. Something had sliced open his left achilles tendon… No, not some thing , but rather, some one .
William: “No…” He mutters, his bored tone finally changing to reflect an emotion as he gazed up at the short figure that had done the deed. A ghostly child with various wounds, still pouring blood as he looked at him, tears falling from their eyes like a waterfall, and a small toy hook attached to his right hand. It presumably used to be plastic, but now? Now it had somehow cut through him like metal. “No no no no!” He mutters, his volume rising to a fever pitch, shouting as he flips onto his back, scooting away from the ghost, only to feel something behind him as he does. He turns and sees yet another child, covered in wounds just like the first, only this one had a bib on their chest.
He tries to get away, but once again, a specter blocked his path, then again as two children hiding their tear covered faces behind familiar bunny and bear masks appeared once more. It happens again in his pitiful attempts to move as a crying girl wearing black pajamas with white stripes blocked his path next. He tries to crawl away from the no-doubt vengeful children who, unfortunately, had gotten the jump on him and wounded him severely, only to stop as another phantom blocked his path. He looked up and stopped, not recoiling in fear, but in stunned surprise as he looks at the young boy in front of him, holding a small Fredbear plushie in his arms, looking down at him, just as teary eyed as all the others, only he was the only sad one. Additionally, he only had one set of injuries; Dozens of fractures lining his skull, leaving his forehead a veritable web of scars.
William: “Evan?…” The man says, reaching a hand up towards the boy, only for something sharp to connect with his face, sending him tumbling across the floor. He looks up at the assailant to find that the sharp force was the heel of a vengeful looking woman, just as mutilated as the children, standing protectively in front of the boy, a little red haired, green eyed girl joining her moments after. As they all stood together, glaring down at the man, fury burning in their eyes, William finally noticed something was dreadfully wrong. He quickly double checked, only to find he was correct; The count was off. The ghosts surrounding him, the ghosts of his victims were missing one of their number.
Before he could ponder the whereabouts of this child, he let out a scream of pain as claws dug into his wounded leg. He turned around to find that he had rolled in front of the door, hanging ever so slightly off its hinges, allowing a ghostly hand to stick through and grip his leg, the phantom sensation of claws seeming to come from nowhere. His thoughts were clouded by the pain as he looked at the one holding his leg in a vice grip, but all he could see was a smile, almost hidden from view within a faint golden glow.
William: “No! No! No, you can’t do this to me! You can’t! You caaaaaa-” His scream blared out through the charred crypt, but soon faded to nothing, as the figure behind the door gave a sharp yank, pulling the purple guy into the darkness. And like that, he was no more.
Death: “Hehehe, no one beats me. Not for very long, anyway.” He notes with a fond, sadistic smile before pulling a sickle off his belt, using it to tear open a hole in the air. “Alright, everyone else!” He says, drawing the attention of all the other ghosts, all of their glares fading as soon as the man was gone. “I think it’s time you all went over, don’t you?” He says as, one by one, the children begin to walk through the portal. However, the woman, redhead, and boy with the plushy stop right in front of the portal. Or, more accurately, the boy did and the other two stopped to accommodate him. “What is it, chico?” He asks, taking a much friendly tone as he kneels before the child.
After a moment of nervous fidgeting, he holds his stuffed toy out to the wolf who looks at it in surprise before smiling warmly, taking the bear from the boy’s hands with one hand, and ruffling his hair with the other.
Death: “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to find him a new home.” He explains as the boy gives one last sniffle as he nods at the wolf before following the other last few ghosts through the portal, as it seals up behind them. “… Y ahora ¿qué voy a hacer contigo?” He mutters to himself, examining the plush in his hands, glad to finally be done with the Afton Ordeal… At least, for now.