Chapter Text
It was late June, so the night was warm, which felt wrong. It’s almost surprising how the weather doesn’t act like it does in the movies. In the movies a night like this it would be cold and raining. Well, who knows? Maybe for the main character it was the best night ever, maybe they were finally getting a happy ending.
There was an old bar, Junior’s, a mile down the road from Fredbear’s Family Diner. It’s the sort of dingy place where you could sit at the bar and order a neat scotch and drink it with your head down. The sort of place you’d go to be alone after your son’s funeral. It wasn’t a fun place, but sometimes it was the right place for the mood you were in. Sometimes it was where you needed to be.
Henry knew exactly where he was going, on this summer night with the wrong kind of weather. He was going to the old dingy bar where you could sit in your sadness. He knew that it was where he’d find William.
When he walked in, for a brief moment Henry thought he may have been wrong. He did not see William sitting at the bar, or any of the tables. No, Henry told himself, this is where he’ll be.
While Hurricane was not quite small enough for everyone to know everyone, everyone knew William Afton and Henry Emily. So when Henry leaned over the bar and softly asked, “Is William here?” The bartender knew who he was talking about. And she tilted her head towards a table in the corner with booth seats that had high backs so you couldn’t see who was sitting in them from the door. Ah.
“Do you remember what he ordered?” Henry asked the bartender.
“Yep, whiskey smash.” She said, already reaching behind the counter for the supplies to make another one.
Henry chuckled a little, then almost immediately felt bad. Still, it was very William to order a minty cocktail during what was probably one of the worst nights of his entire life.
“Yeah, can I have another one of those?” Henry said, still keeping his voice low, “And a cider. Just one of the bottled ones.”
“You got it.”
While the bartender mixed the cocktail, Henry rehearsed what he would say to his friend. Honestly, what can you say to a father on a night like this? “How’s it going?” Obviously it’s going horribly, that’s useless. “Did you catch the game today?” Also obviously not, he both did not care about sports and had been at a funeral. “How’s the family?” Out of the question.
As the bartender handed him the two drinks and he slid some money across the counter for her, Henry settled on what he would say. It wasn’t perfect, but honestly nothing was. He took a deep breath, finding himself strangely nervous. He briefly considered turning around and leaving. What if he said the wrong thing? Made things worse? What if William truly did not want to be spoken to?
No , he reminded himself, it’ll be okay. William needs someone now, and it should be you. Henry walked over to where his friend was sitting, drinks in hand, and prepared himself to have a tragic conversation.
William was staring into the seat in front of him. His finger was tracing the outside of his empty glass, making a soft squeaking noise that he did not seem to notice. His face was completely blank, so expressionless that it was beginning to drift into the uncanny valley. He was still wearing the black suit he’d been wearing earlier, much different from his usual, much more colorful attire. His hair also hadn't changed since the funeral. It was gelled and parted down the middle, a stark contrast to the usual, horrible mess it was. If you didn’t know better, you’d take him for any other everyday business man. But Henry knew better, he knew this wasn’t how William Afton usually looked. It was definitely sad and a little unsettling.
“Hey,” Henry said. William’s head snapped around to look at him. “I got you this.” He set the cocktail in front of his friend, whose expression did not shift as he pulled it closer to himself. Henry took the seat opposite him.
“Do you want to talk?” Is what he had finally decided on saying. He figured it told William that he was there for him without forcing him to say anything he wasn’t ready for.
The two sat in silence for a minute. Henry took a small drink from his bottle. He had to nurse it because he had to drive himself home that night. He had to get home to his daughter.
“I don’t know,” William said finally. “I honestly don’t know. I do, I suppose, but I don’t have anything to say.”
“Yeah, I understand.” Henry had just been trying to sound sympathetic. In hindsight, this specific phrase would never have had its intended effect.
“Do you?” William snapped. “Honestly, could you possibly begin to understand? Bloody hell.” He drank his entire cocktail in one, long drink, then slammed the glass on the table. “Really, Emily. Think before you open your fucking mouth.”
Henry was taken aback. Not only had William called him Emily, something he’d never really done outside of a formal environment, but he’d gotten so angry so quickly. Then again, he couldn’t really be upset with William, not tonight. Especially because William was right, Henry couldn’t imagine how he’d feel if something like that happened to his daughter. Henry already wanted to go home and tell her how much he loved her.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Henry took another sip of his cider. “I don’t know how it feels. So I don’t really know what to say.”
William sighed, “Clara isn’t taking it well,” he said. “Obviously she isn’t. She’s hardly even awake anymore. I’ve only seen her get out of bed once and it was…” William decides not to finish this thought. “You saw her at- you saw her today, didn’t you?”
Henry had seen her today, at the funeral. She looked tired, she cried ceaselessly, her hair was barely combed, she clutched Elizabeth’s hand the entire time. It was hard to see Clara Afton, usually full of enough energy to rival her husband, in such a state. But Henry understood, and left her mostly to herself. He figured that’s what she needed, especially with all the people who already kept trying to tell her how sorry they were. She definitely didn’t need another statement of sympathy. She was already aware of how awful a tragedy it was.
“I don’t know if Elizabeth understands.” William continued. “She’s not much older than…” There's a horrible second of silence as William sits on his thought, “Not much older than her brother was.” He says very quickly, almost like he doesn’t want to acknowledge it. “She’s trying to help Clara. She climbs into bed with her mother and lets her hug her. I can tell by the look on her face she’s not comfortable. She always wiggles away once Clara falls asleep. She knows,” William takes a deep breath, “That he’s gone. She knows that her mother is distraught. I think she’s just at that age where she doesn’t quite understand the gravity of anything yet.”
Henry considers this too. Elizabeth and Charlie are close in age. He wasn’t sure how Charlie would react to a sibling’s death. She’d been a baby when her mother died and did not have any siblings.
He was almost certain Charlie hadn’t seen the accident, nor the aftermath. She’d been playing with Elizabeth in a party room. When they heard the commotion, a random employee had stopped them (and all the other children in there) from leaving until their parents came and took them all home. Henry was forever grateful for that employee.
Henry looked at William and waited for him to continue talking. Instead, William’s brow furrowed slightly. It was the first time his facial expression had shifted all night. While he wasn’t sure, Henry assumed it was because William had been speaking about his family and there was someone he hadn’t mentioned yet. Michael.
Henry was genuinely curious how Michael was holding up. He was trying not to be mad at the kid, but sometimes he couldn’t help himself. How could anyone be so careless and stupid? Then again, Michael clearly felt horrible about what he’d done. Henry didn’t think he’d heard Michael say anything except “I’m sorry,” to anyone all week, and he constantly looked like he was on the verge of tears or about to vomit. Henry would have guessed William had a similar internal conflict, trying to decide how much anger at Michael was justified.
Which is why what William said next was so surprising.
“Henry. I hate him.” William admitted. They both knew who he was talking about, both men must have been thinking about the same thing. “I know he feels horrible, and I’m glad. I hope he feels like that forever. Henry, I can’t even look at him anymore. If he didn’t stay in his room all the time I…” William trailed off again, he’d done that more in this conversation then he had in all the time Henry had known him. Usually he was so sure of himself and what he had to say.
“Henry, I have to tell you something.” William said finally, with his voice low. He leaned across the table and Henry mirrored him. “I hit him, hit him hard. And I don’t feel bad at all.”
Henry didn’t know what to think. He just stared at his friend, waiting for him to explain.
“It was when we went home from the hospital, before Evan…just after the…oh, you know.” Before Evan died, just after the incident, Henry knew. “Clara had stayed there, and I took the children home to change. We walked into the house, I ordered them to go upstairs and do what they needed to. They both just stared at me. He started to apologize again, and I was so tired of hearing it and so furious with him.” William lowered his voice further. “Henry, I slapped him so hard it left a mark for days. He didn’t even properly react, he just put his head down and went to his room as I’d told him to. Elizabeth followed after him, and that was that.” William sighed and leaned back into his seat. “I don’t even feel bad,” he repeated.
Henry sits on this. He didn’t even feel bad. He hadn’t even said Michael’s name, just calling the kid “him” over and over again, and he didn’t even feel bad. Of course, Henry was furious with Michael too, it was impossible not to be. He reasoned that William was so blinded by rage at the kid who killed Evan, he’d forgotten that Michael was also his son.
“Henry,” William said after the brief pause, “Does that make me a terrible person?”
“I don’t know.” Henry had replied honestly, but he quickly realized that he was not being helpful. So he switched his answer, “Well, no. I don’t think it makes you a terrible person. I don’t think any one thing can.”
Henry was fairly sure he believed what he’d said. It wasn’t the right time to judge William, he knew that. Just as William had said, he couldn’t begin to understand what it was like to lose a kid. Plus, he was sure that William’s feelings towards his son would eventually shift back. That didn’t mean what he had said didn’t make Henry uncomfortable, of course not. But Henry was certain that he was right about one incident not making you a terrible person. And he told himself that eventually the guilt would come. William was a good man, after all, he just needed time.
Henry still made a mental note to check in on Michael at some point.
“Christ, I need another drink,” William said after what felt like the billionth moment of awkward silence that night.
“Let me get it for you.” Henry stood up without waiting for his offer to be accepted. “Same thing?”
“No, can I get a scotch on the rocks?”
“Yeah, no problem. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Henry exhaled as he left the table. He wasn’t sure what to make of their brief conversation, but he was already glad to have the opportunity to take a break from it.
When Henry returned less than five minutes later, it was with two drinks in hand and a clearer head. He had resolved not to push the Michael issue further, unless William wanted to. He was just going to continue letting William lead the conversation, it seemed to be helping. It had certainly helped Henry after his wife had died, having William to talk to. Well, he ended up crying more than talking, but it was nice to have his friend support him. Henry hoped he was succeeding in doing the same.
William took a drink of scotch. He made a slightly sour face when he did.
“I bloody hate these,” he said, almost dejectedly.
“Why did you ask for it then?” Henry asked.
“I’m not looking to get drunk. I have to drive home tonight. I figure that having a drink I hate will stop me from wanting to order another.”
“Solid reasoning.”
“I’m world renowned for my rationality.” William said sarcastically. His face shifted again, to the same expression he made when he’d confessed to hitting Michael. “Henry, may I tell you something else?”
Henry was starting to get nervous. “You can tell me anything,” he said.
“Henry, this is going to make me sound insane. You have to believe me, I’m not. I made a promise, Henry.” He took a sip from his drink. “A promise to Evan. And I think I have to find a way to keep it.”
Henry’s nerves eased greatly. This was the sort of thing he was expecting. His face shifted and he leaned in to demonstrate that he was listening.
“I promised him that I’d fix him, that I’d put him back together. And I swear this isn’t just the alcohol or the emotions speaking, I truly believe I can.” He hesitated for a moment before taking another drink to help him regain his confidence. “Henry, I don’t think any man has ever been as determined to do anything as I am to fix my son. I don’t think there’s anything I wouldn’t do. I would sell my soul.” He took another drink.
“I’ve already got theories, theories I could never tell you because you’d put me in the madhouse, but I think I’ve got something. Henry, you have to…” His voice crescendos as he continues to speak, gaining more determination with every word. “Actually, no. You don’t have to believe me, you’re allowed to think I’m insane. Because, and I truly mean this Henry, I will figure out how to get him back. I’ll put him back together any way I can.”
Henry did not believe what William had said about not being driven by his emotions.
“William, I don’t think you’re crazy,” he said as kindly as he could manage. “I think you’ve been through a lot, and I think it’s perfectly natural to-“
“You aren’t listening to me, Henry! I-”
“I am listening!” So much for allowing William to say whatever he wanted, Henry had already interrupted him. He tried to de-escalate by softening his voice. “I’m telling you that it’s okay, good even, to care this much. I just don’t know if what you’re describing to me will be good for you. Not just you; Clara, Elizabeth, Mi-“ Nope. Not the time for that. “-Me. William, I get if you need time or space but I don’t think anyone wants to lose you.”
William looked at Henry like he was crazy. “Henry, you could work with me. We could do it together. We can make sure nobody ever loses anyone again. Isn’t that worth devoting all our time to?”
Henry was at a loss. “Uh, William. I don’t know if that’s-”
William cut him off with an exasperated noise. “Nevermind, forget I said anything.”
Henry understood, of course, his friend’s urge to bring back his son. Henry believed that there wasn’t a father on earth who wouldn’t want that. It was just, well, he didn't know what to say. He wasn’t sure if he should agree with William and offer to help him bring his son back from the dead, or try to gently explain that he was being irrational. Neither seemed like a good option, so he was grateful for the chance to drop the subject.
He just wanted to go home and see Charlie. To hug her and tell her how she meant the world to him.
“Okay, I will.”
The conversation came to a stop here. Henry didn’t want to push William, after all. He used the time to turn over William’s confessions in his head, remind himself he needed to get home for the babysitter, consider some odd behaviors of William’s during their conversation and take periodic sips of his second cider until it was gone. He also occasionally made attempts to guess what William was thinking about, but he always failed. William was one of those people you couldn’t read unless he wanted you to.
William had started almost every sentence by saying Henry’s name (Maybe he’s always done that? Henry hadn’t ever analyzed one of their conversations like this). William had not cried. (Of course he hadn’t, it was not in his nature to cry.) He didn’t even feel bad (but he would, with time). And he was so sure that he could bring Evan back from the dead that Henry was starting to believe maybe he could (Of course he couldn’t, that wasn’t how things worked.)
William broke the long period of silence. “We’ve probably got to go. It’s 23 hundred hours.”
“I’ve never understood why you insist on telling time like that. It’s 11pm.” Henry laughed, but he was half serious. He really did not understand William’s insistence on using the twenty-four hour clock. William hadn’t lived in England in nearly twenty years, and Henry was pretty sure they used the twelve hour clock in conversations across the pond anyway.
“Oh, piss off.” William chuckled. “No, seriously, if I don’t leave now I don’t think I ever will.”
“Yeah, yeah I know. I’ve got to get home too. You alright to drive?” Henry asked, more as a formality. William did not seem drunk.
“Henry, come on.”
“Right, yep. Alright, don’t crash on your way home.” Henry joked.
“If only I would.” William’s tone matched Henry’s, he was also joking.
Henry briefly considered not saying anything. It was clear William wasn’t being serious, he didn’t want to make things awkward. But something told him he would be thinking about that small comment all night if he didn’t speak up now.
“What?” He asked.
“Oh, nothing. I realize that that wasn’t funny.”
“No, no, it’s okay. Just, if there’s anything else you’d like to say.” Henry offered. William did not immediately respond either way, so Henry decided to reassure him. “Look, I promise I won’t tell anyone what you said tonight. I won’t think about it anymore, either. It will stop existing the second we leave.”
This seemed to work. “Okay, fine. Henry, I don’t really want to go back. I only offered because I knew you were too polite to say anything. I could see you checking your watch.”
Henry had not even noticed he was doing that.
“Why?” He knew immediately it was a stupid thing to ask.
“Because everything is so different, I guess. Evan’s not there, Clara is miserable, Elizabeth’s clearly not sure what to do. It’s so quiet. Michael…” William makes a sour face at the name, “He’s in his room all the time, which is good, because I don’t think I could stand seeing him.”
William considers something for a second. “Clara still cares about him, though. The only time I’ve seen her get up aside from today was a few days ago when she went into his room. I watched her. She sat bolt upright, didn’t respond when I asked what she was doing, walked in without saying anything to him, rummaged around for a while, then left while carrying a bunch of random stuff. She threw it in the kitchen trash. I went through it, I was curious, and it was stuff like scissors, a pencil sharpener and a bottle of advil. She even cut the cord off the blinds in his room. Honestly, it was a pretty pisspoor attempt to stop him from… doing whatever she thinks he’s going to do, but it sent him a message. I could hear him crying after that.” William takes a deep breath, then loudly sighs.
“I miss Evan, Henry. I miss the way things were.” He seemed ashamed when he said that. “ I suppose it will go back to being better soon. Once I…oh, nevermind.”
Henry does not have any words of encouragement to offer. He does not know what to make of William’s apathetic discussion of his wife’s “pisspoor attempt” to stop their son from killing himself. He did fully understand what it was like to be in a house that felt too quiet, but he knew that William did not want to hear it. So he just nods sympathetically. Still, he’s glad that William has decided the conversation is nearing its end. It’s only been an hour but Henry is exhausted. And sad. He really does need to get home and talk with Charlie.
William suddenly stands up not long after, grabbing his now empty glass as he does so. Henry follows suit. The two men look at each other for a split second, neither wanting to be the first to leave.
“I really do think I should go. You should too. You probably have a babysitter or something to send home.”
“Yeah, you’re right. It was good getting to talk to you.”
“You too.”
They turned and left together, both depositing their empty glasses on the bar on their way out the door. They walked quietly, but the silence was more comfortable than it had been the rest of the night. Maybe it was because there was no expectation for anything else to be said. That doesn’t mean it’s bad when William breaks the silence a final time.
“Henry, one more thing,” he says when they’re in the parking lot.
The two continue walking with their conversation. Henry nods, inviting William to say whatever he needs to.
“Thank you, I do feel better now.”
Henry smiles, “It’s not a problem. And remember, I won’t tell anyone what you told me. It can stay between us, forever.”
“And I really do appreciate that. I know I can trust you, Henry.”
The two men came to a point where they had to split to go to their cars. Henry turns left, William goes right, and they walk away from each other. Over his shoulder, Henry says his parting (for the night) words to his friend.
“I know I can trust you too, William.”