Chapter Text
Red, angry scratches make their way onto his arms as he washes his hands, the water and soap making them sting as hell.
He looks in the mirror, and the only thought racing through his head is, ‘I didn’t mean to’.
He never means to.
It’s a typical Wednesday morning, and Henry’s day starts off great. He wakes up well-rested, no trace of sleepiness left, and so does Charlie; she doesn’t complain about being woken up for daycare, and is even excited to go. He drives her, no traffic, and the weather is great too; it’s the middle of March, and yet it’s warm enough for them to ditch their puffy coats. The sky’s electric blue, and Henry whistles happily as he drives back home, window down, radio on.
He thinks about calling Will later.
Only when he gets back home does things go to shit.
It’s March 14th when Michael William Afton goes missing.
Or, at least, that’s what Henry’s been told by the Hurricane police department after getting ambushed with a bunch of strange and accusatory questions. Today’s March 16th, there’s no traffic, and the weather’s great; it’s the middle of March, and yet it’s warm enough for Henry to ditch his coat, and the sky’s electric blue, and his nice day becomes all but a distant memory once officers Johnson and Smith knock at his door, waiting impatiently for him to answer.
Where were you on March 14th and the days before? Smith asks as soon as Henry lets them inside. Was anyone with you? Can anyone confirm this?
“What’s with all these questions?” he asks. “Did something happen?” he adds, and the detectives look at each other in surprise.
A hole opens up in Henry’s stomach when they don’t answer right away. Something bad happened; he can feel it. The only reason he’s not completely freaking out is that he knows Charlotte’s safe, so whatever it is, it can’t be about her.
“When’s the last time you talked to William Afton?” Smith asks, and Henry swears his heart stops for a moment.
Will. Will. Will. Will’s his best friend. If anything happened to him—
“Will? I, I don’t know, why is it important? Is he alright? Did something happen?” The worry makes his voice shake, and Henry wishes they would just go straight to the point already.
“Just try to remember— was it before or after 14th?”
“I— before?” Henry replies hesitantly, as everything’s a bit fuzzy now. All he can focus on is Will, and whether he’s safe, unhurt, or at least alive. “We definitely saw each other on the 12th, and then called on the 13th, and then we’ve both been busy, but—”
“Mr Emily,” Johnson says, and he sounds weirdly apologetic and respectful, all traces of previous suspicion gone. Henry looks at him, and he feels like he’s going crazy. “It seems that you’ve not been told about… what happened.”
“As of yesterday, Michael Afton has been officially declared missing,” Smith says, and Henry’s head buzzes.
“No. What?” Henry says nervously. “Mike’s a teenager, he’s probably just off with his friends, he’s bout to turn up sooner or later—”
“According to his father, he was last seen on March 13th.”
Three days. Three days Michael has been gone, and Henry didn’t even know?
“That’s impossible,” he argues. “I would’ve known. William would’ve told me.”
The officers look at each other in doubt, and Henry swallows. His brain comes up with thousands of scenarios of what could’ve happened to Mike. Had he gotten lost? Did someone take him? Mike’s just thirteen. He’s still a little boy. Henry’s been watching him grow since what feels like forever.
Henry still remembers the weight of little Michael in his arms, still remembers the way he’d butcher the simplest of words as a toddler, still remembers seeing Mike just a few days ago.
Charlie’s at daycare right now, and he imagines if it were her, and he trembles with fear, and shit, how does he tell her? Charlotte adores Mike. She won’t understand. He doesn’t understand, so how can a child?
“Are there any leads?” Henry finally chokes out. “Do you have any ideas where he could be? A boy doesn’t just disappear.”
“At this point? No. Since we can rule out a parental abduction, and there hasn’t been any sign of forced entry, the most probable case is that he ran away. We will continue to look for him, of course, but…”
“He wouldn’t,” Henry cuts in, angry. “Mike wouldn’t run away. I know him. And he wouldn’t.”
“Interesting,” Johnson mumbles, and Smith glares at him.
“What?” Henry asks, irritated.
“Well, that’s not what his father said,” he continues, but goes quiet once he notices the look on Smith’s face.
“What do you mean? Will—”
“Well, that’s all we needed, I think,” Smith interrupts, a forced smile on his face. “But if you remember anything or something comes up—and I mean it, anything—here’s my number. Don’t hesitate to call anytime,” he says, as he hands him a piece of paper.
“But—”
“We’ll be in contact, Mr Emily. Have a good day.”
And then, they leave. Just like that. As if they didn’t just turn Henry’s world upside down. Once the door closes behind the officers, Henry just stands there, numb. He feels lost, and all he can think of is Michael. Michael, somewhere out there, alone, scared, cold. He should be at school right now, not missing.
And how could they even suggest Mike would run away? Henry knows him as if he were his own kid. Mike wouldn’t just run away. Not without a reason. Sure, he’s a pretty impulsive and hotheaded kid, but he wouldn’t just leave without saying anything. He wouldn’t sneak out, he’d slam the door or scream, or anything.
What about Evan and Elizabeth? Were they questioned, too? Oh, God, and what about Will? Henry sweats and shakes as he scrambles to the phone, acting like his life depends on it. His fingers tremble, and he has a problem with getting the number right, but he finally does, and he waits. Waits and waits, as the phone rings and rings and fucking rings.
And then, just when Henry is going to hang up, he hears it:
“Hello?” The voice is soft and clear, and for a moment, Henry’s sure it’s Michael who’s talking. “Who is this?”
“Mike? Is that you?” Henry asks, desperate, and maybe even hopeful.
“Ah,” comes the answer. Henry’s about to lose his mind. “Henry. So you heard…”
It’s Will, Henry realizes. Of course, it’s Will, Henry is still just in shock.
“What’s going on, Will? Police came to my house! They— they said Michael’s missing. That he’s been missing for days. That’s— that can’t be right. Is— are you okay? Are the kids okay? Are you?” Henry asks in one breath, and he clings to the phone cord. “Will, say something, damn it!”
The silence is unnerving. For a second, Henry thinks Will might have hung up.
“I’m okay. Evan and Liz are at school. They don’t really understand…”
Feeling like he’s getting nowhere with the half-assed answers, Henry blurts out, “Stay put. I’ll be there soon.”
“What? No! There’s no need for you to come over! I’m fine! Everything’s fine! I don’t need you here!” Will yells, and Henry stills.
“How can you say that? Your kid’s fucking missing, Will!”
“It’s just Michael! He probably ran away to get back at me!”
“I know you don’t mean that,” Henry says slowly, trying to calm himself. He knows it’s not what Will really thinks, and he shouldn’t judge him, but it’s still a challenge. “Just— let me help, okay? I’m hanging up. Do NOT go anywhere, I’ll be there in a few.”
“Wait—!” Will starts, but is cut off by Henry slamming the phone down.
Henry takes a deep breath, trying to— to what? He’s not sure what he’s even going to do once he sees William. What is he supposed to say to a person whose kid just went missing? Is there even anything he can say?
Either way, he sprints out of the house, barely remembering to lock it, and gets into a car faster than he thought himself possible. The whole ride to William’s house is a big blank, and later, Henry won’t even remember how he got there in one piece.
He feels like he’s in a dream. Or, a nightmare, rather.
When he finally sees the so familiar to him yellow building, he lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. He pulls up on the side of the road and stares just at the wheel for a moment. Now that he’s there, it’s like all energy and bravery have left him. He’s scared to get out of the car. He’s scared to face William; he’s scared of trying to find the right words and failing.
But it’s not like he has a choice. He has to do it, whether he wants to or not. He owes it to Will.
He walks up to the door and thinks about knocking, but decides against it in the end. He’ll be entering this house one way or another, and William not letting him in won’t stop Henry.
When the door opens, it’s scarily quiet inside.
Of course — Elizabeth and Evan are at school. Still, it’s eerie, and something just doesn’t feel right. It’s nothing about the house itself; Henry’s the one pulling at the straws. The whole thing just has him on the edge of going crazy.
“Will?” he calls out, but no answer comes. Henry’s not giving up, though. “William!” he yells, and then there are footsteps echoing, and then—
William Afton stands in front of him, and Henry has never seen him this way.
He’s slouching, and the dark half-circles under his eyes look more like someone punched him—repeatedly—instead of being from the lack of sleep. Which obviously they are from, with the way William’s whole body seems to be screaming tired at Henry. He’s pale, paler than before, and his hair’s messy, like he’s been running his hand through it.
His face seems slimmer, too, like he lost a couple of pounds — and there’s just something so off about his nose, Henry has no idea what it could be. William just looks so familiar and yet so strange to him, as if Henry were trying to draw him from memory.
“Will,” Henry breathes out, and stares. Very clever.
“Henry,” Will says in return, and he sounds nervous. “I—I told you, you— you didn’t hafta co—”
Henry walks up to him in big strides and promptly shuts him up with a hug.
“Oh,” Will murmurs softly against his ear. He sounds surprised.
It takes a moment for him to reciprocate the hug, but eventually, he does. He wraps his arms loosely around Henry and then slowly tightens his grip on him. All Henry can focus on is Will’s breathing and the unsteady rhythm of his heart.
“Of course I came,” Henry ends up saying, his voice not above a whisper. “Mike’s missing. There’s no way in hell I wasn’t gonna come.”
You needed me, is what he doesn’t say.
William flinches violently in Henry’s arms at the mere mention of Michael’s name. Henry swallows. Honestly, he has no idea what’s going through William’s head right now. William, who is usually so calm and collected, who always keeps his feelings in check, whose son is now missing.
Michael, who argues with his father more often than he doesn’t. Michael, who is in his teenage rebellion era, Michael, who has so much ahead of him. Michael, whom William never said, but Henry knows, is deep inside his favorite. His firstborn. The child who made Will a father.
Michael, who, even though Henry’s a bit ashamed to admit, is his favorite, too.
“They’ll find him,” Henry assures Will, even though he can barely believe in it himself. But he has to, for Will’s sake if for nothing else. “You’ll see, they’ll find him.”
William doesn’t say anything to that.
Then, they pull apart, but Henry’s hand remains on William’s shoulder.
“Do you really think he ran away?” Henry can’t help but find himself asking, even though he winces as he says it. Still, even as impossible as it sounds to him, it’s the best-case scenario — if Mike did run away, it means no one’s out to hurt him. It means there’s a possibility he’ll come back on his own, maybe a bit spooked, but safe. “Sorry, it’s just—”
“Is it bad that I hope he did?” Will asks. Something about the tone he says it in sounds off, but Henry writes it off as hope.
“No!” Henry says immediately. “Of course not.”
William smiles at him then, a small and unsure smile. Henry smiles back in return.
“I bet he’s just hiding out in some girl’s treehouse,” Henry says, and the way William’s mouth hangs open makes him laugh.
“I—wh— Henry!” Will stumbles over his words and then punches Henry’s shoulder. “There’s no way he’s doing that! He’s— he’s probably with his friends or— or something!” he adds quickly, and Henry continues laughing.
“You never know. After all, he’s growing into his father’s looks,” Henry elbows him, but Will remains silent, and it’s like the whole lighthearted atmosphere turns back into that gruesome, dark reality of what’s actually happening.
“Yeah…” Will says quietly, but it’s numb, and it’s like he’s somewhere else, a faraway look on his face. “You’re right…”
“How about we get some food into you? Did you have breakfast yet? I swear to God, you look ready to topple over.”
At that, Will seems to break out of his thoughts, and smiles sheepishly, and that’s all Henry needs to know that no, he hasn’t had breakfast yet, and probably didn’t have it yesterday.
“Alright, that’s it. Put your shoes and coat on. We’re leaving.”
It looks like William’s about to protest, but he thinks better of it, and just sighs, while heading towards his shoes, “...Okay.”
Henry raises his eyebrow at that. He didn’t expect him to be this cooperative. Will he knows is a stubborn prick who listens to nobody but himself. And Henry means that in an endearing way. So to see him this submissive, it’s a weird change of pace. Still, it’s not like anything’s normal right now.
At least he doesn’t have to fight with Will on top of everything. He’ll take what he can get.
He watches him put on his shoes clumsily, and then they leave in Henry’s car to their usual breakfast place.
“Bacon and fried eggs for me, and—” Henry watches Will squirm on his seat, looking around, almost paranoidally. “Waffles with blueberries for my friend.”
“Sure thing!” the waitress smiles at him brightly. “And anything to drink?”
“Two black coffees—”
“Um, actually,” William cuts in. “I’ll take mine with cream.”
Henry looks at him surprised. Since when did Will take his with cream? In all the time he’s known him, Will has never drunk his coffee with cream. Sugar, sure, but cream? That’s an interesting development.
“Alright,” the waitress writes it down. “And for you, sir?”
“Uh, just sugar, please.”
“You got it!”
It’s silent for a bit between the two of them, and William still looks as uncomfortable as ever, when Henry decides to break it:
“Since when do you drink coffee with cream?” he asks, clearly not hiding his shock.
“Uh,” Will stammers, and he looks like a deer caught in the headlights. “I don’t know. I just— I just thought I’ll give it a go?” he sounds more like he’s asking, rather than answering.
Henry clears his throat, “Oh. Um, alright then.”
They wait for their breakfast in silence. Will stares out of the window, and Henry stares at Will. Like this it’s easy to forget the nightmare that awaits them outside.
“Here you go!” the waitress says, putting their plates on the table.
Henry eats, but his eyes never fully leave William. There’s something different about how he’s eating his pancakes, and maybe it’s somehow creepy of Henry to notice that, but it’s not that creepy. William is his best friend. And, anyway, it takes him a bit to figure out just what is different.
“You’re not eating the blueberries?” Henry asks, because that’s what Will has been doing. Leaving the parts with blueberries on his plate, and eating the rest.
“H—huh—w—what?” Will looks at him, eyes wide. “No, I—I love blueberries. Just, you know. Leaving the best for the end,” he says and laughs nervously.
Henry doesn’t reply but— but something in his gut feels very wrong. He knows it’s just the fear talking, and that Will is probably still in shock, but it’s still eerie seeing his best friend acting so out of the ordinary.
“So, how do you like your coffee?” he asks, and Will smiles at him.
“It’s— it’s good,” he says.
They spend the rest of their meal in silence, and Henry wonders what the fuck is he going to do once they’re done. Should he take Will somewhere else? But Mike’s missing. Another place won’t just make that magically go away. Should they go back to Henry’s place? And… do what, exactly? Posters? But shouldn’t the police be handling that? Or is that what Will is supposed to do? Henry has no idea how these things work. Should they drive to the police station? Should he ask Will about the last few days? Should they start investigating on their own?
And what about the kids? He’s not sure if Elizabeth and Evan even know what’s going on. Charlotte definitely doesn’t. Should he be the one to tell them, then? Should they even be told? Probably. They need to, right? Even if Henry doesn’t like it. They deserve it. For Elizabeth and Evan, that’s their big brother. They should know.
But how does he tell them? What does he tell them? How does he explain it in a way they’ll understand, when he’s still struggling himself?
Maybe he should give the kids a sleepover. But what about school? Should he take them out? And what about Mike’s school? Do they know? Do they need to be notified?
Henry’s out of his depth here, and he doesn’t like it. Not one bit.
He looks at Will and— and he looks so devastingly similar to Mike, it makes Henry’s heart ache.
It’s March 16th, 1983, Michael William Afton is missing, and Henry Emily has no idea what to do.