Work Text:
“Uncle Will, do you think they will find them?”, Charlotte had stopped in her tracks a few feet away from him. He saw her turn to the wall of the back of the diner, eyes likely scanning the “missing” posters.
He walked closer to her, resting a hand on her shoulder in a fake pretence of comfort.
“I am sure they will, soon, Charlie.”
She didn’t move.
Neither did he.
“…daddy says someone is taking them away. That someone steals kids away and we need to be careful. He says it could be anyone.”
William nodded, although the little girl wouldn’t be able to see it.
“Henry doesn’t want anything happening to you”, he explained. His grip on Charlotte’s shoulder tightened. “He would be devastated, if something were to happen to you.”
He felt the kid squirming uncomfortably under his hold, shifting her weight onto her left foot as she turned her head to William, eyeing him curiously.
The storm raged above both their heads, and people were eating inside the building in front of them. His car was right behind them, and there was a knife in his right hand, behind his back.
And Henry was going to cry a lot, later that night.
William had never been one to isolate himself from society on purpose, when he could avoid it.
It was of no use when it came to the projection of himself he wanted them to perceive, and would have been met with a curious frown if he were to do so. Afton? That restless man with that impressive amount of confidence in every situation he is met with?
…curious.
William had never been an over-the-top drinker either, for that matter. He could and did appreciate the taste of some expensive liquor, but had always struggled with the idea of abusing it. The idea of losing control over his own actions, when he could actually make use of it in such situations, was near the concept of absurd.
But, tonight? Tonight, William wouldn’t have been able to spend two minutes faking a charming smile before fucking snapping and jumping at the throat of anyone that happened to stand in front of him as he struggled with his own head.
And William’s head was screaming at him. All he was able to feel and hear was an high-pitched noise that stabbed through his skull and had him narrowing his eyes in pain, blaming him for his choices and consuming him alive.
His hands were firm and precise around the cables. They didn’t feel like it, though. They felt charged and buzzing and itching and shaking.
It was dark outside. The world went on without him.
And William had never felt so close to bashing his own brains out.
He usually never did anything without a reason. But tonight, it seemed like it was going to be the exception. He was home, when he should have been out. He was working, on something he wasn’t even sure he would ever want to finish.
Before he knew it, William was in the kitchen, and then back in his basement, with a bottle of whatever-that-was and a shiny glass, fresh from the sink, by his side on his worktable.
The thing is, William was accustomed to the feeling that was staining his insides at the moment, making it difficult for him to even think. He was acutely aware of its name, its purpose, and most of all, he was aware of what it would take to satisfy it. He had felt it before; it had been a constant in his life for the past five fucking years.
It was… rage, of course. And it was loud and bright and all over the place. Not red, no - white. Blinding, and obnoxiously migraine-inducing.
And inevitable, this time. He wasn’t breaking free from its intrusive hold anytime soon.
He downed his first glass, sip by sip, and wiped the corner of his mouth with his left wrist.
It wasn’t- it wasn’t fucking fair, alright? He was feeling so full of adrenaline, skin itching to shed, for him to ruin and destroy. A ticking bomb… but fucking underwater.
If only he were free to do what every bone in his body was urging him to. If only he hadn’t worked so much on pretending everything was normal, perfect, regular. There was this role, a role he had picked for himself without even noticing, that he had to play for his own sake. And it was starting to fit him too tight.
Of course, it had helped for a while. It had worked, at first.
His left palm was planted on the edge of the metal table, his throat convulsing in an unnatural chuckle while his head rolled backwards tiredly. Yeah… yeah, it had worked just fine.
It’s not like he had planned for any of it to happen, in the first place. No, of course! In those three decades of him being alive on this Earth, the goal had never entailed… fucking murder, for God’s sake. No, he hadn’t… chosen it, alright?
But when he had done it… it had felt so natural. And that breathing, living being that had been boiling and growing in his chest cavity ever since he recalled being alive had thrived off of it, engaging in the addicting feeling that it usually got from exercising his control over his surroundings, over other people, over everything he touched. Over Henry, his mind provided, cornering him. He tried filing that thought away for another time, cringing as it crossed his skull.
It didn’t really work.
William placed the screwdriver down, onto the desk’s surface, exhaling sharply from his nose as he straightened his back and reached of his half-empty glass, which he brought to his mouth with urgency.
He swallowed, holding onto the sweet burn that immediately made his way to his chest, numbing it.
His thoughts had already gone to Henry.
His fingers’ grip around the cold glass tightened as he pushed it back onto the work desk with a loud, amplified sound.
His thoughts kept on going back to Henry, no matter how much time he spent trying to keep them from it. Everything traced back to him, and for what?
Nothing, he answered his own question.
Or… nothing good, anyway.
…you see, when Henry belonged to him –
He let out an abrupt, desperate laugh, rolling his eyes to the ceiling, taking deep breaths to calm down soon after.
When Henry was his, William had felt in control.
Henry had needed him, and he had been more than important. He had been necessary, and influential, and vital. Henry had relied on him for the smallest of things, as well as for his existence itself. And it had felt… great, like he had had the entire world in his hands. Like he knew what he was doing, and he was doing something bigger than man. Bigger than life.
Until he hadn’t. Because Henry- Henry didn’t need him anymore. He had, for a while, even after claiming he did not. But something had shifted now. Henry was okay. He was okay without him.
And William had needed him just as much, hadn’t he? Yeah, that feeling of powerfulness… it had gotten the better of him.
But it wasn’t just that, was it?
It wasn’t just about the feeling. It was about Henry. About having Henry himself, with his smart fucking brain and gorgeous fucking face-
Well, fuck him, really. William wouldn’t need him anyway.
Only… only he would, more often than he liked admitting. He had found himself missing his presence the very moment it had slipped through his fingers. He had done all of that, after all, to get what he wanted. The persona he had created, his safe forte, his family and his business. What was the point in being a model citizen if he couldn’t have what he wanted? Do what he craved to?
He had come to this realization then, and he was doing so all over again now, as his hands twitched against the wooden surface and shook in small, sharp outtakes of rage. Absentmindedly, William reached for the empty glass he had left, forgotten, on his work desk, and filled it back full, before bringing it to his lips, chugging it in urgent sips.
He had compromised with society, took up the position of the ordinary man, for the sole purpose of having a pass when it came to shit he wasn’t expected to do.
Like fucking his business partner, okay – and what about it? It had worked. Shut up. Shut the fuck up.
Only, he had been deprived of that, too, and he was now going to live the rest of his life unsatisfied and pissed and so fucking angry. He had only then realized how achingly annoying it all was – his needy fucking children, his ever-so-sensitive wife, the useless business paperwork and those fucking, bloody kids screaming around his property all the goddamn time.
It had happened pretty fast, after that.
Luring Susie Neiman, the neighbours’ eldest daughter, into the backroom with the Spring Bonnie suit on, had kind of felt like the first time he had approached Henry in that college class, and talked him into making robots with him. Stabbing his knife through the young flesh of regular client Gabriel Orson reminded him of the way he had hurt Henry when William had gotten married, betraying his blind, loyal, devoted trust.
And fucking shoving their limp bodies into the animatronic suits, fuck - it was almost too close to the way he had kept him by his side even after breaking his heart.
But… it hadn’t been just that, William had soon realised. When Henry had left, and his life had turned into routine, something had stopped working inside of him. There was a sudden void that had stripped everything of its original meaning, and there was no way he could fill it.
But he had managed to. He had seen empty, and he had filled it with death.
It was almost so obvious, that he could hardly even understand how easy it had been to fool everyone into being so sure of his innocence.
Then, after a few months, the restaurant had been shut down. Disappointing, really, but even funnier had been the way no one had even come close to finding the evidence for his crimes. No, they had been shut down because of the smell, and the five disappearances themselves. Henry had been devastated, and had put his mind and body into designing the Toys, with their fucking facial scanners and criminal database. And no room for dead children. No space to be filled, yet a hungry sense of emptiness in his restless chest.
It still pissed him off. Because, well… Freddy’s was gone, anyway, and he had no control over Junior’s.
On the other hand, Fredbears was available. He had thought so, initially.
William started fidgeting with his nails, rubbing them together in irritation, before reaching for the bottle on his right and once more filling his glass halfway through. He took a hold of it, turning around to sit against the surface of his work desk.
The sudden movement had him blinking a couple times, head lighter than he had expected it to be.
He shrugged it off, and took another sip, mulling over his next thoughts as his eyes pierced the floor in distaste. He could feel his hands starting to shake out of irritation, that boiling pit in his chest slowly expanding to his limbs as his reasoning went on, his work left long forgotten behind him.
The security puppet, or, well, Henry’s decision to install that fucking thing in one of Fredbear’s rooms, so that it could protect kids there as well, had felt… somewhat insulting.
He knew that wasn’t necessarily normal. Henry had no idea it could be inconveniencing William, out of all. And he couldn’t know, obviously – William was just taking it foolishly personally. Plus, the diner wasn’t doing bad at all, but there was that fucking robot that Henry had built to keep his daughter safe – poor man, terrified anything could happen to her, too – keeping William himself from satisfying his thirst for something he only sometimes understood once he was getting it.
It made William see white. He had this… this black hole sucking everything it could gather inside him, threatening to swallow his innards and expand through his veins, and all he could do at this point was to feed it and fuel it and thrive off it, only- only he fucking couldn’t anymore. Because Freddy’s was gone, Fredbear’s was off limits, Junior’s belonged to Henry only and Circus Baby’s –
Oh, boy.
Circus Baby’s pizza World, it was going to be William’s little jewel.
He would have entire control over it, he wouldn’t be bothered by neither the Freddy-related investigations, nor the security mascots, and he would have kept on killing. Methodically. Because he could. Because he wanted it.
He licked his lips, savouring the taste of alcohol as he stared spitefully at the same dark floor.
All his muscles clenched in white-hot anger.
Because then Elizabeth had had to –
A loud thump coming from upstairs cut off his train of thought, pushing it back into his head with all the other ones. . William did not notice the smooth glass he was holding between his fingers slipping out of his grip until it was already hitting the dusty ground.
He frowned, his senses bothered by the sound and their sensitivity due to the intake of alcohol in his body. It took him a few seconds of annoyed blinking before realizing it was probably just the front door.
Looks like his two sons were home from Fredbear’s.
Not that he cared.
William stood back up from where he was leaning against the edge of the table, eyeing the shattered pieces of glass in disgust, grimacing, before his gaze rose and landed on the door on his right. The one that went even deeper underground, where all of his robots had been stored and deactivated after what had happened.
It had been an accident.
She hadn’t been supposed to die, this was… it was utter bullshit. Why the fuck had she died? Out of all of those brats he had planned to kill, his bloody daughter had had to?
Whoever decided for this to happen, they must be having the time of their life. Because that was what was going on, wasn’t it? William was there to entertain.
He had… he had shut the location down immediately. This wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t willing to accept this. Those machines could rot, for all he cared.
And everyone else… they all deserved to fucking die.
William felt his hands shaking, lips trapped between his sets of teeth in an angered grip. He took a step for that locked door, but refused to get any closer. That one time had been enough. Having to pry his murderous machine open in order to free his daughter’s body out of its grasp had been fucking enough. Having to bury her somewhere in the fucking countryside out of the public eye had been – fuck! FUCK. This wasn’t fair. He had done all of that, worked on all of that, to have his own Liz, his own daughter, get taken away from him?
All of that, for absolutely nothing?
“Fuck”, he heard himself saying, laying the empty glass down. His voice cracked, eyes damp under the loose locks that cascaded over his forehead, which was facing the table, leaning downwards. “Shit. Not this- not… not again.”
William hated not understanding something.
It was one of the two things he most despised. He was used to always cracking the code as soon as he was presented with a situation, a reaction, a behaviour. William knew, before he even wondered. He also despised not being in control, and this was usually a direct consequence of not understanding.
And death… shit, he did not understand it. He didn’t get it, and he didn’t… control it. All he got to know was that he would die, eventually. He would- he would stop existing.
What the hell does that even mean? His conscience was all he had. All that mattered. Through his conscience, the world existed.
And he was supposed to accept that it would keep on existing after he, himself, stopped doing so? That the stupid fucking people that surrounded him, and their own dumb consciences, and their own useless, loud, bratty fucking kids, got to live once he didn’t?
His lips curved into a strained smile, sight zoning out on the doorframe he had been staring at. Flashes of bloody floors and struggling little things filled his sight for less than a brief second.
At least not all of them would.
And no matter how likely useless the act of unleashing death on others was going to be to his understanding of the concept of said death… he was going to keep doing it.
He turned around, leaned into the desk, his palms pressed into its rough edges and supporting the weight of his entire body as it was shaken by a low, bitter laugh. His eyes regained focus soon enough, landing onto the wristwatch that wrapped around his right arm in a somewhat grounding grip.
9 pm.
His mind provided him with a picture of the security puppet lurking from its box at Fredbear’s. Not longer than a brief flash, striking the dark, heavy clouds that pestered his brain.
Henry’s creation.
It felt as if William only then realised how much Henry had been the cause of this loathed sense of helplessness. Blind to what William had been doing, he had still managed to somehow keep him away from what he was craving. After taking himself from William, he was taking this away from him, too.
Brilliant little fucker.
He reached for the halfway empty bottle on the worktable, now pouring more of that vibrant liquid straight into his mouth, and swallowed it down sip by sip, until his throat ached and burned. The sound of shattered pieces of glass under his feet crackled against the ground, providing a sharp reminder of where he was, and what he was doing.
He closed his eyes. He inhaled. He opened them.
First, he was going to look for Henry.
Now, if William had been sober, he would have realized that was not the ideal type of weather for him to step out of his house at all. He would have also thought better than to get into his car and drive it all the way to the diner in that drunken state that was fuelling each of his actions in the first place. But most of all, he would have noticed how useless his trip to Fredbear’s was bound to be, if only he had remembered that, on that day, his work partner would be attending the celebration for Junior’s’ inauguration.
But then again, he wasn’t any of those things. And his brain was telling him that, if Henry had been the reason why everything had escalated to that point in time, it meant he could work as a means of shaking him out of that state he had precipitated in, as well.
Only, Henry wasn’t there.
Of course.
But there was rain, a lot of it. There was thunder, and flashes of lightning striking in the night sky. And there was
“Charlotte.”
a kid punching the window right beside the backdoor.
“…what in God’s name are you doing out here?”
She turned around, taken by surprise.
“Uncle Will - !” the little girl sobbed, shielding her head with her shoulders, neck made barely visible by the uncomfortable posture. “I was- they locked me- “
“Is Henry inside?” he interrupted her, eyes snapping to the tarnished pane of glass the girl had been repeatedly hitting. He couldn’t make out much, from there, but the bright room she had been locked out of.
“No, daddy is- he’s at the other restaurant, the new one- ”
“Junior’s?” William asked, desperately trying to make sense of what the young Emily was saying. He looked through his memories, scanning for explanations, until it finally hit him.
Junior’s was opening today.
“yes…” Charlie spoke, voice quivering. William shifted his attention back to her shaking figure, soaked in rain. “Can you help me?” she asked, big eyes seeking reassurance into his cold, abnormally dark ones. “I have been locked out, it’s so cold, please”
William titled his head to the side, suddenly widening his eyes sympathetically. “Jesus, darling, of course. Weren’t you…” he trailed off, facial features slightly sharpening in acknowledgement.
“…didn’t the security puppet keep you from stepping outside, Charlie?”
She fervently shook her head no, lips pressed together from the cold.
“Someone had placed a heavier box onto it” she started, almost indignantly. Observant as her father, William thought to himself.
“I was trying to set it free, when they pushed me out”, she then added, her voice cracking on the last part. “They shouldn’t have done that. The puppet was made to keep kids safe, they shouldn’t have done that.”
William’s eyes scanned for both her arms, until they landed onto the green, shining band safely clipped around her left wrist. He peeked through the window once more, his eyes catching the sight of the security puppet’s box shaking and jumping in place, trying to get rid of the extra weight that was keeping it closed.
He brought his gaze back on Charlie.
“…let’s get you to the car, shall we?”