Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

3 AM.

Only three more hours.

As if that's ever mattered before.

William Afton frowns at the clock in the corner of his screen, flipping rapidly through all of the cameras before setting the tablet aside and giving a quick glance around at his office. When he had started to think of his prison as his office, he couldn't recall, but it must have been weeks ago now, if not months. If not years. There's no way to track time from within his own custom-built hell, and it's not like he can figure out himself, even with his intellect. She makes sure of that, resetting every night every time he dies to a monster of his own making.

Bitch.

William heaves a world-weary sigh, picking up the tablet again and mindlessly tapping through the cameras again. He checks the time again—still 3 o' clock. Still Night 1, whatever that means. He’s never been able to get past Night 1, let alone past 3 o’ clock, so he’s never had the opportunity to find out. Does she slow down time in here, or is it just his own fragile psyche tormenting him further? It wouldn't surprise him if it was both, honestly.

"That would be your style, wouldn't it," he mutters to the empty air. There's no one else in here—there never is—but he knows she hears him anyway. She's always watching. Often, he'll talk to her, out of boredom more than anything else. It's one of the only ways he stays sane in here. Of course, if she responds, which is already rare, she always does her best to verbally eviscerate him and tear apart what little mental stability he has left. Usually, she succeeds—and he has a feeling she knows it.

Not that he'd ever admit that to her.

This place...it does something to him. Of course it does. That had been the point, hadn't it? His own personal hell, filled with the monsters of his past and the reminders of his greatest failures in his pathetic, empty life. His wife, his children, his best friend and his daughter—and of course, the children. In truth, he'd lost count of how many he'd killed over the years. It couldn't have been more than a handful, surely, and it had been worth it, so did it really matter? Every discovery comes at a cost. If he'd had to murder a few insolent little brats to uncover the secret of immortality, so what?

Is that what you told yourself? an insipid little voice giggles in his ear.

Speak of the Devil. "Why not? It's the truth."

Oh, we both know it isn't , she simpers, her high-pitched voice slithering around his head like a snake. A cobra, waiting for any sign of weakness so that she may strike, and kill her prey in a single blow.

"I only wanted to—"

Oh, please. You forget, Afton, I KNOW you. WE know you. We've been trapped with you for forty years. You care for nothing and no one but yourself. You may have had the "convenient" excuse of wanting to bring your family back, but we both know that's not true. You killed us because you WANTED to. You didn't need a reason. You didn't want one. You just wanted to feel powerful, to prove to yourself that you were better than us. Well, look who's laughing now, Afton. Do you still feel powerful?

No. Of course he doesn’t. William Afton has been trapped in a hell of his own making for God knows how long, by a demented little girl that held a grudge harder than anyone he’d ever known in life. This bitch is making him live out Michael’s own experience sitting behind a desk and watching out for those fucking animatronics lest them tear him apart. Payback, no doubt, for what he inadvertently forced the boy to go through in order to stop his father for good. That crafty bitch is more cunning than William had given her credit for.

He has his suspicions, of course, that this custom hell hadn’t been entirely her creation. He can’t be certain, but every now and then he hears the other children talking in his ear, taunting him, mocking him. Every now and then, he swears he hears his eldest, asking him if he’s happy to have finally gotten what he deserved.

I’m not.

That's what I thought. Now, I'd check the cameras if I were you—you haven't checked on Foxy in a while, she teases, before that awful slimy feeling that always accompanies her visits fades, and the usual terror and existential dread set back in.

It takes him a moment to register the words.

By now, his terror is a familiar feeling. It claws through his stomach, shoots up his spine, numbing his limbs and scattering his thoughts. Beads of sweat trickle down his forehead, complimenting the sudden flush of his face as he fends off the lightheadedness. All he can feel is the sickness in his stomach and the beating of his cold, dead heart. All he can hear is the blood pounding in his ears and his own panicked breathing. Move, move, move! Why can’t I move? Why can’t I think, why can’t I breathe, why can’t I move?!

Foxy. It’s Foxy, he’s coming, he’s coming. Oh, he’s one of the worst. Oh, shit—

Which, naturally, is when he hears it.

William barely slams the door shut in time, breathing heavily as Foxy's hook bangs against the slab of metal. Come on, let me in, Willy, Fritz cackles, his little voice sickly sweet. You know I don't bite...

But I do, his daughter's voice coos in his ear, sending a chill down his spine.

Fuck.

It never does get easier.

William had never been stabbed before, aside from the springlocking incident, but he'd heard from Henry, who had, that it felt like you were punched, and only afterward would you notice the difference. Even though William's been torn apart limb from limb in every way imaginable, he's never quite gotten used to the feeling.

So, as the mangled endoskeleton the others call Ennard sinks its arm into his stomach, he tries to pretend like he's only been punched instead of stabbed. Technically, it's true. But as the thing looks him in the eye, tearing its arm back out along with his intestines, he finds the feeling doesn't really compare, after all.

"Fuck," he sighs, already tasting the blood as he falls to the floor.

Its arm returns, joined by another, pushing him down as the thing straddles him by his waist. Its hands plunge back into the newly made hole in its stomach. They drag upwards, splitting skin and muscle as he screams , all the way up to his collarbone, before stopping, and pulling the flesh back to expose his insides. It takes everything in him to keep from biting his tongue in two, but he can still feel—fuck, he can feel those metal hands wrap around his ribs.

“Please.” The word slips out before he can stop it. Her cold, callous laughter echoes in his skull as he coughs up blood—as the thing pulls, and he screams.

The cracking of his own bones resounds over the sharp, searing, indescribable pain that shoots through him. Ennard continues to pull, giggling in his daughter's voice, as one rib after another breaks, as his sternum (One of the strongest bones in the human body , Anastas reminds him) slowly, agonizingly, splits in two. When the bone finally does, making him screech and swear, it speaks, still using his little girl’s voice. “Isn’t this fun, Daddy?”

He can only give a choked grunt in response.

It giggles again, pulling both sides of his ribcage up and out. Ah. In his  near delirious-with-pain state, he recognizes this method. If someone were to look down at him now, his opened chest would look almost like an angel, his cracked bones its wings. Part of him almost laughs. Oh, the irony of making an angel out of him.

His thoughts are cut off by metal wrapping around his lungs. “Wait—”

Ennard tears them out in one swift movement. He can’t even scream. Maybe now this will end, as he gurgles and chokes and opens his mouth for air he can no longer take in.

But of course not. It doesn’t touch his heart, doesn’t grant him the mercy of a quicker death, instead straightening back up and looking down on him. Maybe it’ll leave him there. That awful clown mask is going to be the last thing he sees before he dies. It’s better than seeing her.

Ennard cocks its head at him as he curls into a fetal position, keeping his arms and hands away from the gaping hole in his front. He's long since given up trying to fix himself up after these attacks—for one, it's always been impossible, given the extent of the wounds. For another, as he'd quickly found out, his slow and painful deaths offer him the only reprieve he'll ever have from this nightmare.

William may have to start the night over again, but it might be worth it. After all, he'll get to see them again, even if it's just for a few seconds. Even if it's fake.

Even if it's a cruelty disguised as a kindness.

-___-

When William opens his eyes, he sees his wife sitting across from him on the couch.

Well. It’s not her exactly, although the woman in front of him looks in every way identical to the woman he had murdered so many years ago. She’s reading a newspaper as if nothing is out of the ordinary. She notices him staring, and smiles in a way he hasn’t seen in so long, reaching out to tap his nose with a perfectly manicured finger. Her long, red curls are tied in her signature bun, curls falling out left and right. She absentmindedly tucks them behind her ear, smiling at him again before going back to her reading.

“Daddy?” Beth says, and William turns to the center of the living room, where he knows his children will be—where they always are, every time he comes here.

A daughter he hasn’t seen in nearly forty years, still as bright and adorable and innocent as she had been the day she’d died—the day he’d failed her, his favorite and the only one he’d ever come close to caring about. She sits on the floor, coloring in a book and scrunching her little face in concentration as she chews on a red curl.

A son he hasn’t seen in years, fourteen again and wide-eyed and enthusiastic in a way he hasn’t been for decades. No doubt the boy blamed him for the consequences of his own actions, but foolishness could never be helped. Entirely from Clara’s side of the family, that was. She had been foolish, too. It had been her demise. Michael, unaware of his father’s inner turmoil, smiles when he catches his eye, reminding William that though he took more after his mother, he is still the spitting image of his father.

And then there’s his youngest, barely seven years old when his brother had destroyed their family—he looks the most different out of all of them. No longer timid and always weeping, instead he clings to his big brother and wears a smile that is so unfamiliar on the boy that William had never realized they shared one. David looks up at Michael with adoration in his eyes, and Michael looks back, kissing his brother softly on the head before resuming their video game.

This. This is what he’d been missing—and he has missed it, he’d realized long ago. William has missed having a normal life. He’s missed having a family, a job, a house—everything he’s ever wanted. She would try to say that he’d never wanted it in the first place. She would say that he’d only wanted them because he could and he should, and the only reason he wants them back is because he thinks he deserves them. You love them like your property, she’d hissed into his ear, during many a brief reprieve. You don’t see them as people. You see them as objects to be put upon a shelf and admired, shown off to others as a sign of your own success. Their deaths were YOUR fault, Afton. You made the monsters. You led them to their deaths. All your genius. All your fault.

No, he’d argued back just as many times. No, it was Michael. No, it was Henry. No, it was Clara’s. No, it was yours. His answer changes every time, but it will never be his fault. It wasn’t. None of it was. William didn’t do anything wrong. She is wrong—they all are. All twelve of them.

Twelve nobodies against the genius of William Afton. Hah. Barely a challenge.

Are you sure about that, Afton?

Leave me alone. Fear settles low in his gut again, that familiar feeling creeping up his spine and jumpstarting his heart. He’s no fool. She's coming for him. She's going to tear him apart again. He knows. Everything she does, every action, every word, it makes him tremble, fills him with dread, causes him to flinch if she even takes a step forward. Her laughter is hollow, empty, cruel. She says he’s a monster? It must take one to know one, then, because Cassidy Anastas is the most rotten little beast he’s ever encountered. William Afton had only ever feared death before. Now, to his dismay, the only thing he fears is her.

Tick-tock, Willy. Your time is almost up.

Not for five minutes. I always get five minutes.

She hums contemplatively, and William can’t tell if she’s seriously considering it or not. That’s true. But, I could always change my mind…

William, perhaps wisely, decides not to respond.

Instead, he looks back at his children—or at least the closest thing he’ll ever see again. Maybe that little urchin has a ghost of a point. It is possible, he supposes, that he could have done something to set off this chain of events, but it’s not likely. Either way, it’s too late now. It will do him no good to apologize again. Whoever these apparitions are, they aren’t his family. They don’t remember what he’d done. And for that, even if it’s only for a moment, he is grateful.

Only for a moment, though.

Beth looks up at him, beaming and holding up her book to show one of the nightmarish drawings he’s well used to by now. This time, it’s a rendition of William’s death, complete with over the top gore and astonishing anatomical accuracy. William can’t quite hide his wince, but he smiles, nodding his head and reaching out to pat her head.

That turns out to be a mistake.

Instead of burying his hand in his little girl’s soft, bushy curls, it goes through her, and she evaporates as though she were a cloud of smoke. Michael and David quickly follow suit, disappearing without even looking back at him. In dismay, he whirls back to face Clara, but she too is already gone, and when he turns back to the room, he finds it melting into the black background of his subconscious.

Fuck.

-___-

William jolts awake at his desk, clutching the tablet for dear life. Unsurprisingly, looking at the time in the corner of the screen reveals that it's been rewound to 12AM. Night 1. What the hell does that even mean?

“Bitch," he grumbles to the empty office, tossing the damned thing on the desk.

Watch your tone, Afton.

"Or what?" he snarks, rolling his eyes as he flicks through the cameras. Everyone is where they should be—they usually are in the beginning. He has a few minutes before things kick up. "What will you do, you little shit? Will you torture me some more? Will you throw more insults and taunts my way?"

For once, she's silent. Is she finally at a loss for words? Has she finally run out of original content? Is she as tired of repeating herself as he is of listening to her?

"You'll think of something, I bet," he sneers, tossing the tablet on the desk. "You're a very creative little girl. I'm sure you'll manage."

Again, nothing. Has she left? Is he really talking to himself now? Oh, no. That won't do. That won't do at all. If she's going to keep him in this eternal hell, he's going to give back as good as he gets. "You know, one day I'm going to get out of here," he says, doing his best to sound confident and unbothered. It probably doesn't fool her, the minx, but it makes him feel better. "I'm going to outsmart you, and you'll never see it coming."

There she is. That cold, slimy feeling creeps up his spine again, swirling around his head as she cackles, I'd like to see you try. I will never let you rest. I will never let you leave.

"You don't have a say in it. What are you going to do to stop me? You're only a child."

A child that's kept you imprisoned for the past forty years.

 Forty years. Had it really been that long since he'd first been trapped? William hadn't known that, but there will be time to ponder that later. "Well," he sighs, picking up the tablet again and looking through the cameras once more. "I dealt with you once before. I'm sure I can do it again."

I'd like to see you try. Oh, she sounds angry now, doesn't she? William isn't entirely sure they aren't cut from the same cloth. Forty years and she hasn't gotten bored, hasn't run out of ideas or insults or taunts, hasn't once faltered or gone astray. She's dedicated, he'll give her that. What's that American saying? Game recognizes game. If things had gone differently, perhaps she would have made a lovely assistant one day.

Don't you fucking dare, she seethes in his ear, and William can't help but smirk at the hurt in her tone. You and I are NOTHING alike. I am NOT like you, and I NEVER will be.

"Aren't you?" he asks, cocking his head at the ceiling. "You've trapped me in here, for God knows how long, and you haven't let up once. You've trapped your friends and forced them to help in your little revenge scheme, because you're angry and bitter. You want something back from the world. You think by hurting me—"

By hurting YOU, we are getting revenge on the man who MURDERED us and made our afterlives hell. YOU did this to yourself. If you hadn't been a monster, we wouldn't be here to make sure you never forgot it. They're staying here with me because they WANT to. I didn't make them do anything. They're here because they know what I know—that you DESERVE this.

"Oh, please," William rolls his eyes, pushing away from the desk. "Face it, darling, you and I are the same. We may come from different backgrounds, but underneath the skin, you and I are cut from the same cloth. You are just as monstrous as I am."

I AM NOT. Oh, that's adorable. Is she going to throw a little fit now? Stomp her little light up sneakers on the ground and pout at him? Is she going to send another animatronic to kill him? It'll be nothing she hasn't done before.

"You are," he smiles, turning towards the door and looking out the window. "Maybe you don't want to admit it to yourself, but that's just delaying the inevitable, dear."

SHUT YOUR MOUTH.

"Oh, what are you going to do? Are you going to threaten me some more? Insult me? Pry into my memories, my worst fears, and use that as inspiration for your next tantrum? I'm terrified."

You should be, she growls, and to his shock, she actually appears in front of him, hovering over the desk with her arms folded and her legs crossed. You are going to PAY for this, Afton.

"You're saying that as if I haven't been for the past forty years," he scoffs, meeting her eyes. "You know something, Anastas? I'm not the only one getting tired of your little temper tantrums. Your little friends, the ones you claim are just as invested in getting their revenge against me? They've been helping sometimes. Fritz comes in and offers to help every now and then. Some of them give me little pick me ups throughout the nights. Even Charlie keeps saying that she doesn't hate me. Your friends are as sick of you as I am. They're bored. They want to rest. Why don't you?"

For once, it seems she's speechless. For just a moment, the facade falls, and William sees the little girl she's been all along—small, angry, and terrified. He has to fight the urge to laugh.

"I'm not getting to heaven," he shrugs, acting far more nonchalant than he feels. "We both know that. So why not let whoever's waiting on the other side deal with me? Why not rest your own soul and go with your friends?"

I don't WANT to rest. I want to make you suffer. You deserve it after what you've done to us. After how many people you've hurt and how many more you've KILLED. You're a monster, and I'm not convinced that whatever's waiting for you on the other side is going to be much worse than what I'm doing now.

"You'll have to let go eventually. Either that, or I'll escape. It's your choice, love."

You're not going anywhere, and neither am I. The ONLY way you're getting out of this is if I LET you, and that is NEVER going to happen.

Ah. Well, there's an idea.

"Why not?"

Are you fucking serious?

"Humor me."

How about I let Foxy tear your face off instead?

"How about you answer my question, you little shit?"

I don't have to do shit—

"Humor me." As an added incentive, he mumbles a word he never thought he'd say again: "Please."

Shockingly, it works, although not quite the way William had intended. She narrows her eyes suspiciously, the black tear stains on her face scrunching as she studies him. She searches his face for any sign of mockery, but it doesn't seem she finds one. You murdered us. You ruined our lives. You hurt so many people, and you don't fucking care, because you're a monster. We'll never get to live our lives because of you. You STOLE that from us, just because you wanted to. Because you were BORED, we'll never get to grow up, or become teenagers, or go to high school and college, get married, have families, or—or ANYTHING. You took that away from us, so now, we're taking something from you, too.

"How dramatic," he chuckles, shaking his head. To his delight, the girl's wide black eyes narrow in disgust at his clear amusement. "You'd think you would be over it by now, considering it's been forty-five years. When will you decide enough is enough?"

When you bring us back from the dead, maybe I'll reconsider, she snaps sarcastically. If you're such a genius, surely you can manage that, right?

William shrugs, unbothered. "If that's what you want."

You CANNOT be serious, she hisses, black curls bouncing around her head as she shakes her head, disappointed at his stupidity. You really haven't learned anything, have you? You're not even half the genius you thought you were. Your business failed, your company nearly went under, your whole family died because of YOU, and you were stupid enough to get yourself killed in the same suit you used to kill us. How is any of that the mark of a genius? You're a moron. You're a joke. A pretty bad one, too.

William only shrugs, picking up the tablet and flicking through the cameras again. Interestingly enough, nobody has moved since he last checked—even though the clock now reads 12:05AM. Usually, they're a bit quicker than that. Hm.

Do you HONESTLY think you can bring people back from the fucking dead?

"I do," he answers truthfully, not looking up at her. “That’s what I was trying to do before, you know—bring my family back. That’s all I wanted.”

Bullshit, she snorts. You may have told yourself that was the reason but we both know you only did it for yourself. Besides, nobody can bring people back from the dead, you included.

“I could have. I still could, if I really wanted.”

Oh really? And how would you manage that?

"I would likely use cloning," he shrugs again, setting the tablet down and meeting her eyes again. She looks furious, but she isn't interrupting him, so he's going to count that as a win. Usually, she doesn't let him get more than a sentence or two out. This is new. "Isn't that boy that's been running around the Pizzaplex a clone of me? If I could commandeer the facility, I'm sure I could find a way to bring you all back, if that's what you really wanted. I'm warning you now, being an adult is not as exciting as you think it is. It's so much work."

I wouldn't know. She sounds...contemplative. She looks interested, but William can never tell with her. She's an enigma, one that he's more than a little embarrassed to admit that he hasn't managed to crack yet.

Is she actually considering this? It's not that William had been lying, exactly—he is a genius, and if he set his mind to it, he's sure he could bring them all back, right as rain. Why he'd want to do that is beyond him, but if that's what it takes to get out of this hellscape, he's game.

Do you really think you could do it? she finally asks, tilting her head and giving him that cold, empty stare. Her button nose scrunches in contempt, her mouth twisting in a scowl as she continues, Do you honestly think that you can fix all of this? Bring us back like nothing happened?

"I know I can." I'm William fucking Afton. I'm a genius. I can do anything.

Prove it.

"...What?"

Prove it, she repeats, holding her chin high and staring him down. He doesn’t miss the absolutely evil look in her eyes, the pure glee and smugness radiating off her in waves. They really are the same, aren’t they? You say you can fix all this? Prove it. You do that, and I’ll let you go for good. You have a year.

"Hold on—"

Before he can finish speaking, she's gone, her laughter echoing through the empty office as the door slides open.

Chapter Text

Someone is kicking him.

"Hey," they grouse, placing another well-aimed kick at his ribcage. "Hey! Wake up already. I'm bored. Let's get going."

What the fuck? Where…where is he? What’s going on? This…doesn’t feel right. None of this feels right. What had happened?

"Dude, seriously?" Anastas groans, kicking him again. "Did you already forget?"

Anastas. What is she... William grimaces, hissing as he opens his eyes to bright neon lights. They flicker and spark in disrepair, illuminating the hallway in rainbow colors and instantly giving him a headache. This…this isn’t the office he’d spent the past several days (weeks? months? years?) in. He doesn’t recognize this place, but it feels far more sinister. Oh, he does not like that. "Anastas?"

"Yeah, it's me," she says, sounding a little calmer. "You remember the deal, right?"

Deal? Deal. That’s right… "Yes, I remember."

"Good. So let's get going, because you've been out for ten minutes and I'm already super bored."

William resists the urge to point out that she does not have to come with him. Best not to aggravate her. He's already insanely lucky that she'd even agreed to this. "Right. Where are we, exactly? I don't recognize this place."

Anastas huffs, but holds out a hand for him to take. After a moment's hesitation, he does so, using her as leverage to bring himself to his feet. "I don't know," she admits, looking around them. "I've never seen this place before, but I guess it's where we've been spending the past couple of...however long it's been. This place looks a lot different from when we were here before. I asked the others and they said they didn't know either, so they won’t be any help. All I know is we’re in the Pizzaplex. Henry gives us all the updates on the place. I’ve never been outside the basement."

"You've talked to the others?" he asks, looking down at himself and scowling in disappointment. Damn. He'd hoped that he would look at least somewhat like his old self, but no luck—instead, he's covered in springlock scars, all weeping with black blood and rippling every time he moves a limb. Great.

Anastas, for her part, looks far less terrifying than normal, looking much more like a normal child—big, bushy black curls are tied back into pigtails, revealing her small nose and rosy cheeks. Those disturbing black tear stains have disappeared, revealing high cheekbones and much more of her tiny, round face. Instead of inky black nothingness, he looks into her monolid eyes and sees a rich, dark brown that feels just as threatening. If he didn't know exactly what she was, he might have found her adorable. "Do they agree with this...bet?"

"They do," she says stiffly, suddenly guarded. You’re hiding something. “They don’t believe you either. They trust me to be able to take care of it, and I will. We’re all waiting for you to make good on your promise.” She doesn't seem eager to elaborate further, and William decides not to push it.

"Alright..." William turns to look around them, noting the disrepair of the posters on the hallway walls and the neon signs above them. "What year is it?"

"No clue," she shrugs, aiming another kick that he barely manages to dodge. "Are you gonna fix this or not?"

William glares at her. "You're going to have to be patient, Anastas. This is going to take a while."

Anastas glares right back. "I have a name, you know."

"I don't care."

"Well, I do," she snaps haughtily, crossing her arms. "Look, Afton. I hate you. You hate me. But, I have been advised by certain third parties that we should try to play nice so we can get this over with quicker." She sounds as bitter saying it as he feels hearing it. William has a feeling he knows exactly who that third party was, but now isn't the time to ask about it. "So, I'll make you another deal. I'll tolerate you if you tolerate me. You are a means to an end, nothing more, and we need to work together so we can all get out of here. Do you think you can do that?"

Playing nice with Anastas? William never thought he'd see the day. But he has to admit...she does have a point. Infuriating as it is, neither of them are getting out of here without the other's help. She needs him to bring them back, and he needs her to keep him out of that hell. If playing nice is going to get him his family back and back to his old life...that's a sacrifice he can make. "Very well. We have a deal, Cassidy."

"Wonderful." She claps her hands together, scowling at the man. "For the record, I'm not happy about it either."

"I can imagine. It was David, wasn't it?"

"No comment. And by the way, you can just call me Cass."

William rolls his eyes, but doesn't press further. If she can keep herself in check, he'll do the same. This goes both ways, after all. "I will not. What's our first order of business?"

Cassidy frowns, looking up at him. "What does that mean?"

"What do we do first?"

"Oh. Uhm...I don't know." She has the audacity to shift on her feet, looking around and tilting her head as if picking a random direction to walk in. "You were the one who said you could bring us back. I thought you had a plan."

William resists the urge to scream. "I don't."

"So you lied?"

"I never said I had a plan."

Cassidy opens her mouth to argue, but changes her mind. She nods, clearly not happy at having been wrong. "Okay...are you gonna have a plan?"

"Eventually, yes."

"Okay..." She looks up at him again, giving him a judgmental look. William narrows his eyes at her. "Well, you said there was some kind of cloning facility? What is cloning?"

William has to pause at that, blinking slowly. "You don't know what cloning is?"

"Look, I'm not a scientist—"

"No, I mean—" he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Patience. Snapping at her is just as likely to get me sent back. How did this girl manage to outsmart me for fifty years? "If you didn't know what I was talking about, why did you agree to this?"

"Well—" Cassidy bites her lip, looking down at the ground in embarrassment. She folds her arms across her chest, huffing indignantly. "I thought it would be funny to watch you fail. So far I’m being proven right. What, were you lying?"

"Of course I wasn't," he says cautiously. He hadn't been—he really does believe he can bring them back and get this whole mess over with. It's just that he doesn't know how. But he'll figure it out. He always does. "I have an idea, but it needs...work."

Cassidy raises an eyebrow. "What kind of work?"

"Structure, mostly. You're right, there's supposed to be some cloning equipment somewhere—I'd imagine it's on the premises, considering it's not the kind of thing you'd want out in the open. If I can find out where it is, I can search the area for journals, blueprints, that sort of thing. It should have everything I need."

"Everything we need," she corrects.

"We?"

"Well, I'm helping you, aren't I?"

"You are?"

Cassidy has the audacity to snort. "More hands means quicker work, right? I'm not just gonna sit back and watch you do all the work. I’m helping."

"Why?"

She narrows her eyes, stepping back. She looks him up and down, pursing her lips, before staring down at her sneakers. "I want to make it up to them," she admits quietly, so softly he almost misses the words.

William doesn't need to ask what she means. So he doesn't, instead nodding and looking around the hallway once more. They could head either left or right—left leads to darkness, but if they head right, it looks like there's light at the end. Maybe a room? Oh, this is hopeless. They'll need a map to navigate this place... "I think we should find a map first."

"Huh?"

"A map," he repeats, far more patiently than he feels. "Neither of us knows the layout of this place, so we're going to have to find either some blueprints or a map."

"Uhm. Okay. I'll...follow your lead, I guess."

William tilts his head towards the end of the hallway and waits for her to move. “Come along, then. I imagine a map can’t be that hard to find around here.”

Cassidy gives him a sideways glare as she walks past, but doesn’t respond.

Good riddance to you too, he thinks as he follows her.

When they reach the end of the hallway, William has to stop for a moment to bask in the absolute confusion that hits him like a truck. Cassidy similarly stops, skidding to a halt and taking in the sight. Beyond the hallway lies a massive atrium, part dining room, part entertainment area, with a huge stage at the far end of the room and giant billboards advertising attractions at every corner of the place. In contrast to the hallway, this place looks relatively well-maintained. There’s neon everywhere, bathing the area in a mix of bright, overstimulating colors. Purple and yellow party carpet covers the floor in some areas and switches with black and white tile in others. Purple lights line the tops of the walls, adding to his migraine, and contrasting horribly with the sparse palm trees dotted around the arena.

“This place is massive,” Cassidy breathes, stepping out into the atrium. William instinctively pulls her back by the shoulder. She gives him a dirty look, but complies.

“Careful,” he warns. “We don’t know what’s waiting for us.”

“Does it matter if we’re already dead?”

“…Well—”

Cassidy grins, shoving his hand off her shoulder and stepping forward into the blinding light. William braces himself before following her, instantly regretting it when he accidentally steps right into the beam of a spotlight.

“Hurry up, old man,” she laughs, already rushing into the room and spinning around as she stops in the center.

So much for keeping an eye on me, he thinks as he watches her go. Well, he’s certainly not going to stop her. Once his eyes adjust to the brightness, he steps further into the room to join her, looking around for any indication of where they might be able to find a map. This must be the main area, given the absolute enormity of it all—surely the entrance isn’t too far away, and where there are entrances, there are likely also maps. A place this big has to have a map, even if it’s just on one wall. They just need to find it, and then…then they’ll go from there. That…shouldn’t be too difficult. Right.

“Hey,” Cassidy calls, throwing something his way. William barely manages to avoid it, looking down and seeing a toy car by his feet. “Ah, darn. I missed.”

“I’m glad you’re having fun,” he scowls, kicking the toy car away. “When you’re ready to be serious, let me know and we can continue.”

“Funsucker,” Cassidy groans, shuffling over to him.

“I am not a funsucker.”

“You are. You suck the fun out of everything. Fun. Sucker.”

“Can we focus?”

Cassidy laughs at his obvious annoyance. She beams up at him with a shit-eating grin. “Whatever you say, Peepaw.”

“Do not.”

“What’re you gonna do, kill me again?”

“Oh, if only,” he mutters quietly, closing his eyes and praying for patience.

“Alright, alright,” she cackles, punching him in the leg. “Funsucker. Okay, where are we going?”

“We need to find the entrance,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Focus, Afton, focus. One year. You’ve been dealing with her for fifty already—what’s one more? “Entrances to these types of places usually have maps, so we’ll start there.”

“Can’t we just follow all the signs?”

“Not likely. They’re not going to tell us where the basement is, which is where I’m assuming the cloning equipment is.”

“But we’ve been in the basement, haven’t we?” she frowns. “That’s where we’ve all been for who knows how long. I never saw any cloning equipment.”

“You’re partially correct,” he tells her, picking a direction and beginning to walk. “We were below this…entertainment center, I’m assuming this is—but we were in the remains of Michael’s pizza restaurant. That’s not quite the basement.”

“Oh, yeah. I guess that makes sense.”

“You guess?”

She shrugs, not bothering to turn around and face him. “I’m only eight years old.”

Elizabeth was four, he thinks unbidden, and then stops. He doesn’t want to think about his family right now. Especially not her. Focus, he urges himself again, moving forward. The sooner you deal with the brats, the sooner you can get your family back. That’s what you want, isn’t it?

Isn’t it?

“Hey, Peepaw,” Cassidy says, jolting him out of his musings. “I think I see the entrance over there. You know, the giant neon that says come back soon?”

“I see it. Don’t call me that.”

“Do you prefer Afton?”

“I prefer William.”

“Nah. Hm…” She gives him a critical once over before nodding. “Bill. Yeah, you look like a Bill. You’re Bill now.”

Henry called me Bill. “Not Bill.”

Cassidy shrugs, unconcerned with his quiet response. Stop shrugging so much. It’s improper. “It’s either Bill or Afton, if you don’t want to go by Peepaw. Your choice.”

Bitch. “…Bill.”

“Okay, Bill,” she grins, saccharine and fake, and she bows sarcastically before snapping to attention. “I don’t see any map stands over there, but maybe there’s, like, a wall map or something. I don’t know.”

“Lovely,” he grumbles, already doubting his own commitment. Is it too late to ask for the personal hell back? “Alright…damn. There’s got to be something around here. Let’s take a closer look.”

“You’re the boss,” she shrugs, tightening her bushy pigtails.

“You’d do well to remember that.”

“I can still drag you back to the others—”

“Quiet.”

William quickly makes his way towards the entrance, Cassidy faltering behind him as she struggles to keep up with his long strides. To his dismay, it doesn’t last long—within seconds she’s decided that sprinting at top speed to get ahead of him is the ideal solution, and he nearly trips over her as she slides underneath him. He hopes he’ll get lucky and get to watch her slam face first into the turnstiles ahead, but sadly she passes right through them. Damn.

“I win!” she shouts proudly, jumping up and down on the other side of the turnstiles. “I win! I win! I win!”

“We weren’t racing,” William scoffs, sounding far more insulted than he’d meant.

“Doesn’t matter! I won! You lost! You’re a loser!”

Play nice, he reminds himself with a grimace. “Alright,” he sighs, rolling his eyes and brushing past her. He doesn’t pay her any mind as he surveys the entrance area, looking for some sort of map kiosk, or information desk, or a wall map, or something to tell them where they are and where they need to go. Surely there has to be something here, even if it’s just a brochure or a pamphlet or—or—

“Ach!”

William whirls around, eyes landing on a terrified Cassidy as she backs away from…what is that thing? It looks like some kind of robot, but not anything he’s familiar with. It wears a hat, and holds something in its hand, repeating a phrase that’s too garbled by its speakers to decipher. Most noteworthy, William notes, is the piercing shriek it emits from its speakers, reminiscent of an alarm. Interesting. Whatever—or whoever—the alarm is meant to warn likely won’t be a concern for them, though, so he ignores it. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!” she protests, glaring at him. “I was minding my business—”

“Bullshit—”

“I was! And then this—this thing snuck up behind me and—wait! Give me that,” she tells the robot, snatching the object out of its hand. She grins, looking up at him and waving it above her head. “Hey, I found one! I found a map! I found it first! See, I’m better than you—”

Don’t call the child a bitch. Don’t call the child a bitch. Don’t call the child a bitch. “Bitch.”

“Funsucker,” she laughs, unfettered. “Let’s see…” She opens the map—upside down, he notes with a small amount of amusement—and frowns when she can’t decipher it. “Holy shit. Uh…we have a problem.”

“You’re holding it upside down.”

“Not that.” She waves him off dismissively. That piques his curiosity more than anything. “We have a few problems, actually…first off, this place is massive. Bigger than I think either of us thought. It might take a while for us to find what we’re looking for.”

William walks over to her, grabbing the map and turning it right-side up. Shit. She isn’t wrong. Even simply looking at the map is giving him another headache—he spots at least ten different attractions on one level, all of them enormous in their own right but out of the way enough that they likely won’t have to bother with them. But upon further inspection, he sees what the second problem is. “Shit.”

“Did you notice what I did?”

“Yes.” There aren’t any indications of where the restricted areas are. Normally, this wouldn’t be an issue for someone of his intellectual caliber—it always pays to look at what areas are mysteriously blank on a map such as this one. Unfortunately for them, every inch of this paper map is accounted for. “Dammit. We’ll have to do this the hard way.”

“There’s…another problem…”

Something about her tone of voice immediately raises suspicions. William looks up from the map to find Cassidy pointing at something in the distance, her tiny finger trembling in fear. He can’t tell what it is from here, but if it’s bad enough to make her afraid, he’s not going to argue with her. Just the sound of its heavy, rapidly approaching footsteps is enough to make him waver. Sure, they’re already dead, but do they really want to take their chances? “There’s an information kiosk over there.” He points to a booth over on the far side of the room. She doesn’t waste a second before bolting over to it, gesturing for him to be quiet as he follows her.

They’re barely situated behind the desk when it comes close enough to see clearly. “That must be what the alarm was meant for,” he whispers to Cassidy.

“Can you see what it is?”

“It…looks like a version of Freddy,” he notes with considerable surprise. “What the hell?”

“That makes sense,” Cassidy whispers back. “Henry said this place was owned by Fazbear Entertainment, which was your old company, right? So it would make sense that they would want to make Freddy again.”

“Yes, but it doesn’t look like any Freddy I’ve ever designed,” he frowns, noting its eighties-inspired look—an orange body with tan highlights, turquoise nails, and red and electric blue accents with a laughably small top hat and an honest to God earring in his left ear combine to create the silliest Freddy design he’s ever seen in his…life? Death? Does it matter? It looks ridiculous either way.

“I think it looks cool,” Cassidy breathes. “I kinda wanna pet him.”

“It’s a robot.”

“So?”

Freddy approaches the robot from before, and to his shock, begins to speak. “STAFF Bot, what is the emergency?”

The robot—STAFF Bot, apparently—tries to respond, but once again its meaning is lost behind the broken speaker.

“I don’t think there was one,” someone else says, sounding annoyed. Both William and Cassidy perk up at the new voice, sharing a confused glance before both try to peek out from behind the desk to get a better look. “These stupid STAFF Bots are always fucking broken and whining about something.”

“Gregory, watch your language! That is not a nice thing to say,” Freddy admonishes, looking down at an unseen person.

“What?” Gregory scoffs, stepping out from behind Freddy. William frowns, exchanging another glance with Cassidy before looking back at the boy. This must be the boy that Fritz had once told him about, the one wandering the Pizzaplex that was supposedly a clone of himself. Strange—had he really been that puny and pathetic-looking as a child? No wonder my father didn’t love me. “It’s true, and you know it. Whatever. Let’s get back to Vanessa. I’ll let you tell her we didn’t find anything…” His voice fades a bit as he walks away, leading Freddy back the way they came.

“We do not know that for sure,” Freddy says in a much more positive tone than is deserved. “We still have a bit of time before we have to report back. We can check Maizercise again—”

“If I have to go through that stupid maze one more time—”

“That is the most likely place. We are not likely to find a key card to the basement anywhere else.”

“Other than Mazercise?”

“That is where we have found other keys, yes.”

“…Fine. We’ll check one more time. But that’s it.”

“Okay, Gregory.”

“Can I ride in your stomach hatch?”

“No.”

“Boring,” and that’s the last thing they hear before the voices fade.

William and Cassidy wait behind the desk for a few seconds longer before Cassidy stumbles out and turns to him, eyes wide. “That was close,” she sighs, shaking her head. “Way too close.”

“We weren’t in danger.”

“We could have been,” she shrugs, but something about her response is…off. Oh, you’re hiding something. I don’t like that. “Better to be safe than sorry…”

“Alright…” William has to remind himself that even though they can physically interact, it would do him no good to strangle the brat here and now. That didn’t work out so well for him last time, did it?

“Anyway,” she says, interrupting his musings with a wave of her hand. “They’re looking for the basement, too. Do you think it’s for the same reason?”

“What, cloning a dead person and bringing them back to life?” He chuckles sharply. “I doubt it. Whatever they’re looking for likely has nothing to do with us. But, if their goal is to get into the basement…perhaps we could follow them—”

“No!” When William raises an eyebrow, she stammers out, “Uhm. What I mean is, we can find the basement on our own, and you already had a plan for us, so—”

“It’ll be easier if we follow them,” he points out, waving the map in front of her. “We’d hit a dead end seconds before they showed up, and it’s quite fucking lucky that they did.”

“We can’t.”

“Why not?”

Cassidy looks like a deer caught in the headlights. William narrows his eyes at her, placing his hands on his hips and giving her the look that had always worked on his own children. It often slips his mind that she is just a child, a little girl of eight years old with baby fat on her face and dimples in her cheeks, not unlike his own little girl. Elizabeth would have liked her, he thinks. For all of Cassidy’s scheming and threats, all her rage and her bitterness, she is still a child, and she is very much acting like one now that they’re out of the basement. William supposes he should be grateful for that. It beats the alternative.

“I…” is her only answer after a minute of silence. William frowns, and she breaks. “Okay! Fine!” Her hands twist the hem of her bright yellow sweater, nearly tearing the fabric in two with the force. “I…may have…possibly…lied. Just a little bit.”

“What.” ’

“So…” Cassidy wrings her hands together, looking very much like she’s actually sorry for whatever she’s about to admit to. “Okay, look. That Freddy—it’s part of a set of four, yeah? At least, that’s what Henry said. But he’s different, because…he’s possessed…”

“Possessed?” William raises an eyebrow, folding his arms across his chest. “Why is that surprising? You and I are ghosts and could likely possess the others if we wanted, too. What makes this one so special?”

“...Michael?”

William can feel his blood boil at the mere mention of his eldest. “You’re fucking joking.”

Cassidy winces. “Nope.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“No?”

“Oh mon Dieu, ça ne peut pas arriver. Cela ne peut pas arriver. Ce n'est pas réel. Rien de tout cela n’est réel. Oh mon Dieu…” William has to fight very, very hard not to pull out his own hair and scream into the void, for the fear of his own damned son coming back and—and—well, doing something, he’s sure. Just because he’s dead doesn’t mean he can’t suffer.

“I don’t…know what that means.”

“Nevermind,” he sighs, running a hand down his face and groaning. Think, Afton. Think. You’re a genius. You can think your way out of this. “Okay,” he sighs, placing a closed fist against his forehead. “So Freddy is possessed by Michael. Okay. That’s not a problem. You said you talked to everyone and they agreed that this whole plan was a good one, yes? So if we bump into him, it shouldn’t be an issue, right?”

Cassidy refuses to look him in the eye, twisting the toe of her light up sneaker against the ground. “Not exactly…”

Lord, if you’re still listening to me, give me patience. “What do you mean?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“That’s the part I lied about.”

She says it in such a rush, it takes William a few moments to process the words. “Excusez-moi?”

“Uh…so I…never actually told anyone that this was our plan?” She has the gall to laugh nervously, looking up at him with a pained expression.  “I mean, I told David, and he told me to play nice, and gave me some advice, but I lied to him and told him that I’d already told the others, and I lied to you and said the same thing, so…yeah. Nobody except for me and you and David knows about our deal. Not even Henry, because I knew he would try to talk me out of it and I didn’t wanna listen to his lecture.”

“And…you agreed…why?”

Cassidy throws her hands up in exasperation. “I don’t know,” she snaps, and suddenly that fiery spirit is back with a vengeance. “Maybe I was tired of torturing the same guy for fifty fucking years and never feeling any better. Maybe I figured if anyone could fucking fix this mess and give us our lives back would be the guy who stole them, because he said he had a plan and knew exactly what to do. Maybe I just want to believe that there’s a way out of this for all of us that doesn't involve shutting up and passing on. Maybe I just want to see the fucking sun again.”

William tries to protest but quickly shuts his mouth. A tiny finger finds itself jammed in his chest as she advances, each step triggering her light up sneakers in a way that would be comical if she weren’t so terrifying. “You ever think of that? If you don’t fucking fix this, I will. I’ll figure out all this cloning stuff myself, and I’ll bring them back if you won’t. I am not giving up. You aren’t, either. You and I are stuck together until the very end. I will never let you go. I will never let you leave unless and until you fix this! Understood?”

“Perfectly,” he swallows, and dammit if it isn’t the truth. Never in his life—or his death—did he think the sight of a child, poking him and screaming in his face with a wrath to rival his own, would shake him so badly. She would have made a lovely assistant. “Shall we go, then?”

Cassidy glares up at him, her jaw setting before she delivers a swift punch to his stomach. It takes everything in him not to double over in pain, but he can’t hide the hiss of pain and the hand snapping to his stomach in defense. She scowls for good measure before she retreats, looking around the entrance. “Yeah. Let’s get out of here before Michael shows up again.”

“About that,” a squeaky little voice calls from the front of the room. They both turn to see the boy—Gregory—sitting proudly on Freddy’s shoulder’s, arms crossed and the smuggest little smirk on his very punchable face. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Cassidy says, waving. William lowers her hand. “Oh.”

“Father,” Michael says coldly, Freddy’s electric blue eyes now a neon purple. “What the fuck have you done now?”

Chapter Text

“It was my fault.” Cassidy is the first to speak, stepping in front of William and raising her arms in surrender. “I let him out—”

“Why?”

“I need him,” she explains, pointedly avoiding eye contact with the hulking metal animatronic. “He said—he said he can bring us all back—”

“And you believed him?” Michael asks incredulously. “Cassidy, what were you thinking?”

“I just—”

“You know he would say anything to get out of what you put him through,” he admonishes sharply. “No one can bring people back from the dead. And why would he want to? He doesn’t care about anyone but himself. What would he have to gain by helping you?”

“Freedom,” William steps in, gently pushing Cassidy aside. “She promised me that if I brought you all back, I could have my freedom. I could bring myself back, and she and the others would never bother me again. That sounds like a fair deal to me.”

“And how exactly were you planning on defying the laws of nature to do that?”

“The basement,” William says simply. “There’s cloning technology somewhere in this facility, isn’t there? All I need is access to it and I can bring everyone back and go on my merry way. I’ll go live a quiet, peaceful life away from everyone else and never harm another soul again,” he simpers, voice dripping with sarcasm. “In all honesty, I think I’ve had enough murder for a lifetime. You’ll never hear from me again. Just let me do this.”

“I’m just supposed to believe you? After everything you’ve done to us? Cassidy, how could you?”

“Look, I think—I think he’s telling the truth, okay?” Cassidy looks scared. He doesn’t blame her. Michael scares him too. “And if he isn’t, I’ll take him back. If he tries anything, I’ll see it and I’ll take him back to where he was before, and it’ll be like it never happened.”

“We can’t trust him!”

“You can’t,” William agrees, “but do you really have a choice? You could have your life back, Michael. You can live the life you claim I stole from you, with your siblings and your mother and all these little urchins if that’s what you want. You’ll never see nor hear from me again. It’ll be just like you want.”

“What I want is for you to go to the ninth circle of hell and stay there like you should have done in 1993,” Michael spits, and William had never thought a Freddy Fazbear incarnation could sound so vicious. “Fuck you.”

“Michael,” Cassidy tries again. William had never imagined that Cassidy Anastas would be his sole defender, but today has been a day of firsts. She gives him a look that is strikingly familiar, but he can’t place it before she turns back to Michael. “Look, I don’t trust him either. Obviously. But I believe that he knows what he’s talking about, and if anyone can do it, it’s him. I gave him a year. Let him at least try. If he fucks it up, okay. I’ll take him back and admit I was wrong. But,” and she sighs, lowering her hands and wrapping her arms around herself.

“Look. I’m tired of all of this. I wanna come back. I wanna live again, and if he can make it happen, then that’s fine with me. If you want to stay possessing an old Freddy animatronic for the rest of eternity, that’s on you. But we’re getting out of here. Come on, Bill.” She grabs his hand and begins to drag him towards the turnstiles again, little face scrunched up in determination. William’s got to hand it to her—she’s got grit, and that’s something he can admire.

“Wait,” Gregory frowns, sliding off of Freddy’s shoulders. “Isn’t that what we came to do, Mike? Didn’t Vanessa say she thought she could bring you back with the cloning stuff? How is that any different from what they’re trying to do? Shouldn’t we like, team up or something?”

“Gregory, no. It is completely different—”

“I don’t think it is,” Cassidy argues hotly. “We’re after the same thing. Gregory’s right, we’re better together than apart. Mike, if you’re so worried about your dad—which, completely fair—wouldn’t it be better to keep an eye on him rather than let me do all the hard work? You know, since I’m such a dumbass and all?”

“I didn’t say that,” Michael says softly. “I didn’t mean it like that, Cassidy, it’s just—you know what he's done. You know what he’s capable of—”

“Mike,” she sighs, shaking her head. “Look. It’s been seven years. Everyone is tired of how things are. If…if he can fix this—if someone can fix this—I’m willing to give it a chance. Gregory, are you gonna come with us or not?”

Gregory looks from Michael to Cassidy to finally William, looking him up and down cautiously. William takes the opportunity to finally get a good look at the boy—long, dark brown curls and matching brown eyes, familiar in a way he can’t quite place but which definitely unnerves him. Long, dark brown curls escape the tight, barely shoulder-length ponytail, framing his sharp features and highlighting a very familiar jawline. His clothes, a black plaid shirt covering what looks to be a Nirvana shirt and faded jeans, look as though they’ve been worn for weeks on end. Black painted nails dig into the skin of his biceps as he frowns at the undead man in front of him, before he finally steps back with a quiet, “Uh….yeah, no thanks. I’ll stick with Mike.”

“Shame,” Cassidy sighs, clearly upset at having lost the chance to gain another victim.

William rolls his eyes as she pouts. Shame, indeed. He’s sure she would have been thrilled to have someone her own age to torture for once. Well, closer to her own age—given the boy’s height and build, he looks around fifteen or sixteen. Interesting. What on earth is he doing hanging around Michael?

Wonderful. Now there are two of them.

“Good choice,” Michael mutters, his neon purple eyes flickering for a few seconds as he looks at Gregory. Finally, he sighs, a rush of static through his speakers, and shakes his head as much as he can. “Okay. I hate to say it, but she has a point. You win, Cassidy. We’ll all work together. But if this goes sideways, you know who we’re all going to blame.”

“I know.” She doesn’t sound very happy about it, but as Michael turns to follow Gregory, she gives William a thumbs-up and a nervous smile. If you take away all the sadism and bloodlust, she’s actually quite adorable. Hm. “Okay, then. We need to get to the basement. You guys know where the basement is. All we need to do is find the key, right?”

“We don’t know where the basement is,” Gregory admits. “We just know we need a key to get in. That’s what Vanessa said.”

“Who the hell is Vanessa?” William makes the mistake of asking.

Both Michael and Gregory turn to him incredulously.  Everyone stares at him, absolutely dumbfounded, and William wonders if perhaps he’d miscalculated his place in this new group. “Uh, Vanessa Shelly? The security guard? The woman you possessed for like six months? That Vanessa?” Gregory asks slowly.

“Who?”

“Wow,” Gregory laughs, shaking his head. “Wow. You never even bothered to learn her name. What the fuck, dude?”

“Language,” Michael chides, but no one pays him any mind.

“What are you talking about?” William frowns. “Cassidy, did you do this?”

“No,” Cassidy replies honestly, looking just as confused. “I don’t know what they’re talking about either.”

“You seriously have no idea who we’re talking about?” Michael asks cautiously, eyeing them both up and down.

“I have no idea,” William says honestly. “I’ve been stuck in Cassidy’s personal hellscape for the past...God knows how long. But I haven’t gone anywhere.”

If the Freddy animatronic was capable of facial expression, he’s sure it would be frowning right now. “Cassidy, is that true?”

“Of course,” she says, just as confused as William feels. “I haven’t let him out until, like, an hour ago. He hasn’t left my sight.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Gregory folds his arms. “If you were in hell, then who was possessing Ness?”

“I don’t know, but it wasn’t me,” William snaps. “Look. Clearly, there’s been a misunderstanding here, but we’ll have to figure it out later. Right now, it seems we all have a goal in common, and I see no reason why we can’t work together, so why don’t we stop arguing and start working?”

Michael stares him down. William does his best not to fidget under his gaze. Finally, the animatronic sighs, the rush of static making William wince. “Alright. We’ll play nice for now. But if I get even the slightest hint that you are up to something, I will not hesitate to throw you back in the basement.”

“Understood.” Is this a side effect of being on thin ice, or has he always been slightly terrified of his eldest? “Shall we?”

“Don’t we need a plan first?” Gregory asks. “We don’t have the key or the location of the basement.”

William, sensing his delicate placement in the group, stays silent for once. It lasts for a whole minute, which he is very proud of, before he realizes that nobody else is going to speak, so once again, he has to do everything. “Cassidy and I will look for the basement,” he announces, casting a sideways glance at the girl. “Gregory, was it? You and Michael should continue looking for the key.”

“How are we supposed to let you know if we found it, though?”

“What about the walkie-talkies?” Michael says. “They’re usually kept behind the prize counter near the arcade. It shouldn’t be too hard to grab one. I already have one for me and Gregory. When you get yours, tune it to Channel 3. Let us know if you make any progress.”

“Okay…?” Cassidy looks at William hesitantly. She seems to be waiting for his approval.

What is he supposed to do about it? It’s not like he can say no to Michael. Not like this, at least. Maybe when they all get proper bodies, he’ll strangle the boy. But for now…

“Alright,” he nods, and takes great displeasure in the way Cassidy instantly relaxes. “We’ll…go to the prize counter, and we’ll find the basement. We’ll figure it out.”

“Wonderful,” Michael sneers, and he can hear the eye roll in his tone. “Come on, Greg. Let’s go meet up with Vanessa again…oh, she is not going to like this…”

Gregory casts one last, longing look at William and Cassidy before huffing and turning to follow Michael.

William watches them go, head still reeling as he tries to process what the hell just happened. Cassidy is still staring at him with that stupid look on her face. It’s one that he can’t decipher,  but he knows it annoys him to no end.

“Stop it,” he snaps.

She flinches, face contorting in a scowl. “What?” she snaps back.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

Like what, indeed. What is that face? William tilts his head, his annoyance flaring when she does the same. Something about it is so familiar, and yet he’s sure he’s never seen it on the brat’s face. It’s not her usual sadistic glee—or if it is, it’s not only that. There’s something else hiding beneath her bitter scowl, something that he’s not quite sure he likes. It feels wrong. Not in the usual way, either— it’s not the slimy, cold chill of her presence snaking up his spine, curling around his neck and suffocating him with terror until he can barely think or move. It’s not the desperation and despair that comes with her usual methods of torture. Strangely, it’s most similar to those brief moments of reprieve at the end of the night—when he gets to see his family again, as if nothing had happened, as if this was all a terrible nightmare. His wife. His sons. His daughter.

His daughter. Oh.

Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no.

“Stop it!” he shouts suddenly. Oh, he can’t think. He can’t breathe. No, no, no. This isn’t happening. This is not happening.

He almost regrets it when Cassidy flinches, nearly tripping over herself with how quickly she backs away, and for a moment that disgustedly trusting look is replaced with her typical bitterness and anger. But it melts just as quickly, replaced by—by that—that look. One he hasn’t seen in decades, since—since Elizabeth—since David—since Michael—

“Hey,” someone calls, placing their small hands on his shoulder. “Hey. What’s going on? What’s wrong? Are you dying again?”

Elizabeth?

“Uhm. No. It’s—it’s Cassidy. I don’t know where Elizabeth is—”

Cassidy. Cassidy Anastas. The One You Shouldn’t Have Killed.

“…Yeah.”

Stop reading my damn mind.

“I’m not, Bill. You’re talking out loud.”

Oh.

“Yeah. Are you okay?”

William sucks in a deep breath that he doesn’t need and looks up at the girl. That damned look is still on her face, along with concern of all things. Concern for him. Had she already forgotten the hell she and the others had put him through because of what he’d done. What he would do again in a second if given the chance? She’s a fool. “Why do you care?”

“We had a deal, remember? You help us get out of here and I let you go. I need you. You’re of no use to me dead.”

William wants to believe her. It makes the most logical sense. But as he shakily rises to his feet, he can’t help but wonder if it’s her only motive. Play nice, he reminds himself as he forces himself to look down at her. She doesn’t look nearly as angry as she sounds, her annoyingly adorable face scrunched in worry and…fear.

Right. She’s only a child. An absolute beast of a child that makes Michael seem like an angel, true, but a child nonetheless. It had been easy enough to forget that when they’d been stuck together—when she and the others had kept him locked in the safe room the first time, and again when they were stuck in her little mind prison with the other brats. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been wrong—she is the one thing he’s terrified of, and she knows it. Death holds no sway over him anymore. He’d gladly welcome it at this point. She wields her power over him like a weapon, a constant reminder of just how precarious his situation is. Until this moment he hadn’t dared do more than offer a few snide remarks and jabs, knowing that any major misstep would mean the end of this experiment.

But as he looks at her now, small and baby-faced and scared—she’s scared? he doesn’t see his tormentor of the past thirty-eight years. No, he sees a child. That’s all she is, isn’t she? Just a child. She’s a frail, weak little thing, barely reaching his knee, and even as she glares up at him, he sees nothing more than a petulant little brat, throwing a tantrum because she didn’t get her way. Oh, she had been so easy to break before. She had caved underneath his hands—or had he used a shovel? Well, it has been nearly forty years. You can’t blame him for forgetting. Either way, it had been so much fun to watch her and the others break. Out of necessity, he reminds himself, lies to himself. I would have brought them back with my family. It would have been alright in the end.

He never could manage to convince himself.

“Bill?”

Something about her tone snaps him out of his angry haze. She looks frightened, hands clenched at her side and breathing heavy as she looks him up and down. Curious. “Yes, I’m alright. Come along, let’s get those damned walkie talkies.” He brushes past her, trying very hard to suppress the little thrill that shoots through his gut at the sight of Cassidy Anastas trembling before him once again. As it should be. Before long, he hears her little footsteps rushing after him, struggling to keep up with his long strides.

William tries to keep his mind off of the matter as they enter the main area again. Cassidy points out the prize counter, already running towards it, and he decides to wait instead of wasting his energy. As he sits down at a table, watching the girl from afar— she really shouldn't be trying to climb that, she’s going to fall and scrape her knee— something nags at him. Something had occurred to him during his earlier revelation, but it had slipped his mind once the girl had brought him back. If he could just remember what it was…

Cassidy Anastas. It had been about her, he remembers that much. What does he know about her? She’s at least half Greek, if her last name is any indication, but maybe it’s been passed down a few generations. She’s devilishly clever, enough to give an eight year old Michael a run for his money. She’s impudent, impatient, nosey, sadistic, vicious, ignorant, narcissistic. She’s scared.

Ah. There it is.

Of course she’s scared. For all her bravado, she is only a child, one who, even if she hasn’t realized it yet, is far out of her depth. She has no idea what she’s gotten herself into. Oh, William fully intends to make good on his promises. Once he brings them all back, he’ll take his family and they’ll move far, far away from this wretched town and start anew. No more murders. But she and the other urchins are going to have quite a time navigating this new era, aren’t they? Maybe Henry, soft as he is, will offer to take them in. Sucker.

Cassidy Anastas, scared. Hm. Now that’s a funny thought. William finds himself chuckling as he remembers her face when he’d snapped at her. She hadn’t looked that scared since…well. Granted, it had been an accident. He hadn’t meant to yell at her, but it’s not like he felt bad about it. He’d only been nervous that he’d crossed a line and she’d renege on their deal. But she hadn’t, which is very uncharacteristic of her, and had instead cowered in fear, which is unheard of. Just what is going on? What is she hiding?

Something is definitely wrong here. If he could just put his finger on it…

Think, William. You’re a damned genius—act like it.

William thinks back to when she’d first kicked him awake. At the time, he’d been too busy taking in his surroundings and his situation, but now that he thinks about it, she hadn’t quite been herself, had she? Usually, she’s cold, calculating, brutal . She doesn’t hesitate to make him suffer or take a jab at his deepest insecurities. Since they’d begun this partnership, however, she’s been oddly complacent.  She hasn’t screamed, or pouted, or thrown a tantrum. She hasn’t threatened him once. In fact, she’s been actively defending him. Her threat of sending him back to that custom made hell at the slightest misstep seems to have been forgotten. William has snapped at her, disrespected her authority, and actively ignored her and her snide little remarks at every turn, and she hasn’t said a word. She trusts him for some godforsaken reason. William assumes it’s her childish naivety combined with the simple fact that she really has no other option if they want to honor their deal. But even as he realizes it in his mind, he finds himself thinking of that look again. It hadn’t just been reluctant trust—that had been fear. Of him. He knows that look. He’d seen it on their faces before he’d slaughtered them—-and even if he hadn’t, he’s seen it so often on his own children’s faces that the sight is burned into memory.

Why is Cassidy afraid of him? It doesn’t make sense. Alright, fair enough—he had murdered her and her friends, and for some reason they seem to have taken an awful lot of issue with that. But this is more than that. This is something else. She shouldn’t be scared of him. She’s the one in charge here, not him. For all his snark and clear superiority, it’s very clear to him that should she wish it, he will be right back where he started, and there will be nothing he can do about it. With a snap of her fingers, she can renege on their deal and pretend it never happened. If he were to threaten her, or scare her, or displease her in any way, he would be gone.

So why isn’t he?

Why hadn’t she sent him back when he’d scared her? It had been an accident, but he hadn’t apologized, and he wasn’t sorry anyway. It would have been just like her to take offense anyway, and snap her little fingers to put him back in her personal torture chamber. But she hadn’t. She’d cowered away from him, been afraid of him, and it feels wrong.

She’s hiding something. She’s lying about something, he just knows it . She’d lied about the others agreeing with her scheme. She’d lied about knowing what his plan was—she’d believed him at face value despite every reason he’d given her not to. What else has she lied about? Why is she so agreeable all of a sudden? Why is she following his every lead, taking his every suggestion, placing her trust in him so fully? Why is she afraid of him? Why hasn’t she put him back yet?

It hits him like a freight train.

Because she can’t.

She can’t put him back, because she doesn’t know how. She has no idea what she’s doing. She’s listening to him because she knows she’s a fraud. She knows he’s the only one who knows what the hell is going on. She’s counting on his fear of her to keep him in check, but it’s not real. William is free, because his captor was naive enough to believe a serial killer about an impossible promise, a promise to take away her and her friends’ suffering and give them something they never deserved. You stupid, simple fool. You dumb bitch. I’m free now, and there’s nothing you or anyone can do about it.

Well. Maybe there’s one person. Two, to be exact. Michael won’t be an obstacle for long. As soon as he brings him and his siblings and mother back, any hold Michael will have over him will be gone. Even as an adult—even as an undead rotting corpse—his eldest had been terrified of his father, and rightly so. Elizabeth and David won’t pose a threat to him, and Clara will fold as soon as the children are threatened. Michael, though…hm. It does seem like he’s gotten bolder with death. William should bring him back younger, just in case. Fourteen would be a good age, he thinks, and it would match up nicely with his siblings. They’ll have to be brought back at the ages they died. That’s alright. It’ll be like David’s accident never happened. They can go back to being a happy little family like they were meant to be.

Then there’s Henry.

William hasn’t seen Henry since the fire that had finally destroyed him. Asshole. If Henry were to find out that not only had Cassidy let him go, but had no idea how to control him, that would…not be good, to put it lightly. Cassidy might be a damned fool, but his old friend is not. Henry of all people would probably know how to bring him back to hell, and he would never fall for any trick William would pull. Should he bring Henry back, too? Hm. Probably not. He would only get in his way, and William can’t afford any distractions, no matter how pretty they might be. Henry’s a definite no then.

William’s top priority is, of course, himself, so obviously he’s going to bring himself and the girl back first. She’d probably throw a fit if he didn’t, and it’s in his best interests to play along for the time being. Next will be Michael, and then David (because Cassidy will have his head if he doesn’t bring her favorite minion back first), and then his darling Elizabeth, and finally Clara. It’s doubtful she’ll ever love him like she used to, but they had been good friends once. With the right amount of manipulation he’s certain he can get on her good side again. That’s good enough for him.

Once he has his family back, he’ll call Anastas out on her lies and threaten to kill her again if she tries to stop them. Maybe he’ll kill her anyway. Maybe he’ll make it worse than the first time. She deserves nothing less. Although…if she’s a good little girl and doesn’t make a fuss, he’s content to let bygones be bygones. He’ll leave this place—and those wretched little urchins—behind for good. They’ll move states. They’ll move countries. William is going to take his family back to England and they’re going to pretend the past forty years never happened. It’ll be golden. All he has to do is play Cassidy like the cheap kazoo she is, and he’ll finally win.

All he has to do is wait.

“Bill! Bill!”

Speak of the devil. Cassidy bounds over to him, practically beaming in self-satisfaction as she presents a single walkie-talkie. “I found one,” she says, as if that isn’t obvious. “I could only find one, but I figured it wasn’t a big deal ‘cause we’re stuck together anyway. I got us the Freddy Fazbear one ‘cause he’s possessed by Michael and you hate his guts. Literally.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, from what he told me, you sent him down to the basement to get his insides ripped out.”

Oh, damn. William had forgotten about that. Huh. “I suppose I did.”

Cassidy shrugs, handing him the walkie-talkie. “Well, you’re welcome. Now every time you talk to Michael, you have to look at him, too.”

“You’re a bitch.”

Cassidy brings up a hand to inspect her nails. “And?”

Play nice. It’ll be worth it. Instead of responding to the obvious disrespect, he rolls his eyes and brushes past her to make his way further into the atrium.

Chapter Text

“Are we there yet?”

“For the fifteenth time, no.”

“Ugh.”

William looks around the empty room they’d found themselves in. It had been an hour by his estimation since they’d parted ways with the others, and yet no progress had been made by either party in their individual tasks. He can’t focus on that too much, though, when he’s preoccupied with not losing his mind over Cassidy’s antics.

He almost wishes he hadn’t realized the truth. Her constant whining has quickly become insufferable with the realization that he could end it in a moment. She hasn’t seemed to notice, poking and prodding at him as if he’s still a specimen in her experiment. The audacity of this bitch. She knows she’s a fraud and yet she’s still pushing her luck?

“You good?” Cassidy asks, turning back to look at him. “You’re quiet.”

“…Yes.”

“How come?”

“Maybe I don’t want to talk to you.”

“That’s a first.” She turns back to look at the Roxy’s Raceway advertisement, tilting her head and framing it with her hands. What is she doing?

“Shut up, please.”

“Oohh, please!” She laughs, turning back to him and clapping her hands together in mock applause. “You learned a new word, I’m so proud of you! Do you want a gold star?”

…On second thought, it’s actually quite funny that she’s this brazen. She knows she’s a liar but she’s determined to make the most of his suffering. A girl after his own heart. Maybe if she weren’t such a nasty witch, he’d consider taking her with them. As if.

“What are you doing?”

Cassidy looks back at the poster and shrugs. “David likes wolves. I think I’m gonna take the poster and give it to him when he comes back.”

David. Unfortunately that’s the one thing he knows she’s not lying about. Apparently, possessing the same animatronic suit for forty-five years with barely anyone else to talk to will cause people to bond. Who knew? If he had, he certainly wouldn’t have put Cassidy anywhere near his son.

William hasn’t spoken to him since before he’d been moved to that damned horror attraction. Back then, he’d been stuck inside that horrid springlock suit, in constant pain and unable to move, forced to watch and listen as each child took turns tormenting him with inane drivel about board games and card decks and whatever entertainment they’d enjoyed in life. They’d apparently gotten bored of talking to each other years ago, and had inevitably decided that their paralyzed captive would do just as well. He still remembers what each child would ramble about, as much as he would love to forget.

Gabriel had been surprisingly tolerable—the boy had a fascination with aerospace engineering, of all things, and while it wasn’t William’s field of study, it had been interesting enough that he had never minded too much when he’d stop by. It was impressive how much knowledge the boy had about so many different aspects of the field…reminded him of himself.

Fritz had had an obsession with some fantasy game called Dungeons and Dragons. It sounded insufferable. He’d tried his best to never pay attention, but unfortunately he thinks some bits might have slipped through the cracks. It seemed as though every time the boy came in, he had something new to talk about. William had no idea how he managed it. It’s almost impressive.

Jeremy had liked to cook, a fact he never shut up about, going on and on about anything and everything related to food, the restaurant business, and recipe creation. Had it been the most boring thing in the world? Admittedly, no. If Wiliam hadn’t murdered him, he’s sure the boy would have grown up to have a wildly successful business. Alas, it wasn’t meant to be. He can’t say he’s really sorry about it. He’d always found himself bored to death —again— of any conversation with the boy if it lasted longer than five minutes. Could it be counted as a conversation if one side can’t respond?

Susan…just thinking about her makes him want to vomit. Saccharine and overly timid, she was as uninteresting as she was tiny. Even for a four year old, the girl was small, and her tepid nature certainly didn’t help. When she did speak, which was almost never, she would talk about musicals or tv shows she liked and ramble about her acting aspirations. She never spoke a word to him alone. She would only come around if someone else was with her.

Usually, that would be David or Charlie. They would tear him to shreds, raking him over the coals for any perceived slight that had occurred during their short and meaningless lives. Susan would stand there and nod and scowl at him as David would blame him for the collapse of their family, his and his sibling’s deaths, his mother’s, lambasting him for murdering children to bring his fucking children back. Yes, God forbid he do something instead of sit around and grieve all day. Charlie would do much the same, promising that if he ever dared to come back like they did, they would make him pay. Maybe he should have heeded her warnings…

But Cassidy.

William swallows down the burning rage that flares through him as he watches the girl try and fail to rip the poster off the wall. Of course she would know what David liked. Her usual methods of torture included gloating about her success and describing in vivid detail what exactly she would do to him if he ever came back. She was more vicious than Charlie, more menacing, more prone to fucking with him in whatever supernatural way she would while he was only a rotting corpse. But occasionally, if she was feeling particularly evil, she would offer a brief reprieve.

Oh, how William hated those breaks. She would sit in front of him, doodling on the floor, and talk about David. David’s so nice. David’s so sweet. David’s so smart. David’s so funny. David’s so pretty. David’s so adorable. David’s so weird, but in, like, a good way, you know? David’s favorite animal is a turtle. David’s favorite movie is A New Hope. David’s favorite book is The Hobbit.  David’s favorite color is yellow. David’s such a good friend. David’s a great roommate. David would have been an amazing boyfriend. David, David, David. Of course, he knows she didn’t mean any of it. Clearly her obsession with his youngest was only ever meant as an attempt to screw with his head, just like she’s doing now. Well, he’s not going to let her win. He’s better than some impudent eight year old with a god complex.

“I know what you’re doing,” he sighs after several long minutes of watching her fail miserably to jump up and tear the poster off the wall. It would be amusing if he weren’t so worked up. “It’s not going to work.”

Cassidy stops scrabbling the wall, turning around with a confused look. “What do you mean?”

William scoffs, rolling his eyes. She may be able to fool the others, but she’s a fool if she thinks it’ll work on him. “Oh, please. You know exactly what I’m talking about.” At her blank stare, he elaborates with an impatient sigh, “Your faux obsession with David, dear. I know it’s not real. I know you’re only trying to irritate me. It won’t work.”

Cassidy continues to stare. “Uhm. What?” she laughs nervously, stepping away from the wall. “What are you talking about?”

William narrows his eyes. Oh, so that’s how she wants to play this? Alright, he’ll play along. It’s not like they’re going anywhere. “I’m talking, Anastas, about how for the past forty years, you have continuously annoyed me with lies and exaggerations about how much you like my youngest. Well, let me tell you, you’re wasting your time,” he smirks, leaning down to look her in the eyes. “It’s never worked though, my dear, because I know you. I know what you’re doing, and I won’t stand for it.”

“William,” she says slowly, turning to face him fully. “I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He shakes his head. “Oh, nevermind. We should really get going, don’t you think? That basement has got to be around here somewhere. I suggest we find an entrance to the lower levels.”

“Do we have to?” she whines, slumping against the wall. “We’ve been around this stupid mall like ten times already.”

“First off, it’s an entertainment center, not a mall. Second—”

“Boooooring.”

Don’t swear at the child. Don’t swear at the child. “Alright,” he mutters through gritted teeth. “You can stay here while I go look for it—”

Cassidy is on her feet in an instant. “Nice try, old man. Let’s get going.” She shuffles past him with a sullen expression, one William takes immense joy in as he follows her back out to the main atrium.

Brat.

“So…where else is there to look, again?” she asks, frowning up at him. “We’ve been walking around this floor for like five hours already. We’re not gonna find it.”

“It’s been one hour. We just have to keep looking.”

“But we’ve been looking,” she protests, folding her arms and kicking a nearby chair. “We’re never gonna find it at this rate.”

“Well,” he simpers, leaning down and putting his hands on his knees. “We’re already dead. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Don’t say that,” she groans. “You’re never supposed to say that. Now something bad is gonna happen.”

“Something already did happen—”

“Alright, alright. Let’s just find the stupid basement.”

“Thank you.”

Oh, she reminds him so much of Michael. He wonders if they get along. He wonders why he cares. It won’t matter soon enough. He gestures for her to walk in front of him and follows her to the center of the atrium before she stops abruptly and looks up at the ceiling.

“Okay. We’ve been there, there, there, there, there, and there,” she says, pointing to each respective area they’ve already explored. In a ground floor this barren, it’s surprising they’d had that much space to explore in the first place. “This floor really doesn’t have much, but if you’re sure that the basement is here…is there anywhere we haven’t looked?”

“Not that I can think of.” William takes another sweeping glance around the area, searching for any hidden nook or cranny that they might have accidentally overlooked. He finds none. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to go over it again. No sense in—”

“Wait! What about the stage?”

“What?”

“The stage,” she repeats, pointing towards the massive stage at the back of the room. “We haven’t gone over there yet.”

“Cassidy,” he says slowly, trying very hard to reign in his temper, “This is not a spy movie. There is not going to be a hidden entrance underneath the stage.”

“Then it won’t hurt to look,” she smiles, whirling around and bounding off towards the stage before he can protest.

Foolish girl. Well, there’s nothing to do but follow her. At least he’ll be able to gloat when she’s inevitably proven wrong. So, he sighs, grits his teeth, and fantasizes about the many horrible ways he could kill her as he walks to the stage, shielding his eyes from the blinding lights. Oh, the neon is so much worse up close. How is it burning his retinas if he doesn’t have them anymore?

“What are you doing?” he hisses once he catches up.

Cassidy doesn’t respond. She doesn’t even glance back at him as she approaches the stage, reaching up and realizing with dismay that she’s too short to climb up the stage. Unfortunately, she doesn’t give up. William watches in disbelief as she stomps her little feet and marches around the stage instead, rushing up the stairs directly in the front.

“What are you doing?” he asks again, standing in front of the stage.

“What does it look like, genius? I’m looking for a button or something.”

“You’re not going to find a—”

Cassidy stops suddenly, eyes fixated on the stand in the middle of the platform. William watches in horror as her disgustingly adorable face splits into a victorious grin, turning towards him with a smugness that he’s become all too familiar with. She has the audacity to stare him down as she struts up to the stand, drapes herself across the platform, and flashes that awful smirk. “You were saying?”

“Is there a button there?”

“What do you think, Bill? Get up here, I wanna go.”

There’s no way he’s winning this one, is there? Lovely. With a sigh, he walks around the stage and up the stairs to join her.

As soon as he’s beside her, she slams her hand down, and the platform they’re standing on lowers them into darkness. Suddenly Little Miss Can’t Be Wrong is shifting closer to him, hiding behind his legs and peering out into the unsettling void. WIlliam suppresses a laugh at the sight of her cowering behind him. For all her grandiose, she really is just a child. He’d been so terrified of her these past forty years, he hadn’t really seen it—she’d had all the power, all the control, and in that hell, with only a snap of her fingers, she could make his every nightmare a reality. She had, over and over again, and he’d been powerless to stop her. What will it feel like, when the tables are turned? When she realizes that he’s been playing her all along, and he could have killed her again the second she was brought back? When she realizes the only thing that had saved her was her usefulness?

Something touches his hand—soft, smooth, curly. He looks down, startled, to realize he’d buried his hand in the girl’s curls. She hadn’t seemed to notice, thankfully, but William can’t quite bring himself to pull away. Maybe if he closes his eyes, he can pretend it’s Elizabeth instead.

But then she leans into it, and something in him breaks.

Do something. Say something. Push her away. Scold her. Do something. Anything.

“Do you think we’ll run into the others?” he manages. He hates the way he has to force the words out, the tightness in his throat nearly mangling the words. He refuses to look down at her. Focus on anything but her. Anything at all.

“I don’t know,” she answers, looking up at him. Those awful bushy curls slide through his fingers, her head tiling under his hand, and he has to try to pull his gaze away. He can’t. Unbelievable. “I sure hope not. I don’t want to think about what Henry’s gonna do if he finds us.”

“Asshole,” he sighs, scowling at the mere mention of the man.

“Hey, I’m throwing you a bone here—”

“Not you,” he snaps, glaring down at her. Ugh, she’s adorable. This is disgusting. “I’m talking about Henry.”

“Oh.” She nods, looking thoughtful. “Yeah, he is.”

“You think so?” he asks, surprised. Maybe she isn’t so bad after all.

“Ugh, I do,” she groans, folding her arms across her chest. “So do the others. I mean, I guess he’s nice and all, but you can tell he doesn’t like talking to us. He only ever talks to Mike. I think he’s scared of us or something. Which is stupid. There’s nothing to be scared of. He’s such a stick in the mud.”

William can’t help but chuckle. “Yes, he is. I’m glad someone else realizes it.”

“It’s hard not to,” she shakes her head. There’s no way she doesn’t notice my hand in her hair. Do something about it, you brat, because I can’t fucking seem to. “He’s kind of a loser, isn’t he? I mean, he’s always so sad and mopey and quiet. He just stays in his own little corner and never comes out. Charlie talks to him all the time, ‘cause she’s his daughter, but I’m not so sure he likes the rest of us.”

“Does he talk to you?”

Cassidy wrinkles her nose. “I wish he didn’t. You know, when I had you in that mind prison, he kept trying to talk to me about letting you go. He tried to tell me that you already had hell waiting for you in the afterlife and that I should let you go.” She rolls her eyes, snorting derisively. “Yeah, right. He wanted me to rest. Stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. I told him, I said, I’ll rest when hell freezes over. No way. Whatever’s waiting for you on the other side can’t be nearly as bad as what I’ve got in store.”

Well, he can’t argue with that. “What a condescending asshole.”

“I know! Henry’s a dick. I’m not surprised you guys hate each other.”

William tries to suppress another laugh. “He is. Oh, the stories I could tell you about him. Stupid, weak, cowardly…he was so oblivious, so small-minded. I’ve never met a more infuriating man.”

“If I were you, I would have skipped the child murder and killed him instead.”

Oh no. I like her. “Believe me, if I could turn back time, all of you would still be alive.”

Cassidy giggles. “I mean, you’ll have a second chance. I’ll help if you want.”

William snorts. “Since when do you approve of murder?”

“Since Henry decided to poke his nose where it didn’t belong and try to ruin everything,” she scowls, but he gets the feeling it isn’t directed at him. “Come on, it’ll be fun. You can teach me all about being a serial killer and stuff.”

“I don’t know anything about—”

“Oh come on, yeah you do.” She rolls her eyes, shoving his leg, but it’s hard to miss the amused smile on her face. “You killed us, remember? 1985 ring a bell? Your entire family? You’ve killed a lot of people.”

“Yes, but I’m not a serial killer. I’m a mass murderer. There is a difference.”

“Oh, forgive me. I’m so sorry. You’re right, let me call you the right kind of psychopathic murderer. How silly of me.”

“Alright, that’s enough.”

“You started it!” she laughs again, beaming up at him.

“Enough,” he scolds, using the voice that had always worked on David and Elizabeth. It works on her, too—she blows out a sigh and gives him a knowing, shit-eating grin. Fortunately, she doesn’t say another word as the lift comes to a stop.

Neither of them say a word as William steps off the platform and into the dimly lit room they’ve found themselves in. Immediately, he has to hold out his arm to prevent Cassidy from rushing ahead of him and leaving him behind, something she does not take lightly as she groans and kicks his leg.

“Stop,” he scolds again, and to his surprise, she actually listens. “We don’t know what’s down here. We might run into the others, or worse, Henry. Do you really want to jeopardize our entire plan by running headfirst into danger?”

“We’re already dead.”

“Anastas.”

“Okay, okay!” She throws her hands up and steps back behind him, glowering at the floor. “I’ll follow you. But hurry up.”

How generous. William doesn’t respond. Instead, he respresses a sigh and moves further into the room, placing a hand against the metal door that leads further into the tunnels. “Cassidy,” he says slowly, “I do believe we’ve found the basement.”

“You’re kidding.” Cassidy rushes forward to kick the door, frowning when her foot makes contact instead of going right through. “No way! It can’t have been that easy. How do we get in?”

“I’ll try to open the door.”

“With those noodle arms?” When William glares at her, she raises her hands in surrender. “Okay, geez.”

WIlliam holds his gaze for a few more moments for good measure before turning back to the door. Okay. It’s just a door. It’s probably fine. You can do this. If he doesn’t, he’ll never hear the end of it. So he sighs, looks down at his profusely bleeding, ghostly arms, and gets to work. 

“Alright…” He crouches, feeling for the seam between the floor and the door. His fingers catch on the rubber. “Okay. Stand back.”

“Why?”

“I need room to move. Stand back, or I’m going to elbow you.”

“Ugh, you’re so bossy.”

“Cassidy.”

“Alright, alright, I’m goin’ over here.”

“Thank you.”

William slides his fingers underneath the seam, cracking it open, and for a horrible moment, nothing happens. He ignores Cassidy’s derisive snort and tries again, lifting with his legs this time and praying to whoever is out there that the damn thing isn’t stuck. With considerable effort, he manages to slowly lift it high enough for Cassidy to crawl under. He follows soon after, raising it just high enough for him to walk through before letting it slide shut behind him. Both of them wince at the loud bang that follows.

“Whoops,” Cassidy winces.

“Yes,” he murmurs, looking around at the hallway they’d just entered. “Whoops.”

“How did you manage to make that sound so evil?” She sounds genuinely impressed. “You’re like a cartoon villain.”

“Stop.”

“Never. You’re stuck with me, Peepaw.”

Somehow, that idea doesn’t terrify him as much as it used to. “Well, I’m sure you can’t make it any worse than the past forty years.”

“Very funny.”

William pointedly ignores her. Instead he steps forward, leaving her scrambling to catch up as he walks, long strides easily outpacings her much smaller ones. It’s only seconds before he feels a tiny hand grabbing his, slowing him down considerably. When he looks down, Cassidy is staring at him defiantly, her big brown eyes looking pleadingly up at him with that awful trusting look on her face again. Do I want to get into an argument with her about this? He sighs, squeezing her hand and ignoring her sickeningly cute little smile as they continue down the hallway together.

Soon enough, they reach a set of red double doors. William pushes them open to reveal another set of doors a few feet beyond them. He pushes those open, too, and looks around in amazement at what they’ve stumbled into. They’ve arrived in some sort of chamber, its purpose unknown, but it looks like it’s been in use recently. There’s plenty of open space, but along the walls, there are machines and stairs leading to a set of doors behind some kind of cylindrical tube at the center.

“What is this place?” Cassidy asks, squeezing his hand. Why hasn’t she let go yet? This is so inconvenient. “Is this what we’ve been looking for?”

“I don’t think so,” William murmurs, too fascinated by the machines around him to be properly annoyed. “This is something else. I’m not…entirely sure what.”

“Some genius you are,” she snickers.

William barely hears the insult. Instead, his attention is focused on the machines again, attempting to drop her hand so he can inspect them closer. She doesn’t let him, pulling him back and frowning up at him.

“Anastas,” he warns, glaring down at her.

“Nuh-uh. I’m not letting you wander off without me.”

“You’re too small to hold my hand. You’re only going to slow us both down.”

“I don’t care. I’ve got time.”

Don’t, don’t don’t swear at the child. Don’t yell at the child. Don’t make the child upset. Don’t do it. William has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself in check. “Alright,” he says through gritted teeth. He then promptly leans down and picks her up, placing her on his hip and moving towards the cylinder in the middle of the room.

“Hey!” she protests. “What the hell?”

“Oh, come off it,” he laughs, holding her tight as she squirms. “Didn’t you say you wanted to keep me in sight?” At her furious glower, he continues with a sardonic smile, “If we’re to get this over with as soon as possible, we can’t be slowed down by silly things like hand holding. If you really wish to stay by my side, this is the most effective way to go about it.”

“You suck.”

“Yes, I think we’ve already established that sometime in the past forty years. Now, shall we?”

“We shall not.”

William laughs. He’s surprised to realize it’s genuine.

Neither of them speak again until they reach the middle of the room and enter the cylinder. On closer inspection, it’s much more complex than he’d initially thought. Against the walls are various machines with more buttons than he’s sure he’s ever seen in his life, all blinking and beeping and looking ominous. That’s not good, is it? In the center lies a chair with metal restraints, pockmarks and scorch marks marring the surface. A metal claw of some sort hangs above them. Cassidy shifts in his arms, but doesn’t make an effort to escape as he reaches out to place a hand against the chair.

“What is this?” she asks, settling against his shoulder. Gross.

“It seems to be for the animatronics. This must be a repair bay of some sort. Not what we’re looking for, but useful to know about.”

“Uhm. Okay. Can we…” She doesn’t finish her thought, but William notices the discomfort in her voice nonetheless.

“Yes,” he murmurs, taking one last look around the repair bay before stepping outside of the area. “Alright. This is the repair bay. Perhaps what we’re looking for will be somewhere nearby.”

“Yeah, right.”

“You know, you should take a page out of Henry’s book. He was always an insufferable optimist.”

“Ugh, grody.”

William stops. “What?”

Cassidy looks at him, clearly amused. “You know. Grody. You’re being grody right now.”

“What the hell is grody?”

“Like…” she snaps her fingers, frowning as she searches for a succinct explanation. “You know, when someone’s being gross, or something’s dumb or just not cool, you call it grody. Weren’t you alive in the 80’s?”

“Yes, but I have never heard that one before.”

Cassidy shrugs. “It was for the kids. Didn’t you have like three of them? Didn’t they say stuff like that?”

“Probably, but as you can imagine, I never paid much attention to them.”

She stares at him dumbfounded for a moment before she laughs incredulously. “Wow. You were a worse dad than you were a person. That takes effort.”

“Hush,” he snaps, flicking her ear.

“Hey!”

“You started it,” he smirks, echoing her words of earlier.

“You’re such a bitch.”

“You’ve called me worse.”

Cassidy smacks him upside the head. “Shut up.”

William sighs, but doesn’t offer a retort. Instead, he makes his way over to the door he’d noticed earlier. Curious. It doesn’t look like any of the others that they’d seen in the Pizzaplex, not even the ones that had led to the restricted areas. There’s a radioactive symbol in the center, a warning underneath in big, bold letters, though the lettering is so peeled he can’t make out what it’s supposed to say. A keypad is by the door, two keycard slots beside the number pad. He frowns.

“Damn.”

“What’s up?” 

William huffs an irritated sigh. “We need two keycards and the code to get through the door.”

Cassidy’s button nose scrunches in disgust. “Can’t we just, like, walk through or something? We are ghosts…” There’s something off about her voice, something that William knows he should recognize, but it escapes him at the moment. It sends dread curling into the pit of his stomach.

It doesn’t matter. They have bigger things to attend to. Like…

Not that he would ever admit it, but he’s more than a little confused about the supernatural aspect, too. Whatever Cassidy had done to pull them out of his mind prison had clearly had some adverse effect. For some reason, they’re considerably more solid than he’d expected. Like they had been when they’d cornered and killed him back in 1993. Is it something to do with Remnant? Agony? Some other supernatural explanation or force? Perhaps it’s Cassidy’s own willpower, strong enough to keep him in death and bring them sem-back to life. Maybe because Cassidy wants them to be alive again, she'd accidentally made them as alive as possible, physical and everything. He’s seen the world respond to her wants and needs before. It wouldn’t surprise him if this had been an unintended side effect. It’s not a perfect explanation, but he’s seen the girl do some powerful things. It doesn’t matter. William will take it.

“I haven’t been able to walk through anything. The extent to which we have been able to interact with the world is frankly surprising.”

“Okay…” Cassidy sighs, resting her head on his shoulder. He tenses. Unfortunately, she doesn’t notice. “So you’re saying we need to find these stupid keycards?” What’s wrong with her? Her words are slow, sluggish, and that feeling intensifies in his gut. Why is she so quiet and complacent all of a sudden? Why is her head against his shoulder?

“And the code, yes,” he says stiffly. Get off. Get off. Get off. Please.

“What’s with the security? It’s just a door, isn’t it?” she grumbles into his shirt. Her small voice reverberates against his shoulder. It makes him want to claw his skin off. Get off. Get off.

“This door very likely leads to the cloning facility we’ve been looking for.” Deep breath. Don’t throw the child. Don’t upset the child. Don’t swear at the child. “I’m surprised there isn’t more security around it.”

“Maybe there are murder robots inside or something,” she shrugs.

“That would be just our luck, wouldn’t it?”

“And whose fault is that?” she yawns, her sleepy voice muffling the bite of her words.

Oh no. No no no no no no. Absolutely not. “Yes, well, let’s not start pointing fingers. We’ll be here all day,” he says quickly, shifting the girl in his arms and panicking when she winds her arms around his neck. “You’re very heavy.”

“Mhm. Yeah.” Already her eyes are beginning to close, shifting a little in his arms to get comfortable.

Of course. Just his luck. That’s what’s wrong with her—the brat is tired. How can she even feel fatigue if she’s already dead? Perhaps it’s a consequence of her meddling with what she doesn’t understand. Arrogant girl. However it had happened, it would seem that they’re not entirely dead anymore. Whatever she’d done, it had brought them half back. Evidently, that had come with more than just supernatural side effects. William is disturbed to find that he’s feeling a bit exhausted, too. Fuck.

Cassidy’s arms go slack against his neck. Oh no. William looks down just in time to see her head slump against his shoulder. Clearly, she’s more than content with letting her murderer look after her while she dozes off. Well, tough luck, because William is not going to carry her while she takes a nap in his arms. No way in hell.

“Alright, well, you win. I’m going to put you down now…” No response. Of course. “Cassidy?”

Shit. William looks from the girl in his arms to the door in front of them. Well, he can’t do anything if he’s holding her. Would it be worth letting her sleep just so he can get half an hour of peace and quiet? Maybe. If sacrificing his pride and dignity will keep her happy, then he supposes he can deal with it. Just for thirty minutes. It’s not like he has anywhere else to put her…

With a heavy sigh, he readjusts the child in his arms and looks around for somewhere to sit. There aren’t any chairs that he can see, but there are plenty of places to sit against the wall. It’ll have to do. He heads towards a spot near the doors they’d entered through, slides down against the wall, and waits for her to wake up. However long that will take, he has no idea, but there’s plenty for him to do in the meantime. He’s not too worried.

Cassidy shifts against him, murmuring something. William looks down to see that she’s fully asleep, unconsciously snuggling closer to him. What would she say now, were she awake? Would she yell at him? Would she cower in fear? Would she push him away and make some snide remark about how he’s a loser? Maybe. Probably. But as he brushes her messy curls from her face, he has to marvel at how …small she looks like this.

William hates to say it, but he’s finally ready to admit that she is quite adorable for a psychopath. Her small button nose scrunches in her sleep, contorting the spray of freckles across her cheeks. Those big brown eyes, usually as sharp as her wit, are now closed, long eyelashes brushing against the tops of her dimpled cheeks. Her features, usually twisted with annoyance or rage, are smooth as she rests, an unusual sight that bothers him more than it should. Big, bushy black curls fall across her face, escaping her loose pigtails and threatening to undo them. She is adorable, isn’t she?

Huh.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say she looked like Michael. Hm. Greek last name, but primarily Japanese features. Michael’s mother had been Japanese, too, if he remembers correctly. What had been her name again? Something with an A. He supposes it doesn’t matter now. Did it ever?

On instinct, he reaches out and brushes the curls from her face again, frowning when his fingers make contact with her cheek. This…feels wrong. Well, of course—this whole situation is wrong. Here he is, a mass murderer of eight children, cradling his tormentor of the past forty years as she sleeps in his arms. How could she have allowed herself to fall to such weakness? How could she have been desperate enough to let her guard down around her worst enemy? She’s so naive. It infuriates him.

Why does he care? This is a good thing, isn’t it? Her naivety is going to be her undoing. Again. Hadn’t she learned anything from last time? Yes, she knows she’s a fraud, and she realizes that she has no real power over him anymore. She knows that she needs to keep up the act and behave if she wants to make it through this. It still doesn’t explain why she seems to trust him so much. Is trust the right word? Maybe not. But she’s definitely been far more compliant and far less scared of him than he’d anticipated. At first he’d explained it away as a survival mechanism, merely a necessity that they both had to endure if they were to work together. Does he still believe that? Either way, it’s more than a little surprising how easily that big, scary facade had crumbled as soon as they’d left his nightmare. It’s not like this is the first time he’s noticed it, but it’s become impossible to ignore. Along with that…other thing.

Yes…that other thing. What that’s about, he has absolutely no idea. This…child is making him feel things that he doesn’t like. Feeling anything at all is an unusual occurrence for him. William had long ago accepted the fact that he was most likely a clinical psychopath—he can feel emotions, but only on a basic level, and he’d never felt anything even akin to remorse for all the damage he’d done. He’d still do it again just for the fun of it.

Even his own family hadn’t been immune, although he’s still convinced that he did love them in his own way. Why else would he want to bring them back? Regardless, William can admit that he’s a psychopath. Not that he cares, but everyone else seems to, so he supposes he should try and take that into account. It’s not so bad. Maybe he can’t feel genuine emotions, but he feels things like happiness, sadness, rage, of course, but…he doesn’t feel for other people. Only for himself, because William Afton does not feel love or empathy. Nor does he want to. It’s a weakness he’s proud of himself for overcoming, and one he’d always loathed Henry for giving into.

But he can understand that, at least on some level, he should be able to feel, and that feeling nothing is bad and wrong. He understands what love is and how to mimic it, but he’s never felt it. That doesn’t mean he didn’t care about his family, his children, because he did and anyone who says otherwise is a damn fool. William truly did want what was best for them, because they were his and his kids couldn’t be hurt. Yes, alright, maybe it had been closer to how one feels about their prized possessions—their car, their house, their money—that possessiveness and need for control that he knows isn’t healthy, but he doesn’t have the motivation to care about that. William is perfectly fine with that. He’d lived that way for forty-three years; he can do it again. If he wants to keep his family this time around, however, he should probably work on keeping that kind of behavior in check.

Which brings him back to Anastas. Cassidy.

It turns out the girl is a bigger threat than he had realized. Not only that, she’s far more dangerous that he’d given her credit for. What a fool he’s been. It had been so easy to dismiss her as harmless when her power had become merely a cover—when she’d cowered beneath him and followed his every order. Yet, somehow, she’d managed to outsmart him yet again. Of course. She’d known all along, hadn’t she? She had to have known. All of this was part of her little scheme. She’d seen right through him—she’d known the instant he figured out she was a liar and used his arrogance to her advantage. She’d manipulated him like she always does and wormed her way under his skin, getting him to—to—

No. Not again. Never again.

You are a psychopath, he reminds himself firmly as he brushes more curls out of her face. You do not have feelings. Especially not for little brats who boss you around and who have made your afterlife a literal living hell for the past forty years.

It’s hard to remember that, however, when she tightens her arms around his neck again, nestling her head in the space between his neck and shoulder. She breathes a little sleepy sigh, and William wants to vomit.

She reminds me of Michael.

She has the same dark curls, though his son’s are dark brown and far more unruly. She has the stubbornness, the incessant need to be right, the self-righteousness, that insatiable appetite for making his life miserable. They’re both rebellious, unruly, mischievous, sarcastic, impulsive, snarky…small, tenacious, intelligent, naive and, disturbingly, adorable. Worst of all, looking at this horrid brat nestled against his chest, he feels something stirring inside his ribcage. It doesn’t have a name—he’d never given it one, but he remembers how it felt to look at his children and feel that sense of possessiveness over his property. This insipid urchin is dangerously close to instilling that same sense of urgency in him. Clever girl.

Well, of course she is, he reassures himself, burying a hand in her curls. That’s been her plan all along. She thinks she can manipulate you. She’s wrong. All you have to do is play along until your family is back, and then you can ditch the brat and leave this place.

William shakes his head, trying to clear his messy thoughts. Interestingly, he still can’t seem to take his eyes off the girl. It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t matter, because the second he gets what he wants he’s going to toss her aside like the rubbish she is. It’ll be easy. It’ll be fun. All he has to do is wait and avoid falling into her trap again. It should be simple for a genius like him. But it seems that Cassidy Anastas is full of surprises. He just has to be careful.

“Mmph,” Cassidy mumbles against his neck. “That feels nice.”

What? Belatedly, he realizes he’s lightly scratching her scalp. Huh. Michael used to love when I did that. He used to be so small…not much bigger than her. Maybe even smaller. Why is he thinking about that? Focus, Afton.

“Yeah?” he hums noncommittally, lost in his own thoughts.

“Yeah. You know, you’re not so bad,” she yawns, stretching herself over his lap. Just like Elizabeth. Wait, no. Stop it. “Did you find the code or whatever while I was out?”

“I thought it best to wait for you.”

Cassidy looks up at him, those soft brown eyes strangely captivating. “How come?”

“Well, you said you didn’t want me wandering off without you,” he smiles, trying to make it look mean. Cassidy only smiles back. Fuck. “Have you changed your mind?”

She seems to seriously consider it. “No,” she finally decides, sitting up and sliding off his lap. “I want to help fix this.”

“Hm.”

“What?”

“Hm,” he repeats, unable to hide his amusement. “Nothing.”

She snorts a laugh. He can’t help but notice the way her nose crinkles, her dimples out in full force as she flashes a toothy grin. Not Michael or Elizabeth. Cassidy. “You’re so weird.”

What’s weird is that he finds it almost endearing, rather than the mild annoyance he’s become accustomed to. “I suppose it takes one to know one,” he retorts, repeating a phrase he’d often heard Michael say.

Cassidy rolls her eyes. “Grody.”

“No.”

“Grody.”

“It sounds like you need a chill pill.” Admittedly, he has no idea what it means, but it’s another thing he’d heard Michael and his minions say all the time back in the day.

It has the intended effect. Cassidy’s eyes widen in horror, her jaw dropping in a silent scream. The look on her face is nothing short of secondhand embarrassment as she scowls. “Never say that again.”

William only offers a devilish grin. “Why? What’s your damage?”

“Stop!”

This is fun. He used to do this with Michael and Elizabeth, but he’d forgotten how sensitive kids these days were—or, well, kids back in the 1980’s. “Alright,” he concedes, flicking the shell of her ear. She has the audacity to laugh. “We really should get going…”

Cassidy shrugs. “Yeah, you’re right. If we want to get through that door, we’ll probably have to call Mike and Gregory…”

“I don’t suppose we could just leave them in the dark.”

“Huh?”

William suppresses a sigh. “Do you think we could keep it from them?”

“Why would we? We need their help, don’t we?”

“Not necessarily,” he says slowly, turning to look back at the locked door. “If we could find the keys ourselves…”

She raises a brow. “Go on.”

“Well, if we could open the door ourselves, we wouldn’t have to wait for them,” he explains, eyeing her knowingly. She shouldn’t be too hard to influence. He just needs to play his cards right. The girl already has an ego to rival his own. She’s lost and scared. She’s been without any parental figure for so long, it’s no wonder she’s been so eager to follow his every lead. She’s so desperate for any kind of guidance that she’s willingly following along with whatever he says because she doesn’t know any better. If he can just play into that, he's certain he can get her on his side. She's only a child. How hard could it be? “They don't understand what's at stake here. They don't have their entire future hanging by a thread.”

Cassidy's eyes go wide. “What are you saying?”

William places his hands on her little shoulders, giving her a faux look of concern. “Darling. We must face the facts. We are better than them in every conceivable way. We are dealing with an unruly, impudent brat and a man with no backbone that has been defined by other people his entire life and afterlife.”

Alright, maybe that's a bit harsh to say about Michael—towards the end there, even he had had to admit that his eldest had inherited his brilliance and grown quite the spine. He would even dare to say that he was impressed. But they cannot afford distractions. If William has to sacrifice one rebellious son for one dutiful daughter, he'll do it with a smile. “If we are to survive, we must remember who matters most.”

“Us,” she breathes, and for the first time in decades, he feels pride. “If we wanna make this work, we can only rely on ourselves. Right?”

“Exactly,” he nods, squeezing her shoulders reassuringly.

She looks up at him, clearly conflicted, but she nods. Her little hands come up to circle his wrists. For a moment, he sees Elizabeth—but then he blinks and someone much more vulnerable has taken her place.

Stop.

She's not his daughter.

But she could be.

Oh.

Oh.

“What should we do?” she asks, digging her nails into his skin. It’s enough to snap him out of his thoughts, and he looks down at her, seeing her anew. “Do you have a plan?”

“I do,” he lies. It’s as easy as ever. Even easier now. It had always been easier to lie to his own children. “Cassidy. I know you don’t trust me. You have no real reason to. But if we are to survive this…if we are to get what we want, we must work together. Do you understand?”

“I do,” she says shakily. Oh, the poor thing looks scared. Not to worry. She’ll learn soon enough. Father knows best. “What…what are you thinking?”

William smiles, a small reassurance that had always comforted his other children. “I’m thinking, dear, that if we find those damned keys on our own, it’ll show those bastards we aren’t to be underestimated.”

“Underestimated?”

“Of course,” he laughs, not unkindly—at least not intentionally. “You remember how Michael reacted when he found out you’d let me out. You remember what he said. In his eyes, you’re weak. You’re irrational, impudent, foolish. You’re not smart enough to make your own decisions. You’re in over your head. You don’t know what you’re doing. But you do.”

William squeezes her shoulders again, offering an almost genuine smile. “You’re a clever girl, Cassidy Anastas. You’re competent, more capable than anyone else I’ve met and more than I’ve given you credit for. I was wrong. You’ve been able to control me for the past forty years, and you’ve continued to do so with remarkable strength since we’ve escaped the basement. You are so much more than what Henry or Michael think of you. You are better than them, and they know it. They see you as a threat. What better way to prove them right?”

Something shifts in her expression. That cold, calculating look in her eye is back, searching his face for some hidden sign that he’s lying. But he isn’t. And even if he was, he’s smart enough to hide it. “Okay,” she whispers, her nails drawing blood. William barely notices. “Okay. What should we do?”

“I think,” he says, keeping that soft smile on his face as he cups her face, “that we should go and find those keycards. We should be on the lookout for wherever that code is as well. It’s up to you what we do first.”

“Up to me?” Cassidy frowns. “Why?”

“Well, why not?” William rubs his thumbs against her cheeks. She leans into it, looking hopefully up at him. Oh, you’ll do nicely. Yes. What a darling child. How could I have missed it before? “Michael may not trust you, but I do. I see what he can’t. You’re brilliant. I know you can do it.”

Oh, it’s almost sweet the way she beams up at him, how she leans into his touch and relaxes her grip. “Thanks. I’m glad someone is finally seeing it.”

“Well, if you spend four decades practically alone with someone, you tend to notice things like that.”

Cassidy giggles, shoving him away. “Alright, alright, I got it.” She breathes a long, drawn out sigh, brushing her curls away from her face and flattening them against her neck. “Agh. Okay. Uhm. Well, I think that we should probably try to find the keycards first. I know we can’t trust the others, but we should tell them to be on the lookout for the keycard and code too. Just in case.”

“Alright.”

“And…” She bites her lip, clearly debating something. “I think if we found some powder and a brush, we could guess the code instead of having to find it. Does that make sense?”

For a brief moment, he debates pretending like it does. “…No.”

“I used to watch a lot of crime shows with my mom,” she explains. “Sometimes when they needed a code and they didn’t have it, they’d put, like, baby powder or something on the number pad and dust it off to see which numbers were pressed the most. The number with the most residue is gonna be the first, then the second is gonna be second, and so on. It’s kinda hard to explain, but I can show you.”

“I’m impressed,” he chuckles, leaning back against the wall. “Are there any other little nuggets of wisdom you’d like to share? Any more tips and tricks of the trade?”

“Maybe, but you gotta cough up some cash first.”

William barks out a surprised laugh at that, startling both of them. “We’ll see. I think I’ll have to build up my fortune again. It has been several decades since my death, after all…”

“If you split the profits with me, I’ll call us even.”

“Very funny.”

“I know, I’m hilarious.” Cassidy flashes him a devilish grin. “Alright, let’s get going. We should call the others. Maybe they’ll find something before we do.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

She shrugs. “Hey, weirder things have happened. Okay. Should I call them, or…”

“I’ll do it. No reason for us both to suffer…”

He unclips the Freddy walkie-talkie from his belt, fiddling with the dials for a few moments before wincing at the rush of static that filters through. Cassidy looks up at him, concerned, but he waves her off and looks for the TALK button that must be on this thing somewhere. “Uhm. Hello…?”

“The fuck you want?” Freddy’s voice comes through, clearly irritated. It’s so strange to hear Michael’s words coming from that thing, and it’s even stranger to hear them in an American accent. Thank God his children had adopted their parents’ accents. Well, he corrects himself, glancing at his newest addition, most of the children, anyway.

“We, ah, found something interesting,” he says through gritted teeth. “We thought you might want to know about it.”

“Yeah?”

“We found the basement and the cloning stuff,” Cassidy interjects, grabbing his wrist and pulling the walkie-talkie to her. “It’s behind this big door, but we can’t get through it. We need two keycards and a code. If you find one of those, just go to the stage and press the Freddy button. It should take you down to the basement where we are. We’re gonna try and find the other keycard.”

“Wait, the basement?” Michael sounds surprised. William probably shouldn’t be so pleased about that. “You guys got into the basement?”

“Well, yes.” William and Cassidy exchange a look of disbelief. “I’m not sure why you two thought you needed a key to get in here. All it took was the simple push of a button.”

“Wait, that’s the basement?!” Gregory interrupts, and they hear Michael curse loudly in the background. It sounds almost comical coming from the supposedly friendly animatronic bear. “You mean we’ve not only known where the basement was this whole time, but we’ve had access to it and we’ve been wasting our time for the past two fucking hours? Are you serious, old man?”

“Language, Gregory—”

“Suck my dick, Dad.”

“I’m not your dad! I’m only two years older than you, dude. You're sixteen.”

“You’re a hypocrite is what you are—”

“Guys,” Cassidy groans. “Can we please focus? Shut up and listen to me. We have to get through the door. Find one of the stupid keycards and come back down here. We’ll be in touch.”

“You’re not my mom,” Gregory whines, as Michael says, “Yes ma’am.”

“Good,” she snaps. It doesn’t take a genius like himself to recognize the thinly-veiled threat in her tone. “Report back in one hour, or I’ll—” she glances at William, a question on her face. “Or I’ll kill you. Yeah.”

“Do it coward—”

“Gregory, for fuck’s sake—”

Cassidy switches the radio off.

“How was that?” she asks, looking up at him for approval. “Was it good?”

William laughs. “Yes, that was perfect. I’m almost impressed.”

Something shifts in her expression—the faintest falter of her smile, the flicker of disappointment in her eyes, the slight furrowing of her thick brows. Something in William shifts, that small, vague feeling in his chest that tells him he made a mistake and that, for the sake of other people, he should fix it.

“Oh, I’m only joking,” he shrugs, and that feeling intensifies as she looks down at her hands, a troubled expression on her face. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, Anastas, but I’m proud of you. Well done, indeed.”

Cassidy looks up, the shock quickly hidden by a small, pleased smile. “Yeah?”

Oh, she’s desperate for approval, isn’t she? He’d known that already, of course—it had been obvious from the moment he’d realized she had no real power outside of his mind prison. But this…this is on another level entirely. This goes so much deeper than he’d anticipated. It’s perfect. “Yeah,” he smiles, one of those small, gentle ones that had always soothed Michael in his moments of weakness—any time he’d doubted the wisdom of his father, a well-placed praise and a soft smile had done wonders to correct any error. It should work on her, too. “You were great. You’re learning. It’s wonderful.”

“Thanks.” She manages a small smile. “You know, if you take away all the child murder and narcissism, you’re actually pretty decent.”

“If you take away the psychopathy and your compulsive need to be in control, you’re actually quite tolerable.”

“Awe, thanks. You’re so sweet,” she laughs, rolling her eyes.

“Always.”

“Ugh, okay,” she scowls, though not without amusement. She moves to stand up, trying to pull him up with her. “We should get going. Those stupid keycards aren’t gonna find themselves.”

“Right.”

“Will you carry me?”

Absolutely not. “If you behave yourself, yes.”

Cassidy punches the air. “Yes!” She wastes no time in climbing up his leg, grabbing his offered hand and practically dragging herself up his body until he relents and picks her up. Forty years ago, he was used to it—David had done the same. Now, the feeling is so foreign, he doesn’t understand what’s happening until she’s in his arms and nestling back against his chest. What?

“Alright,” she proclaims, resting her head against his shoulder. “Let’s go. Onward, or whatever you people say.”

“You people?” William huffs, shaking his head. He clasps the walkie-talkie back on his belt, readjusting the girl on his hip before stepping forward, searching for their next destination.

“You know,” she shrugs, flicking the shell of his ear. “You British people. You guys say things like innit and fish and chips and…whatever. You know, dumb fancy stuff.”

“You think I’m fancy.”

“You’re wearing a dress shirt and pressed pants.”

“Street clothes are uncomfortable.”

Cassidy looks up at him, doubtful. “How?”

“I don’t know,” he sighs, suddenly tired. “They just don’t feel right. They’re either too rough or too soft or the material is just wrong and it’s easier to have consistency with those sorts of things when you wear business clothes every day.”

“You sound like David.”

“Can we not talk about David?”

“Why?”

“I’m not in the mood to get in a row with you about it.”

“…What?”

“A fight, dear,” he sighs, moving towards the nearest set of doors. “I don’t feel like fighting with you about how much you’re pretending to like my youngest.”

“Wait, is that what you were yelling about earlier?” she laughs incredulously. “You think I’m pretending to like him just to annoy you?”

“…Aren’t you?”

“No!” She cackles in his ear, his cheeks burning as the horrific realization sinks in. Oh, that’s so much worse. “Of course I’m not. Why would I waste time doing that? Nah, David and I are actually really good friends. Best friends! We’re practically twins. You know, being stuck haunting the same animatronic for forty-five years really brings people together. We’re inseparable. I could never imagine a life without him.” She wipes the tears from her eyes, taking a deep breath before grinning up at him. “And you know, with us being so close, it’s hard not to catch feelings for a guy like that. I’ve meant every word I’ve ever said about David. I’m gonna be your daughter-in-law one day, and there’s nothing you can do about it, old man. You’re stuck with me for the rest of your life. Isn’t that exciting?”

“Absolutely riveting,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. His glasses ride up on his index finger and thumb, and it takes every ounce of self control not to throw the damn things across the room. “That’s just…wonderful.”

“Isn’t it just?” she sighs dreamily. “David Anastas…”

“Why would he take your last name?”

“Hey, don’t look at me. It was his suggestion.”

“Of course it was,” he grumbles, to her unfortunate amusement.

“Nothing you can do,” she reminds him gleefully. “Do you wanna hear my fifteen year plan?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” William shakes his head, readjusting his glasses and glaring down at the girl. “Don't you have any other friends?”

“None of your business,” she glares back at him, adjusting her position in his arms. “Besides, I only need one best friend. David likes me. So do all the other kids. I mean, maybe they have their issues with me, but...”

“You’re mad,” William says in disbelief. “You're actually mad, you know that?"

Cassidy smiles in faux sympathy, patting his cheek condescendingly. “Yeah, that's why David likes me. And that's why I don't need any other friends. Besides, the others aren't that great. If David's too busy to play then I have to hang out with Gabriel and Fritz. I mean, they’re cool and all, but Gabriel is so boring and Fritz talks way too much—”

“I ask again, what the hell are you talking about?”

Cassidy rolls her eyes. “Right. I forgot you don’t know what friends are. The point is, David and I are closer than ever, and whatever dumb shit you’re planning isn’t gonna ruin that. Again. So don’t even think about it.”

“Hm.” As much as he wants to irritate her further, he decides that maybe it would be better to stay on her good side. At least for now. “How many others are there?” he asks before he can stop himself.

“How many what?”

“Other children.”

“Oh.” Cassidy takes a moment to think about it, allowing him a brief reprieve to nudge open a door and peer down the dimly lit hallway. “Uhm. Well, there’s about…eight of us in total, I think? There’s me, David and Beth, Charlie—you remember her—we’ve got Gabriel, Fritz and Jeremy…and me and Susie, and of course Michael. Man, Mike really hates you. He could give me a run for my money. If I had any…” She laughs nervously, winding her arms around his neck as he props open the door and steps into the hallway. “Does Michael count as a kid? I guess he’s technically an adult, but only barely. He’s eighteen, right?”

“Is he?” he asks, genuinely surprised. Had he really been that young when William had sent him down to the basement? Damn. Maybe he should have at least waited until he was twenty-one, so he could drink all his problems away the Afton way. Well, there’s always next time…

“You don’t know how old your own son is? Dude.”

“In my defense, Michael is my least favorite.”

“I like that he’s your least favorite instead of most hated.”

“Hush. I do have some feelings, you know,” he chides, flicking the side of her nose.

She snorts derisively. “Yeah, okay, if you say so.”

Don’t argue with the child. It doesn’t matter. She’ll learn soon enough.

All he has to do is wait.

Chapter Text

Nope. Nuh-uh. Nada. Nothing. Not here. No.

“Fucking hell,” Gregory sighs, throwing the stack of papers back on the desk. “We’re never gonna find this thing.”

“Gregory, that is not appropriate language,” Freddy chides him.

Ugh. Gregory looks at his watch again—the time reads 9PM. Only three more hours until Mike comes back. Great. Don’t get him wrong, he’d grown fond of Freddy after all they’d been through together, but right now he needs someone a little more useful and, well, human. Or at least as close to human as a ghost can be. Mike says it has its perks, but right now Gregory’s more concerned about the drawbacks.

Like having to wait all day to only get six hours with his undead older brother.

Gregory isn’t really a science person—he’s far more interested in breaking things than creating them or trying to understand how they work. All he knows is that between the hours of 12AM and 6AM, Mike is able to come and go as he pleases. As soon as 6AM hits, though, Mike can only overtake Freddy’s A.I. in moments of strong emotion. That doesn’t happen very often, unfortunately, so usually Gregory only talks to Mike after midnight. Shame—he could really use Mike’s expertise right now.

“Any luck, Freddy?” he finally asks. He sets another stack of paper down, huffing. “I don’t think we’re going to find anything here.”

“Cheer up, Gregory,” Freddy says brightly. “I am sure we are close!”

“You said that two hours ago.”

“I did?”

Gregory only rolls his eyes. “Nevermind.” Only three more hours to go. “Any word from Ness? Did she find whatever it was she was looking for?”

“What was she looking for?”

“How the hell should I know?”

“Gregory!”

“Oh, shove it.” He rubs his temples. “Ugh, okay. I’ll give her a ring.”

“Why would Vanessa need a ring?”

“Oh my God.” Don’t maul the bear. Don’t maul the bear. Don’t maul the bear. Instead, he pulls out his walkie-talkie and presses TALK. “Nessie, you there?”

“You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried, Rory. What’s the sitch?”

Just hearing her voice sends a wave of calm over him. Sixteen years old, but he still feels safer with his older sister around. “We’ve reached a dead end on the key thing. We haven’t heard from Dumb and Dumber in ages, and I’m running out of ideas. You got any leads?”

“Shit.” A rush of static comes through the radio as Ness sighs. “Uhm. Hm. Did you check Parts and Services yet?”

“No. Should we?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Why would we? There’s nothing down there but junk. And those creepy endoskeletons.”

Gregory imagines her shrugging. “You never know.”

“...I guess it’s worth a shot.”

“You guess? Dude, you asked me for advice. That’s my advice. Take it or leave it.”

“I’m taking it, I’m taking it,” he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright, we’ll update you soon.”

“Hold on,” Ness says. “Where are you guys right now?”

“Maizercise. Why?”

“Oh good, that’s not far. I’ll come and meet you there. We can go to Parts and Services together.”

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

“No. It doesn’t seem like it’s here. At least, not right now. I’ll explain later. Just hang tight, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

The radio goes silent after that. Gregory finds himself missing her voice already. “So I guess we just…wait here, then,” he says lamely, turning to Freddy. Those unsettling yellow eyes stare him down. Gregory stares right back. “You okay?”

“I do not think so.”

He blinks in surprise. “You don’t?”

“No. I feel…strange.” Freddy’s head tilts forward, his fingers twitching. Sparks fly from his elbow joints. Gregory steps back as the lighter in Freddy’s finger flicks on and off repeatedly, pushing away the papers behind him. “Something is wrong.” Warm yellow eyes flicker between blue and purple, his head jerking and twisting as he begins to take control. Oh, shit. This is serious. “I am…not me.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Gregory soothes. He takes another step backwards. “You’ll be fine, don’t worry Freddy. Just relax and don’t try to fight it. You’ll be back before you know it.” He knows it’s probably shitty to be happy that his friend’s…consciousness? A.I.? is being forcibly overtaken by a ghost, but given how little help he’d been over the past couple of hours, he can’t really say he’s sorry to see him go. Sorry, Freddy. Eh, he’ll make it up to him later.

If there is a later, his brain adds unhelpfully.

With a final, creaking shudder, Freddy’s metal body stills, head snapping up to look at Gregory with a blank stare.

“...Mike?” he asks hesitantly after a minute. “You there, man?”

Freddy’s head snaps to one side suddenly, then the other. When he turns back to him, his eyes are an electric purple. “Finally,” he grumbles, flexing his fingers. “I always hate doing that…”

“What do you need?” Usually Mike only comes out during business hours if he needs something or if something’s seriously wrong. Either way, he’s just glad to see his big brother. “Is something wrong?”

“Yeah, something’s wrong,” Mike laughs bitterly. Gregory still hasn’t gotten used to Mike speaking through Freddy—their speech patterns are so different, but for all intents and purposes they share a voice. He wonders what Mike’s real voice sounds like. “My fucking father is loose and we have no idea where he is or what he’s doing.” Mike looks pleadingly at Gregory, as if the teen needed convincing to help his brother or to kick Afton’s ass. “Gregory, I need to be in control. I know him. I know how to stop him. You need my help. I have to help. Let me. Please.”

“Say no more,” Gregory raises his hands in surrender. As if he’d ever say no to Mike. One thing he’s learned about the guy? If he has an idea, it’s probably a damn good one. Insane, dangerous, and 100% illegal, sure, but what good plan isn’t? “What did you have in mind?”

Mike stares at him for a moment, tilting his head sideways. Gregory recognizes it as his way of smiling. He smiles back reassuringly.

“Okay. I don’t have much time,” he explains. “It’s already taking everything I have just to talk to you now. If I’m going to help, I need to be in control 24/7, not just for six hours during the night. I have an idea, but it’s untested and I don’t know if it’ll work. It’s, ahm…going to be uncomfortable. Sorry.” If Freddy could wince, Gregory’s sure he would be.

“I’m sure I’ve had worse,” he shrugs.

Mike laughs humorlessly. “You’ve never been possessed before.”

“...What.”

“Yeah.” To his credit, Mike sounds as uncomfortable as Gregory feels. “I mean, if it makes you feel any better, I’m not exactly thrilled about it either.”

“You’re not the one getting possessed.”

“Point taken.” Mike tries to shrug, but it’s hard for the animatronic to do. “Okay. Do you know how I’m able to possess Freddy?”

“If it has anything to do with mechanics, then no. I’m a computer science guy, not an engineer. That’s more your thing.”

“Which is why I’m going to possess you. You see, the animatronics are left in free roam mode 24/7 to prevent their servos from locking up. Since the Pizzaplex closes at 12AM, and opens at 6, there’s about six hours per night where they’re roaming around with no guests and no directives, thanks to the sparse coding left for inactive hours. That means those hours are when it's easiest for me to take control of Freddy—any time outside of that is nearly impossible unless I’m either trying really hard or there are strong emotions involved, like earlier. Turns out ghosts and A.I. coding don’t go well together.”

“Okay. That makes sense, at least.”

“With me so far?”

“Yep. I also think I know where you’re going with this.”

“Good. From what I’ve seen, the animatronics must have some kind of internal clock that regulates their schedules and behaviors. If we can find out how to access that clock, do you think you could rig it so it’s always between 12 and 6? Maybe make a time loop or something?” At Gregory’s blank stare, Mike tries to shrug again. “Look, I don’t know how coding works. But I know if anyone could do it, it’s you. What I’m hoping is that if we rig it, it’ll trick the animatronic into suppressing its coding enough for me to control it most of the time. If not…”

“If not, we’ll figure something else out. Maybe we can rig the Pizzaplex’s timekeeping system to do that instead. I’d rather not do that, though,” he holds up a hand before Mike can interrupt. “That’ll fuck up more than it’ll fix, and even I don’t know how much it’ll effect. Let’s stick with your plan for now—it sounds easy enough, and I think you’re right. It should work. But where does the possession come in, again?”

“You may not know about machines, but I do. I need to get into Freddy and find the internal clock. These animatronics are filled with all kinds of failsafes that are designed to blow up if someone unauthorized is trying to tamper with them. I’m experienced enough to get through them and deactivate them, so I’ll handle that part. The rest is up to you. We need to get that thing hooked up to a computer or a mainframe or something so we can access and alter the code. That’ll be your job. You still with me?”

Gregory nods, folding his arms. “Okay. I’m assuming you’re coming with me?”

Mike laughs. “Bingo. I don’t know how this thing is going to go, but I’ll try to be in and out as quickly as possible. I can possess you, but not for long. Like I said, I’ve never done this before. I don’t know what will happen to you if I stay too long, and I don’t want to find out. Let’s just assume it’ll be really bad and leave it at that.”

“How much time do you think we’ll have?”

Mike thinks about it for a moment. “An hour? Thirty minutes? I have no clue.”

“Fun.” Gregory tries to make the word sound nonchalant, but it definitely doesn’t come out that way.

“Gregory…” Mike sighs, a rush of static that pierces Gregory’s ears. “Okay, look. I want to help. I really do. I dedicated my entire life to stopping my father. It was all I had. Now that he’s back…I don’t know what else to do,” he admits quietly. His face —Freddy’s face is smiling, always happy and cheerful, even as Mike’s words betray his desperation. “I have to stop him. I have to help. I won’t rest until he’s gone for good, no matter how long it takes. But I won’t make you help me. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to. If you don’t want this, I’ll…” Mike trails off, his eyes falling to the floor. Gregory has never seen Freddy look so desolate. “I’ll find another way. I’ll figure something else out. I won’t drag anyone else into my mess.”

“Your mess?” Gregory moves closer, wishing for the millionth time that he could hug him. That he could interact with him in any way other than words. It’s never enough. Gregory never knows what to say, how to say it, when to say it. Mike needs more than that. Mike deserves more than that. In the two years they’ve known each other, Gregory has known him as someone who never lets others see the worst of him. Always quick with a smile, or a joke, or anything on hand to distract people from the fact that he’s not as carefree as he pretends to be. He’s never met this MIke before. Mike, usually so sarcastic and sharp, now staring down at the floor, unable to look his little brother in the eye as he begs for help. As he admits he’s human. Still, after all these years.

“All of this started with me, Gregory. You know what I did to David. If I hadn’t been such a brat, my family would still be together. All those kids would still be alive, and so would I. So would my family. Everything would be okay. It’s my fault this happened. It’s my responsibility to fix it. I know everyone else is probably excited to be alive again because they'll get to live, to be free, but not me,” he murmurs as quietly as Freddy’s voice modulator will allow him.

“Michael,” Gregory tires. Damnit, he’d never been good at the feelings stuff, had he? But he has to try. “This wasn’t your fault. None of this was on you. I mean, yes, David was, but everything after that…you have to know that your dad would have just found something else to send him over the edge. It wasn’t you. And if it was your fault, that still doesn’t excuse what he did. It doesn’t excuse the fact that he decided to respond to his kid’s death with more death and destruction. William was responsible for his own actions. You didn’t make him do anything. You know that, don’t you?”

Mike shakes his head. God, Gregory wants to hug him so bad— not the animatronic, but the person. His big brother. He wonders if Mike would be able to feel it through the metal. “It doesn’t matter, Gregory. I had one goal, my entire life and afterlife—to take my father down, and keep him down. And I couldn't even do that. He’s still here. He’s still alive, at least in some capacity. He’s going to be alive again. All of that work for nothing. I gave my life for it, and none of it even mattered. All I know in life is pain and suffering, violence and death, and I am not looking forward to having to do it again. But if Father's alive, then so am I. Because it's my only purpose in life to keep him from hurting anyone else. I have to do this. And if I have to do it alone? So be it.”

“But you aren’t alone,” he tries again, taking another step closer. Mike doesn’t move away. He doesn’t even look up at him. “You have me, for starters. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to bring you back, and to take down William. So is Ness. Cassidy seems to like you well enough. I know you haven’t talked to your siblings since you…” He bites his lip, wondering if he should continue. “Since you died. I know you’ve been avoiding them because you think they’re better off without you. But I’m sure they would feel the same way. They love you. We love you, Mike. You’re part of our family whether you like it or not. Of course we’re going to help you.”

Finally, the stubborn bastard looks up at him. There’s no emotion on his face—there never is—but his immense gratitude is obvious. “Thank you. I…appreciate it. I appreciate everything you and Ness have done for me. I hope this’ll all be worth it.”

“It will,” Gregory promises. “So, about the plan…”

“What do you think?”

“I think you know way more about this stuff than I do, so I’ll follow your lead. I trust you. Just don’t, like, melt my brain or explode my organs or anything, yeah?”

Mike snorts. It sounds strange coming from Freddy. “I’ll do my best. Worst case scenario, we just bring you back with the others.”

“Oh shit, yeah. I didn’t think about that.”

“Do you ever?”

“Hey.”

Mike laughs. It’s genuine this time. “Just get over here.”

Gregory shuffles over, playing up his scowl as he comes to stand directly in front of Mike. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

“Of course not.”

“I’m gonna die here.”

“Okay, that’s enough.” Mike would be rolling his eyes if he could. “Alright. Are you ready?”

No. “Yes.”

“Okay.” Gregory tries not to notice the obvious nervousness in his robotic gestures. “I don’t know how this is going to go. It shouldn’t hurt, and if you hold still and don’t fight it, everything should be fine.”

Gregory takes a deep breath. This is going to suck, isn’t it? “I’ll try.” 

Gregory does not, in fact, hold still. In his defense, it’s a little hard when someone’s fifteen pound hand is holding you in place by both shoulders and looking like he’s about to explode. It makes a guy want to brace himself for the impact.

It doesn’t come. Instead, as Gregory wrenches his eyes shut, he feels…warm. Not the searing hot pain he was expecting, but a soft, tingling sensation, starting at his shoulders and crawling up the back of his neck. It spreads to his face, pins and needles making his cheeks go numb, and suddenly his head feels light and his arms don’t work and his knees are threatening to buckle. Every limb is asleep, static overtaking every other sense as he struggles to stay conscious. Oh, but it’s so hard, and falling asleep sounds much nicer, doesn’t it? Maybe he should let go. Just a quick nap. It’ll be fine. He’s earned it, hasn’t he? And Mike wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him. Mike will keep him safe. Just a quick nap.

“It’s okay, Gregory,” he says softly, but the voice that comes out of his mouth is not his own. It’s deep but soft, raspy yet comforting. Somehow, he recognizes it, despite never hearing it before. It brings comfort, warmth, safety. It promises that everything is going to be okay. “I’ve got you. It’s okay. You can let go. I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

  Michael.

It’s his last thought before he falls unconscious.

As soon as Michael opens his eyes, he has to wrench them shut again.

Everything is so bright. A kaleidoscope of colors hit his face, instantly overwhelming him and bringing him to his knees. After a few moments, he slowly opens them again, struggling to adjust to the sudden vividness of the world around him. Mike doesn’t know much about being alive after all these years, but he definitely doesn't remember the world being so…well, bright.

It’s cold, too. Or warm. Or both? Or neither? His calves ache, his stomach growls, his head spins and his hands shake. Mike tries to swallow down his sudden nausea, but the dryness of his mouth makes it almost impossible. Oh, he’s so thirsty…and hungry, and tired, but most of all he’s confused.

A cacophony of sound tears through his brain, making his pounding headache even worse and drowning out any rational thought. Mechanical shuddering and creaking echoes through the area. Steam hisses from burst pipes and floor vents. Water slowly drips from the ceiling and forms puddles on the cracked ground. Distantly, he hears the radio crackle and a familiar voice calling out to him—no, to Gregory, asking if he’s okay and where he is and if Mike’s with him.

Yeah, I’m okay, I guess, a voice inside Mike’s head grumbles. Another familiar one, squeaky and indignant and just as lovingly annoying as ever. “Gregory?”

Oh shit you can hear me? Cool, the voice laughs. Mike can imagine him shaking his head. I thought you said I’d be asleep for this. Or like, not present or whatever.

“I thought you would be,” Mike admits sheepishly. It’s strange to hear Gregory’s voice coming from himself. “Sorry. Are you comfortable?”

Comfortable enough. Are you okay? You were kind of out of it for a few minutes.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” Mike says, holding up his hand and flexing his fingers. “This is…weird.”

Tell me about it. I’ve never been possessed before. This is kinda cool.

“It is?”

“Gregory,” the voice from the radio calls again. Vanessa. Right. “Are you there?”

Mike hesitates for a moment. “Not exactly.”

“What?”

“This is Mike. It’s a long story, but I’m possessing Gregory for a bit. Meet us at Mazercise.”

“...Uh. Okay. Sure. Why not. This might as well happen…” Her mumbling is muffled further by the radio static. “Okay. I’ll be there in ten.”

“Thanks, Ness.”

“You got it, hoss. Over and out.”

That went better than I was expecting, Gregory comments.

“Nevermind that,” Mike shakes his head, rising unsteadily to his feet. “We need to hurry. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to possess you.”

Okay. What do you want me to do?

“Have you seen any tools lying around? Any at all. I’ll make do with what I get.”

Sure, there’s a toolbox in the employee back office.

“Great.” Mike finds the toolbox in no time, rummaging around and taking whatever tools he might need. Better safe than sorry. He stuffs them in his pockets, not bothering to put the other tools away, and heads back over to Freddy. “Now just give me a minute…”

It takes two, actually, to get into Freddy’s hardware and locate the internal clock. Another minute goes by as Mike tries and fails to figure out how exactly to break into the damn thing. Great.

“I did not think this through,” he sighs, rubbing his aching forehead. Shit. Maybe he’s looking at this wrong? It has been a while since he’s tampered with these things, after all…

Mike takes another look at the inside of the animatronic. Among the tangles of wires and hardware are several buttons and switches and even more blinking lights and steady beeps. One in particular catches his eye—a different color than the rest, yellow instead of red or green. A warning signal, next to a little alarm bell. Oh, great. Not this again.

Mike…maybe have forgotten to mention a thing or two to Gregory. Just a little detail. One small, insignificant detail that he didn’t think to mention because he was sure that it could be avoided. One detail that’s been implemented in every Fazbear animatronic since his father’s days of running the business. “Oh, I really did not think this through.”

What’s wrong? Even Gregory sounds worried now. As he should be. Please don’t tell me he’s going to blow up or something.

“Maybe, but probably not. It wouldn’t surprise me. Fazbear Entertainment is nothing if not extreme. Ness said this place was pretty much abandoned, right? No customers and no owners or security or staff. This place is a ghost town, yeah?”

Uhhh. Gregory thinks for a moment. Yeah, basically. Why?

“Well, our friend here has been sending a silent alarm to the security office for the past three minutes. We’d better hope this place is abandoned, because if someone is up there, we’re fucked. Or at least, you are.” Mike shrugs, replacing the moved wires and hardware. No use in it now, he supposes. “I’m a ghost, so I don’t really have anything to lose. It’s not like they can arrest me for trespassing. You, on the other hand…”

Hey, look who you’re talking to. I’m a master of elusion. You know how many times I’ve tripped silent alarms? Gregory is silent for a moment. Okay, neither do I, but I bet it’s happened more than once. I can manage.

Mike snorts as he moves to close the hatch. “Yeah, well—”

Wait, we’re giving up? Already?

“Yeah…I wasn’t kidding about him exploding,” Mike chuckles humorlessly, pushing it into place. “Okay, maybe a little. But just a little. My dad was very possessive over the animatronics back when he was running the place. He had this self-destruct sequence built into all of them so that if anyone aside from the employees tried to mess with them, they’d short out and stop working. In theory, it’d destroy all their hardware and you’d have to buy a whole new robot. I have no idea why he would do that, but I’m guessing he thought it was better to destroy his toys than let someone else play with them.”

Your dad is a piece of work.

“You don’t know the half of it,” he sighs. “I didn’t mention it because I was hoping that either all the old tricks would work or they would have just gotten rid of it, but no luck.”

You’re joking. So that’s it? You’re just gonna be stuck inside Freddy forever? Gregory, understandably, sounds pissed. Mike can’t say he blames him. No, no way. We’ll find something else, Mike. We will. I love Freddy, but he’s fucking useless here. We need you.

“Gregory, there’s nothing we can do—”

Well, what about the employees? What do they do when they need to get into the hardware?

“I don’t know, but unless you want to go looking for a Freddy Fazbear instruction manual, I’m not considering that as an option.” Mike pinches the bridge of his nose, fighting the oncoming migraine. If he has to spend one more minute in the outside world, he might actually lose it. Why does everything have to be so damn overwhelming? “Look, let’s face it. We’re shit out of luck. I’m sorry for putting you through all this for nothing.”

No, we are going to find a way to fix this. I don’t want you to leave.

“I didn’t say I was leaving,” Mike argues, his face flushing. Oh, he’d forgotten how hot his face got when he was pissed. It’s strangely comforting. Warm, if a little too much right now. “I’m staying. We just need to figure out how. I can’t possess you forever.”

Why not?

“...What?”

I said why not? Sure, it’s not great, but it’s better than nothing. Being possessed isn’t so bad, really. And if your dad holds up his end of whatever deal he and Cass have, then you’ll get your own body soon enough, right?

“I don’t think that was part of their deal.”

Well, Cass said he’s bringing everyone back. That includes you. If he doesn’t, then I’ll just make you one. No big deal.

That gets a laugh out of him. “Thanks, little man.”

Hey, anything for you, you know that. So what’s the plan?

“Your guess is as good as mine. Are you…really okay with me just hanging out in your brain? Just like that?”

It’s not like we have another choice. But, yeah. I’d rather have you up here 24/7 than in Freddy 6/7. If that makes sense.

“Almost.”

Are you ready for me to take over again?

Mike looks around at the Mazercize back office, noting the bright pink and neon green of the walls and counter. Distantly, he can still hear the creaking pipes and hissing steam, can feel the pangs of hunger and the discomfort of his dry mouth. His legs still shake, his body still aches, and yet he’s not ready to leave just yet. He’s not ready to leave it all behind again so soon. But it’s not his choice. It’s not his body. “Yeah. Thanks for letting me possess you. I’m sorry it was all for nothing.”

Well, not exactly, Gregory says thoughtfully. I mean, yeah, we tried something and it didn’t work, but we still tried, you know? It’s like Ness says, we gotta stay positive.

“Delusional is more like it,” Mike grumbles.

You know, you should try listening to Ness sometime, Gregory laughs as Mike’s legs finally give out. Every nerve feels as though it’s on fire, his skin itching and his limbs going numb. Mike swallows down bile as he wrenches his eyes shut. She usually knows what she’s talking about. She means well, anyway.

“I’ll take my chances with my usual pessimism, thanks,” he mumbles distantly. He can barely think he’s in so much pain, let alone speak or form coherent sentences. It feels like someone is driving an ice pick through his skull. But it’s nothing compared to the guilt he feels. He’s not sure what being possessed felt like for Gregory, but if it was as painful and nauseating as this…that poor kid. Mike just can’t stop ruining people’s lives, can he? “I’m either always right or pleasantly surprised.”

See, that’s what I’m talking about. You’re always so miserable, he laughs as Mike’s consciousness begins to slip away. Trust me. It’s much more fun being delusional.  

Mike doesn’t even bother trying to fight back. Not that he could, anyway—he feels so weak and helpless, he’s not sure he could hold on if he tried. With any luck the pain will subside once he’s no longer in control, and he’ll still be able to help Gregory without actually being in control. Hopefully he doesn’t fuck this up any more than he already has.

“You’re not fucking anything up,” Gregory says softly, back in control once more. “We wouldn’t have gotten this far without you. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

Yeah, yeah, Mike grumbles, his voice reverberating through Gregory’s mind. Woah, that’s weird. Cool, though. Does Gregory hear that too? Or is it just Mike’s imagination? Let’s go find Ness. I’m sure she’s worried about us.

As Gregory makes his way out of the back office and back to the main area of Mazercise, Mike takes stock of his new role in Gregory’s mind. It’s…strange in here. Gregory is a strange kid, to be sure, but he hadn’t expected…this. This is his first time possessing someone, so it’s not like he has anything to measure this against, but he still wonders if this is normal. Looking around, it looks like he’s in a room of some kind—whether it’s a fragment of his own imagination or Gregory’s is unclear. Taking another look, he finally recognizes it as a security office—an unfortunately very *familiar* security office. A series of security monitors are arranged on the desk in front of him, showing him the world through Gregory’s eyes. There’s a handunit sitting beside it, switched on but unused for now. A metal fan creaks on a shelf above, whirring but providing no real air. Doors are on either side of the office, but looking out the windows, there’s nothing but black emptiness.

Inside the office, however, is a different story. Unlike the actual security office, this one is brightly decorated with memorabilia from Gregory’s life—photographs that were never taken and pictures that were never drawn overrun the wall. Mike allows himself a few moments to skim through them. Maybe he shouldn’t, considering they're Gregory’s memories, but he’s a nosy bitch and he’s curious. Sue him.

What he finds is…disturbing, to say the least.

Mike hadn’t known what he’d expected, but it hadn’t been this. Maybe he’d expected to see a little Gregory struggling to survive alone on the streets, maybe even in the Pizzaplex, being his little gremlin self and terrorizing everyone else. Instead, little Gregory is surrounded by men and women in lab coats, poking him with needles and hooking him up to machines, running test after test on him. What kinds of tests are impossible to guess, but it’s clear that they’re painful and uncomfortable.

One woman in particular is present in almost all of these earlier drawings. She wears thin, round glasses, highlighting her dark undereye circles, and a lab coat splattered with every stain known to man. Her wild, frizzy curls are pulled back into a messy black bun, showing her thin face and cruel sneer. Mike feels ill just looking at her. In every picture she holds a clipboard and pen, and never stands more than a foot away from little Gregory. She must be the woman in charge of…whatever this is.

That’s a great question, actually. What is this? Gregory had never told him and Ness about this. Does he even remember any of this? If he does, why hadn’t he told them? Does he not trust them? Is he waiting for the right time? There must be a reason. It doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, Mike trusts Gregory to tell them when he feels the time is right. Gregory wouldn’t lie to them without a damn good reason. It had better be.

Moving on from his earliest days, Mike sees the strange woman less and less often—seems like she’d lost interest in her pet project the older Gregory got. Eventually, she comes back with a new woman—blonde, small and thin, disheveled and nervous but still instantly recognizable. Vanessa. No, Vanny—the crazed look in her eyes and the rabbit shadow behind her reveal that much. Mike watches as the woman introduces Vanny and Gregory to each other, and then as Gregory begins to plan his escape from whatever is going on and finally escapes the underground prison—and runs into Glamrock Freddy. Mike skims faster through that night at the Pizzaplex. He smiles when he sees a picture of him and Gregory meeting for the first time. More memories of he and Gregory’s time together—building a life with Ness, helping with homework, telling him about what life was like in the 70’s and 80’s, teaching him how to make friends and giving him tips on drawing—just hanging out and being brothers. Mike never thought he’d get the chance to be a big brother again, but it’s been…nice. Really nice.

But then Mike sees him. And his blood runs cold.

It’s so unexpected that it takes him a minute to process what he’s actually seeing. Several more moments pass before he’s actually able to comprehend the rushed scribbles and careless lines and shapes as an actual picture. This memory must be a fuzzy one. Unclear, vague, maybe even incomprehensible to Gregory. But not to Mike. He knows that place. He grew up there.

Fredbear’s Family Diner. A big, white banner is strung underneath the sign, announcing its grand opening. Clara stands to the side, holding a baby Mike and smiling warmly at the man next to her, his arm snaking around her waist and pulling her close. Henry stands at his other side, smiling nervously and leaning into the arm slung around his shoulder. And standing in the middle of it all, grinning wildly at the camera, is William Afton.

What the fuck.

Mike blinks, rubs his eyes, and looks again. The picture remains unchanged. His father is still standing there, smiling at him, like nothing is wrong. This has to be a trick, right? A hallucination of some kind, a side effect of his possession. Why would Gregory have his father’s memories? Why would a team of scientists kidnap him to use as their personal guinea pig? None of this makes any sense. Mike must be going crazy. But crazier things have happened…

And then he sees the next picture.

William, again. This time, he’s sitting on the edge of a bridge, talking animatedly to someone. Clara? His arms are thrown wide, gesturing wildly, but Mike still sees the ring box in his hand. Clara is smiling brightly at him, cheeks flushed and arms wrapped around a young Mike as she listens. This was the night he proposed, he realizes, reaching up to run his fingers along the paper. I remember this. Father told me we were going to celebrate Clara that night, and that he had a surprise for us if I was good. We went to dinner and a show, and then we went walking along the waterfront. I remember being confused because Father hated walks. I didn’t understand why Clara screamed and got so excited when he pulled out that box, but they were happy so I was happy. Mike finds himself smiling at the memory—it was a lifetime ago now, but it’s one of the few he holds close. He doesn’t have many. I miss this.

Moving on, he sees more events in his father’s life—some good, most of them bad. There’s his wedding, and the births of all his children. There’s opening Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria and some moments with Henry, all of them in secret and behind Clara’s back. There are a surprising number of happy moments with his family, when they found the time to have a day out together. But most of the memories are bad. David’s death. Clara’s murder. Henry leaving him. Charlie’s death, in retaliation. All those children…twice. Michael’s suicide attempt, after Elizabeth’s death, and his father treating him gently for the first time in years. William’s own eventual death. Bits and pieces of William’s own childhood, half formed and incomplete—a stern, cruel father, a loving but helpless mother. A warm smile, a soft hug, safety and security. Concepts, really, nothing solid. But then there’s fear. Dread. Anxiety, helplessness, rage, revenge. Death. Did he kill his father, too?

But then he sees something that surprises him. More memories, blurry and vague, but still recognizable. William, waking up in the safe room. William finally breaking free, walking through that tacky horror attraction and finding Mike in the security office, somehow still recognizing his son after all they’ve been through. The first fire, and the second, and the third. Making his way to the last pizzeria. Burning with the rest of his sins.

And then…nothing.

Mike’s eyes linger on the last picture. His father—or what’s left of him—burning away, trapped in a labyrinth with no exit, forced to relive his final moments, his ultimate sins over and over again thanks to Cassidy’s eternal custom hell. Mike can’t say he didn’t deserve it.

“You’re quiet,” Gregory says, and his attention snaps back to the security monitor.

“Yeah,” Mike finally manages, focusing on the array of buttons, dials and switches before him. That’s new. “I’ve got a lot to think about.”

“Like what?”

Mike takes a moment to survey Gregory’s surroundings. Ness has shown up, and is leading them through the halls of the Pizzaplex, saying something about his father. Shit. He should have been listening.

“What’s going on? Where are we going?”

“Ness has got a lead on where that second keycard is. Your dad and Cass are trying to find the other one. Whoever finds theirs first is gonna meet up with the others to find the other one. Make sense?”

“Yeah, enough. So where’s our key?”

“Ness, where are we going again?”

“Bonnie Bowl,” she says, looking back at Gregory. “You talking to Mike?”

“Yeah.”

“Hi, Mike,” Ness smiles, then turns to continue walking forward. “Doing okay in there?”

“Yeah,” Mike says, before realizing she can’t hear him.

“He says he’s doing good,” Gregory tells her.

“I bet. It’s probably pretty spacious in there.”

“Hey!”

Mike laughs. This is…going to be interesting.

God help them.

Chapter Text

Something’s not right.

William, at Cassidy’s insistence, had wandered into some kind of parts and services tunnel, although how exactly they’d gotten here, neither of them knew. The place is dimly lit, rusted, low-hanging ceiling lamps threatening to smack William in the face. His hand is on Cassidy’s head, protecting her from whatever accidental damage might occur, but she doesn’t seem to notice as she looks behind her again, whimpering softly. Debris fills the hallways, metal shelves and smashed glasses littering the paths and stopping them frequently enough to be a nuisance as they attempt to navigate in the near dark. William can honestly say he has no idea where they are or where they’re going—a sentiment that Cassidy, unfortunately, seems to agree with.

“Bill,” Cassidy whispers, laying her head against his shoulder again. “I feel like we’re being followed.”

“It’s nothing,” he lies, trying to assuage his own concerns. No point in worrying the girl. She’s already antsy enough as it is—there’s no need to make it worse. Children are notoriously hard to control when they’re frightened. “You have nothing to worry about.”

She frowns. “I know what I’m talking about. Something’s not right here. Don’t you hear that noise? It sounds like something’s behind us.”

William turns around and stares at the endoskeleton that hasn’t moved since they’ve entered this section. Its metal frame is illuminated by the crashed spotlight just behind it, bathing them in a white beam of blinding light. “It’s just an endo.”

“I know, you said that,” she huffs, squeezing her arms around his neck. It’s…oddly comforting. “I think that’s what’s following us. I think it moves when we’re not looking.”

His first instinct is to offer a snarky retort. Then he remembers that he’s supposed to get the child on his side. Right. “What makes you think that?” he asks instead, trying to sound concerned.

“I don’t know. I just…I have a feeling. I think we should keep an eye on it.”

“Alright,” he says, keeping the snark out of his tone. “What do you suggest?”

“Uhm.” She shifts closer to him, burying a yawn in the crook of his neck. “I think I should take a nap and you should take care of it.”

“Hm.” He knows he shouldn’t ask. He knows that he should take the gift as it is without questioning further, should count her incredible naivety and misplaced trust in him as a sign, a blessing, but he’s never been one to let intellectual curiosity fester. “Why?”

“You’re the adult?”

“No,” he shakes his head, turning back around and stepping over another overturned storage shelf. “I mean why do you trust me to take care of it? Surely after all our time spent together, you would have learned your lesson by now.”

“Well, that’s kind of it, isn’t it?” She yawns again, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with the heel of her hand. “I don’t have a choice. We have to work together if we wanna get out of here, and I don’t think constantly fighting is gonna help us get there faster. You need me, so I know you’re not gonna hurt me, or else I’ll tell Henry and there’ll be something far worse than hell to pay. I’m not gonna hurt you, because I need you, too. So we’re kind of at an impasse.”

“Ooh, impasse. That’s a big word. I’m proud.”

Cassidy snorts. “Shut up,” she says, playfully shoving his face away from her. “But seriously. We need each other. And, if you behave yourself, I’m perfectly willing to let you go and live your happy little life with your family after all this is over.”

“Except apparently you’re going to be my daughter-in-law, so I won’t be rid of you forever,” he sighs, shaking his head.

“Right,” she grins, settling against him once more. “You’re never ever getting rid of me.”

Well, he supposes there are worse things. Being stuck with Anastas until the end of time doesn’t sound so bad anymore. If his other children can put up with her, that’s all that really matters, isn’t it? Yes…he can work with that. “I suppose there are worse things,” he shrugs, stepping over a small pile of wooden planks. “After all this time, it would be strange to see you go. I’d almost miss you.”

“Aw,” she laughs, suppressing another yawn. “I’d miss you too, Bill.”

“Would you?”

“Sure,” she sniffs, her grip loosening around his shoulders. Lovely. Another nap. “Who else would I push around and bully?”

“David?” he hums, looking back at the endo. It still hasn’t moved, but now that Cassidy’s put the idea in his head, he can’t stop thinking about it. Wonderful.

“I would never! David’s a sweetheart! Besides, he’s been through enough.”

“Hm. Michael?”

“No, I’m kinda scared of him.”

“Elizabeth?”

“She’s just a bitch.”

“Hey.”

“What? She is.”

“Yes, but there’s no need to say it.”

Cassidy snorts again. “Sure there is. I’ll say it to her face, too.”

“You are a wretched, rotten little beast, do you know that?”

“And proud of it.”

“You shouldn’t be proud.”

“I am.”

“Ugh.” How much longer must he put up with the girl? He bites back a scathing retort and settles for an irritated sigh. “Alright, enough. Let’s just focus on the task at hand, shall we?”

“Sure. What task is that, again?”

“We need to find that keycard,” he reminds her. “We’ve got that code, but I doubt it will work without both keys. Be on the lookout.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever you —holy shit! Bill! It moved!” she gasps, clinging tighter to him. Bill turns around to see absolutely nothing of interest. “That—thing, it moved, I swear it did!”

“Cassidy,” he manages through gritted teeth, “I understand this isn’t ideal—”

“I am not imagining things, Bill. It moved, I saw it. We have to get out of here.”

“We are not going anywhere until we find that damned key. We’ve checked everywhere else—”

“Bill,” she whispers, cutting him off. “Don’t move.”

William does the exact opposite, whirling around just in time to see the endo stop moving, its hand outstretched towards them. As he steps back, he notices with rapidly increasing anxiety that it looks about to lunge straight at them. Stepping back further only sends his undead pulse spiking—the hand in Cassidy’s hair tightens, earning a whimper from the girl, but he’s far too focused on the clearly advancing endoskeleton to really care about her comfort over her safety.

“What the fuck,” she whispers as it steps closer. “What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck—”

William has seen a lot in his decades of undeath, and done a lot worse, but this ties with the undead haunted animatronics for the weirdest thing he’s ever experienced. Can they still die if they’re undead? Does their semi-corporeal state endanger them as much as it empowers them? Is now the right time to be thinking about it? Can it even harm them?

When the endo lunges forward and just barely misses grabbing a chunk of the girl’s hair, William decides that he’d rather not wait around to find out.

“Hang tight,” he mutters, seconds before backing away and making a desperate run for it.

“Shit, shit, shit!” she screams in his ear as he tries and spectacularly fails to properly maneuver his way out of the cramped room. There’s an exit just over there, not too far away—if he can just reach it before that thing grabs them, maybe he can block it off. Cassidy brings her hands out to throw anything she can reach at the endo trailing behind, which he doesn’t think actually helps but he can at least appreciate the thought.

Surprisingly—and thankfully— it takes its time trying to catch up with them. These things are slow, or at least slow enough to give them a fair chance of escape. William can see it moving in the dark, twisting to maneuver through the rubble to reach them. We’re so close.

Which, of course, is when he trips over something and sends them both tumbling to the floor.

“Ow!” someone screams as they roll across the floor, followed by a nasty sounding thud. “Hey!”

William bites back the scathing retort he so desperately wants to make. “Stop whining and start moving, unless you want to die again!”

She opens her mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a terrified squeak as the endoskeleton seizes her arm and begins to drag her away. William watches in equal parts fascination and horror as Anastas, usually so brash and overconfident, now looks to him for help. He considers, just for a moment, letting her go—letting that thing take her away, take care of her so he doesn’t have to, and then he can go about his plan without any secrecy. Not a downside in sight. Unless, of course, she escapes, which knowing the little cockroach is bound to happen, and then she’ll be at his throat for letting her go. Hm. Well, it’s not like she could do anything anyway, but…just to keep up appearances, he should probably—

“Help!” she sobs, but it doesn’t sound like Cassidy. It sounds like Elizabeth, and that thought is enough to spur him into action.

A quick look around the area reveals nothing but empty metal shelves and piles of junk. Thinking fast, he lunges forward and uses what remaining strength he has to push one of them over. It lands directly in the thing’s path, momentarily confusing it—William uses the distraction to go around and push one onto its back and its side, sending it toppling over and giving Cassidy a chance to escape. She scrambles through the wreckage, just barely avoiding its grasp again. Quickly, she leaps over a collapsed shelving unit to rejoin William and cower behind him. William barely notices as he watches the endoskeleton try to climb out from the pile. Thankfully, it only manages to get a hand out before it short-circuits and seemingly shuts down.

“What the fuck just happened?”

William looks down at the little girl beside him. Her face and arms are covered in cuts and bruises…curious. So they can be hurt, after all. Can they be killed, too? What happens if they are? Do they go back to the basement, to that little hellscape she had created for them all? Do they move on to the next life? Do they simply cease to exist? Fascinating. It merits further study—

“Bill,” she snaps, sounding exasperated.

He blinks. Right. “What is it?”

“Look. Over there.” She points to something underneath the rubble. “Is that…a person?”

William steps closer to where she’s pointing, eyes widening when he realizes what he’s looking at. “I do believe it is.”

“Is she…”

William leans down to inspect the corpse—a woman, wearing what appears to have once been a lab coat over a pencil skirt and blouse. Is this what he’d tripped over? Interesting. Perhaps she worked with the cloning machines they’re trying to find. By the looks of it, she’s been dead for quite some time. Her flesh is already taut and pale, cold to the touch and well into the process of decomposing. Nothing they did, then. But what did kill her? She doesn’t have any injuries. No blood can be seen on her clothes or what remains of her skin. William looks down at her hands, startling when he notices a small blue bottle clasped between her fingers. A closer look confirms his suspicions —poison.

It smells like no poison he’s ever dealt with, none of that sickly sweetness or that chemical sterility. Admittedly, he’s only ever handled the stuff once—nasty work, that had been. Subtle, delicate, secret. No fun at all. But it had to be done. John Afton was a right piece of work, rivaling William himself, and even decades later he has no regrets. Well, maybe a few. If he could go back, he’d do it better. Slower. His father would be begging for mercy by the end. The thought makes him smile. And to think, if you’d only left Amandine and I alone you might have survived. Serves you right for trying to stop us leaving.

“Bill?” Cassidy asks, placing a hand on his shoulder.

The gesture snaps him back to the present. “She poisoned herself,” William murmurs, the dissipating glee leaving him with only utter perplexity.

“She…killed herself?” Cassidy asks, just as bewildered. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” he frowns. “I doubt it was mere suicidal ideation, though.”

“Huh?”

“I mean to say that I don’t think she meant to kill herself,” he explains softly. An asshole he may be, but he knows how to play at sympathy. Besides, it would do no good to scare Cassidy further. “That is, I don’t think it was planned out beforehand. I think she would have picked a better place to do it. There are easier and less painful methods, too. Something else is going on here.”

Cassidy eyes the body uneasily. “Are we in danger?”

William waves a hand. “Unlikely. Whatever happened here, it’s been over for a long time. There’s no need to concern ourselves with it. Let’s just find those keys and be on our way.” With that, he reaches into her coat pockets, searching through each one until he pulls out a strange looking keycard. “There we are. Seems she was good for something after all.”

“That’s a bit harsh,” Cassidy says, frowning.

“She’s dead,” William shrugs. “It’s not like she can hear me.”

A low whirring interrupts their bickering. They both turn to the pile of collapsed shelving units just in time to see the endoskeleton flexing its fingers and trying to push itself out of the rubble.

“Are you sure about that?” Cassidy asks, pulling at his shoulder. “Bill. We need to go. Now.”

“Hold on, I’m not finished—” He turns back to the dead woman, rifling through her pockets once more for anything he might have missed. Nothing there. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Empty.

“Bill—”

“Just give me a moment—”

A crash resounds through the room as a shelving unit is thrown against the wall, freeing one of the endo’s arms. Cassidy releases his shoulder and scrambles back a few feet.

“Bill!”

In the last pocket, his hands brush against a piece of paper. Unfolding it reveals a coded message and an employee ID tucked between the folds. Another message, presumably the cipher, is written along the bottom. Good enough. He rises to his feet, folding it back up and stuffing it in his own shirt. A cursory glance at the junk pile reveals the creature is almost free, throwing off the last of the shelves and stumbling to its feet.

Shit.

“Afton!”

She doesn't need to tell him again. William turns back, grabs the girl’s outstretched hand, and bolts towards the exit, dragging her along behind him.

Together they manage to stumble to the exit, Cassidy still screaming in his ear and holding on for dear undeath. They rush through the doorway before he braves a look back. The creature is dragging itself along, ignoring any obstacle in pursuit of its goal. What exactly is it planning on doing with them? Does he even want to find out? Well, yes, alright, just a bit. But when Cassidy smacks his hand, he’s shaken from his thoughts and brought back to the very real reality that they might die again. So he looks around, seizes another metal shelf, and with the girl’s help manages to pull it down in front of the door. He has no idea if it will actually help, but it certainly makes him feel better.

It stops the endo in its tracks. They wait with bated breath as it cocks its head, stares at them for a few seconds, and then turns around and walks away. Cassidy breathes a sigh of relief against him. He has the strange urge to follow. Do they even need to breathe anymore? I should really conduct a study on the limits of this state of being.

“What the fuck,” Cassidy whispers, clinging to him uncomfortably tight. “Bill…”

“I assure you, I had nothing to do with that,” he gasps, trying to catch his breath. He tries and fails to let go of her hand.

Cassidy is mercifully quiet for a moment. William looks down to find her staring contemplatively at the retreating endo. “We’re in trouble, aren’t we?”

“What do you think?”

Cassidy glares up at him, but doesn’t rise to his bait. “What did you find?” she asks instead, turning and heading further down the hallway.

“I found one of our keycards,” he says, pulling out the piece of paper again. “And an employee ID, and some kind of coded message. I’m assuming it has to do with the code we need to enter.”

“Do you think that could be it?”

“Almost certainly.”

“Okay…” She bites her lip, thinking carefully. “Should we let the others know?”

Wordlessly, he hands her the walkie-talkie. She takes it, confused, but he just nods and turns to leave.

“Wait, Bill—”

“I’ll just be over here,” he waves a hand. “I’m…I’m going to sit down for a minute. Maybe several minutes. That sounds wonderful…”

Cassidy laughs in disbelief as she watches him sink into a corner. “Wow, I was kidding when I called you old. You must be ancient.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m rather young,” he says defensively. He lays his head back against the wall and closes his eyes. Give me five minutes. Just shut up for five minutes. Ten if you’re feeling generous. “I’m…” William opens his eyes again, doing the mental calculations in his head. Ah. Shit. His earlier calculations had been off by a few years. “Alright, fine, I’m a little old. I’m an experienced man. I have a wife and children—”

“Had a wife and children. You know. Before you murdered them.”

William shoots her a nasty glare. She only smirks.

“So how old are you, then?” she asks again as she takes a seat next to him.

“...I’m forty-eight.”

She burst out laughing. Brat. “That is not young. You are ancient.”

“I am not,” he rolls his eyes. “I’m just a little old. Middle-aged. It happens to everyone. It’ll happen to you, too, once this whole sorry business has been finished.”

That seems to shut her up, although unintentionally. Her laughter subsides, and she looks thoughtfully at him for a moment, studying his face. Something softens in her gaze, but before he can decipher it, it’s gone. “I can’t wait,” she says quietly after a long moment. “You’re gonna make that happen, Bill. You’re gonna give it all back.”

“I will,” he lies through the sudden lump in his throat. It’s never been harder.

Cassidy smiles. “Okay. Get some rest, old man,” she chuckles as she rises to her feet. “I’m gonna call Gregory. I’ll wake your old ass up when they get here.”

William rolls his eyes, but watches her leave with the faintest hint of a smile.

Chapter Text

“So we’re totally going to ignore them, right?” Gregory asks, watching Vanessa clip the radio back on her belt.

“Duh.” She turns back to the counter and continues rummaging around.

“Bitchin.’ So what are we gonna do instead?”

“We should keep looking for that keycard,” she says, flipping over the cash register and shaking it. “It’s gotta be in here somewhere. It’s one of the only places we haven’t looked.”

“Okay…” Gregory turns back to the boxes he’d been going through, pulling out more Glamrock Bonnie memorabilia and placing it in the pile beside him. “Are you sure about that?”

If you want, we could try Roxy’s Raceway, Mike supplies unhelpfully.

“We could try Roxy’s Raceway,” Vanessa suggests.

“Nevermind.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Gregory huffs. Vanessa can be so bossy sometimes. But unfortunately, she has a point. Bonnie Bowl is a lot smaller than Roxy's Raceway, and since the mini Music Men were reprogrammed to be non-hostile (by yours truly), it's far safer up here than down there. For now. So Gregory takes another piece of merch out of the box, finds nothing, and places it in the pile beside him. This'll never end.

You know, Mike says thoughtfully. That gives me an idea.

"Oh yeah?" he mumbles, eyeing Vanessa warily.

Do you remember where we found Bonnie's body, back when we first explored the Pizzaplex? Do you think the keycard could be around there?

Gregory thinks for a moment. "Why would it be?"

Well, it's a secret area. Someone went through a lot of trouble to seal that place up, didn't they? Maybe it's worth having another look around.

"That's...actually a good point. Hey, Ness," he calls, turning around. "Mike has an idea."

“This should be good.” Vanessa hops onto the counter, swinging her legs across and crossing them on the other side. “Okay. Hit me, Mike. Whaddya got?”

“The night we escaped the Pizzaplex, Mike and I found Glamrock Bonnie’s body in some back room not too far from here. I wasn’t paying much attention back then, ‘cause, you know, Vanny, but now that I think about it, that place definitely had more to it than met the eye. He thinks it’s worth another look. What do you think?”

Vanessa nods, lost in thought. Her rainbow highlights bounce with the movement—Gregory wonders if she’ll let him have highlights like that someday. Not for the first time, he wonders how someone so terrifying became one of his dearest friends. “Okay. Lead the way.”

Gregory nods, suddenly cautious. I shouldn’t have mentioned Her. She always gets so quiet whenever she’s reminded of Glitchtrap’s time controlling her body and mind. It doesn’t matter how many times they tell her otherwise—she’s somehow convinced that being possessed was her fault, and that she could have stopped everything if she’d just tried harder or done things differently. It was useless to point out that the A.I. would have gotten what it wanted eventually—and if not the A.I., then She would have found another way. She always did.

But that’s not what’s important right now. What’s important is being there for his big sister, and saving his big brother.

“It should be just down here,” he says, leading her towards the bowling area. “If I remember right, it was down one of the bowling isles, behind the curtain. I think it was the last one on the right.”

“Is it safe to go back there?”

“Is anything in this place safe?”

Vanessa laughs. “You have a point.”

It takes a few minutes to reach their target. Vanessa is silent as they make their way through Bonnie’s Bowl—she’s usually quiet after She’s mentioned. Gregory doesn’t expect her to talk again for a bit. They usually try to avoid talking about their time before the Pizzaplex, before becoming a family—outside of therapy, anyway. Gregory should have known better, but he wasn’t thinking as usual and so he’d gone and fucked everything up. Again. Vanessa never wants to talk about Vanny, even though she has so many questions that Gregory knows he can answer, if she would just let him help for once. Just because he doesn’t understand much about his own past doesn’t mean he can’t help her discover hers.

He’d met Vanny before meeting Vanessa—he remembers that much. Out of costume, Vanny had been shy and quiet, distant and scared of everything and everyone. Vanessa, once they’d finally met, proved to be much the same. Glitchtrap did a damn good job hiding behind her personality without altering it too much. Gregory would be impressed, if it hadn’t traumatized one of his only friends. Even back then, back when…when it was just him, alone and scared in that laboratory, Vanny—no, Vanessa had been kind to him, even if they had never interacted much because of Dr. Karr. Even though Glitchtrap was hiding out in her brain, controlling her movements, he didn’t have full control of her mind. Of her kind heart. She had been Gregory’s first friend—trapped together in that terrible place, both used as pawns in a game they could never hope to understand. They’d found kindred spirits in each other.

Gregory had assumed that once they exorcised Glitchtrap, it would be over. Not just her possession, but any semblance of a bond that they shared. He’d fully expected her to wake up and not remember anything of the past several months, especially him. it would be okay, though, because at least she wouldn’t be in pain, right? But to his surprise, she had remembered. She’d remembered…well, almost everything. There were more than a few gaps in her memory—times when Glitchtrap had overpowered her, or Vanny had taken over. She’d wake up hours later with no recollection of what she’d done or where she’d been. But everything else…she’d remembered everything else. She’d remembered Gregory. That’s all I care about, she always says, whenever he’s feeling brave enough to approach the topic. As long as I have my little brothers, that’s all that matters to me. But it’s not enough for Gregory.

I have to know what she did, he thinks, glancing back at his big sister. We have to make things right however we can. We can’t just turn our backs on the people we hurt.

Of course, Vanessa would rather bury the issue and ignore it. It was Vanny, not her, and so she feels as though she doesn’t have any responsibility to clean up the messes that she created. That may be true, from a technical standpoint, but Gregory just can’t shake the feeling that it’s wrong. Maybe Mike is rubbing off on him. Maybe Gregory is a better person than he’d thought. Maybe it’s his own guilt eating him alive and this is his way of getting rid of it.

Because Gregory remembers. Gregory remembers everything. From the first time he’d been allowed outside to the moment he’d escaped the underground facility, he remembers every terrible thing he’s done and all the pain and suffering he’s caused. All those kids he’d kidnapped and brought to Her… they could have died because of him. Because of Vanny. So many more could have ended up like him, lab rats and guinea pigs for bored, rich scientists. If Gregory hadn’t gone back to free them…if he’d gone through with what Dr. Karr had asked…it makes him sick to even think about it.

No. I’m not that person anymore. I’m not anybody’s puppet. I am my own fucking person, and I make my own fucking choices, and I am choosing to be better. I will fix everything I’ve broken.

Starting with Mike.

Gregory shakes himself out of his thoughts just in time to see the bowling alley up ahead. He picks up his pace a little, shining his flashlight over the rightmost lane. “It’s just behind this lane,” Gregory says, as they approach. “Should be just like we left it.”

That’s assuming no one else has found it, Mike notes, sounding skeptical.

“Who else would go poking around this shithole?”

Cassie?

“She found it because we told her about it, and I’m pretty sure she didn’t stick around longer than she had to.”

“You talking to Mike again?” Vanessa asks. She sounds vacant—like she’s not really there.

Another pang of guilt hits Gregory. I really shouldn’t have mentioned Her. What is wrong with me? “Yeah. Come on, it should be just the way we left it.”

Vanessa helps him push the curtain aside, following him in without a word. They fumble their way through the passage and over a few boxes and trash piles before finally coming upon Bonnie’s broken body, exactly the way Gregory had left it.

“Damn,” Vanessa whistles. She shakes her head. “Monty really had it out for him, huh?”

“I guess so.” Gregory decides that now is not the time to mention his little theory. “Okay, let’s try looking for that keycard again. I really hope it’s here, because I do not want to go back to Roxy’s Raceway.”

That earns a laugh out of Vanessa. Score. “Yeah, me neither. It’s okay. We’ll just make the others go instead. Okay, let’s spread out and look for that damn keycard.”

Easier said than done, Gregory thinks a little bitterly, but doesn’t let it show on his face. Instead he nods and turns to examine the area, not really expecting anything.

It looks pretty much the same as they’d left it ages ago. Bonnie’s broken body lays sprawled in the middle of the floor, a sizable crater in his chest and spider webbing cracks through his upper arms and legs. His paint has chipped and eroded to the point where his face would be unrecognizable if not for its shape. One of his ears is missing. Huh. That’s new. Maybe Cassie had something to do with that. Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it? Gregory steps over the warped metal and looks around again, noting the cracked paint and posters peeling off the walls. Besides that, there’s really nothing else of interest in this small backstage area. There are a few piled up crates containing God knows what and some scattered boxes filled with more old Bonnie merchandise. Seeing nothing else to do, he moves towards the boxes, more out of curiosity than anything, and starts digging. Unsurprisingly, most of the boxes are filled with junk—lunchboxes, action figures, plushies, that sort of thing. Gregory opens the last box, expecting much of the same, only to find a collection of 80's-themed Glamrock Bonnie jackets. Huh. Gregory leans down to inspect one.

Oh, now that’s interesting. They look brand new. Even the tags are still attached, revealing that these beauties would cost any other sucker sixty bucks to own. This one is even his size. They must have just been ordered when Bonnie went missing. That’s why all this stuff is back here, right? They couldn’t exactly sell Bonnie merch without Bonnie…

Gregory slides his hand into one of the sleeves and is surprised to feel a smooth, sleek polyester lining, colored a more faded bluish-gray to contrast with the bright blue of the outside shell. The jacket itself is soft cotton, and still smells of popcorn and sugary treats. Three stripes wrap around the middle, midnight blue on top of pink on top of electric blue—the fated bassist’s signature colors. A cartoon Bonnie smiles at him from his place above the stripes on the left shoulder and surrounded by little guitars.

A good person would smile, zip up the jacket, and fold it up nicely before putting it back where it belongs while lamenting the fact it had to go to waste like this.

Gregory is not a good person.

Instead, he removes his plaid overshirt, folding it neatly and placing it inside the box in place of the jacket he’s…well, stealing. Is it still stealing if there’s no way to get it legally? No one’s going to miss it, right? Whatever. Gregory slides his arms into the jacket, barely suppressing a triumphant grin when it fits exactly how he thought it would. Damn, this looks good on him. It feels good. This is a nice fucking jacket. The blue contrasts nicely against his tanned skin and brown shoulder curls. He reaches up to remove his ponytail, letting the rest of his hair fly loose, and shakes them out for good measure. If only he had a mirror…actually, maybe that’s for the best. Vanessa always jokes that he’s a little too vain, even for a sixteen year old. But that’s coming from a woman who puts way too many rainbow extensions in her hair, so he’s not going to take her ribbing that seriously.

This jacket is cool, and it’s a lot warmer than his plaid, and yeah, maybe he’s stealing, but he doesn’t really care. Finders keepers, right? That’s what Mike always says.

I do always say that, Mike laughs from inside his head. Hey, if no one’s going to miss it, you might as well. It’s not like you can check it out at the cash register anyway. I wouldn’t stress about it. You look good. Probably.

“Thanks, Mike.”

“Damnit. I was hoping we’d find something back here,” Vanessa laments, snapping Gregory out of his moment of self-indulgence. “Doesn’t seem like there’s a lot to this place after all. Your hunch was wrong, Mike.”

No, I know there’s something back here, Mike frowns, his frustration mixing with Gregory’s own annoyance. We just have to look harder. Maybe there’s a hidden door or something. If there’s a keycard around, it’s gonna be in here. I promise. There’s something off about this place. I just can’t put my finger on what.

“Well, you’d better figure it out,” Gregory snaps, the words coming out harsher than he’d meant them. “Look, we probably have all the time in the world, but I’d rather us not take our chances. If you think there’s something here, Mike, we’d better find it fast. If you have any ideas—”

“Wait,” Vanessa interrupts, holding up a hand. “Over there.”

Gregory barely has the chance to turn around before Vanessa is moving towards him, pointing at the box of Bonnie merch. She grabs a crate and pushes it aside. He watches in confused fascination as she moves on to another, and another, until every crate is pushed away from the wall and every box is thrown to the side.

"There we go,” she says at last, looking triumphantly at her nonsensical handiwork. “Guess Mike was right, after all.”

Ha! I knew it! I told her—

“Knew what, exactly?” Gregory asks, more than a little annoyed. He cranes his neck to see past Vanessa, but whatever she’s doing is blocking his view. “What did you find?”

“A secret trapdoor,” she laughs. She turns to look at him, pride momentarily giving way to confusion when she notices the jacket, but shrugs it off a moment later. Instead she beckons him over, pointing to the ground. “Look. I don’t know where it leads, but it must be important, if someone went through all that trouble to hide it. It looks like it’s already unlocked.”

“You think the keycard could be in there?”

“Only one way to find out. What do you think, Mike? Are we close?”

Only one way to find out. Mike sounds far more excited about this than he should be. Are you guys ready?

“He says yeah,” Gregory nods, moving to stand beside her. “You have your gun, right? Just in case?”

“Yeah,” she says, placing a hand on the pistol at her side. “I doubt we’ll need it, but you’re right. You never know. Are we ready?”

“Absolutely not. Let’s get this over with.”

Vanessa goes first—no complaints from Gregory on that one. This time, he’s more than happy to let his overprotective big sister take the lead. She probably knows more about the Pizzaplex than he does. Even if she doesn’t consciously remember where this trapdoor leads, he’s sure she did at one point. Maybe just going through will trigger her memory. Maybe he’s wasting his time thinking about things that don’t really matter.

Upon reaching the bottom of the ladder, they find themselves in a strange tunnel of some kind. Not like the service tunnels—at least, not like the ones Gregory’s used to. Dim, flickering lanterns line the walls, buzzing and crackling as if about to explode. Metal creaks, pipes drip, and steam hisses, distant but still too loud for comfort. Gregory tries to ignore the unpleasant mix of noise as he follows Vanessa.

“This place feels wrong,” she whispers. Her voice still echoes through the tunnel. “It doesn’t feel familiar, either. I don’t think I’ve been down here before.”

“You think She has?”

“Maybe. I can’t be sure. We have to be careful.”

Yeah, no shit. Gregory can hear the eyeroll in his voice. Just don’t die on me, okay kid?

“I wasn’t planning on it,” he mumbles.

“What?”

“Nothing. Mike.”

“Oh.”

They continue on in silence, the only sounds their footsteps and quiet breathing. Every small noise reverberates throughout the tunnel. The more it happens, the more anxious Gregory feels. Something is wrong here. Something awful happened here, didn’t it? Something evil and rotten and perverse.. Something unholy. Something twisted. He can't explain it. He doesn’t know how he knows that, or even why he thinks that. But he can’t ignore his gut. The air here is stale, musty, like nobody’s been down here for years. It threatens to choke him, to seep into his lungs and suffocate him with the weight of all it promises. That feeling only gets worse when they near the end of the tunnel, finding a door slightly ajar and something caught in between the doorframe.

Vanessa stops suddenly. Gregory nearly runs into her, too absorbed in his own mind to notice until nearly too late. She looks horrified, stepping back and holding out an arm to shield him and prevent him from going further. She’s whispering something—Gregory stops to listen, but he can’t understand the words. It sounds like a prayer. Or a cry for help.

I think it’s both, Mike says quietly, similarly horrified. Whatever Vanessa is scared of, he must have seen it too.

Gregory turns back to look ahead of them, squinting to make out the thing behind the door. Is it another animatronic? Another endoskeleton? Something worse?

It’s a person, he realizes, heart sinking, blood running cold. That’s a person.

A dead person. A dead body.

Gregory finds himself moving towards the body. Slow and steady, as if in a trance—closer to the overwhelming stench of death and rot. It makes him sick, but he can't help it. Gregory isn't in control anymore. Instead he watches his actions through a foggy haze, confusion and disorientation drowning out any other thoughts. Panic rises as he moves further down the corridor, unable to stop himself from going on even though it's the absolute last thing he wants. Someone grabs his shoulder, whispering in his ear, pulling him back. He doesn't listen. He can't. Their hand falls from his shoulder. He pushes forward. And then he's in front of the heavy metal door. In front of the corpse.

Gregory's never seen a dead body before—strange, given his line of work, if you could call it that—but he'd never really had the opportunity. Now he does, and he wishes he hadn't. Its skin is almost non-existent. What little skin is left is stretched very thin, leaving most of its skull uncovered. It still has hair, covering the top of its skull and creating an even ghastlier image. The entire left side has been bashed in. Gregory wonders if that's what killed him. Maybe it was the door he's wedged between. Dried blood covers the side and the front, and it's only then that he notices the state of the body. Huh. Weird. Gregory has explored every inch of this Pizzaplex over the past couple of years. Not once has he ever seen something this fucked up. Sure, this place is crazy—haunted, even—but this is on another level. One he's not sure he wants to explore. No going back now.

He leans down to get a better look at the damage. It's difficult to see under the dim lighting, but the first thing he notices are the claw marks. Along the floor, across the door, deep and long and menacing. His first thought is Monty, but that can't be right. Monty hated Gregory, sure, and he was a wildcard, but even Monty wouldn't go this far. Gregory looks down the hallway to see Vanessa standing a few feet away.

She looks tense. Afraid. Vanessa is never afraid, not anymore. This is bad. "Gregory?"

"Bring that light over here."

Without a word, she comes over, handing him the flashlight and leaning down to look with him. "Oh my God."

"Yeah. Any idea what could have caused this?"

"No.” Vanessa swallows, trying to mask her apprehension. She doesn’t. She sounds terrified, in a way Gregory’s only heard in the middle of the night, during nightmares and panic attacks. 

Gregory turns back to the body. There's a lot more detail to investigate now. His clothes are ripped, claw marks tearing the lower fabric of his shirt and shredding his jeans. Sitting in his lap are shriveled, black tendrils, laying atop a big, brown stain that had once seeped into the denim and pooled around him on the floor. Brown stain. Blood. Are those…

Vanessa dry heaves. "Rory. We have to leave. Now."

"Ness—" 

She stands abruptly, snatching the flashlight from his hand and practically running to put as much distance between them as possible. "Whatever is on the other side of that door is not something we should be messing with. Come on, we can look for the keycard somewhere else. Let's just get out of here. Please."

Gregory finds himself shaking his head, even though he desperately wants to agree with her. "No, we can't. We've looked everywhere else. It has to be behind this door. Whatever attacked him is probably long gone. And honestly, it was probably just one of the animatronics," he assures her, lying through his teeth. This wasn't an animatronic. But I hope we don't find out for sure. "Just a quick look around, okay? Then we can get the hell out and meet up with the others. How about it?"

Vanessa still looks hesitant. Gregory holds his breath. After a long moment, she sighs and nods. "I'm going to regret this. But fine. Just a quick look."

Maybe he should have felt pride at winning their little argument. All he feels is dread and guilt. "Just a quick look," he promises.

Vanessa glares at him, but she nods and walks back over to where he’s still crouched over the body. Together, they move the corpse from the door and pull it open as far as it’ll go. Vanessa slides through the opening. Gregory, after a moment’s hesitation, follows.

There are stories, ones that Mike and Ness have told him, where people come upon forgotten lands. Mike especially talks about "tainted places," where the air remains forever still, unfriendly, unwelcoming . Where the earth screams beneath your feet, where your stomach turns to knots and every part of you tells you to run. Where your body fills with that sense of impending doom. Gregory had never believed them, had just laughed and joked that maybe they were just cowards or overly sensitive.

He won't make those jokes anymore. He understands now.

Here, in this pitch-dark room filled with floating dust particles and the unavoidable scents of blood and rot, the air is unfriendly. The floor shifts beneath him, almost pushing him towards the exit. A pit forms in his stomach, worse than ever before, and his mind realizes one unequivocal, undeniable fact.

Something terrible has happened here, and we should not be trespassing.

No. No, that's just him imagining things again. There's nothing wrong here. It's all normal. He takes a deep breath of normal air.

“What is this place?” Vanessa breathes. She shines her flashlight across the room, too fast for the light to catch anything significant. “It feels…wrong.”

Gregory knows what she means. It feels tainted. Haunted. Cursed. He shakes his head. It’s just in your head. Don’t freak yourself out. “Do you have an extra flashlight?”

“Yeah. Here.”

“Thanks.” Gregory accepts the Bonnie-themed flashlight, frowning at the feeling of cheap plastic. “What if it breaks?”

“Don’t break it?”

Gregory sighs. “Fine. So how do you want to do this? Explore together or split up?”

Vanessa shines her light around the room again. “It looks like a pretty small room. We can split up. Just yell if you find anything.”

“Okay.” Gregory watches her wander off before shining his light across his side of the room. Something still doesn’t feel right about this place. It doesn’t take him long to figure out why.

There are so many of them. It makes his head spin. Bodies are strewn everywhere across the space. They must have died long ago—though he can’t see their faces, the smell is obvious. That must have been what we were smelling earlier. Dead bodies. Gregory swallows back the bile rising in his throat and turns back to inspect the corpses, this time from a distance. He’s not getting up close to one again if he can help it. Most of them look the same as the one outside—torn clothes, broken bones or skulls, lying in a pool of their own dried blood and entrails. There are only a few bodies that aren’t torn to pieces, their bodies still mostly intact. Stepping a bit closer to one of the dead men reveals faded, yellow initials on the back of his vest. Gregory struggles to make out the text: F.B.I.

His blood runs cold. Oh, shit. Shit shit shit shit shit shit SHIT. What the fuck have they gotten themselves into? F.B.I.? The fucking Federal Bureau of Investigation was here? Why? Was Dr. Karr’s research that dangerous? Or were they more interested in profitability? Wasn’t she funded by one of those top-secret government agencies? Why would they turn on her? Was it because of him? What did they want with his mother—no, not his mother. Dr. Siobhan Karr was his captor. His warden, who only cared about the perfect little test subject for all her weird experiments and theories, and who made sure he always stayed in line and tried to make sure he would never escape. But he did. And she didn’t. So fuck her.

Dr. Karr. His blood boils at just the thought of her name. She’d kidnapped him when he was a baby, stolen him from his real family, robbed him of a chance at a normal life—all for some bullshit scientific experiment or whatever the hell she had tried to justify it with. She’d done the same to so many others, too—forty-five, to be exact. Others whose names he didn’t know, whose stories he would never learn, whose deaths he could never truly avenge. He’d only heard the worst about the children that came before him. How they’d disappointed her, how they failed her, how they fell one by one to her madness…until him. She used them as cautionary tales. He used their failures to escape. And then he avenged their deaths. He doesn’t know all the details. He doesn’t care. His entire life until he met Michael was one big experiment. One big lie. Gregory shakes his head, scowling at the thought. She wasn’t my mother. She was a monster. A liar. And now she’s dead. She got what she deserved. So it doesn’t matter anymore.

It takes him a few minutes to calm down. Stop it. Now is not the time to make a scene. Whatever happened here, it’s been over for a long time. Whatever killed these people is long gone, and nothing is holding Gregory back anymore. He’s free now. Who cares? It’s not his problem, anyway.

Gregory shakes his head to dispel the thoughts and memories bubbling to the surface. It takes several deep breaths before his head doesn’t feel so dizzy and his hands don’t shake as bad, before his mind clears enough to think with his head and not his heart. Okay. I can do this. Just gotta find that stupid keycard and get the fuck out.

Looking around the room again reveals a small laboratory space. Given the state of it, it’s obvious that it was abandoned pretty quickly. The scientists didn’t even bother finishing their experiments and tests before leaving—there are various scientific tools and equipment that, if not for the dust collecting on the glass, would look like they were in the middle of being used. Papers are strewn about across the metal countertops. Sticky notes that once adorned the metal cabinets have long since fallen to the floor. Of course, there are the claw marks, too. Deep, long grooves cut across the metal countertops, the cabinets, the walls, and the floor. Not too much of a surprise after discovering the bodies of the F.B.I. agents. Same as the ones on the door. I hope that thing is long gone by now.

What is a surprise are the bodies slumped against the walls and floor cabinets. White lab coats identify them as the scientists, remaining close to their work even in death. But…something is off about them. Gregory braces himself and inches closer to the nearest one, a few feet away and slumped across a table.

What he expects is to find another grotesque corpse, completely decomposed body with skull smashed and clothes torn. What he finds is something completely different. And it terrifies him.

There’s decomposition, sure. This woman is clearly dead and has been for a long time, just like the others. But unlike the others, her body is otherwise in pristine condition. Her lab coat and pencil skirt are spotless, and her hair is tied into a neat bun, not a hair out of place. An employee badge on her coat reveals she was in charge of this particular division. A piece of paper sticks out of her left pocket. Gregory ignores it in favor of the strange blue bottle in the woman’s left hand. He pries it from her fingers, wincing at the contact and wiping his hand on his jeans before inspecting the glass.

Strange indeed. There’s a small amount of liquid left, blue to match the glass. Gregory swishes the stuff around a bit before popping open the bottle and giving it a sniff.

“Oh, fuck me,” he groans, recoiling at the stench. “What…”

Poison, Mike whispers. Gregory jumps at his voice. Shit. He’d forgotten he was there. At least, I’m pretty sure of it. Not many other explanations. And none that make sense for this situation.

Poison. “She killed herself.”

Not just her. Look around you. Everyone in a lab coat looks like they just dropped dead where they were standing. No blood, no claw marks, nothing. They just dropped dead where they were standing. Every one of them has the same blue bottle. Whatever killed those agents didn’t kill them. They were probably already dead when they got here.

“Why would they do that?”

I don’t know. Mike sounds…upset. Upset in a way Gregory almost never hears, and that he definitely doesn’t know how to deal with. So in true Gregory fashion, he ignores the problem and hopes that it’ll go away. Mike’s a big guy, right? He can take care of himself. If he wanted Gregory to get involved, he’d say so, right?

“Maybe…” he starts, looking for a way to distract Mike. He looks around the room again, taking stock of the scientists’ bodies. They do look like they died where they stood—as if they all collectively decided it was a good day to commit suicide. Wait. “They must have planned this, right? I mean, all of them having the same blue bottle on them and dying where they stood? They must have taken their doses at the same time. It doesn’t make sense for them to do it in intervals or one by one. This was a planned mass suicide.” His mind is racing now, barely able to keep up with his mouth as several different realizations hit him at once. “They must have…they must have been working on something that they didn’t want the people in charge to get their hands on. Maybe these agents were sent to shut them down, or take them in, or something like that. They decided they’d rather die than reveal their research, so they…yeah.”

That makes…sense, actually, Mike says, sounding surprised. But the question remains: why? What would drive them to kill themselves over being taken in? What the hell were they doing?

“I have no idea.” It’s a half-truth—he does have some idea, but it’s nothing solid, and it’s not worth bothering anyone about. He has a sneaking suspicion that it has to do with him and Dr. Karr’s questionably legal experimentation on human beings. They must have found out somehow that she was trafficking people to be her human guinea pigs and sent the F.B.I. to shut them down. Not my problem anymore.

I don’t suppose we’ll find out.

“It’s not our problem.”

Harsh.

Gregory decides not to respond. Instead he turns back to the woman, giving her a final once over and noticing the paper in her pocket again. He pulls it out, and fumbles to catch the card that slips out. “Hey. Look at this.”

Fancy. Looks official. You think that could be it?

“Could be.” It looks important, anyway. Big, bold letters, symbols he doesn’t understand but probably mean “super high elite scientist who has access to everything cool and dangerous.” The note is interesting, too—a code of some sort, with the codebreaker written underneath the symbols. Well, half of it, anyway. The other half is probably with the other keycard. One of them at least. “It’s a keycard. Not sure if it’s the keycard. Only one way to find out. Hey, come to think of it, how come there are only two vault keycards in the whole facility?”

Well, we don’t know that for sure. It’s possible, even probable, that each head of a division gets one of these fancy keycards in case of emergency. That way if something happens to one of them, the others can still get in.

“That’s stupid.”

I didn’t say it wasn’t.

“Well, I hope we don’t need a certain person’s keycard to open this damn thing. This should be good enough.” Gregory slips the card and the code into his pocket before turning around and heading off to find Vanessa.

“Hey, Ness!” he calls. “I found the keycard!”

“You’re joking,” she calls back after a few moments. Gregory can’t see her, but her voice echoes around the lab. “That fast?”

“Guess we lucked out. Let’s get out of here and meet up with the others. This place gives me the creeps.”

“Can’t argue with that. Give me a minute and I’ll be over.”

Gregory shines his flashlight across Vanessa’s side of the room again. This time, he finds her crouched down next to a dead scientist and holding something in her hand. It looks like one of the poison bottles. She’d figured it out too, then. Something to discuss later, when they aren’t surrounded by dead bodies and the feeling of something watching their every move. This place is evil. There’s no other word for it. Vanessa was right—we shouldn’t have come here. But it’s too late now. At least it was worth it.

“Okay,” she finally says, rising to her feet. “Let’s go. We can head through that giant hole in the wall. Don’t know where it leads, but hopefully it’ll give us a way back to the main atrium at least.”

“What hole?”

Vanessa raises an eyebrow incredulously. Gregory follows her finger to find, indeed, a massive hole in the laboratory wall. Teeth and claw marks surround the area, along with several corpses too mutilated to recognize. Whatever killed those F.B.I. agents must have escaped through here. Maybe it’s still in there, waiting for its next victim. Gregory’s not too keen on finding out for sure.

“Oh. That hole.”

“Yeah.”

“What happened to the trap door we came through?”

“It locked itself as soon as we were on the other side. Didn’t you hear the click?”

“No. Why would I be paying attention to that?”

“Maybe because you want to survive the night?”

“Alright, alright, fine.” Gregory raises his hands in surrender. “But are we sure we want to go into the monster-shaped hole in the reinforced steel wall?”

Vanessa scowls. “Obviously not. But look around. Do you see another way out?”

Gregory doesn’t need to. He already knows the answer, because that’s just their luck. “You win. Ladies first,” he snarks, gesturing to the hole with a dramatic wave of his hand.

She slaps it out of the air as she passes him by, muttering something he can’t hear as she shines her light into the darkness. “Okay…here goes nothing, I guess.”

“If we die, do you think William will bring us back, too?”

“Probably not. Now shut up and let me think.”

Gregory rolls his eyes and shines his flashlight across the ceiling. Nothing new there—just old pipes and leaky ceilings. No monsters here. Probably.

He hopes they aren’t around long enough to find out.

Chapter Text

3 AM.

Only three more hours.

As if that's ever mattered before.

William Afton scowls at the clock in the corner of the screen. 3AM. Night 1. He’s never made it past Night 1—or 3AM, for that matter. He doesn’t suppose this time will be any different. William knows the drill by now. Any second now he’s going to slip up, and one of those things will get inside the office. They’ll tear him apart. He’ll get to see his family again for five minutes. And then the cycle will start all over again. And again. And again.

William’s hands tighten around the screen in his hands, cracking the plastic. Which one will it be this time, he wonders? Ennard? Fredbear? Foxy? Oh, he hopes it’s Foxy. The five children don’t seem to treat him as horribly as the others anymore—a quick death is almost always guaranteed with them. But it’s unlikely that luck is on his side tonight.

Something creaks behind him. He manages a quick glance at the clock: 3:05AM. Hm. “A bit late, aren’t we?” he asks whatever creature is going to tear him limb from limb tonight.

It doesn’t answer. Instead, it plunges a wire through his left shoulder, wrapping around his bicep and dragging him out of his chair as he howls in pain. William winces as his head hits the floor. Ah. Ennard it is, then. A sharp gasp escapes him, and for a second he’s embarrassed—but then he remembers. It has been so long since this torture started. He tried to fight it at first. Tried not to let his pain and terror show, tried to act like it wasn’t affecting him. Tried to find a way out, tried to survive the night, tried to escape their clutches. Tried to save himself after they left him for dead. Tried to beg for mercy. He tried. He always failed.

Not so cocky now, are we, Afton ? a hideous little voice cackles in his ear. Anastas. Great. It seems like his death will have an audience tonight. As if being ripped apart by his own creations wasn’t enough, now he’ll have to listen to Anastas gloat. Whatever. As long as he gets his five minutes.

That attitude quickly changes when he’s dragged out of the office.

A pathetic “No,” is all he can manage at first.

No. No no no no no no no. Please, God, no. Not that. Not tonight. Not again. Not ever . Please, I’ll take anything but that. Anything. I’ll take Charlie. I’ll take David. I’’ll take Elizabeth or Clara or Henry. I’ll take you. But please, please, please not this. Not this. Anything but this.

A terrified sob pushes its way past the lump in his throat. It’s no use trying to hide it. She knows how much he hates this. She’s seen him cry and beg before. It didn’t stop her then. It won’t stop her now.

Not that he expects it to. If anything, she’s probably getting high off this. 

“Anastas,” he gasps, the taste of copper on his tongue.  “Cassidy. Please. I know you can hear me. I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please don’t put me in there. Don’t make me go. Please. I’ll take anything else. Anything at all. You decide. But not this. Not again. I don’t want to—” and he’s forced to stop as blood pools in his mouth.

Nothing. Not even one of her signature cackles as the thing drags him away, another wire twisted around his other arm and looping around his chest, just to make certain he doesn’t escape. As if he could. As if she would let him. There’s no escape. He should have learned that by now.

It doesn’t make it any easier. It never gets easier.

William tilts his head backwards in an attempt to see the end of the hallway, where it lies. Waiting for him. Welcoming back after all this time. A monster wearing the guise of a friend.

Spring Bonnie.

This is the worst punishment , he thinks as the amalgamation of wires drags him closer and closer to his doom. This is worse than anything else she’s ever done, worse than any other torture she’s put him through. Worse than rotting away in that back room for thirty years. Worse than seeing Michael for the first time since 1987. Worse than the fires. Worse than wandering helpless and alone for months, until Henry had called them all back and finished what they’d started.

Nothing is worse than being springlocked.

Whatever pleas for mercy he plans die in his throat as they approach the suit. It’s as yellow and joyful as the day he and Henry had finished making it, looking straight out of Fredbear’s, purple bowtie and all. It even has Henry’s signature lovingly scrawled by the right ear. Oh, he’d been so stupid. It was stupid to go back to the pizzeria, to disassemble them and salvage their bodies for parts. It had been stupid to let those brats corner him in the back room. It had been stupid to think his only way out was the springlock suit, to think that he would be safe . But no one deserved what came next. (Well, maybe he did. Probably. But it’s still a horrible fate. Even he wouldn’t wish that on anyone else.)

Ennard drops him unceremoniously at the foot of the suit. Wires wind around his body, smothering him as they pull him upwards and towards his fate. William doesn’t try to fight it. Not anymore. It’s pointless. It’ll only make it worse. It only takes a few minutes. Just a few. They’re long, long minutes, but they’re still just minutes. Then it’ll be over, and you can see them again. Just a few minutes. Oh, but those few minutes are going to be indescribably painful.

William closes his eyes as he feels his skin brush against the felt of the suit. Maybe it’ll be better if he closes his eyes, if he can’t see it coming. He runs through the process in his head again, desperately preparing himself as Ennard stuffs the rabbit mask onto his head. It doesn’t make him feel any better. He didn’t expect it to.

For several long seconds, they wait. LIke they always do. He doesn’t know what they’re waiting for. Maybe for Anastas to show up and start gloating before she releases the springlocks herself. Maybe for a moment where William’s guard is down and it can pounce. Maybe it just likes to make him suffer.

In the end, it’s William’s own sobs that seal his fate. One moment, he’s desperately trying to control the truly pathetic tears rolling down his face—the next, searing hot pain that digs into every fiber of his being, tearing him apart from the inside out.

But this time, it’s different.

Instead of the pain, William finds himself on the verge of blacking out. Strange. This hasn’t happened before. Usually Anastas doesn’t let him black out. Rather, she forces him to stay awake and conscious for the several long minutes it takes for his body to finally give out. She mocks him, degrades him, makes promises of pain and terror that he knows she’ll keep. She stays with him until the very end, making sure her voice and face are the last thing he sees before the nightmare begins again.

This time, he hears Anastas’ voice all right. But it sounds …wrong. This voice is not the cold and calculating flow of poison he’d become accustomed to over the past forty years. This is not the voice of a scorned and vengeful child. Instead, it’s…soft. Sweet, almost. Small. Quiet. Childlike, as it should be. An oddly comforting mix of affection and concern… and something else he doesn’t dare name.

“Wake up. Wake up! Hey! Are you in there? Wake up!”

Wake up.

William startles awake with a gasp.

Someone is in his face, shaking his shoulders, loudly whispering words he can’t comprehend. Once they notice he’s awake, they pull back, but they don’t let go. Their little hands are still on his shoulders, squeezing and clawing at his skin. They’re still whispering. They’re still far too close to his face. William tries to ignore them in favor of finding his bearings, but when he closes his eyes, all he sees is Ennard, dragging him towards the suit. Anastas’ cruel laughter rings in his ears, her venomous voice asking him if he’s okay.

Wait.

William opens his eyes again to find Anastas standing in front of him. No. Not her. Not again. I won’t go back. I won’t. She raises a hand—to slap him, to choke him, to claw his skin off like she’s done so many times before. It doesn't matter. He won’t give her the chance. He won’t let her win again.

It’s done before he even realizes what happened. Someone cries out. A sharp sting of pain rises across his knuckles, the skin on his hand burning and covered with a spatter of blood. Anastas is crying.

Anastas is crying.

No. Not Anastas. Her name is Cassidy.

William blinks back the fog from his eyes. Shit. A quick glance at the back of his left hand shows blood— Cassidy’s blood. The small rivulets of crimson trickle down his hand. It makes him sick. It didn’t before. Why now? What changed? He looks up, scanning the small area for the girl as his memories come back to him. The deal. The Pizzaplex. The clones. Right. William isn’t in her custom hell anymore. They’d struck a deal, one he’s trying very hard to weasel out of. And he’d just made it a hell of a lot worse.

“Cassidy?” he calls, keeping his voice soft.

Movement from the corner of his eye catches his attention. Cassidy is beside him, clutching her nose and refusing to meet his eyes. She doesn’t say a word as William hesitantly reaches out, taking her hand in his and examining the damage. Damage he caused. So much for manipulating her to his side.

“Are you alright?” he asks. It doesn’t look too bad—it seems he only caused a bit of a nosebleed. Thank God he didn’t break her nose. He could have fixed it if he did, of course, but it would have been an unnecessary complication. A complication. That’s all. Yes. Definitely. William pointedly ignores the way his hand shakes as he brushes a thumb across her top lip, wiping away most of the blood. “I’m…I didn’t—I didn’t mean to hurt you. I wasn’t thinking, I…I thought—”

The words die in his throat as Cassidy finally looks at him. Big, brown eyes blink away tears as she tries her best to look defiant, but it doesn’t mask her terror. She’s scared. Of him. Only a few hours ago that would have delighted him. Now, there’s just an odd twisting in his stomach and a strange urge to make things right. Make her stop crying. Make her trust him again. “Cassidy…”

She stares at him for a few moments before she answers. “What did you see?” she murmurs. “You…you were saying my name, in your sleep. Anastas. You were begging me for something. But I don’t know what. I didn’t mean to scare you…”

William isn’t quite sure what to do. She leans into the hand cupping her cheek, closing her eyes and stifling another sob, and a wave of possessiveness washes over him. Possessiveness that he’s only ever felt for his own children. One he hasn’t felt in so long, he’d almost forgotten it. That curious feeling returns, surging through him and screaming at him to fix this. “I saw the purgatory you trapped us in.”

Understanding dawns in her eyes, and she looks down, a shadow of guilt cast on her face. “Oh.”

“When you woke me up, I saw…I saw you, like you were before. I thought you were going to hurt me again. I wasn’t thinking when I reacted. I’m…sorry.” The word is foreign in his mouth, distasteful and sour. He forces it out anyway.

Cassidy looks down at the hand still clasped in his, the one she’d been using to hold her nose. It’s a little bloody, made worse by the fact she’s accidentally smeared it onto his hand. “It’s okay,” she whispers. It doesn’t sound okay. “It’s whatever.”

Why do children make things so difficult? There’s no need to over complicate this. She should just curse him out and hit him back. Then they’d be even, and he wouldn’t feel this terrible weight upon his chest. “No, it isn’t. I hurt you, and I shouldn’t have. I should have better control over myself. You didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry.”

She looks up at him then, something passing over her face, gone before he can decipher it. This time, she smiles, and her voice doesn’t shake when she speaks. “Thanks. It really is okay though. I promise.”

“Are you sure?” William searches her face for any sign of discontent, of fear or uneasiness. He finds nothing. “You can hit me back if you’d like.”

That elicits a giggle. “Nah. I think I’ve caused you enough trouble.”

“Not nearly enough.” He finds himself smiling. “You can’t say I don’t deserve it.”

“That’s true.” She smiles down at her lap, at her small hand enveloped by his.

Oh. He hadn’t realized he’d still been holding it. Briefly, he marvels at the difference between them. Her fingers are soft and delicate, her hand seeming so small in his rough and calloused palm. She’s never been exposed to anything as harsh as metalworking and manual labor. Not like his hands—not like him.

It never fails to fascinate him, these little differences between them. William’s noticed so many over the years, but he always finds more. There are so many, and yet, in many ways, they’re the same. They are worlds apart, but somehow, inexplicably, they’ve been bound together by…what, exactly? Fate? Destiny? Chance? Pure bad luck? God’s will? It doesn’t matter what, he supposes. Something in the universe binds them together, refusing to let them go, to let them walk their own paths and choose their own fates. Something far beyond their comprehension or their control has decided that their fates are bound to each other, and there is no one without the other. It’s sick. It’s twisted. It’s a cruel joke, and it terrifies him. Does she even know? Has she realized how intertwined their strings of fate have become? Does she realize, as he’s realizing now, that they’ll never truly be free of each other?

There is no William Afton without Cassidy Anastas, no existence for him without her. He sees that now. The universe demands it. It’s why they can never truly part; why they need each other, why she has to come with him, has to be his daughter, has to be his. There’s no other option. Cassidy Anastas is his, even if she doesn’t know it yet.

William tries to pull his hand away. Unfortunately, she squeezes it tightly, crushing his fingers and refusing to let him go. It seems like that’s a theme with her. Does she know?

“What did you see?”

The question startles him, pulls out of his existential musings. “What do you mean?”

“Which one…” she pauses, pressing her lips together. Then she shakes her head. “Nevermind.”

William doesn’t need to ask further. Which one of my unholy, perverted creations tore you apart this time? Instead of answering that lovely question, he pulls away from her, sitting back against the wall and smothering the pride bubbling up within him when she whines. “Would you like to sit with me?”

Tapping a finger to her chin, she pretends to think about it for a moment. Anyone else would have been fooled, but they know each other. Two sides of the same coin. “Yeah.” She offers a small smile, shuffling over to him and plopping down on his lap.

Okay. Not what he meant, but if it makes her happy… William sighs as she makes herself comfortable. She lays her head against his chest, swinging her legs across his lap and grabbing his arms to wrap around herself. His brain short circuits for a moment. By the time he gets it back, she’s already snuggled up against him, yawning and rubbing her eyes.

“Nap time?” he jokes.

“Mm. Maybe.” She does sound rather tired…maybe she should get some rest before they have to deal with Michael. That boy could drain the energy out of anyone.

Well, alright then. If she wants to take a nap and give him a few more minutes of silence, that’s alright with him. So he doesn’t protest when she relaxes in his arms, stifling another yawn and fighting to stay awake. If anything, it’s rather adorable. He’s willing to admit that now. She looks so much like Michael. Will he see it too?

Michael. 1987. 1993. The fires. The souls. The suit.

“The suit,” he whispers, after what feels like an eternity. It’s an admission—of what, he doesn’t know. Something shameful. Something humiliating. Something undignified, demeaning, degrading. His worst fear and the highlight of his own personal hell, custom built by the little girl in his arms. This is a secret he would never entrust to anyone. But she already knows.

“What?”

“I saw the suit.”

Her small body stills in his arms. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Several minutes of strained silence pass by, and William isn’t surprised. How do you move on from a topic like that? It’s better to suffer in silence and not push the issue further.

But eventually, the girl’s curious nature gets the better of her. That, too, is unfortunately expected. “What was it like?”

He lets out a hum. “What was my immensely painful and traumatizing death from being crushed from every possible angle and slowly bleeding to death like?”

“…Yeah.”

Well. At least she’s not a coward. Something else that marks the chasm of their differences. “Well. It was exactly that. Painful and traumatizing. Do you know how the springlock suits work?”

Her little head shakes, pigtails bouncing against her face. “No, but I’ve thought about it a lot.”

“Why?”

She looks away, suddenly very interested in her hands. “You were always so scared of it. At first I thought it was because the suit killed you. Back in 1993, I mean. But then the others hurt you a lot worse and you didn’t care about them as much. You stopped begging for your life after a while. But you never stopped screaming as we dragged you to the suit. I never figured out why.”

Interesting. Why did she care? As long as he was suffering, that’s all that mattered to her, right? Does she still want me to suffer? “I didn’t expect you to care.”

She shrugs, still avoiding his eyes. “It was a mystery. I like solving mysteries. I don’t like not knowing things.”

Another thing they have in common. “I see.”

“Yeah. So…why was it so bad? What was so different about the suit?”

That’s the difficult question, isn’t it? He takes a breath. “Well, as I said, it was a springlock suit. Springlock suits function as both animatronics and costumes, depending on the mode the suit is in. You switch between them by using a crank to wind up the suit. By doing that, the gears and metal springlocks inside the body are pulled back to allow the wearer to kind of squeeze in-between them.”

“That sounds…” She wrinkles her nose. “Dangerous.”

William nods. “It was. We had an employee die from a malfunction once.” The memory remains even now—dark red against yellow, blood against the linoleum floor. “Nasty business. If the suit switches modes while a person is inside it, the endoskeleton will snap back into place, either crushing or outright killing them.”

“How easy was it to switch?”

“Not too easy, but not too hard, either. You had to constantly be winding the crank in order for it to work.” He makes the familiar motion without realizing. “Moisture makes the springlocks instantly snap back, though, so you had to be careful not to get it wet.”

Cassidy gives the floor a hard stare. “That sounds stupid as fuck.”

“Language.”

She rolls her eyes, shoving him lightly. “What? It does. Whose dumb idea was that? What kind of moron thinks a wearable animatronic is a good idea? Some genius you were.”

Tightening his grip around her, William smothers a laugh into her hair. “Actually, it was Henry’s idea. They were his design. His big contribution to the place.” He snorts derisively. “Some idea that turned out to be.”

She twists to look up at him in disbelief. “And you went along with it? You didn’t stop and say ‘hey, maybe we shouldn’t design a walking death trap and put it in our restaurant for everyone to see.’ You didn’t think that was a bad idea?”

He shifts uncomfortably. Alright, he doesn't have any defense for that one. It was stupid. And it had cost him his life. “Well, it was Henry,” he mumbles defensively. “It was hard to say no to him.”

“Why?”

The question gives him pause. What’s the best way to answer without completely incriminating himself? Briefly, he wonders if Cassidy might be homophobic, then stops at the absurdity of the question. Then realizes the fact he’s even in a position where he has to consider that is what’s truly absurd here. He supposes it wouldn’t make a difference either way. She already hates him. What’s one more reason? “I had a…bit of a soft spot for him.” At her questioning look, he sighs, elaborating, “He was my business partner. But he was also my best friend.”

“You guys were friends?” She doesn’t sound like she fully believes him. He supposes he can’t blame her. To her, they were sworn enemies for almost forty years. But there was a time before that, wasn’t there? Maybe it’s all in his head. Maybe it was never real. Maybe he’s losing his mind. It certainly feels like it.

Oh, to hell with it. “...More than friends.”

“Oh.” Her eyes search his face, as if seeing him in a new light. Then she pauses, frowning at him suspiciously. “Wait a second, didn’t you have a wife? You cheated on your wife? Dude!”

“That’s the part you’re hung up about?”

“You’re like a Saturday morning villain,” she laughs incredulously, throwing her hands up. “I’ve never met anyone as cartoonishly evil as you. It’s crazy. Every time I think you can’t get any worse—”

Now it’s William’s turn to roll his eyes. “Oh, shut up. It was a lot more complicated than that.” Was it, though? Alright, so maybe she’s not entirely wrong. But she doesn’t need to know that. “You don’t even know her.”

“Yeah I do!” She breaks free from his grasp, repositioning herself to face him fully. “I have met Clara! We all have. She’s really nice. I don’t know why you would choose Mr. ‘I hate kids and joy and all things fun’ over someone like her. She’s so sweet. And she’s way hotter than he is.”

“You’ve…met Clara?” Then the rest of what she said registers, and he’s sure his face goes scarlet. “ Excuse me? She’s a bit old for you, isn’t she?”

She shrugs. “I call it like I see it. Henry looks like a big, soft teddy bear with depression. Clara looks like a fashion model, but also with depression and terrible decision making. I think that’s your fault.”

Almost definitely. “Shut up.”

“Anyway,” she says over him, forcing them back on track. “Yeah, of course I’ve met Clara. We all have. She looked after us in…in there” With a shrug, she falls back against his chest. “It was kind of automatic, actually. I don’t really understand it. I guess she saw a bunch of scared, lonely kids and decided that we were her responsibility.” A sad smile plays on her features.. “It was weird, but it was nice. It was the first time anyone had really noticed or cared about us. She’s a real one, as Fritz would say. You fucked up, man.”

“Yes.” More than she’ll ever realize. “I did.”

Cassidy is silent for a minute. William takes the brief reprieve to digest this new information. He’d known Clara was in there with him—the girl had dragged every spirit she could into her little game. But he hadn’t known that. Thinking about it, though, it makes sense. Clara had always been compassionate like that, one of those people who couldn’t stand to see others in pain, who did whatever she could to ease the burden. A motherly type. Long ago, he’d thought it was a weakness, a glaring personality flaw that he was gracious enough to overlook. Now he isn’t so sure. She was always too good for him, wasn’t she?

“...So…” The young girl grabs his hand, bringing it to her lap and fidgeting with his fingers. She pointedly avoids his gaze as she does her best to “accidentally” break his hand. “You were scared of the suit because it crushed you to death?”

Is the truth too graphic for her to handle? Probably not. She’s seen every method of torture the others have put him through every night. She was right—their methods are usually far more gruesome than dying in the springlock suit. But the suit is still his worst nightmare, and not just for the way it kills him. It had been his prison for the past thirty-six years, robbed him of his autonomy and his identity, and represented everything that had ever gone wrong in his life. It was a constant reminder of his failures—as an entrepreneur, an engineer, a husband, a father. It was the worst thing she could have ever done to him, and she didn’t even realize it. “...No. It didn’t crush me. That’s only if you’re lucky, and I was far from lucky.”

William swallows, leaning down and resting his chin atop her head. If he closes his eyes, maybe it won’t feel as real. If he pretends he’s alone, if he remembers she doesn’t care, maybe he’ll be able to force out the words. “If you trigger the springlocks while you’re inside the suit, a few things will happen. Like I said, once the mode is switched, the locks will snap back into place, and all the animatronic parts will follow. All that sharp metal and hard plastic will be driven into your body, holding you in place as you die a slow, painful death. You’ll feel the sharp metal tearing through your skin, your bones, your throat, your skull. You’ll feel it ripping through your organs, blood slowly seeping out of every orifice, but that will only make it worse, the wetness ensuring the rest of the springlocks fail.”

Closing his eyes only makes it worse. The scene plays clear as day in his mind, that fatal moment in 1993 that had started him down this path. Oh, he would take it back if he could. Not the murders. Not the pain and suffering and destruction he’d caused countless others. No, the one thing he would take back is returning to that fucking pizzeria long after its abandonment. He never should have broken them again. He never should have let them get the better of him. He never should have put on that fucking suit again. If he’d known he’d never be able to take it off…

“You’ll try to scream, to cry out for help, for mercy, anything to make the pain stop, anything to get out of the prison you’ve trapped yourself in,” he continues in a whisper. It takes effort to force the words past the lump in his throat. I will not cry. Not in front of Anastas. Never again. She doesn’t hold power over me anymore. He blinks away the tears in his eyes. A few escape down his cheek and into her hair. Fuck. He takes another moment to collect himself. “Anything but that. Any method of torture, any other way of tearing your body apart, any other way of dying and resetting the night. Anything but that. It doesn’t matter. No one can hear you. No one cares. But the screaming will only last for a few seconds—your vocal cords will be severed quickly, and all the blood in your throat will fill your lungs until you drown in it. That’s what kills you in the end. You’ll know you’re dying for several minutes. You’ll know you’re never getting out of there alive. You’ll know your last moments will be filled with the most unbearable, most unimaginable pain possible, and the last thing you’ll ever see or hear is Anastas, laughing at you, mocking you for being so weak and afraid of a little torture.”

William takes a deep breath, pushing down a surge of anger that heats his cheeks and makes his head dizzy. He’s not…here anymore, he’s not fully present. Where he really is and what he’s really doing are memories long-forgotten. Instead, he’s back in the suit, watching through the wide white eyes as his tormenter revels in his misery. His body is not his own. His mind is fuzzy, his limbs made of lead. It’s like he’s…floating, almost, and he’s lost control of his mind. It’s like he no longer understands what’s going on, doesn’t remember how to stem the flow of his words, and they spill out as soon as they come to mind.

“She makes sure you suffer as much as possible until the end. She doesn’t let you black out from the pain. She doesn’t make it quick. She taunts you, just out of reach, and there’s nothing you can ever do about it. You can’t escape. You can’t leave. She won’t let you just die, and that’s the worst part of all. You just wake up and start the night over. Over and over and over again.  So many times you beg for death, for a release from this nightmare, an end to the eternal torment. You’ve learned your lesson. You understand. You’re sorry. She never listens. She’ll never let you go. She’ll never let you leave. She’ll keep you there, no matter how many times they burn you both. She says it’s what you deserve. You don’t think anyone could deserve this. Hell would have been kinder.”

And then it’s over. Or at least he thinks it is. He’s not sure. He’s not here anymore. He’s back there, in a place he swore he’d never return to, fighting the urge to reach out and wring Anastas’ little neck as she cackles at him. It feels so real. Maybe he’s back after all. Maybe he never left. Maybe the past few hours were only another of her cruel tricks, giving him a taste of freedom and hope before dragging him back and mocking him for being foolish enough to fall for it.

Someone shifts in his arms, pressing against his chest. Hesitantly, her arms find their way around his chest, squeezing lightly. Without thinking, William moves to accommodate her. He shifts back against the wall and leans back to make more room. His arms come to rest across her shoulders and back, enveloping the little girl beneath him in a tentative embrace. His hands shake. His breath trembles. His head feels like someone shoved a cotton ball in there, and his limbs are as heavy as the springlock suit. This isn’t happening. This isn’t real. This is another trick, another cruelty disguised as a gift. But it doesn’t matter. He’ll take what little comfort he can before it all begins again.

He can’t stop the sob that rips its way through his chest. Just as quickly, he pushes down the next few that threaten to escape. He hides his face in Anastas’ curls to muffle his pathetic whimpers. It doesn’t work. She hugs him tighter, burying her face in his chest, and something breaks inside of him. Despite his best efforts, he quickly loses control of himself. His pathetic tears and pitiful sobs get the better of him, and he holds her closer as he rides out his bout of temporary insanity. Distantly, he recognizes this as a panic attack, but he doesn’t care what it’s called—it’s humiliating and embarrassing and he should absolutely know better. Anastas is going to have a field day with this. God forbid she tell the others. So much for blackmailing her. But none of that matters right now. Right now, Anastas—Cassidy—mumbles something he can’t understand. She sounds unlike herself, calm and soothing and solicitous. It’s clear she has no idea what to do, but the fact she’s even trying helps far more than he would have thought. With deep breaths, he tries to calm down and listen to what she’s saying. Although he can’t exactly understand her, it has the intended effect—over the course of a few minutes, his breathing evens out, his heart stops trying to jump out of his chest, and he can finally release his death-like grip on poor Cassidy, who must have been incredibly claustrophobic with how tightly he was holding her.

Cassidy. He can’t look her in the eyes. Not after that. Maybe not ever again. He has humiliated himself so thoroughly in her presence that he isn’t sure he can ever speak to her again, and she’s just been given a whole new arsenal of insecurities and fears that she can attack him with. What scathing remarks will she come up with? What harsh jabs at his psyche await him in the coming hours? Will she use this as blackmail, or will she tell the others of his childish tantrum, so they can see how truly weak and pathetic he is? That would be her style, wouldn’t it?

“Bill?”

He won’t answer. He can’t. His head remains down, face buried in her curls.

“Bill.”

No. Go away. Leave me alone. Forever.

“William.”

Please. “...I can’t.”

“What?”

“I can’t.”

“What can’t you do?”

A hard swallow. A deep, steadying breath. A final whimper, muffled against the top of her head before he has to face the world again. “I don’t know,” he whispers, so quiet he’s not sure if he even said the words aloud. “I…I don’t know.”

Her grip tightens again for a brief moment. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”

We. As if she actually cares. She’s probably delighted to have witnessed him falling apart. But he can’t muster up the energy to argue. “Okay.”

“Are you gonna be okay?”

Is this a joke? “No.”

“Can I help?”

“What do you care?”

Cassidy’s arms tense. She doesn’t speak for so long William begins to think she’s not going to. “I don’t wanna hurt people any more,” she says finally.

I know how you feel. “…Why?”

“It’s not…” She swallows, sniffling a little. Oh, God. Please don’t cry. I don’t know how to deal with crying children. We can’t have two breakdowns in less than five minutes. “I’m just…I’m just so tired. I’m tired of being angry. I’m tired of being mean to my friends and bossing them around all the time. I’m tired of thinking of new ways to hurt you. I’m tired of watching you die over and over again. Maybe…maybe I’m tired of hating you. I didn’t…I didn’t know that about the springlock suit. I can’t…” She pauses, voice thick with emotion and carrying the threat of an impending breakdown.

“I can’t say I’m sorry. I’m not. You deserved it. But…maybe once was enough.” Cassidy rests her head against his shoulder, avoiding his eyes. “Maybe I shouldn’t have made you go through it again. Maybe I made a mistake. A lot of mistakes. And now…” Her bottom lip wobbles as she buries her face in his shirt, not saying anything for a few moments. William looks down to see her eyes screwed shut, holding back a sob. “Now my friends hate me,” she whimpers, her voice breaking. William gives her a gentle squeeze. It breaks something inside her, and the floodgates open, unleashing a rambling tirade that must have been building since they first came back.

“Now I’m tired and I’m angry and I’m scared, because everything is so new and overwhelming. This place is awful and new and scary and is filled with things trying to kill us. Everyone is mad at me except for the guy who killed me in the first place, who is also the only person I know out here so he’s also the only person I can trust. And I hate him, right, only he doesn’t really seem like he hates me back as much, which is weird, but it’s even weirder that he’s the only person in this stupid place that cares about me. So I kinda like him now even though I still hate him, and that doesn’t make any sense at all. I can’t be mad at him because he’s trying to help me even though we hate each other. Except he’s been protecting me this whole time and being nice to me and treating me like an adult, like the other grownups won’t. But I don’t understand why he’s helping me and I don’t understand why I like him now because he still sucks and he’s still a dick and it’s all so confusing and it hurts and I don’t understand anything anymore. I can’t trust my friends because they don’t want me around anymore. All the adults are awful and mean and bossy and they treat me like a little kid. Everyone hates me now. They think I’m bossy and mean and horrible and a monster and—and—and I ruined everything,” she chokes out the last words, bursting into tears and sobbing uncontrollably against his shoulder.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Okay. It’s been a couple of decades since you dealt with a child, but it shouldn't be that hard to figure out. Kids like to be comforted, right? I should do that. I should…hug the child. Yes. Let’s do that.

William is grateful for the chance to ignore his own feelings in favor of soothing hers. If he’s lucky, his little tantrum will be quickly forgotten in favor of whatever is about to come next. He gingerly wraps his arms around her again, and she melts into the embrace, grabbing his left forearm and holding it tightly against her. Her small body trembles with the force of her sobs. She’s trying to say something else, but her hiccups and gasps make the words incomprehensible. Her nails dig into his skin, drawing blood. William doesn’t know what else to do other than let her tire herself out. Something tells him that’s going to take a while. Maybe he should do something. But what? He can’t very well tell her to knock it off, that would probably make her even more upset. It wouldn’t be fair, either, considering she endured his outburst a few minutes ago without complaint. He probably can’t use logic to make her see reason, as children are very irrational when they’re upset. Doing nothing isn’t an option either, though. If she keeps hyperventilating, the poor girl’s going to pass out. That won’t do. Maybe he can try and calm her down. Breathing always helped David. It might help her too.

“Hey,” he says softly, brushing stray curls from her face. “Hey. Hey.”

Cassidy hiccups, turning her head to look up at him. She tries to say something, but it’s drowned in another gasping sob.

“It’s okay. You don’t need to say anything. But can you do something for me?”

She nods. She doesn’t even hesitate. William tries not to feel prideful at that. Not the time.

“Can you take a deep breath for me?” he asks softly, using the same voice he’d used on David all those years ago. Running his fingers through her hair, he untangles her curls the same way he’d handled Beth. He holds her close to his chest and gently brushes away her tears, just as he’d done with Michael. “Deep breath, darling. Just one. Just do one for me, alright?”

Cassidy tries, she really does, but all that comes out is another sob. She tries again, and again, William encouraging her every time until she finally sucks one in and holds it as long as she can. When she releases, she’s a little bit calmer. Again, and again, and again, until her breathing has evened out and her shoulders don’t shake as much. She breathes a weary sigh into his shoulder, nuzzling his collarbone. “Thanks,” she mumbles.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

It can’t be that easy. Surely there’s another step he’s missing. There has to be something else he needs to do. Hm. Was child rearing always this hard? Maybe it only seemed easy because he’d shifted most of the burden onto Clara. Well, alright then. What would Clara do? She would…ask if the child wanted to talk. Oh. Oh no. He looks down at Cassidy’s vacant expression. Her tears have begun to dry, and she’s stopped hiccuping. She looks mostly calm now, but if talking will help her feel better…ugh. He supposes he owes it to her. Fine. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Cassidy scowls. “No.”

Oh thank God. “Are you sure?”

“...No.”

Damnit. “Go ahead.”

It takes her a minute to collect herself. She still won’t look him in the eyes. “What do you want from me?”

“...What?”

“You’re being nice. You’re pretending to care about me. You’re trying to keep me safe and sort of alive and I don’t understand why.” She loosens her grip on his arm. He hadn’t even realized she’d still been holding it. He tries to pull it away, only for her to yank it back and dig her nails in again. “Why did you save me from that…thing? You could have let it take me. But you didn’t. You could have let me die. But you didn’t. You want something from me. What is it?”

Shit. “I don’t want anything. I’m trying to keep you alive, because if I don’t you’ll come back and put me in that fucking hellscape again. I’m not taking my chances.”

Cassidy tenses up at the mention of her empty threat. “That’s…the only reason? Are you sure?”

Oh, she sounds scared. Is she really that desperate for his approval? Does she crave his affection and admiration that badly?

…Of course she does. She’s a child. A eight year old with a God complex, sure, but still an eight year old. A little girl with no idea what she's doing or where she is, unsure of who to trust or where to go. A scared, naive, fragile child, unsure and alone. Completely powerless for the first time in forty eight years. Of course she would turn to the only person she knows for comfort. Even if that person is her sworn enemy. Of course she would trust the adult in this situation, even though he’s just as clueless as her. William shouldn’t be surprised, he’s been trying to foster that sense of codependency this whole time. Good to see that it’s working. Or maybe she’s just worried that once he “finds out” about her little white lie, he’ll throttle her like she probably deserves. Not that he would, of course. He needs her, can’t exist without her. Besides, it’s safe to say that his child murdering days are definitely over, and honestly, he can’t say he’s too upset about it. He’s done enough of that for several lifetimes. Maybe he’ll take up a slightly less evil hobby, like those fuckers that raise alligators just to release them in the local ponds. Cassidy would like that. Michael would find it hilarious.

“Bill?”

Right. Focus on the present. Hm. Maybe she deserves a bit of honesty. In exchange for her cooperation. Just a bit. “Of course not.”

Cassidy looks up in surprise. The spark of hope in her eyes is honestly adorable. She has to be the most confusing child he’s ever met. So much for only “kind of” liking me. “Meaning?”

“Well.” He looks down at her bushy black curls, running a hand through them again. She leans into the touch, even as she tries to look defiant. A little scratch to her scalp does wonders to fix that. “You remind me of Michael,” he says, far softer than he’d meant.

“I…do?”

“You do.” He’s not sure if he means it as a compliment or an insult.

Cassidy seems to take it as the latter. “Don’t you…hate Mike?” She doesn’t elaborate, but he hears the hidden question anyway —doesn’t that mean you hate me?

William mentally slaps himself. Of course. He should have realized what he was implying. “Michael and I have a complicated relationship. It’s difficult to explain, but…no, I wouldn’t say I hate him. Or at least, I don’t anymore. Not that much. It’s been a long, long time.” At her questioning look, he sighs. “We’ve…been through a lot together. There was a time when all we had was each other. We came to rely on each other. And I suppose I can’t forget that. Even after everything, he is still my son. I can’t ignore that.”

Her nose scrunches. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I don’t expect it to. It’s something you have to experience for yourself to truly understand. I hope you never do.”

“...Okay.”

“What I mean to say is, no, I don’t hate you.” William thinks about his next words very carefully. Should he admit this out loud? To her? It might help, but it might make things worse. Well. Only one way to find out. “I’m not sure I ever did. Maybe once, long ago, back in that safe room. Maybe in the beginning of your purgatory. But after a while…” This is a mistake. “I…suppose I was tired of being angry, too. I was terrified, certainly. But hate is a strong word. Dislike, maybe. But that’s faded now. This little misadventure of ours has put things into a new perspective for both of us, I think. Now that I’ve spent a bit of time with you, without us trying to kill or maim each other, I see you for who you really are.”

Cassidy furrows her brow. “What do you mean, you’re tired of being angry?”

Oh. That’s…not what he expected her to focus on. Interesting. “Well…it’s like you said. I'm tired of everything. I know how you feel, because I feel it too.” Now that the realization has hit, he can’t stop the flow of words that come with it. Everything makes sense now, and he can’t believe he hadn’t seen it before. How had he missed it? “I’m tired of being angry and hurting the people I care about. I’m tired of hurting myself. If I want things to be better this time…if I want to keep my family, and keep them in my life, and make them love me again, I have to be…better. I can’t be angry anymore. I can’t be the same person I was. But I don’t….” He swallows, taking a deep breath. You can do this. You should be man enough to admit this. “I don’t know how to…fix myself.”

Cassidy hums, a wry smile playing on her lips. “Yeah. Me neither. But I guess that’s just another thing we have in common, huh?”

“Yes.” His throat feels tight. “I suppose it is.”

“It’s okay, Bill. We’ll figure it out. We can work on it together..”

Bill. She calls me Bill. “We…can?”

“Yeah.” She looks up at him. That confident smile is back, crooked and tiny and so goddamn adorable he wants to wipe it off her face. “You said we’re the same, right? We’re both tired of being angry and hurting people. We both wanna get better. So we can work on it together. We can hold each other accountable and stuff. We can help each other.”

Help each other. As if they hadn’t been doing that this whole time. Well. What’s a bit of extra effort? If Cassidy is offering another truce, well….he’d be a fool to deny her. Something he’s finding increasingly harder to do. Damn Anastas and her charms. “Yes. We can. I would…like that. Very much.”

Cassidy beams at him, her dimples very distracting, and suddenly it’s hard to remember what he was angry about. “I’m glad you agree. Now,” she nudges him playfully. “What was that you were saying about me?”

What was he saying? Oh, right. “I was saying that since I’ve gotten to know you, I’ve changed my mind about you. You’re quite adorable for a gremlin. You, Cassidy Anastas, are a funny, clever, compassionate and honestly very sweet child, and even if I fundamentally disagree with every one of those qualities, it’s clear why your friends have stuck by you all this time. It’s no wonder they appointed you their leader.” And, he adds to himself, sulking at the admission, it’s no wonder David is so clearly infatuated with you too. Cassidy Anastas, my future daughter-in-law. Well, worse things have happened.

She positively glows at the praise, trying and failing quite miserably to suppress that insufferable little smile. But at the mention of them, her face falls. She looks down at the floor. “Yeah, well. Fat lot of good that did me. They hate me now.”

“I don’t think so.” He runs a hand through her hair again. Blunt nails scratch her scalp. It doesn’t work this time. Hm. Okay. Let’s assess the situation again. He looks down at her again, trying to gauge her current emotional state. Ah, he’s never been good at that. She looks upset, naturally, but beyond that, he can’t figure out what she’s feeling. Okay. That’s a lost cause. So we are to assume the child is upset. What’s the next step? Do we comfort the child again? What are we supposed to say in response to that? What can we say?

William had, unsurprisingly, never been that in touch with his emotions. They were pointless, annoying things, serving only to distract him from his work and complicate his relationships, so he’d toss them aside to focus on more important things, such as his work, his research…himself. But although he’d tried to instill in him the same mindset, Michael had done the opposite. He preferred to wallow in his usually negative emotions and experiences. He’d push them all the way down and bottle everything until the tipping point, and then he’d explode at William like it was his fault his eldest’s life was so shitty. It had made appointing him as his assistant extremely difficult. Clearly, he’d grown a spine at some point—a shame his father had been too dead to see it. Maybe it was because his father was dead. Maybe all that arson was his way of blowing off steam. Either way, it’s become apparent to William that his son is, somehow, more emotionally intelligent than he’ll ever be. But that’s the only kind of intelligence he’ll ever surpass his father in.

Alright, fine. What would Michael do? “Sometimes…” he begins slowly, choosing his words carefully. He needs to get this right. Cassidy is as volatile as young Michael was—one wrong word and she’ll probably break his nose. Or set something on fire. Michael loved doing that as a child, too. Evidently, it was something he’d carried into adulthood. My little firebug.

With a shake of his head, he refocuses on the task at hand. “Sometimes, we hurt the people we love, and we have to apologize and make it right.” The words sound wrong coming out of his mouth. Disingenuous. Bitter. But he presses on. “We have to…apologize, and work towards making things right without expectation of reward in case they don’t forgive you. Because…sometimes they don’t. They’re not obligated to. Forgiveness is never a guarantee. An apology doesn’t erase the hurt you’ve caused or the damage you’ve done. You can never take that back. You can never undo that moment, and people will remember, and sometimes you can’t make it right. But you can do everything in your power to make things better, and show that you meant what you said, and I think that’s where forgiveness comes in. Sometimes they forgive, and you can move on, and you can do your best to never make that mistake again.”

William pauses. A quick glance down at her shows she’s hanging on to his every word. A horrible decision, really, but that must mean it’s working. Michael may have had a point after all. He shifts uncomfortably, delaying the inevitable for a few seconds longer. Really, he has no idea what he's doing or even saying. He’s making it up as he goes. Michael’s thirty-six year mission of self-sacrifice in pursuit of redemption is providing excellent inspiration, though. This is the end of the speech, though, isn’t it? What else is left to say? That had been the end of Michael’s journey. David has probably forgiven him by now, as has Beth and whoever else he and William had hurt over the years. Michael doesn’t seem to be too fond of him, but that’s fine. He’s well aware that his son is a better man than he ever was or will be. That’s the end of it.

But there’s an uncomfortable stirring in his chest that tells him he’s not quite done with this conversation. William thinks hard for several moments. Inspiration never comes. Cassdy looks up at him expectantly, waiting for his words of wisdom. He has none to give. Again, his thoughts shift to his eldest. Michael. Oh, Michael. How could one be so infuriated and yet so proud of a person?

William thinks back to a time long forgotten, when his eldest would act out in fits of rage just to get his father’s attention. One way or another, no matter how obvious it was, William would always rise to the bait. It seems nothing has changed. Of course he’d been paying attention for the last thirty-six years—not much else to do when one is suffocating in a metal coffin—but at the time he’d thought Michael’s self-appointed mission was foolish and pointless. Another act of rebellion sure to end in failure, as everything else in their lives had. Except his eldest had actually succeeded. Even filled with remnant, cursed with immortality and the family name, with nothing and no one at his side, Michael Afton had survived. He had persevered and prevailed, over and over and over again, proving himself wholly unworthy of his cursed surname. No force in nature could stop him. Not even death, it would seem.

Bill had once thought he and Michael were the same. Now he sees they couldn’t be more different.

Michael is no Afton.

Bill refuses to speak his mother’s maiden name anymore. It hasn’t been spoken in decades, and after what he’s done, he doesn’t deserve to be the one to break that silence. It comes to mind anyway—a brief flicker of memory, a flash of warmth and safety. Floral perfume, burgundy nails, red curls that spilled across delicate shoulders and flowing sleeves. A soft, lilting voice, promising her petit lapin that everything was going to be okay. As long as she was there—as long as they were together, the sun would keep shining. I don’t even remember her face anymore.

Michael had, against all odds, taken after her. Michael’s grandmother—his mother —Amandine D’Amboise. A woman larger than life, a woman his eldest had never even met, and yet it would seem that her spirit lives on in him. A final chance to redeem her legacy after William had betrayed every value she held dear. She would be so ashamed of him. Michael is far more worthy than he to carry on the name. Despite everything William had done to him, everything he’d gone through, everything he’d sacrificed, at heart he’s still Michael. Somehow he’d never lost that. Maybe because it was the only thing he had left. Maybe it was the only thing keeping him going all those years.

Michael James Afton. His greatest creation, his worst failure, his prodigal son. His first obsession. His first child, a child that had changed the trajectory of his entire life from the moment they’d met to the moment everything had come to a fiery end. Bill had saved his life when he’d first come into the world. Ironic, considering Michael had repaid that with dedicating his life to hunting down and ending his father. Now it would seem that Michael is finally returning the favor, albeit unintentionally and without his knowledge. Now, in hindsight and with him on his own journey of redemption, Bill sees the merit and wisdom in his son’s mission. Though he would never admit it, it would appear Michael was right after all. A secret he’ll take to his second grave.

“But…” His words are halted, foreign in his mouth and heavy on his tongue. They aren’t his. They’re Michael’s. “Sometimes…they don’t.”

Thankfully, Cassidy doesn’t seem to notice his hesitation, but he winces at the uncertainty in his words. Focus. Breathe.

“Sometimes what you’ve done is too horrible to ever be forgiven. Sometimes you don’t deserve that, and no matter what you do, people will always see the worst in you. What matters is that you’re doing it because you love them, not because you want to feel better about yourself. You move forward without that expectation, because some things can’t be forgiven, and you can’t ask for mercy. It isn’t about you at that point. It’s about them. You’re not asking for forgiveness. You’re asking for redemption. And maybe, at least, you can earn that.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Woah.” Bill startles, looking down at Cassidy’s wide-eyed expression. “Where did you learn all of that? Definitely not life experience.”

Laughing, Bill flicks the shell of her ear. He’s grateful for the very convenient excuse she’s just provided for him to ignore the nasty little feelings that his speech just inspired in him. “Actually, I learned it from Michael. His decades-long quest for…whatever it was he was seeking by ending my reign of terror showed me a few things, I suppose.”

Cassidy smiles, unaware of his internal dilemma. “Maybe there’s hope for you after all, Afton.”

He snorts to hide his surprise. “…You can’t mean that.”

She shrugs, wrapping her arms around him again. “Hey, why not? Crazier things have happened. I never thought I’d let you out of hell, but here we are. I never thought I’d actually kind of like you, but here we are.” Shifting in his lap, she flashes a cheeky grin. “You’re actually kinda decent sometimes. You’re trying to be better now even if you don’t realize it. You’re being nice to me and admitting that Mike isn’t so bad. You’re helping me undo our mistakes. That’s something.”

His grip tightens around her. A heavy weight settles on his chest. “I don’t think redemption is that easy, Cassidy.”

“Maybe not. I guess it wouldn’t be worth anything if it was. But if there’s no hope for you, there’s no hope for me. We’re kind of the same, right? You said so yourself.”

He’d said that to Michael, too. He’d been wrong before. History repeats itself. “…No. no, we aren’t. I was wrong before. I’m sorry.”

Cassidy frowns, but doesn’t argue. “Well, you never know what could happen. Maybe you can be redeemed, too. I’m rooting for you, anyway.”

“Right.” Bill narrows his eyes at the strange child, so much like his eldest yet his complete opposite. “We’ll see about that.”

“I guess we will.” Her confident smile is absolutely misplaced, but it is adorable, so he’ll let it slide. For now.

“Hey, fuckfaces,” Gregory calls through the radio. “Are you guys dead yet?”

“What the fuck, Rory?” a female voice scolds. That must be this “Vanessa” Gregory was harping about earlier. Hopefully she’s more sensible than her brother. “She’s eight years old.”

“He’s not—”

“Doesn’t matter—”

“Is there something you need?” Bill asks, barely concealing his exasperation.

“Yes, ” Vanessa responds, over the sound of a brief scuffle. “Give me that —thank you— hey, we found another keycard. Where are you guys? We should meet up and head back to the basement together. Or we can split up and meet up there. Your choice.”

Bill turns to Cassidy. “What do you think?”

“I think…” She bites her lip, thinking hard. “We should head there together. Just…in case. Yeah.”

“In case of what? Something interesting actually happens—ow! What the fuck—”

“Gregory, if you don’t shut up right now—okay. Okay. Yeah, that works. We’ll meet up in the atrium. Near the stage. Sound good?”

“Yes, that’s fine.” Bill runs an absent hand through his daughter’s hair again. She leans into the touch, collapsing against his chest again. “We’ll meet you there shortly. I think we’re underneath the atrium now, actually.”

“Do you want a medal?”

“Do you ever shut up?” Cass groans. “Bill, I’ll make you a deal. You can kill one more kid before you give it up for good. Choose wisely.”

“I’ll take you up on that.”

“Oohh, I’m in. I'll hold him down for you,” Vanessa laughs.

“Hey!” Gregory whines. “Ugh, fine, okay, I’ll be quiet. We’ll see you at the atrium.”

The line finally goes quiet. Cass breathes a sigh of relief.

“That guy is so annoying,” she mumbles, moving off his lap. She stands up, raising her arms and arching her back. “Ow.”

“We’ll have to put up with it,” Bill shakes his head. “Nevermind that. Let’s get going. If we hurry, we might be able to beat them there.”

“Do we get bragging rights if we do?”

“Yes.”

“Will you carry me?”

“...Yes.”

”Yes.” She pumps the air before scrambling to climb his body before he can even pick her up. “Onward! Or, you know, whatever you people say.”

Bill heaves a sigh, but it’s without malice. After watching her try and fail miserably to climb all six feet and four inches of him, he takes pity on her and scoops her up with one arm. “Onward,” he agrees, adjusting her on his hip before setting off.

Chapter Text

If Bill had known how long the others would take to arrive, he would have insisted they travel together.

As it is, he and Cassidy have been waiting for half an hour already, and there hasn’t been any sign of them. Absolute radio silence. Bill had been tempted more than once to call and check in. Ultimately, though, he’d decided against it. Bill isn’t in a mood to argue with the little gremlin that’s supposed to be him. Nor does he feel like being insulted and yelled at for asking a simple question. Brat.

Normally, he wouldn’t mind the silence. His and Cassidy’s long and insightful discussion had worn both of them out, and neither are in much of a mood to talk. But the silence is getting…worrying. Or maybe it’s the noise coming from the other side of that heavy metal door that’s making him uneasy.

Yes. It’s probably that.

Something is back there. Its heavy footfalls and low groaning send chills up his spine. Sometimes he hears the screech of metal against metal, the sound of something hard and heavy hitting a wall over and over again. Once he thinks he hears a howl. Bones snapping. Faint but horrifying screams and what sounds like gunfire. Begging, though he doesn’t know for what. He doesn’t really want to find out.

But the strangest part is, every once in a while he thinks he can make out voices from inside. He can’t understand what they’re saying. Are some of the scientists still alive? If so, they must be in terrible shape. They sound as though they’re in immense pain. How long ago had they sealed themselves away? Are they still sane? It’s impossible to tell from here. They’ll find out soon enough. He supposes it doesn’t matter anyway. If they don’t cooperate, then they’ll get out of the way. Or else.

Bill had almost convinced himself it was his paranoia getting the better of him. He hadn’t heard any of this when they were here before. In fact, it had been unnervingly silent. Surely this was just his imagination. But then he’d asked Cassidy, just to be sure, and was severely disappointed when she confirmed she’d heard it too. Which begs the question: what the hell would be in there, and why? Some sort of rogue experiment gone wrong? Someone’s pet hellhound? Bill can’t make sense of it, but he doesn’t have to. Whatever it is, it’s a problem and far too much for two undead ghosts and a ratty teenage clone to handle. If there is something in there, and it’s not some sort of auditory hallucination, they need to figure out what it is and how to get past it.

Easier said than done. They still don’t know the full limits of their undead state of being. They know some, of course—they can interact with the physical world but not with people, except skin to skin connection with other ghosts (so far only tested with each other, of course). That, unfortunately, seems to be the only boon they’ve gotten. Everything else has either been the same as or a downgrade from being an actual ghost. Like before, they don't have a sense of taste or smell. They can’t feel the atmosphere of the physical world. They can’t feel temperature changes or shifts in the air, such as wind blowing past. In this new form, though, they have limitations that hadn’t applied before. They’re more sensitive to light. They can’t possess things. They can’t use their “ghost powers,” as Fritz had once called them. Object, mind and electricity manipulation are no longer available, which is a shame considering how useful those tricks would be right about now. They can’t walk through walls or move as freely as before—that would be too useful. Their physical appearances are a bit fucked up, or at least his is. He looks down at the bleeding springlock scars on his body, oozing black goo that never goes anywhere. She had to have done that on purpose. What else?

Bill thinks back to the first time they’d come here, when he’d realized that her constant exhaustion is a result of whatever she’d done to them. Perhaps she’s channeling all her energy into keeping them tied to this realm. That would explain why she’s always tired and he’s not. Unfortunately, it doesn’t explain anything else. How was she able to bring them back at all? That shouldn’t have been possible. But Cassidy Anastas would never let a little thing like the laws of the supernatural world stop her. Whatever she’d done, somehow it had brought them half back, and not without its fair share of side effects. But she’d still done it, and William wants to figure out how.

Clearly, the girl has far more power than he’d thought. Maybe more than even she’d realized. Had she intended to bring them half back, or was it a mistake? Had her intention been to release their ghosts from her hell, and she’d simply overshot her power? Where does her power come from? Where does it end? Do the other children have the same abilities? If not, what makes her so special? Is it because she’s their self-appointed ringleader? Is it because she has an inordinate amount of remnant (and possibly even agony) compared to the others? Is that what gives her power? Could she have brought them back in full without having to involve him, if she’d really tried? Does she realize how much power she has? Does she know her limitations? Is she actively working to keep them here, or is her excessive fatigue simply a result of her initial effort? What else can she do?

None of that explains how she was able to bring them back. Or how she was able to trap him in an elaborate mind prison in the first place. He hates to admit it, but he’s probably never going to find out. He’s finally ready to accept that the mysteries of the universe are enigmatic for a reason, and if one goes meddling with things they don’t understand, bad things happen. Like getting trapped in a metal coffin for thirty years. Bill has decided he is more than okay with leaving this one a mystery. Although it’ll eat him alive, it’s better than going through the past thirty years again. Or worse.

Not that it matters, of course. Not really. No matter what the answers to his questions, it's become evident that the girl is using all her power to keep them here. Given the lethargic side effects, It’s clearly taking its toll on her. Bill has no idea how much longer she’ll be able to hold out. The sooner he gets into a body, the better. He doesn’t think the poor girl will last a month like this.

“Are we sure we want to go in there?” Cassidy asks quietly.

“Absolutely not,” Bill sighs. “But we don’t really have a choice, do we?”

“Any idea what that thing could be?”

“No. Hopefully Gregory or this Vanessa person will, though. If not, I think it’s safe to say we are fucked.”

She grimaces. “Great. We’re gonna die again.”

“We don’t even know if we can in this state,” he points out. “There are certainly limitations in this state, but I’m not convinced death is one of them. After all, we’re already dead. There’s not much more anyone else can do.”

“But we’re able to be hurt. I was bleeding earlier after you accidentally hit me. If we can be hurt, we can probably be killed. We just don’t know what’ll happen after that.”

“A number of things could happen. If we die again, we’ll…just figure it out from there.”

She rolls her eyes, placing her hands on her hips. “Yeah, no duh, old man. But I’d like to know what’s gonna happen before it does so we can be prepared. What if we’re forced to move on or something? I mean, you’ve gotta have questions too, right?”

Bill considers that for a moment. “Alright, fair point. Okay. If we ‘die’ in this form, do we cease to exist? Are we forced to move on to whatever afterlife awaits us? Do we simply reappear in the basement? Is it actually possible to die like this? Do we just receive deathly injuries but never succumb? What does it do to us? Will we be able to reassume these forms? I have no idea. I imagine we aren’t likely to receive answers anytime soon.”

“So…”

“So,” he says, giving her a meaningful look. “We shouldn’t worry about something we have no control over. We have more important things to focus on.”

She frowns, giving him a sideways glance. “Uh, I think figuring out if we can die again is pretty important.”

Bill snorts, turning away and fiddling with the radio on his belt. “Smartass.”

“Bitch.”

“Language.”

But before he can launch into a proper lecture, someone pushes through the steel double doors, their footsteps echoing loudly in the spacious area. They both turn to see a short, blonde woman marching towards them, Gregory hot on her heels and out of breath. She must be this Vanessa person they keep going on about. Her space buns bounce in time with her steps, angry and determined as she advances towards him with murderous intent. She might have been intimidating if not for the rainbow streaks through her hair and the female pop star T-shirt she’s wearing. A bit embarrassing, to be honest, of someone her age. Who the fuck is Chappell Roan? Have the youths of today really forgotten how to dress properly? Have they no shame?

“Hey,” the woman says, stopping just in front of Bill. Uh-oh. She looks pissed. This is definitely Vanessa. “You’re Afton?”

Bill wonders if he’s about to get punched. It looks like it. “I didn’t possess you, if that’s what you’re upset about.”

Vanessa folds her arms across her chest. “Oh yeah?”

“Ness, come on, we’ve got bigger things to worry about—”

“No no, I wanna hear this,” she waves him off. “Go on, Afton. Give me your best excuse. Do you even recognize me? Do you even know who I am?”

Bill blinks. What the hell is happening right now? He looks over at Cass, who looks just as confused as he feels. He looks at Gregory, and recognizes the expression of a child who’s about to be caught in a lie. His face betrays guilt, shame, secrecy. The boy knows something. But what? He turns back to Vanessa, who looks both intrigued and infuriated. “I’m afraid I don’t. I’m assuming you’re this ‘Vanessa’ Gregory told me about. I’m sorry, but I know for a fact we have never met. I’ve never possessed anyone. Before all this started, I’d never ever left the basement. I have no idea what’s going on.”

“It’s true,” Cassidy interjects, coming to stand beside him. “I don’t know how much Gregory told you. My name is Cassidy. It’s a long story, but I’ve been keeping him trapped in the basement of the Pizzplex for the past couple of…for a long while. I don’t know how long. But I know I never let him leave before this. He couldn’t have escaped without me noticing. Nobody could. Anyone so much as breathed and I knew about it. Nothing got past me, especially this guy. Not until I let him out. He hasn’t gone anywhere, I swear.”

Vanessa gives her an odd look. There’s no malice in her expression, just concern and confusion and something else he can’t place. She doesn’t speak for several long moments, studying the ghosts in front of her. Bill decides he doesn’t like the curious look she studies him with. Finally, she turns back to Cassidy. “You’re one of the missing children, aren’t you? From the incident in 1985. Cassidy Anastas.”

Cassidy’s eyes go wide. “You know my name?”

“Yeah.” Vanessa’s tone is mournful, her words quiet and contemplative. “It was a huge story back when it happened. I wasn’t alive then, obviously, but it’s become a big part of local history since then. It’s the most exciting thing that’s happened to this town, as fucked up as it is. I’m so sorry you had to go through that. You didn’t deserve that.”

Cassidy looks from Vanessa to Bill then back again. “Thank you. That means a lot.” She gives a small, forced smile. Then she blinks, confused as she and Bill realize the same thing at the same time. “Wait. What do you mean you weren’t alive then? You don’t look that old.”

Vanessa grins sheepishly. “I’m not. I’m gonna be twenty-six on September 20th. I was born in 2012.”

“Wait… Cassidy swallows hard. She looks up at Bill, eyes wide and face full of terror. “You were born in 2012? But that can’t be right…that would mean it’s been twenty-five years since the fire. Since Mike…” She shakes her head. “No, I know that isn’t right. It can’t be. There’s no way it’s been that long.”

“It’s been a bit longer than that,” Vanessa hedges. She looks between them again, her tone conflicted as she asks, “Afton, you died in 1993, right?”

“As far as I remember, yes.” God, had it really been so long ago? It feels so much longer. Of course, he’d known that several years had passed since then—after that third pizzeria fire, when he’d been able to escape into the world, he’d seen dates that said 2023. Until this moment, he’d assumed it was still 2023. Cassidy couldn’t have been holding him captive for that long. Could she? “I technically died again in 2023.”

“2023?!” Cassidy exclaims, whirling to face him. Her eyes are wide with terror. “Wait wait wait. Bill. You’re saying that last fire with Henry and Mike happened in 2023? We’ve been dead for thirty-eight years? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I haven’t been dead for that long,” Bill says, somewhat defensively. “It’s only been thirty for me.”

“Right. About that…” Vanessa hesitates. She looks to Gregory, then to Cassidy, and finally to Bill, squaring her shoulders and looking at him head-on. But her face betrays her discomfort and sadness. “Today’s date is January 14th, 2037. Afton, you’ve been dead for forty-four years. Cassidy, you and your friends have been dead for fifty-two.”

Cassidy gasps beside him, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. Bill can’t seem to force a single syllable past the lump in his throat. 2037. Dead for forty-four years—but wait, if she’s telling the truth, then that means…

“Wait a moment,” Bill finally manages. Vanessa’s head snaps to him. “If I died again in 2023, and it’s 2037 now, that means it’s been fourteen years since then.”

“...Yeah.”

Fourteen years. Cassidy Anastas has been torturing him for fourteen years. Almost two decades. And neither of them had even realized it.

Cassidy had trapped him in that purgatory, in that custom-built hell, had sent her little puppets to endlessly terrorize and tear him apart at her bidding. She’d forced her friends into playing her games, into playing along with her schemes under threat of punishment. She’d manipulated his family—his children, including her self-proclaimed best friend, his wife, his former best friend and his daughter—into…into…

Into her puppets. That's all they were to her, weren't they? Tools for her to use in her sick and twisted games, pawns on a chess board that only she could see. It was deliberate, calculated—cold in a way only he could recognize. When it came to her revenge, to sating her uncontrollable bloodlust and fury? Nothing else mattered. Not the boy whom she'd shared a suit with her entire afterlife. Not her other friends, reluctant and unwilling to go on. They just wanted to rest, didn't they? Bill remembers conversations with most of them, some nights when he was taking too long to die. We don't really want this, you know. Not anymore. I don't think most of us are angry now. We don't hate you. We just want to go to sleep. But she never let them, did she?

He tried to release you, Anastas' voice echoes in his mind, a memory of one particularly brutal night. He tried to release us. But I'm not gonna let that happen. I will hold you here. I will keep you here. No matter how many times...they burn us.

It would seem she wasn't talking to just him.

It didn't matter who got hurt, did it? It didn't matter that all her friends wanted to rest. It didn't matter that they were tired, restless, scared. Of her. Of what she would do next, of how she would punish them if they dared disagree or fought back against her tyranny. They'd told him bits and pieces of what was going on in their little circle, from time to time. Those stories...they sounded like things he would do, things he did do to keep his children and wife in line. Cassidy isn't so different from him. Maybe she's worse. Worse, because she has the capacity for human emotion, a moral compass, a sense of humanity, a conscience, even. Bill has never had those. Of course he would become a killer. He was a psychopath. That's what they do, isn't it? But her?

She's a child. An eight year old with the same capacity for violence and cruelty as the man who had killed her. She knew better. She had the tools to stop herself and recognize how incredibly fucked up her personal purgatory was for everyone involved. But she didn't care. She didn't care, and she did it anyway. She found ways to make him suffer. To make the others pay for daring to defy her orders.

Ways to manipulate and hurt him, because she knew he cared about them on some level. Surface-level, perhaps, but still. His family were like possessions to him. He loved them, but like one loves a car or money. Even when his children had died, even when his wife had threatened to leave and she'd accidentally killed herself, he was more worried about his reputation and maintaining his perfect, definitely-not-a-serial-killer cover. He was the grieving, widowed husband and father, who had lost two of his children to freak accidents under mysterious circumstances. His only remaining son was rarely seen in public, and when he was seen he was always more of a dog than a person, always at his father's heel and at his beck and call. It had been all too easy to manipulate him after they were left alone, he remembers. Michael had been so broken by their deaths. It seemed like he'd lost the will to live. Bill had actually been worried about him, but it was more of a "don't go out and do something stupid, I don't want to lose my only help around here" kind of worry. So, naturally, Michael took comfort in the only place he knew—his father, who had by then become an expert manipulator and a wonderful, gentle, caring father who definitely meant every word he said. 

Alright, so maybe he didn't love them like he should have. But they were his, and he's never liked sharing his toys.

“Cassidy,” Bill says slowly, trying desperately to reign in his fury. “What the fuck did you do?”

Cassidy whips around to face him, eyes ablaze. “Me? What about you? You were the one who started all this in the first place. If you hadn’t killed fourteen fucking kids, I wouldn’t have felt the need to punish you, now would I?”

“Oh, no no no. You are not pinning this on me, young lady,” he growls, stepping closer into her personal space. “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t ask to be put in that prison in the first place, and certainly not for fourteen fucking years,” he spits viciously, only feeling a little guilty when she flinches away from him.

“Oh, please,” she rolls her eyes, balling her little fists. Her scowl would be adorable if it wasn’t so infuriating. “It wasn’t that bad. You got over most of it within the first year. You were back to your old arrogant jackass self in no time. You told me you weren’t scared of me, remember? You’d never be scared of us again, because you knew those animatronics like the back of your hand. You built them, and you knew exactly how they worked and how to manipulate them. You knew us and how we worked after we’d already spent so many years torturing you in that stupid saferoom. That wasn’t torture. My little custom-built hellscape was torture. What I did to you was torture. And you deserved every fucking second of it.”

“Did they?” Bill asks. He’s unable to keep the gloating out of his tone, but oh, is it worth it to see her face fall in confusion, and then horror as the realization hits. “Did your friends deserve to be tortured for fourteen years at your hand? Did David deserve to be pushed around and bullied by his so-called best friend?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. They chose to join me. They wanted this. I didn’t make them do anything. They could have left whenever they wanted, but they didn’t, and you wanna know why? Because they were having fun. They liked hurting you just as much as I did. They knew you deserved it. David’s a crybaby, of course he’d always be upset. Even if they didn’t want to play along, they still did. No one made them. They hurt you all on their own.” Even through her protests, William can see how quickly she’s becoming undone. Face flushed red, fists shaking with rage at her side, every bone in her body screaming at her to lunge for the jugular and not hold back. But she knows that would be a death sentence. He’d overpowered her once before. He could easily do it again. Would he?

“Did they, darling? Did any of your friends deserve to be held hostage, coerced into doing your bidding or else risk punishment? Oh, yes,” and oh, there’s no point in hiding his vicious glee now. Seeing her like this sends a thrill up his spine. His captor, his tormentor, his worst enemy, small and scared and so goddamn angry but powerless to do anything. “I spoke to the others. I spoke to them quite a bit, in fact. After they would kill me, as I lay bleeding out and waiting to die, they’d talk to me. About you. They got bored after, what, the first year? Second, third? It didn’t take long. Soon enough they were killing me as quickly as they could just to get it over with. They didn’t care anymore. They just wanted out. We all wanted out of your demented little fantasy, but no,” he laughs, somewhat unhinged.

Oh, this feels good. He hasn’t felt this powerful in decades. Seeing her standing there, shaking with fury, tears in her eyes and a wobble to her little lips—it’s intoxicating. It’s  pure adrenaline shooting through his veins. Oh, he’s missed this. “You couldn’t bear to let anyone else take care of me. I’m certain actual hell would feel more like heaven after what you’ve done to me. You couldn’t allow that, could you? And so you, their graceful puppeteer, refused to hear it. The only thing that mattered was you, right? If they got particularly snippy, or if they complained too much about wanting to leave or started rebelling against you too much, or displeased you in any other way, you’d make them regret it. You’d make them pay and beg for your mercy. You’d make sure they remembered their place afterwards. You really are just like me in all of the worst ways. How does it feel?”

“Fuck you, William! What was I supposed to do then, huh? What, let you go so you could cause more chaos and death? Send you to hell just so you could crawl your way out again? Like hell I was gonna let that happen.”

“As if you cared about anyone but yourself! Tell me, Cassidy, did you even know? Did you even realize what you’d done? How much time had passed in the outside world? Did it really take you that long to be satisfied with your little temper tantrum? Your vengeance as you and the others called it? Was it worth it?”

“Oh, you fucking motherfucker! I am going to fuck you up as soon as I get my fucking hands on you! Fucker!”

“Language!”

“You just said fuck earlier!”

“I am an adult—”

“Whatever,” she rolls her eyes, folding her arms across her chest. She hesitates for a moment before turning to look him straight in the eye. “Bitch.”

“Ohh, I’ll smack you, girl,” he warns, with no real intention of following through. But she doesn’t need to know that. “Actions have consequences, young lady.”

“Like getting springlocked because you murdered a bunch of kids?”

“Cassidy Anastas.”

Cassidy scoffs at the use of her full name, her smirk widening when she realizes how easily she’s getting under his skin. “Listen, Peepaw, I appreciate the lecture. but you’re not my dad yet. So take a chill pill, and save it for the American Dream.”

A scathing retort is on the tip of his tongue, but it never makes it past his lips. It takes a moment for her words to register. Surely he’d misheard her. She’s not make sense. There’s no way. “I’m sorry, what?”

She smiles innocently up at him, eyes wide as she realizes she’s caught him in her trap. Fuck. . She looks down at her yellow sweater, brushing imaginary dust off her sleeves as she feigns ignorance. “You know, the American Dream. Nuclear family, white picket fence house. You said you wanted to play family, right? Isn’t that kind of the goal?”

“I…” Bill’s brain has stopped working. He blinks owlishly at the girl, mouth agape in silent horror as he watches her check her light-up sneakers for dirt. How had she figured out his plan? Maybe he hadn’t been as subtle as he’d thought. But like hell he’s going to admit defeat. He is not going to give her the satisfaction. “What?”

She looks up at him with mock concern. “...Bill? Are…are you okay?”

The question is so absurd given the situation that it takes him a minute to gain back control of his speech. Quick. Regain control of the situation. Don’t let your weaknesses show. You’ve already shown enough to her. Play hard to get. Don’t let her think she can just flip the tables on you. You’re better than that. “No, I am not okay,” he sputters finally, throwing his arms in the air. “Have you finally lost your mind? Is that it? What are you talking about? I have never said that I wanted to—to play family, of all things, not with you and the rest of your little urchin friends. I’m sorry if our little heart to heart gave you the wrong impression, my dear, but rest assured you will be rid of me by the end of this whole affair. We will never see each other again.”

Cassidy’s face falls, the anger evaporating and leaving genuine confusion and concern in its place. She steps back just a bit. Suddenly Bill doesn’t feel so angry anymore. He feels like an asshole Because you are. “...I thought you liked me.”

“I…” What is this…strange feeling? It pounds against his ribs, a heavy weight settling on his chest and wrapping around his lungs like a viper around its prey. The thick cloud of emotion suffocates him so quickly he feels lightheaded. What is this? He’s felt it before, he’s sure of it, and yet he can’t name it. When had he last felt this? “I..I don’t…what?” He shoves his head. Focus. Control yourself. Don’t let her win. This is just a ploy. Another trick. Don’t fall for it again. “No. Absolutely not. We’ll have no further use for each other after our deal is complete. And then, you little shit, I am going to make you wish you’d never come back.”

“What are you talking about?” she snaps, her fury coming back with a vengeance. It doesn’t mask the tears in her eyes, the betrayal and hurt in her expression. “We have years left on our deal. We’re gonna be stuck with each other for a while, Bill.” She scowls up at him, tiny face scrunched up in that expression of annoyance and rage that he’s come to know so well. “You should get used to the idea.”

If there’s any blood running through his veins, it goes absolutely frigid once her words fully register. “...What do you mean?” Oh, he hates the way his voice shakes, his usual cowardice breaking through the veneer of smooth indifference. “You said I had a year, remember? Our little deal was that I would bring you all back and I would get out of hell. It’ll take a while, certainly, but not years. At most, six to nine months depending on the efficiency of the technology. You had better not be changing the deal on me now, Cassidy.”

Cassidy scowls. “I’m not changing anything. This was always our deal, remember? The deal was that you would fix everything you did to us. That includes bringing us back and raising us until we’re old enough to go out on our own.”

“What.”

She studies his face carefully, brown monolid eyes flicking back and forth in search of something indescribable. Finally, she steps back, clearly unsatisfied. “You’re…joking, right? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What did you do?”

Bill only feels the smallest twinge of guilt when she backs up even further, back hitting the wall. She recovers quickly, brushing off her sweater again and looking at him like she’d love another chance to tear him apart. “Hey, don’t point fingers at me,” she laughs viciously.  “You agreed to this. Like, almost immediately. You were just as eager to take the deal as I was to give it. I’m willing to admit like ten percent of the blame, but take some fucking responsibility here, old man. You’re the adult here, right? Fucking act like it.” Venom drips from her every word, a viper slithering its way up his spine and wrapping around his throat, ready to strike at her command. That’s the Cassidy Anastas I know. Vicious little monster. Rotten little beast.

Oh, William has had it. Fuck Anastas and her little God complex. Fuck her damned manipulations and riddles. Fuck her unwillingness to accept blame and take responsibility. Fuck her. Oh, she really is Michael reincarnated. They really are the same. “What the actual fuck are you talking about? Cassidy Anastas, you had better start making sense right fucking now or I am going to…” He stops himself before he can say kill. No. Not that far. Not again. Never again. That’s too much. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t other ways to make her pay. A deep breath does little to calm his anger. “I am going to lose my mind. So start talking. Now. ”

Anastas stares at him a moment before bursting into incredulous laughter again. For a moment, he’s not standing in the basement of the Pizzaplex—he’s back in his office, listening to Anastas gloat and taunt him as he waits for his hour of death. “Okay, sure! Fine! I guess being old comes with a lot of memory problems,” she simpers, gnashing her teeth as if ready to sink her teeth into his jugular. Wouldn’t be the first time, unfortunately. She sounds downright maniacal when she continues, near hysterical and arms flailing to accentuate her words. “Let’s backtrack to when you were being a huge dick and bragging about how you killed us and you weren’t sorry and you could totally, definitely, for sure, one hundred percent bring us back and fix everything you did to us, everything you robbed us of. I told you everything we missed out on, everything we lost because of you, and you said you could fix it. You promised. Are you seriously going back on that deal now? After everything we’ve been through?”

She changed the fucking deal. She changed the fucking deal! Oh, he knew he shouldn’t have trusted that little snake. That treacherous little bitch. Of course, he shouldn’t really be surprised—they were the same, after all. But to pull a stunt like this with him? Has she learned nothing in their time together? “I did not agree to that, Anastas! I agreed to bring you and your friends back, but there was no mention of us playing family. If there had, I would have given it significantly more thought.”

“I told you you had a year to fix everything. What the fuck did you think that meant?”

“I thought it meant bringing you all back from the dead and letting you loose into the world like the little menaces you are! I did not agree to play nursemaid to a bunch of little brats.”

“Yes, you fucking did! That was the deal! I’m sorry you’re too egotistical to admit you don’t understand something, but that’s your problem, not mine. It’s not my fault you were too dumb to ask for the terms.”

“Oh, egotistical. What a big word. Where did you learn that one? PBS?”

Anastas glares daggers at his throat. “Watch yourself, Afton. Don’t forget the other terms of our agreement. I could take it all back at any second. I just have to snap my fingers and we’ll be back in your little purgatory in no time. Go ahead. Try me.”

“Oh, very good, Anastas,” William laughs sardonically. His hands are on his hips as he leans forward, attempting to match her eye level. “Very funny. Quit the act already. We both know you can’t do shit. You can’t drag me back there. You can’t do anything, because you don’t know how. Whatever you did to bring us back has stripped us of our supernatural powers, including whatever force it was that allowed you to keep me in line. I’ve known this whole time that you were bluffing. I’ve played along as an act of good faith, but I refuse to endure another one of your little temper tantrums.”

She startles at the information, but to her credit she quickly recovers. She kicks the dirt in lieu of his face. “You’re such an asshole, Afton. If you knew I was lying, why didn’t you say anything, huh? Why didn’t you confront me? Was it because you were still scared of a little eight year old? Even after all these years, you’re still a coward.”

“I didn’t confront you because I didn’t see the point in it. We were already stuck together. No need to create unnecessary tension, something you clearly don’t understand.” Anastas’ looks could kill. This time they might. William doesn’t intend to find out. He refuses to be scared of this little urchin any longer. “You have no concept of cooperation. You have to be in charge at all times or you break down. It must be awful for the tables to turn on you like this. As soon as we were out, you were acting like the foolish, naive little girl you really are. You were following me around, listening to my every word, looking to me for comfort and safety, trusting that I knew what I was doing and wouldn’t betray you the second it was convenient for me to do so. Well, I’ve got bad news for you, darling. I’m in charge now. I have been since the moment we stepped foot out of the basement. You’re only alive because I say so. Your every breath is a gift from me. You should be more grateful.”

Anastas has the gall to summon some fake tears for her performance. “Fuck you!” she screams through a sob. Oohh, nice touch. A+. “Fuck you. You don’t know shit. You don’t know anything about me or my friends. You deserved it. They know it, too. They were happy to play with me. I didn’t make them do anything. Just because you’re bigger than me doesn’t mean you can boss me around.”

“I think it does,” he replies calmly, ignoring the fake flow of sudden tears. She’s really playing into it, isn’t she? “I’m tired of you acting so high and mighty, like you’re so much better than everyone else. Who the hell died and put you in charge? From what I’ve heard, no one. You put yourself in charge, because for some reason you think you’re above everyone else, and above the rules everyone else has to follow. You’ve tortured me and your friends for God knows how long, using fear and intimidation to force everyone to play your little games. It ends now. It’s time for you to learn the fucking consequences of your actions.”

“Just you wait, Afton. I’ll fucking kill you. The goddamned second I have my body back, you are going to regret fucking with me.” If William didn’t know better, he’d absolutely be fooled by her little act. It looks so convincing. He’s impressed, actually. Every limb shakes with rage and terror, tears staining her flushed cheeks and adding a certain oomph to the words she’s pretending to force out. Well done, indeed.

“I hardly think so, dear. You’re as powerless now as you were the day I bashed your pathetic little skull in. You don't know anything. You're only eight. A child. A child that has been a thorn in my side for far too fucking long and is the most selfish, unreasonable, irritating, impudent little brat I've ever known. So kindly fuck off and leave me alone.”

And suddenly she wants to act all innocent and confused, arms falling to her sides and hands twisting the hem of her sweater. Her face falls, betraying her uncertainty and confusion, her nervousness and fear.

Oh, Anastas. She really did take after him. She’s a born actress. William has to marvel at the audacity. Is she really going this route? Is she really trying to fool him? Oh, no, she’s much too late for that. William has Anastas wrapped tight around his finger—clearly, as evidenced by her pathetic dependency on him, her insatiable craving for his praise and approval—her desperation for an emotion he refuses to name and cannot give. An emotion she seems to want from him and only him. An emotion he wouldn’t give her even if he could. Anastas is a tool to him. A puppet to manipulate, to be used and discarded as he pleases. Oh, that poor thing. She’d fallen for his con after all. She cares about him.

But he doesn't feel the same. Of course he doesn't. How foolish would he be to fall for his own con? Anastas is an inconvenience at best and an obstacle at worst. William knows this. He’s known this from the moment he’d realized he was in charge—it had been the plan all along, hadn’t it? So then why do his words sound like a desperate grab for control? Why do they sound hollow even to his own mind? Why does her performance feel so genuine? Why do her emotions seem so real? How is she able to get under his skin so badly and make him regret ever opening his mouth?

Because it is. Because they are. Because despite what you tell yourself, despite everything she’s done, you care about her. You were always a skilled liar, William, but you never could manage to lie to yourself.

Suddenly he’s not so angry anymore. Suddenly Cassidy’s little voice is echoing through his head, reminding him of another promise he’d made and broken. Another person he cared about, who he’d hurt and betrayed.

I’m just so tired. I’m tired of being angry. I’m tired of being mean to my friends and bossing them around all the time. I’m tired and I’m angry and I’m scared.

I…suppose I was tired of being angry, too. I’m tired of being angry and hurting the people I care about. I’m tired of hurting myself. If I want things to be better this time…if I want to keep my family, and keep them in my life, and make them love me again, I have to be…better. I can’t be angry anymore.

Bill blinks. Suddenly he doesn’t see Anastas anymore, bitter and vindictive and full of hatred and fury. Instead, he just sees Cassidy. Small, funny, clever, compassionate, adorable Cassidy. His Cassidy.

His daughter.

Bill feels sick. Nausea overtakes him as he opens his mouth to respond to the question he'd already forgotten. It’s for the best—he wouldn't have been able to speak through the lump in his throat anyway. Are those tears in the corner of his eyes, or is the room just blurry all of a sudden? That bizarre feeling from earlier is back, ten times stronger and punching the air from his lungs. What is this feeling?

“I hate you,” she chokes out through another sob. She turns and marches toward the wall, sits down, and curls herself into a ball, crying the whole time.

Someone whistles low. Someone else smacks them. Bill turns to look at Vanessa and Gregory pretending like they weren’t watching the whole time. They’re not very good at it. Bill can’t say he really blames them. It’s a bit hard to ignore when the room is empty enough for acoustics and they'd been screaming bloody murder at each other. Besides, that had probably been the most interesting thing to happen all night. Instead of telling them off or trying to justify himself, he just sighs and ignores them in favor of comforting Cassidy.

“I can’t believe I was so stupid,” she mumbles against her knees as he approaches. Her little body is wracked with sobs, every tiny hiccup sending another stab of guilt to his gut. He lowers himself to the ground beside her.

“So goddamn stupid.” Cassidy’s words sound strangled in her throat. Her breaths come out as panicked, sharp gasps, “You were right. I’m stupid and naive and gullible and desperate and stupid. I can’t believe I fell for it. I can’t believe I actually believed you. I really thought you were serious and meant everything you said. I really thought you wanted to change, to be better and to make up for all the horrible shit you did to everyone. That we were the same, that I’d finally found someone who understood me and knew what I was and accepted me anyway.” Her words are muffled by the fabric of her jeans. He has to strain to make out the words through her strangled sobbing. “I was so desperate to have a dad that I listened to every damn word you said and followed you around like some lost puppy. I bet you fucking enjoyed that, didn’t you? Having your worst enemy at your beck and call, hanging onto every word you said because she didn’t know any fucking better. I can’t believe I thought you’d changed, that you cared about me and actually wanted me even though no one else did. I’m such an idiot. I’m so stupid.”

Uhm.

Okay…

What the fuck.

Alright, fine, so he cares for the little brat a bit. Just a tiny bit, mind you, and it’s nothing like that feral possessiveness he gets over his other children. She’s alright sometimes. But this is…pushing it. More than pushing it—like shoving it off a cliff.

Bill, being the emotionless monster he is, takes a moment to process what the hell just happened and why. What the hell is she crying for? Why does she want her murderer to care about her? Hadn't she spent the last fourteen years torturing him and getting her minions to tear him apart every night? Hadn't she taunted and mocked and belittled him all this time? Hadn't she reveled in every second of his misery, over and over and over again? Hadn't she tortured him further by giving him that little respite every night, dangling his family in front of him, showing him the life he could have had if he wasn't such a remorseless monster? Hadn't she?

So where the hell is this coming from?

Okay. Take a breath. Calm down. Assess the situation, and react accordingly. Right. We've been in the basement for fourteen years. She changed the deal without telling me. We got into a row about it and now she's upset that...I don't want to be her father. That cannot be right.

He doesn’t know what to think. But Cassidy is crying, it's his fault, and those two morons are looking at him like he's just shot someone. Why? It's not his fault she's delusional. Did he feed into it at some point? Did he make her think this? Is it just her desperation for some external validation and any sense of normalcy in this chaotic mess she'd gotten them into? Is it her finally showing who she really is—a scared and defenseless little girl who has to rely on her worst enemy to keep her safe? Or is it that he's the only adult she knows, and she has no other choice? Would she choose someone else, if she could? Does it matter?

Not right now it doesn't. Right now what matters is getting through that damn door, and that's not going to happen until Cassidy calms down. And, considering it could be interpreted as his fault that she's upset in the first place, he takes it upon himself to fix it.

Cassidy stills as he approaches. She’s silent as he moves to sit next to her. His back hits the wall, and she relaxes just a bit, but shuffles away from him. She refuses to raise her head to meet his eyes. Ah well. He’ll work with what he’s got.

Now for the hard part.

What is he supposed to say? He genuinely has no idea. Is he supposed to apologize and lie again, say he’s sorry and that she’s right and that of course he’ll be her father? Is he supposed to say and do whatever it takes to stop her from crying? Is he supposed to help her face reality as gently as he can?

In the end, he settles for a question.

“Why me?” he finally manages.

“…What?”

“Why me? Why on earth would you all want to stay with me?”

“Why wouldn’t we?” Cassidy asks, voice a hesitant whisper.

“Why would you?” he chokes out, suddenly very interested in his nail beds. “Why on earth would you ever want to stay with me? You know me. You know what I’ve done. You know I can’t be trusted.”

Cassidy seems to have noticed his change in disposition. She deflates, all the anger seemingly dissipating and replaced with a quiet resignation. She leans against him, wrapping her arms around his bicep. “First of all, because you promised, dickhead, and I’m gonna hold you to that. You promised you were trying to be better. You said we could work together and we could get better together. You said you were tired of being angry. But I guess you were lying about that, too.”

“No! No, no, no. No, of—of course not.” That part is true, at least. He really had thought he —they—c ould beat the odds together. Make something more out of what they chose to be. Of course I was lying, he thinks bitterly. Another wave of nausea overtakes him. Bill screws his eyes shut. I didn’t mean to, but—I did. I did it again. I fucked everything up. I hurt someone I care about. I’ve always been a monster. I don’t understand why I care now. I don’t know what I was thinking. I was so stupid to think I could ever change. I was so stupid to believe her.

“I don’t believe you.” Cassidy takes a sudden interest in the floor, picking at the ground in between the tiles. “Look. We don’t…we don’t know anybody else. We know Clara, but she’s gonna go with you ‘cause you’re probably gonna make her, so it doesn’t matter who we choose. Henry is a jackass who only cares about his own kid and doesn’t really see us as people.”

She pauses to sigh, wrapping her arms tighter around Bill. She still won’t look him in the eye. “We can’t just go out and try to live on our own. We don’t know anything about the world now. I mean, not that we really did before, but who knows how long it’s been? We don’t know what’s changed. We’re the only people who understand each other. You’re the only adult we can trust, as ironic and stupid as that is. We don’t have anywhere else to go. We need you.” A contemplative pause. She looks up at him, earnest and desperate and yet still so defiant. She can play a part when she has to, but she’ll never submit. A true Afton.

“I wasn’t lying,” he lies. “I meant it. I can…I can be better.” Another lie. They slide off his tongue like snakes in the grass, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. “I can change. I can fulfill our deal. I can take care of you and the others. I can. I will.”

“…How do I know you’re not lying to me again?”

“You don’t. But I’ll make this right. I’ll make it up to you.”

“...Okay.” She eyes him warily. Her little eyes dart across his face, looking for a tell that will betray his deceit. She finds nothing—Bill has an exceptional poker face. “So then…how does knowing the actual deal change anything? You’re still getting your dumb family back. You’re still trying to be better. Are you still going to bring us back?”

“Yes. Yes, of course I will. That was the deal. I have to honor it.”

“Why? I don’t have any power over you any more. I couldn’t punish you if you broke the rules. You said it yourself—you’re in charge now, not me. You could just leave me here, or kill me again. Why bother going through with it?”

“I made you a promise. I intend to keep it. As a sign of good faith, as proof that I really am trying to be better, and that I meant every word I said.” Bill takes a deep breath, steeling himself against another surge of unfamiliar emotion in his chest. Hopefully this one won’t last as long. She looks up at him, eyes wide and pleading, and dammit, he just might do anything for her. Even this. All of this just might be worth it.

And then, a breath so quiet and ashamed he can barely hear: “Promise.”

Bill can’t say no to that. I can’t say no to her. Fuck. “...Okay. Okay. I can do that. Alright. I’ll fulfill my end of the deal, all of it, and I’ll bring you all back. I’ll take you in and raise you.. All of you.”

Oh, the thought sickens him. Raising a family again? With children he barely knows, no less. 

With children he’s spent the past forty-four years with. With children he might as well call his own, because he knows every little thing about them. Every tiny detail, every inch of their faces and every minute facet of their personalities. Every flaw, every insecurity, every doubt and shame and fear. Every celebration, every achievement, every hope and dream and  passion. What they like and what they hate. Favorite foods. Favorite movies. Favorite hobbies. Favorite sports. Favorite games. Favorite this. Favorite that. Who they wanted to be if they could have grown up. Who they will be. Bill knows everything.

 Well, of course he does. Trapped in a metal coffin, unable to move and stuffed in a back room with nowhere to go and nothing to do? A literal captive audience for his tormentors. Seven children who constantly felt the need to ramble for hours on end about this or that. The only thing he’d never heard them talk about was their families. They never mentioned their parents or siblings. Maybe it was too painful. Maybe they didn’t remember. Maybe they didn’t care. But he certainly heard about everything else. Whatever came to mind, Bill heard about it. And, apparently, he’d listened.

Oh. Oh, no. No no no no no no no. No. I refuse. I will not. I won’t let them.

Cassidy is still watching him, head tilted and eyes narrowed. Waiting for his response. What had been the question? His words come out in quick, shallow breaths, so fast he can barely comprehend his own words. It doesn’t matter. As long as I can fix this. As long as she still wants me. As long as she stays. She can’t leave me. Not like the others. She has to stay. “I promise.”

She smiles as chokes back another sob. She tries to say something, but the words are lost in her whimpers. So instead she buries her face in his chest again, and he squeezes her just a little tighter. She squeezes him back. Being held is a rather nice feeling, he thinks, one he’s finding he enjoys. It’s nice to be acknowledged. Appreciated, even if only a little. Wanted. Cared for. Maybe, one day, he can earn back the right to be loved. By his wife, by his children, by his former best friend, by this little girl in his arms that reminds him of his eldest but is a menace all her own. Stranger things have happened, he supposes. Well. He can dream.

And just like that, everything is okay again. It’s like nothing had even happened. All is normal again. Cassidy her usual snarky self and Bill her unwilling straight man.

It doesn’t last long. But he appreciates the moment anyway.

“What are you doing?” Gregory asks suspiciously, coming over to sit by them. Apparently he’d gotten bored of simply watching the drama unfold and wanted to be a part of it.

Bill suppresses a deep sigh. Damn. He’d forgotten they were here. Vanessa at least has the decency to look incredibly uncomfortable. “I have recently made the decision to become a decent person—”

“No, I mean what are you doing? Why are you holding her like that?”

“I’m…comforting her?” Is he doing it wrong? Is this not normal? Is this weird for him to do? Shit.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

This fucking dumbass. No way is he my clone. His DNA must have been tainted. Not my First-Class Honours from Oxford ass. Absolutely not. “It means,” Bill says slowly, because he is talking to a small child (even if he doesn’t look the part), “that the child is upset, and in order to stop her from screaming, I must make her feel better. Does that make sense?”

Gregory frowns in confusion. “But why?”

Bill is seriously considering Cassidy’s one more child offer. “Why do you think, Gregory?”

“Well, I know, but why should we care?” At the adults’ horrified stares, he shrugs and waves a hand. “What? We don’t know her. She’ll get over it whether we help her or not. Shouldn’t we just leave her here and try to figure out the door?”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Bill asks before he can stop himself.

Thankfully, Vanessa seems to agree. “What the hell, Rory? We’ve talked about this,” she says slowly, talking to him like the complete idiot he is. “Sometimes, thoughts should stay in our heads. We don’t need to say everything out loud.”

Gregory doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed. “I’m just saying…”

“Well, you can shut it. She’s eight years old, dude.”

“And a member of our team, which means her health and wellbeing are important if we all want to make it out of this alive,” Bill adds, his words sharp with anger. Who does this little shit think he is? Nobody shit talks his kids but him. …That’s probably not the right mindset to have. He should probably work on that.

“Yeah, I agree. Rory, why don’t you go try and figure out the door while we stay with her?”

“Yes, please go be useless somewhere else. And if you talk to her like that again, I’ll kill you. I have a free pass.”

Vanessa nods as her brother sulks away. “Yeah, sorry about that…” She pauses, seemingly considering the absurdity of the situation. Then she shrugs and places a hand on Cassidy’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. “You’ll be okay, kid. We got ya.”

Hm. Maybe she’s not so bad after all. At least she's nothing like her dipshit brother. He might be able to deal with her after all.