#(( i set this during your night guard henry verse I hope that’s ok!!!!!! ))

[runelocked]

“I always thought you were smart, but a smart man would let sleeping dogs lie.” // @gunactii henry !

EVERYTHING HURTS, THOUGH THAT’S NOTHING NEW. William focuses on one task at a time, that’s what he’s been reduced to, and for the moment, chooses breathing over replying to Henry’s words. It’s not as if either of them are going anywhere, anyway. But the words — the first words Henry has spoken to him since the springlock incident, hell, since William had manipulated and murdered him — ring loud in the room, and have him fuming, embittered by the reminder.

Smart, yes, but not immune from paranoia. Far from it: in his mind’s eye, he reflects on the events that had led him here, lying in a pool of his own blood, locked in a back room by the very animatronics and children he’d sought to destroy in the first place. He hadn’t expected that anything could have possibly gone wrong, sauntering into the pizzeria that night — what the hell could go wrong when all he planned on doing was destroying some old suits?

(Of course the spirits inside them hadn’t been grateful. Spoilt brats. William’s hatred and rage festers, and the rabbit suit around him groans in warning.)

(It hurts. Henry’s presence hurts more.)

And it gets to the point where he can’t focus on anything other than the accusations, and so ever-impatient, ever-prideful, William opens his mouth, spits out blood and metal. His first words in God knows how long. He’s stopped trying to keep track of how many days, weeks, months have passed since he’d been boarded up. Time moves differently when you’re dead, apparently. But he’s not really dead, is he? This is so much more than death. “A smart man,” he replies, words red-raw and rattling, “would— would never have believed we needed a security guard to watch over some u s e less hunks of metal.”

It’s the best he can do; a jab at Henry’s own death, at William’s betrayal. He’s too absorbed in turning over, suit and all, from the corner to the other side of the room where he lets his hollow, venomous, agonised gaze rest on his old friend. The rabbit suit’s eyes flicker and splutter and glow dim.

“Why do you stay here, Henry? To gloat?”