#(a.verse): charlie

[runeians]

IT’S STRANGE, SEEING SOMEONE LIKE WILLIAM LOOK SO OLD. She’s sure he wouldn’t thank her for the thought, but her eyes track over him curiously, and she sees it all: the lines of exhaustion, the greying hair, the delicate composition of his body. Even as spindly as her own physical form is, the Puppet hardly a creature of brute strength, he looks far more fragile. Dangerous, still, and the moment he scowls, she withdraws a little further into herself, but more tired. . . . Dare she say more human ?

“ You’re not really a monster, ” she says curiously, wandering just a few steps closer, and this is what had killed her before—TRUST—but still she finds herself moving, “ you don’t sound like one anymore, anyway. And you certainly don’t look like one. ”

The injuries help. Phantom though they are, Charlie knows they at least existed: has seen the man bleed out more than once. And it’s a comforting sight as much as it makes her sad and troubled — and now it stiffens her words with childish resolve, tilting the Puppet’s head at him. Those gaping black eyes on its porcelain head drilling deep into his face.

“ You’re not a monster in here, ” she observes, “ and I miss talking to people. The others… they’re not themselves anymore. ” Whether Cassidy has taken over them in some way, or whether they’re simply as hellbent on revenge as she is, Charlie can’t tell. But she’s been lonely! Despite her best efforts, a faint pout enters her voice when she speaks next: “I hate being alone. So I thought I’d come here. It makes sense, cause you’re alone too, right?”

(Well. When he’s not being mauled by animatronics and his own victims.)

CONTINUED. / @behindslaughter

[runeians]

THE ONLY NOISE SHE CAN LET OUT IS A GASP. How can she be expected to scream or cry out when it feels like all the wind has been knocked from her lungs, in pain and terror and betrayal? Little shoulders heaving for breath that hurts more than it helps, Charlie clings — she has always clung to people, especially her loved ones — clings to William like her uncle can save her from himself. Hah ! Only then does she notice the smile, the knife, the glinting eyes. And it’s only then that she tries to run.

She doesn’t make it very far at all. Manages a wobbly little step back before her legs begin to give out, and she wants to sit down, she wants to sit in the rain with her father’s arms around her. “You…” is all she says, accusing word barely audible, settling thick and heavy with hurt and fear, “you—”

Doesn’t try to fight, doesn’t try to defend. Charlie only mumbles— “it hurts,” and removes one hand from William to clutch instead at her stomach. It’s stained red instantly, deep and dark, and she doesn’t know anything about the amount of blood in a child but she DOES know she’s in danger. Hazy brown eyes lift upwards, meet with William’s, one rounded hand still wetly holding onto him. “Please don’t. U— Uncl—” He has all the power here: less of an uncle figure and now a monster, distorted and demonic, looming over her with intention to hurt.

CONTINUED. / @trapton

[runeians]

"Calm down, alright? I know you're hurting, and I know things are confusing, but getting angry with me is not the answer!" charlie from henry!

SHE NO LONGER HAS THE PUPPET’S STRENGTH, but she hopes it hurts just a bit when her fists slam into her father’s chest. She’s small, smaller than she remembers, and so much more fragile: her body shakes with the magnitude of emotion she can’t contain. Back in time, her mind supplies helpfully, as her hands fist around Henry’s shirt, tugs herself closer to the familiar — terrible, caring, awful, lovely — figure. She’s back, alive and safe and warm and not stuck in the rain or a machine’s cold grasp: so why is she still so frightened?

It hits her then that her father does not know. Doesn’t understand why his daughter has, very suddenly and abruptly, broken down in the middle of a conversation about the mean older boys in the diner, unless he also remembers, and Charlotte just can’t take that. The idea that her father remembers it all… everything from the future, her past?… haunts her. She does not want that Henry. She wants this one: the kind, if distracted father, the one who does not trick her or trap her in the flames even if it had been to end her suffering.

Slowly, her hands loosen, come to his face instead. Impossible to believe this is real: Charlie’s eyes are wet with tears.

“I don’t wanna go back,” she tells him, voice wobbly, and what is she talking about? The diner? The future? She hardly knows herself. “I’m mad at you. I’m mad at everyone, papa.”

[runeians]

SHE  CAN  SMELL  THE  LIQUOR  FROM  HIS  WORDS,  AND  IT  DOESN’T  FILL  HER  WITH  MUCH  CONFIDENCE  ABOUT  GETTING  HOME.  If  he  offers  to  drive,  she’ll  try  to  persuade  him  otherwise:  tell  him,  in  a  tone  and  with  words  she’s  picked  up  from  her  father,  that  he  ‘ doesn’t  seem  up  for  it, ‘  that  he ' isn't looking  so  good '  -  never  let  it  be  said  that  Henry  Emily  does  not  care  for  his  friends,  even  if  Charlie  knows  he  comes  off  as  patronizing  sometimes.  But  William  sounds  sincere,  if  odd,  so  she  nods  gratefully  at  his  presence,  grips  her  uncle’s  hand  tightly,  camaraderie  shining  in  her  eyes  as  he  mentions  his own past.  The  mean,  tall  boys  inside  almost  forgotten  about.  If  only  she’d  known  of  her  approaching  fate  -  if  only  she  had  trusted  the  man  a  little  less.

“ Please, ”  she  says  of  his  suggestion,  free  hand  reaching  to  try  and  tuck  his  own  hair  back  from  his  face  like  he’s  done  with  her.  A  quiet  hiccup  traps  a  last  quiet  sob  in  her  throat,  makes  her  voice  small.  “ You’re  sure  you  don’t  mind ? ”  Hand  slipping  from  the  loose  strands  of  his  hair,  she  instead  touches  his  shoulder,  dark  finger  damp  the  moment  it  comes  into  contact  with  the  shirt.  Her  own  shirt  is  soaked  through,  doing  little  to  ward  off  the  cold.  “ Papa  will  be  happy  to  see  you  again  too.  I  think  he  worries  about  you  sometimes. ”

@trapton / CONTINUED.

[runeians]

you’re sweet. you shouldn’t waste that on people that don’t deserve it. / will to charlie on the night he murdered her maybe <3 <3 <3

CHARLIE HAS ALWAYS BEEN A SILENT CRIER. Now, she gazes up at her saving grace, eyes big and brown and wet, and tries through her tears to give him a smile that conveys the depth of her gratitude. Uncle Will has been a little different for a while, and seeing him here, with her, offering kindness… well, now she’s tearing up for a whole different reason. “They don’t know any better,” she insists, earnestness pouring into her words, gazing back in through the window to the warmth of the diner. The rain has soaked her; she shivers, limply, as a chill traces a finger down her spine, yearning to be back inside and in her father’s arms. “People hurt other people because they don’t realise it hurts, or because they’re hurting too. That’s what Papa tells me.” The bigger boys teasing her usually don’t bother her, but tonight they’d got under her skin.

Reaching up for the man’s hand, an instinctive motion, Charlie Emily is a good kid. She smiles at him through the tears shining in her eyes, and wipes away her sadness. She’s still left with tear stains on the sleeve of her sweater. Maybe she can convince her uncle to come back to her house for hot cocoa and cake to say thank you…

“I’m glad you found me.” A simple, sincere admission. She would have been glad of anyone, but seeing William makes her feel just a little less cold out here.