#(uiii) kairos: michael.

[runelocked]

❝ Why are you telling me this? ❞

AS IF THE HUMILIATION OF ADMITTING HIS VULNERABILITY TO A STRANGER WHO IS SUPPOSED TO BE HIS SON ISN'T BAD ENOUGH ! Will's mind reels at the absurdity of it all. From a fight in college to this: twenty, thirty years in the future, staring at a near - doppelganger of himself and wondering what the fuck happened to make his oldest (he has multiple?) child (he’s a father??) so tired looking. Helplessness buzzes non - stop under his skin, a living testament of his discomfort, and he scratches his arm roughly, nails snagging at a healing scab from a boy's ring landing a nasty punch, glancing away.

" What did you want me to do, NOT tell anyone I'm from the past ? " He demands. Despite the frigidity in his voice, his words come out strained, even a little uncertain. " You're the first familiar face I could find. I didn't come here just to spill my story for no reason. My only other option was finding ME: and as nice as I'm sure that would have been, I didn't exactly want to risk a paradox or something. " . . . If he's still alive. All he's done is overhear the name, hunt down && meet Michael, confirm his last name, and immediately blurt out his identity. Beyond that, he knows nothing. Doesn't know the year, the place, the people. Unfamiliarity rocks his every word, leaves them patchy, rough with an accent looser than what it usually is performed as. " I'm not asking for much, " Will adds, more than a little peevishly, " I'm asking for a favor. [...] As far as I can tell, I'm going to be your father in two years. Pass the gratitude you have for HIM to ME, Michael. Cut me a little slack here. "

[runelocked]

“ OH,  SO  THIS  IS  MY  FAULT,  IS  IT ? ”  WHAT  HAD  BEEN  A  BRIEFLY  JOYOUS  MOMENT  TURNS  COMPLETELY  TO  RESENTFUL  DISBELIEF  AT  THE  SIGHT  OF  MICHAEL.  While  William  hadn’t  quite  planned  for  this  outcome,  he’d  have  been  an  idiot  not  to  have  put  back - ups  in  place  for  unexpected  failures . . .  and  now  he  thanks  whatever  useless  deity  is  listening  that  he  did  plan !  Being  turned  into  a  hideous  undead  creature  stuck  inside  the  decaying  mascot  suit  hadn’t  exactly  been  part  of  his  grand  plan,  and  now  he’s  back  with  his  own  mind  intact  and  bodily  autonomy  that  doesn’t  also  involve  the  Spring - Bonnie  suit,  he  can  begin  putting  that  plan  into  motion  once  again.

If  Michael  doesn’t  insist  on  getting  in  his  way.  “ Christ,  Michael. ”  Turning  away  in  bubbling  anger  lets  William’s  face  contort  in  uneasy  surprise.  He  hasn’t  said  the  boy’s  name  in  God  knows  how  long.  He’d  almost  forgotten  how  it  sounds,  coming  from  his  own  voice  –  Michael,  he  repeats  internally,  trying  to  get  used  to  it.  Michael.  

 “ You  never  make  anything  easy,  do  you. ”  It’s  more  bitterly  resigned  than  anything  else.  There’s  simply  no  way  around  it.  He’s  going  to  have  to  factor  Michael  into  his  plans.  He’d  be  foolish  to  assume  his  son  will simply  let  him  continue  with  his  goals  unchallenged,  but  for  now,  William  is  determined  to  use  it  to  his  advantage:  he  spins  curtly  on  his  heel,  and  stalks  off  towards  their  house,  and  knows  that,  like  always,   Michael  will  follow. 

At his son's next words, William actually laughs, caught off -guard and too proud not to be slightly infuriated by the insinuation. “ Please,  Michael – ”  (Again,  that  residual  surprise  at  the  name.)  “ Have  a  little  faith. ”

Faith.  That’s  what  William  is  clinging  to  right  now,  the  growing  hope  and  rock - solid  certainty  of  his  own  genius.  The  work  he’s  put  into  this  before  his  untimely  death,  the  ( literal )  blood  he’s  poured  into  this  project . . .   While,  no,  he  hadn’t  accounted  for  Michael,  he’d  accounted  for  almost  everything  else.  This  has  to  be  it.

“ Do  you  really  think  I’d  send  myself  back  to  a  broken  timeline ? ” ( And  very  carefully  keeps  his  lips  sealed  about  any  plans.  The  plans  are  for  him  to  know,  and  Michael  to  stay  the  hell  away  from. )

@slaughterlocked // cont from here

MICHAEL DIDN’T QUITE KNOW WHAT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN TO THEM— how could he? He was prepared for the destruction, for the flickering flames to engulf them both along with every fragment of discarded legacies left behind. Michael was so exhausted, he IS exhausted, yet the lethargic existence he has clung to throughout the years does not stop him from following his father time and time again. In response to his instructions or to chase him down, it doesn’t matter. Of course Michael follows him back in time. What did he did he would happen? That he would finally ESCAPE? That he wouldn't be tethered to the man until the end?

He couldn't let his father escape in turn, either, not after all he had done to try and atone.

"Yes!—" Michael throws his hands in an anxious fit of an answer, clearly not as concerned with avoiding a scene as his father is. He hasn't gotten the chance to look in a mirror yet, but he doesn't need to: waking up in the body of his teenage self, without the rotting decay, yet still with years worth of reflection, is enough to turn his insides out without the help of his father's creations. He is relieved, and sick, and angry, and desperate all at once. "What else was I supposed to do? Let you come back here alone?"

It is 1983 and all is not well. Michael IS the same hopeless boy he's always been in more ways than one, now, but he has an upper hand now that he didn't before. "What are you planning on doing here? Fixing everything?" Michael knows enough now to realize his father's definition of FIXING it all was never what he would call it. "The odds are it's all broken anyway just 'cause we're here in the first place."

[runelocked]

HE’S THE ONE AT A DISADVANTAGE HERE, AND YET MICHAEL STARES AT HIM LIKE HE’S RUNNING AN AUTOCRACY FROM A GOLDEN FUCKING THRONE. Despite being supremely uncomfortable for multiple reasons — it doesn’t exactly feel right, being here, flies buzzing around his head, nevermind being forced to rely on someone who is essentially a stranger — William draws the smallest bit of satisfaction and disquiet at the sight. It means, he hopes, that his son recognizes him, and not just from a reflection. It means he is at least familiar, and enough of a commanding presence in the future to draw respect.

Not respect. That’s not respect in Michael’s eyes. That’s the disquieting part William is too much of a coward and way too stressed to dwell on. Instead he lets a scowl fall upon his features, irate, and suppresses the urge to snap. Tries for politeness instead, though it still comes out rocky, sharp pebbles on an otherwise sandy beach.

“ If I knew what happened, I like to think I would be more prepared than being forced to seek out my own son for answers, ” It comes out biting, choking on that thick London accent he’d tried and would succeed to stamp out. This only irritates him further, and he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Despite having said so little, Michael is testing his patience. “ I heard a noise coming from outside my room. I opened the door. And wouldn’t you know ? Apparently that was the recipe for time travel ! ”

The story’s not strictly true, but it’s honest enough that William makes it earnest. Pursing his lips, displeased at being forced to show his cards first but knowing ultimately that it would be a lost cause demanding Michael trust him first, a flicker of vulnerability settles in his crossed arms and rough exhale.

“ How I found you ? I was mistaken for you, believe it or not. Michael Afton in whatever fucking year this is, seems to look an awful lot like his father from 1967. ” If he’d been any less irate, there’d be a touch of pride in his voice. At least his son inherited his looks. “ Very easy to get information when people think you’re the younger brother of the person you’re looking for. Are you satisfied ? Did I pass the inspection ? ” Is so used to taking at this point, but isn’t yet far enough from his youth to forget what it feels like to have to give and give and for it to never be enough. William’s stance is brittle and tight with defensiveness he disguises as being too warm. Because it is fucking warm. Always is in Utah. “ Dare I ask what year it is, or do you want my entire life story first ? ”

CONTINUED. / @bravevolunteer

[runelocked]

❝ What day is it? ❞

FOR A LONG MOMENT IN THE AFTON HOUSEHOLD, THE SILENCE SPEAKS FOR ITSELF. And then sound rushes back all too abruptly: the tick-tick-tick of the grandfather clock, the tapping of an overgrown tree branch against an upstairs window, the noiseless simmering anger from William, sitting motionless at the breakfast table. There is an empty place where Michael’s mother might have once sat, and another for his brother. Empty like there’s a chance they’ll return: as if!

…To William’s right hand side, there should have been Elizabeth. Only sheets of doodles — ranging from her family to a certain pretty new animatronic — remain, along with William’s silence. What does the day matter? He wants to shout at his eldest (and now only) surviving child; barely catches himself, one hand moving woodenly to grip at the table as if physically holding himself back. What kind of question is that? Don’t you know what I have done? What I could do (want to do) to you if you bother me more?

“My Elizabeth is gone.” Is all he says flatly. Tuned wrong, an out of key piano. Gets to his feet abruptly, is too caught in his own mind to see anything amiss about Michael, be it physical or emotional. After all, assuming his son has travelled backwards in time — it would be absurd, wouldn’t it? “I need your help in the Funtime auditorium tonight. You’ll come with me.” There’s no won’t you? attached to the end: William has not asked his son a question in a very long time. Demands are his poison; even if his voice is wrong and wrung out and wired dangerous, it never lacks that clipped authority. “Get changed. And,” he adds, very sharp, “don’t ask stupid questions.”