#(uiii) kairos: william.

[runelocked]

KNIFE TO THE HEART, SET THE PLACE ALIGHT. THOSE ARE THE ONLY FRANTIC WORDS RUNNING THROUGH HIS HEAD as he viciously twists the knife, hoping beyond hope that this is it. He’s done it. Killed his future self, proven that he can be good admittedly through violence, but hey, if it kills William, who cares? — maybe now, he can go home. He hopes he gets to say sorry to Mike first. The boy had been purple with exhaustion. And purple with something about a scooper? . . . but Will hadn’t really been paying attention by that point.

He hasn’t stabbed someone before. Is not at all prepared for how horrifically cathartic it feels, to see his own power reflected back in the form of a silver gleaming knife and paling silver eyes. Steps back, stumbles back, putting a modicum of space between them. Without even realising it, a fascinated glowing smile spreads over his face, half - repulsed, half - giddy. Until ——————

Until William is laughing and pushing the knife in further; until he is pulling it out, unaffected by the gaping wound in his chest. Will can only stare, mouth parting in horror with no words as William speaks mockingly . . . That should have crippled him, at least ! Yes, he knows the other had enhanced life, knows he won’t die from old age — but this is far beyond simple immortality. This defies nature entirely. Pain, death, injury: his future self rises above them all. And Will finds, with a sinking dread, that he’s brimming with terror and envy.

It’s his turn to laugh now, only slightly hysterical, taking another step back, and another. Cogs turning frantically in his mind, searching for a way out of this.

“ Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot, ” he offers, weakly, for lack of a better option, “ let’s — let’s be reasonable about this, shall we ? It would be unwise to act rashly here. […] The timeline could be at stake. ”

Because he sees the anger behind the amusement, senses that there is a possibility he won’t make it out alive. Doesn’t realise there’s a bigger possibility he won’t make it out unchanged. And Will, desperate even at a young age to avoid brushes with death, suddenly feels like a rat trapped in a cage with a bigger, hungrier cat. . . . Perhaps stabbing his unstable future self had been his worst decision to date.

Not to mention, he’s beginning to realise how worryingly eager he is to grab the knife and try again.

CONTINUED. / @behindslaughter

[runelocked]

❝ What would you do if there was no tomorrow? ❞ // henry

TIME LOOP SENTENCE STARTERS / ALWAYS ACCEPTING!

WHAT A STRANGE QUESTION. BEMUSED IS THE ONLY WAY TO DESCRIBE THE LOOK WILLIAM SHOOTS HIS FRIEND, brows narrowing in briefly silent puzzlement. Henry has been acting a little strange since he’d met him: hadn’t thought much of it, grief makes people act oddly and after what he’d done to Charlie, he had no right to comment on it but maybe he’s going to get some answers after all.

“ What kind of question is that ? ” He mutters, but sighs. “ The rational answer would be that I’d make the most of today and not worry about what comes next, if that’s anything of a comfort to you. Personally, I think I’d actually do something that I would never have to face consequences for. Rob a bank or something. I don’t know. ” Dark eyes turn to his friend now, mildly alarmed at the question. “ Why do you ask ? What’s going on in that head of yours, Henry ? ”

[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]

FIGHT VIOLENCE WITH VIOLENCE, WILL SUPPOSES, A TAD TOO LATE as the air is knocked from his lungs upon hitting the wall. Resisting the urge to double over to gasp for breath, he can’t quite hide the pain that flashes across his face like wildfire, but he pays it little attention. That dangerous red mist is beginning to descend, and it half-worries, half-exhilarates him. Michael hadn’t given him a knife, side—eyeing him when he’d asked for once (like he thought the younger version of his father might kill him the moment he gets his hands on a blade), but Will had taken one anyway. Shoved it into his waistband, out of sight and out of mind. “ Tried and failed to save them, ” he returns, and it’s his turn to laugh, amusement rattling even as he struggles to keep the breathless effect from his voice, “ you can’t do anything right, can you? The worst kind of man, a cockroach: taking from others because you can’t get by yourself— ”

There’s a knife in William’s hand, and then it’s buried in the wall, quivering, up to the hilt. Will barely has time to process it, eyes blown wide open by the shock, and while there’s fear there, more than anything is that anger. Barely concealed behind a desperately blank mask, but obvious to anyone (like his older self?) that knows him well enough. That powerful desire to rip the man in front of him apart and use him for remnant, laugh in his face as he does so—it takes Will too long to dispel the idea from his mind, and by the time he does, William is speaking again. Your name forgotten because you became nobody. You will die. Like everyone else.

The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, both at the thought of William’s words being true… and in horrified anticipation of his anger. His rage is a wild thing, untamed and unpredictable, but his older self is playing him like a fiddle; getting under his skin, spitting his poison and leaving him tainted, tempted.

Prove me wrong ? Fine. Red mist blinding him, anger practically overflowing, too much for his body. Nobody is here to see him lose control anyway: nobody except William, who Will has decided must sue today. He’ll make his death the most painful experience possible. HE’LL FUCKING SHOW HIM, show Mike, show everybody: he’s not a monster.

And yet his next actions feel exactly that; monstrous, as he grabs the knife at his waist and arcs it at William’s chest, awkward with the space he’s got but otherwise reacting in sheer uncontrolled rage. Doesn’t care how much damage he really does, just that he does any at all: suddenly, viciously, tells himself he’s not leaving here until the whole place is in flames and William is burning with it. Fury bubbling up in his words, in his jerky, abrupt movements, Will spits: “Rotten, decrepit old man. I have more than you’ll ever have again. Good? Good! You think I’m good? —— we’ll see what you think when I’m ripping out your heart and you’re begging me for mercy.”

CONTINUED. / @behindslaughter

[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]

THERE ARE DIFFERENCES BETWEEN THEM, AND WILL HAS TO KEEP COUNTING THEM TO KEEP HIS SANITY. The height difference, the eye coloring. Even their speech is’t quite the same yet, his own voice quicker, less certain, while the other laughs in grim solidity. I’m not the same as him, he tells himself firmly, and I never will be. He loves his family. Adores entertaining children. Wouldn’t ever harm any of them, no matter what happened. We are nothing alike.

. . . Despite those differences, Will still blanches at the use of words. Dooming more to bleed by our hand. And because even while this young, even while this determined to be good, Will’s terror of death nips at his heels, he is suddenly, terrifyingly aware of the remnant's true nature: or at least part of it. He vows he’ll never understand more than this, despite how much it fills him with a horrified fascination.

“You did this to children?” It comes out breathless; feeling like he’s been punched in the gut and had all of the air driven from his lungs, Will stares at his future self, just brimming with disgusted horror. And it’s enough to make him try to yank his neck free from William’s unyielding grip, trying to quell his own sudden remorse for dropping those vials so carelessly without knowing what the consequences might be. Foolish boy, he can hear his father’s reprimanding voice in his head, when will you learn from your mistakes?

Now, or so he hopes. Because he sees William’s scars, knows he doesn’t have the same, and realizes he’s suddenly in very, very grave danger. He’ll stop to wonder about the marvels of time travel and what this means only after he’s escaped from here, he tells himself firmly: right now, survival is his priority.

“So we match,” he says, keeping a firm hold of his voice, stopping it from betraying his lies, though he’s technically now answered one of William’s questions, “same scars, same pasts. That doesn’t mean my fate of becoming you is written in stone.” Will meets William’s eyes as squarely as he can, anger and fear giving him blind courage to lie to his face about their identical selves… for now. “Because this is pathetic, frankly. I don’t know how you ended up here, and I—”

I m m o r t a l i t y ? Why does the word only just register with him now? Suddenly stunned, the fight drains out of him, just for the moment, and he demands:

“What do you mean, immortality— are you even more delusional than I thought?” A jibe, though it’s weakened by the look in Will’s eyes, cornered, attentive, keen. “ANSWER ME.”

CONTINUED. / @behindslaughter

[runelocked]

SO AWARE OF THE DANGER, YET IRONICALLY NOT QUICK ENOUGH. He doesn’t cry out as William grabs his neck, but it’s a damn close call. Head twisting back, he comes face to face — or close enough — with his older self, and the resemblance is so uncomfortably familiar that it makes his eyes widen. So the others hadn’t been lying. This is him, but not as he knows himself. This is something else altogether, and more than ever, he’s immediately on-edge.

If there’s one thing he shares with William aside from a familiar face, it’s an obsession with control. The younger William — Will, as he’d childishly insisted his best friend Henry call him only years ago — is suddenly the one being controlled, and it makes him slightly more agitated. The only thing he does have control over is the vial in his hands: and, out of half-panic, half-childish rebellion, he drops the bottle, intending for it to smash … And instantly regretting his own actions the minute William mentions precious little lives. Not yet aware enough of how remnant is made, what the stuff is — Will only knows the basics, and it’s enough to make him feel sick. And curious. But mostly sick.

And suddenly very, very afraid.

“You won’t kill me.” A basic fact Will wants to emphasize, the only thing that had given him the courage to come here in the first place. Twisting round, determined to move only on his own terms, he curses his height: wonders when the hell his future self had grown so tall and so strong. “You’ve no idea what that would do to you. It would be foolish to try.” Dark eyes finally meet silvery ones, and, dry-mouthed, Will continues. “Which puts us at a standstill. I’m not answering your questions, you’re not answering mine. I can kill you, but you can’t harm me.” It’s the one thing he’s confident of — after all, he’s reassured himself countless times, if he’s injured, then his future self will gain the marks of injury too, surely. Though his voice is low, no longer as flippant as before: he’s rattled by the power play he’s losing. “You have nothing to lose by talking with me. I’m you.” And I can stop you from ever existing when I go back home. Make sure I remain good. Even though being a monster feels more natural.

CONTINUED. / @behindslaughter

[runelocked]

ONE LINE STARTER! ——— @braveburned / time travel verse

Despite the fact he’s never seen this child before in his life (and he’s fairly certain he isn’t here with parents, or anyone, actually), William doesn’t regret picking this boy for his next remnant experiment; strange as he is, he’s almost entirely alone, and in the case of a missing child?— well, the less people who can report them, the better — and so he crouches down next to the boy now, clad in that costume so similar to the glitch, and offers him a smile of, “Well, hello!… Say, one of your friends was looking for you in the other party room — if you follow me, I can take you to them.”

[runelocked]

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” // @gunactii henry to verse iii will ??

THE WORDS DRAW A BLANK STARE FROM WILLIAM, WHO HAS GROWN ACCUSTOMED TO BLAMING OTHERS FOR HIS MISTAKES. He hadn’t said anything that extraordinary: he’s been careful, since finding himself in the past, not to draw attention to himself. William dotes on his family (and avoids them where he can), treats his friends a little better (and avoids them when he can), and does his best not to fall into the same mistakes as before (while avoiding all memories of the future when he can. There’s a running theme in this new life). Brow furrowing, he stares at Henry nonplussed. “…I need to check the other locations,” he says, slowly, like he’s talking to a child, “we haven’t heard anything from them in days. Aren’t we expecting— those files for the updated Toy Freddy, or—”

…He stops, very abruptly, when he realizes that maybe Toy Freddy doesn’t exist yet. In fact, maybe none of these other locations do, because as he speaks he’s flipping through his file, and none of them appear. Not the names, not the tax information, not the absent scribbled notes reminding him to get maintenance scheduled for them... Ahh. Henry’s blank expression and words make sense now.

So it’s a William - problem, not a Henry - problem like he’d assumed. Still, too late to shut up now: he spins past Henry, brushing next to him while he blusters through the rest of his sentence.

“We should start building another location somewhere!” He ventures. “I think it’s about time, Henry, we’ve— we’ve been discussing it for months.” (Hopefully. They’ve probably spoken about it at least once, haven’t they?) “After all, we’ve got everything under control here. A few minor incidents, but nothing we haven’t dealt with. Don’t you want to expand past the diner? Into something bigger?”

[runelocked]

There is just a very big, scary rabbit staring at him from the darkness. How it got there is unknown, but as of right now it makes no movement to attack ( have a Springtrap Will )

ALL WILL CAN DO FOR A LONG MINUTE IS STARE AT THE RABBIT IN DISBELIEF. This can’t be happening to him. The weekend after he gets back to his own time — just as the diner is getting ready for opening! — of course this thing appears. He has no idea what he’s even looking at, only that there is no chance it can be human. Not entirely, anyway. “ What the fuck . . . ? ” Stepping closer, mystified, and more than a little horrified, Will’s hand creeps towards the light switch, the rest of him frozen in dismay. “ I — Hello ? What are you doing in there ? This place is out of bounds to guests, you know. ”

Like THAT’S going to stop whatever the hell this rabbit is. Will swallows thickly. For once, he’s regretting offering to check on the diner alone. If he dies in here, he’s not going to be found until opening day. “ What are you ? ”

[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]

THE ONLY EMOTION HE LETS SHOW IN HIS EYES IS CONTEMPT. Cool, controlled, composed — nothing like the mess of nervous energy brimming under his skin. For all he likes to preach about their differences, it’s true. He doesn’t know how to predict this William’s actions at all. Can mock all he wants about predictability and monstrosity and old age: but right now, Will has been the predictable one, clearly, considering he’s the one that had been drugged.

“Of course. I’M the one with the worrying fixation.” His voice is deadpan, dripping with derision. It doesn’t stop the skittish dart of his eyes, sweeping aimlessly through the shadows until William steps forward, able to see. Will’s relief at visibility is short lived … after all, he’s still fairly confident that this is going to end badly for him. “Talk about an old man clinging to even older memories.”

Tries to reassess his surroundings while talking, but his dark gaze hardly dares wander too far away from his future self. William is dangerous, and letting his guard down around him is like bleeding in shark-infested waters.

“I mean, you went to such efforts, all for little old me.” The only smile he can manage is thin and angular, nothing pleasant: the artificiality seeps through despite Will’s attempt to seem nonchalant. “Forced to celebrate the holiday with yourself since you’re too unbearable for anyone else’s company? That’s even more pathetic than I thought.”

CONTINUED. / @behindslaughter

[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.”

[runelocked]

EVEN NOW, AT SUCH A YOUNG AGE, WILL IS FIGHTING TO BE GOOD. Keeps his nose clean, avoids trouble and his own temper like the plague. He works dutifully, goes home to his fiancée, spends time with the few friends ( Henry ) he’s managed to keep, doesn’t think about the black hole inside of him that swallows him slowly. The spiraling moods, both high and low, that his loved ones can barely predict. But he is good – he tells himself – and even if he is not, then he is capable of pretending to be. Fake it until you make it, though it seems William has stopped faking a long time ago.

And such obvious monstrosity unnerves Will, who has buried everything so deeply under so many masks that he can barely find where his own thoughts begin and the carefully - rehearsed ones end. The man holding him so tightly, fingers digging against pale skin, is more than him: he’s what Will has the potential to be, if he’s not careful. If he can stop himself. Something they have in common is a vicious temper: it’s at the mention of his family and further at the mention of that tempting, tantalizing immortality that makes him snap. What he lacks in strength he hopes he makes up in anger – there is a red mist descending, that burning tightness in his chest a weapon to be used instead of feared, and for a moment, he thinks . . .

Isn’t it nice to not have to lie about the darkness inside him ?

Sometimes he feels like a timebomb. One programmed to self - destruct, take his loved ones with him. After ending up in this time, it’s a difficult feeling to avoid. After all, this timeline is living proof of his capabilities, and Will, more than ever, can’t shake the feeling that he’s some kind of monster. But right now it feels good to be uncontrollably, unrestrainedly angry, to soak in that pulsing call for blood and not repress it. He takes all of this out on William now: his hand curls and drives itself fisted into William’s stomach, hard, jerking backwards in the hopes of escape. “ Don’t you EVER, ” he hisses, voice a low snarl more than anything else, “ think I’ll fail my family like you have. You think I’m pitiful ? Me ?! When you extend your worthless, pathetic life through killing children ? When you give in to all of this because you failed in your ability as a husband and father ? ” Squirming, struggling viciously to get free: Will can’t remember the last time he’d sounded so venomous. He almost doesn’t recognise himself. If he’d been a little calmer, that might have scared him. “ If cheating death leads me to becoming as miserable a man as you are, then it will never be worth it. ”

CONTINUED. / @behindslaughter

[runelocked]

"Well that's quaint, isn't it. . . are you trying to make amends or avoid becoming a monster?"

THE HAIR ON HIS ARMS STANDS ON END, HIS SPINE PRICKLES. William doesn't turn around - doesn't want to show the respect and courtesy of doing so - or show the brief startled fright that slides over his face. His shoulders stiffening is the only reaction he gives to this first encounter with his older self, and for a dizzying, stupid moment, he thinks his legs might buckle underneath him. He's not afraid. He is. William isn't afraid of many things, even at twenty - one, except from death itself, which still seems to haunt him wherever he goes. But this is different, something unnatural. It takes a monster to feel calm in this situation, and he isn't that. Not yet, anyway.

But despite that, he smiles. Straightens up from where he'd been knocking remnant bottles off the table, one by one: just waiting for this future self to catch him. As fun as things have been, hearing twisted tales about his other self, William has been wanting to talk with him for a long time now. " You took your time, " he muses, back still turned, though ready to flee at a moment's notice, a rabbit's nose twitching at the scent of danger, " Do we get slow in our old age, then ? "

Don't answer his questions. Don't turn around. Don't give in to your nature. The three warnings circle around his head like smoke, and the young man takes in a short, steadying breath. Plucks up another vial of the strange substance that draws him in so curiously, holds aloft like he intends to drop it.

" I'm here to ask you questions. I don't plan on answering any of yours. " A brief, unsure pause. " You know who I am, then ? "

[runelocked]

❝ Okay, enough. Let's just sit down and think for a second. ❞ -henry!

HYSTERIA HAS NEVER LOOKED GREAT ON WILLIAM. Face flushed, gesturing emphatically, the young man looks almost mad: if not for the fact he’s clearly decades younger than Henry, and seems completely baffled with the world around him. On his way here, drawn to the Fazbear name in search of Henry, he’d come across technology that he’d never even imagined before, along with countless other unfamiliarities that had left him convinced he was in the future king before he’d seen the date on someone’s mobile phone. The future. He should be seventy-eight by now and Christ, the idea makes him feel ill. William spares only a moment of his frantic pacing to wonder if anyone has solved death yet; remembers Henry in the room with him, older than ever, and figures that no, nobody’s had such luck yet.

But one thing the older man’s age is good for is calming him down. At Henry’s words, William sucks in a breath automatically, stopping his tirade of jumbled explanations and theories. It’s only then that he realizes how remarkably unclear he’s being, and, sitting down very woodenly on the armchair, wonders if anything he’s said has made sense. Also realizes that this is probably a familiar scene for his old friend: how often had Henry been victim of William’s annoyed-or-otherwise ranting in the past? A tug of fond nostalgia is soothing, but it leads William to wonder . . . Just where is his older self?

“Sorry,” he mutters, raking his hands through dark hair. It’s his birthday in a month. He turns thirty. And here he is, stuck in the future with no idea of how to get back to his life and with no other tools to assist him. Clearly time travel isn’t a common occurrence in this time period, or Henry would have popped him into the machine and sent him back in no time. So can he be blamed for his panic? “It’s been a long day. And I still don’t have any bloody idea what happened.” The young man leans back; meets Henry’s eyes squarely, curious despite his desperation. “You were the only one I could track down. Hearing an advertisement for Fazbear Frights was my only lead. I have no idea where anyone else is — or,” he adds, suddenly uncertain, “if they’re even alive anymore.”