#implied mother gothel-ish behavior

[ponds-of-ink]

Y/N Fnaf Fic: “Why Does the Shrinking Violet Shrink?”

Dumb title, I know, but it was the best I could come up with.

The premise is that you’re a school kid in the ‘60s trying to figure out what’s up with the quiet British kid when he has to go home. Said British kid is a young William Afton.

Side Note: I am seriously thinking about a follow-up because mmm I veered this in a sad direction. You’ll see what I mean when we get there.

—

You walk out to the front of the school. The sun is partially blocked by clouds, your friends are already on their way to the diner, and the street ahead only has a few cars whooshing past you. All in all, a day neither sad nor happy. Just… meh. Well, aside from the assigned reading you had to do when you got home. That was the only thing that made your heart thump in excitement. 

Well, all right, apart from one weird thing. Or, more correctly, one weird kid. And the way he made your heart thump wasn’t from some giddy thrill. That much was certain. Judging what little you saw of him, something was… off. Especially around this time. Maybe it was the sketchy-looking car that you watched pick him up day after day. Maybe it was the fact that he sounded friendly but still didn’t talk to people. Maybe it was the random times when he’d rush home by himself rather than stick around to wait for that car. All strange and minor details, sure, but you just never know. What if he was working for an undercover supervillain? What if he was a mad scientist’s assistant forced to bring home all this new knowledge and report it to his older master? 

Of course, those were far-fetched. But, since he had one of those villainous-sounding accents, one can never be too careful. One can also never be too careful to, say, hang out for a few more minutes and get some answers. Take a page from these newfangled school papers and be a journalist. It wouldn’t hurt, right? At least it’d stop any rumors before they start.

Content with your line of thinking, you sit down and hang out on the grassy field. You scout out the area, looking for him and his uniform. Tucked-in tweed sweater, wavy brunette hair kind of combed “neatly”, and black slacks. You eye every other kid, watching for those details. Waiting… and waiting… for what felt like forever. You shut your eyes and sigh. “Don’t tell me I missed him,” you think to yourself. “He usually comes out when the school bell’s finished ringing. I know he’d sometimes hang back and wait, but this is ridiculous.”

A quick car honk shook you out of your train of thought. You glance over at the vehicle now rumbling a few feet ahead of you. Some beat-up convertible with a horrendous mauve paint job. Your heart jumps into your throat. There was that rush again, but it was stronger now. It’s that car. Cautiously, you approach it. “Hello, sir,” you say in your most polite tone. “I guess you’re here to pick up your son?”

The passenger window rolls down slowly. A well-dressed man stares at you with a grim expression. “That’s right,” he answers coldly, scrutinizing you from head to waist. “Tell him that he needs to get in here, won’t you? I have a few errands to run, and I’m not fond of stalling.”

You nod and mutter a “Yes, sir”, trying your best to not shudder at his villainous tone. Your legs quake a bit as you make it up the top of the steps. Much to your surprise, that Afton kid is already there. And, judging from his posture, he isn’t too thrilled about this either. “Your dad wants you to come to the car,” you explain, motioning to the stupidly mauve vehicle with your arm. “He says he’s got a few errands to run, and he doesn’t want to be late.”

The Afton kid sighs heavily. “I almost want you to tell him that I’m trying to finish  reading my book, but I’m sure that’ll get us both in trouble,” he answers quietly as he walks past you. He straightens his posture as soon as he reaches the bottom of the staircase. Even with that attempt of looking brave, you can tell that he’s trembling even more than you were a few seconds ago. You try to follow after him, but he’s already in the car by the time you make it to the bottom of the steps. However, due to the window being down, you catch a bit of a conversation.

“…Father, I am sorry.”

“William, did you tell someone?”

“Almost…”

You blink as your panting slows back down to normal breathing. What did that mean? How did telling anyone something relate to all of that weird behavior? There’s no way that mad scientist thing was true. The car looked way too beat up to be a crazy but genius guy’s mode of transportation! 

Uh, oh.

What if his dad was a…?

Your heart pounds out of your chest. On pure instinct alone, you race down the road. You raise your arm to flag the car down, but it’s not there anymore. You lower your arm. Your mind re-directs its goal. If you couldn’t stop this guy yourself, then maybe you’d get more help from your friends. If there was anyone that’d be able to prove that this Afton kid wasn’t the son of a criminal, it’d be one of them!

A few minutes of on-and-off running later, and you’re almost at that diner. You notice a couple of them already at the gum-ball machine outside. Your speed slows down to a crawl as you reach your goal. “Hey, Jack,” you pant heavily, leaning on the brick wall for support. “Hey, Matthew.”

“We were wondering where you were!” Jack responded while giving you a gum-ball. “You almost missed out on picking a film to watch at the cinema later!”

“That’s nice, but I’ve gotta get something off my chest,” you say as you put the gum-ball in your pocket. “Matt, you talked to that Afton kid, right?”

Matt spits out his gum instantly. “Yeah, I did,” he answers, giving you full attention. “I had a chat with him during lunch. We were talking about what we were doing for Mother’s Day coming up. I asked him how his mom was doing after that court case, but—“

“He had a court case?” you cut in, waving your hands as if to clear the smoke from your view.

“Yeah, some sort of rough dispute between his mom and dad,” Matt replies, shrugging his shoulders. “But I only know a few things through the ‘papers. Crazy thing is that it just never got followed up. The journalist slacking at the press, I guess…” 

You shake your head in disbelief. “Well, what did Afton say about his mom?” you ask, taking a step forward to grab one of Matt’s shoulders. “Come on, don’t leaving me hanging!”

“Don’t know why you’d want all this, but all right,” Matt huffs, rolling his eyes. “William wasn’t keen on talking about her. I thought I caught him mumbling something about his dad wouldn’t want me knowing what happened, but I dunno. Maybe I heard him wrong, but I didn’t want to mess around and find out. Why are you asking all this?”

You pull out that pocket gum-ball and chew it nervously. Okay, there’s two ways this whole shin-dig could go. One: You find out that Dad Afton did something nasty to his wife and you end up six feet underground for snitching a few days later. Two: You find out that’s she moved out of state and Dad Afton’s just not thrilled about anyone knowing… For some reason. Either way, it’s gotta be something horrible if William gets into trouble for telling anybody else.

At this point, you just have to do something. But how?

You spit out your wadded-up gum and put it back in your pocket. You look at Jack, then at Matthew. “Call me stupid, but I think something’s up with his dad,” you confess, letting your eyes focus on the sidewalk.

Jack, who now has five or six gum-balls stashed in his pockets, leans against the dispenser. “I’d call you stupid for not figuring that out earlier,” he scoffs proudly. “I’ve been trying to reach Will ever since Mrs. Honey-bunch gave us that Mother’s Day spiel! Making dumb excuses to stop by and see how he’s doing, try to get him off those dumb errands and live a little— You know, what I usually do to get ol’ shy-sters like him to get out of their shell. Problem is, his dad’s got him on a tight leash. Can’t get him out of the house fast enough before ol’ Pops barks us down and Willy just runs back inside.”

Your eyes light up. An idea finally starts to form. “You ever try this with more than one person?” you inquire, feeling the wheels of genius spin in your head.

Jack snaps his fingers. A slick, chipped-tooth grin shows up on his face. “No, but I’m willing to try,” he chuckles, rubbing your messy hair for a second. “Hey, Matt, tell the boys that we’ve got business to attend to. If they ask, just say it’s me bugging the Aftons again. They’ll understand.”

You watch as Matt wordlessly enters the diner before Jack blocks your view. “He’ll catch up with us soon,” Jack assures you as he joins your side. “Now, come on! I’ll take you down the side road that’ll lead ya back home too. Y’know, in case things don’t work out.”

“Thanks, Jack,” you mutter as relief sets in. Finally, you were going to get to the bottom of this— Even if the method was a bit convoluted.

After a few minutes of walking and catching up on other things, you and Jack finally arrive at the house. Your eyes immediately bounce to the mauve car parked outside in the driveway. “They’re definitely home,” you tell Jack, feeling that dumb quiver of uneasiness again.

“Which means this’ll be a piece of cake,” Jack adds in, striding up to the front lawn. But, remembering what he told you, he stops and waits for you to catch up. “I’m no chicken, but I don’t want to fool with ol’ Billy Bones at the door again,” he admits, picking at his chipped tooth with his pinky. “How’s about you deal with him this time? You must’ve made a great first impression, since you didn’t get a door slammed on your face.”

“Don’t you mean ‘in your face’?” you question, the phrase knocking out your anxiety for a moment.

“Nah, I meant ‘on’,” Jack grumbles, his eyes averting your gaze. A second pang of uncertainty hits you at the implication, but you swallow it down. You give a few pats to Jack’s shoulder for good luck, then walk up to the front door. You ring the door bell as soon as you find it. Your heart starts pounding again. Your knees shake, but you position yourself to make sure it isn’t noticeable. You straighten your back and take a deep breath.

This was it. The moment of truth.

Here he comes…

The door slowly creaks open. You watch as that older man, now a little bit more casually-dressed, towers above you. “You’re that child who got my son back on schedule earlier,” he says with a smile that you can just barely notice. “I would thank you, but you bring here is— to be blunt— getting on my nerves. So, instead, I’ll mimic your generation and say ‘Buzz off’. I’m not one for visitors, especially on… afternoons like these.”

As soon as he finishes his sentence, your ears pick up on a sound like faint banging. No, actually… Like knocking on a door? Wait, no— Banging on a door. You notice that the dad grimaces like he’s a robber with a hapless accomplice ruining his plan. Your body freezes in place. What if Will’s—?

You snap yourself out of this brief state of panic. “I was actually wondering if he’s finished with that book he was reading earlier,” you claim, not really lying at this point.

Mr, Afton clicks his tongue. His eyes dart to and fro. “No, not yet,” he tells you, giving some sort of sick, wide grin. “In fact, I might give him a reminder thanks to you.” He almost closes the door on you, but you know you have one last question. “Well, when he’s done, would you mind if I let him tag along with me and my friend?” you cut in,  involuntarily lifting your hand. “I think he needs some fresh air and good times, you know?”

“I think he gets enough ‘fresh air’ and ‘good times’ with reading those books of his in the backyard,” Mr. Afton snarls, his eyes shifting from you to something behind you. “I do not want him being with the likes of you meddling brats. Good day, ‘gentlemen’.”

You try to sputter out a rebuttal, but it’s too late. You wince as Mr. Afton shuts and locks the door. You can hear muffled footsteps storming down the hall before everything goes quiet. Too quiet.

You turn around and race down to where Jack is still standing. “I thought for sure you had ‘im,” Jack fumes, stomping his foot on the pavement. “Good try, though, champ. I’m sure someone’ll break poor Will out someday.”

You can feel all the pent-up emotion about to crash down. The choked-up throat. The wet eyes. The shaking legs about to topple over. You walk past Jack to the next house down and sit down on the edge of the front lawn. Without any other warning, you rest your head on your knees and bawl your eyes out. It took a bit, but you did do it. You got your answer, but in the worst sense possible. The real reason why Will was so dodgy all the time after school.

His dad was an absolute trash-bag of a father.