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William Afton dies on an unremarkable October morning. The 15th, to be very specific. It is so early that it is what many would consider late in the night.
Not that anyone knows about it, of course.
He doesn’t show up at home, but the Afton children do not panic, not really. The oldest son, Michael Afton, makes them dinner as he has before, quietly helping his younger siblings wash and dry the dishes used. They do not comment on the blood on his collar, nor do any of them say a word about the fading bruises on Elizabeth Afton’s arm. Their father coming home late isn’t anything truly odd, after all. The children go to sleep, Michael herding the youngest, Evan Afton, to bed. None of them wish to sleep tonight, but Michael insists, promising to protect them both with a smile that makes him look like their very much dead father.
Evan finally lets himself drift, and Elizabeth does too after Michael promises he will sleep tonight.
Michael does not try to make a habit of breaking promises, but this is one he cannot keep.
William Afton dies on an unremarkable October morning. The 16th, to be very specific. It is so early that it is what many would consider late in the night.
The yard behind the Afton home is big, and their neighbors aren’t home right now. This is a very good thing, so that they do not hear the sounds of bones snapping under a baseball bat, the sound of a skull being caved in.
Michael Afton looks like his father, down to their very eyes. He looks quite similar covered in blood, grinning wildly. He acts far more like his late mother, but he is still his father’s son. Violence hums beneath his skin and he feels like he’s on fire.
Again.
During the day, after the blood is washed from the grass and the body is gone (not burnt, Michael does not want to burn again), they call the police. Elizabeth is a very good actor, and Evan’s tears help sell it. It’s Michael’s quiet asking if the chances of their father being found that seal the deal, however. Like he’s hiding it from his young, impressionable siblings. Like there isn’t blood on his hands and a baseball bat that’s hidden under the floor in the attic. Like their father was a good man.
Henry Emily offers to take them in, but his home is a tight squeeze for five people, so Michael offers him and his daughter rooms while they look for another option. The Aftons are well off, after all. Their house is too big, always too big, and there are plenty of rooms.
William Afton dies on an unremarkable October morning. The 17th, to be very specific. It is so early that it is what many would consider late in the night.
Michael sits outside the back door, huffing. He wasn’t weak before this, certainly, but he’s exhausted. The body before him is decaying, slowly but surely. The arms that attack are weaker, the jaw is only hanging on by a thread. How long he can do this before the lack of sleep catches up to him, he doesn’t know. He hasn’t gone to class, not so soon after the disappearance of his father, but he will have to. Eventually.
He drags the body to its spot again, sighing at the displaced dirt and grass. There’s no point in digging any deeper. He always comes back.
Henry and Charlie (and they are both alive, because they will never die, not while Michael is around) will stay with them, at least until the monster buried in the backyard stays down. The harder he hits, the longer it takes for it to wake up. Michael would aim for the head on a human, but whatever the hell is buried isn’t a human, not anymore.
Humans stay dead.
He gets two hours of sleep, and wakes up in the morning in time to make breakfast, only to find Henry already awake and making pancakes. He smiles at Michael, and for a moment, it is normal. They are two people who are making breakfast for a family, one that is unconventional but good all the same. Michael does not have a bloody bat stashed in his room and Henry never had a friend who turned out to be a monster.
Elizabeth comes downstairs, yawning, her sleeves pushed up from sleep. Michael is used to not mentioning the bruises, how much they look like fingers, how dark they’ve become now. He doesn’t need to point them out to know they’re there.
He forgets about Henry. The man’s eyes go wide, and Elizabeth is suddenly very awake, pushing down her sleeves. There are questions, silent and spoken, between the three in the kitchen that morning. There is ice for her arm, and Henry’s eyes will go misty at the mention of William Afton.
He does not remember.
That’s okay. Michael remembers enough for both of them.
William Afton dies on an unremarkable October morning. The 18th, to be very specific. It is so early that it is what many would consider late in the night.
It’s falling apart, now. The skull is cracked down one side, part of the bone has fallen somewhere onto the grass. The arms are mangled, the fingers even more so. Michael goes for the legs, now, knocking out the back of the knees to make his job easier. Violence is violence, but he cannot help but feel that this is his purpose. To destroy, to put the monster in the ground as many times as it takes.
If the monster insists on always coming back, Michael will always be there, every night, to send him back to Hell.
Less blood spills onto the ground. There’s little left to be spilt, and Michael isn’t enough of an idiot to let the monster touch him. He beats him back, harder and harder each night, like the cracking of skulls and bones and what’s left of the monster might make it stay down this time. He doesn’t notice Henry watching from his window, eyes wide with fear and an anger he doesn’t know how to place.
He hates how much he looks like William. He doesn’t say anything, just refuses to wear purple and doesn’t dress in much of anything besides wife beaters and jeans. His father wouldn’t have been caught dead (ha!) in what his son wears now. Michael functions, pretends he doesn’t flinch at his own reflection and doesn’t want to shatter every mirror he must pass in the house. He pretends that Elizabeth doesn’t have to look away from him in the mornings, that Evan doesn’t shy away from his gaze before forcing himself to look.
Henry notices, because he is a good man. He doesn’t say anything out loud, but he doesn’t blink when Michael says they shouldn’t keep any of William’s things. He nods, but says they need to wait a bit. Make sure the man is gone for good before they get rid of his things. Michael doesn’t want to agree, but he does.
Henry doesn’t ask about the photos of William that used to decorate the hallways, and Michael doesn’t tell him that he hides them in his room. That he plans on destroying them the moment the monster is dead for good.
Charlie smiles with Elizabeth and Evan, keeps them both occupied and their minds off of things. Not that she needs to, but Michael appreciates the gesture more than he’d like to admit. His siblings have been on edge since that first night, both from what Michael had done and what he would never do again. Evan doesn’t remember as much as Elizabeth does, and she doesn’t remember as much as Michael does.
That’s for the best. They don’t need to know everything. They can’t.
That night, when Michael gets ready for his vigil outside the back door, Henry is waiting for him, a rifle in hand. Michael is ready to fight, to die again at Henry’s hands.
Henry tells him to go back to bed. He has school in the morning, after all.
William Afton dies on an unremarkable October morning. The 19th, to be very specific. It is so early that it is what many would consider late in the night.
When Michael closes his eyes, he hears gunshots, coming from the back door. When he opens them again, he is still alive. He dresses himself mechanically, packs his backpack like he is a normal teenager. Henry greets him in the kitchen.
They are the first awake again. Henry has blood splattered on his neck, and his hands are shaking. The smell of smoke is in the air. Michael gestures to the blood, and Henry nods towards the food on the stove, silently asking Michael to watch it. By the time the others are downstairs, Henry is ready to drive them to school.
His hands shake on the steering wheel. Nobody comments on it.
When Michael meets him outside the back door again, they both stare at the grave until the sun rises. There’s a black spot in the grass that Michael doesn’t comment on. Henry tells him to get some sleep before class.
This time, there are no gunshots, and the air doesn’t smell of smoke.