Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was one day, back when the days felt longer, back when kids simply needed to be kids, where it truly struck William that perhaps he wasn’t the same as everyone else.

Was there really anything that could define ‘the same’?

He wasn’t sure.

But the general consensus of which people abide by was decided out of morality, morality that turned into legality.

Yet there were so many grey areas within those confines.

So what could really define what was morally acceptable?

He never quite understood it.

It was morally acceptable to kill bugs for simply living in your presence, and animals for food.

Why was it that only one form of murder required a license?

It was so easy to kill them-

Animals.

Creatures of a lower status according to humans, creatures that they placed in different categories in order of importance based mainly on aesthetic value.

They were so fragile.

Plenty of things were fragile, really.

Simply dropping a cup on the ground could smash it, could make it break apart by the force and shatter into hundreds of tiny glass pieces that sat on the floor, no longer useful.

So what defined the important things?

The law was the basis, yes, but it was filled with contradictions.

Someone had to make it, right?

So how did they decide what was okay and what wasn’t?

During that day, it was raining.

At least there wasn’t a hurricane, right?

It was the name of the city, incredibly fitting all things considered.

The people and the natural phenomenon both had many things in common.

They both destroyed everything they came across, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake.

That’s the beauty of nature, perhaps.

Forces that can coexist in perfect harmony can be completely detrimental to each other at the same time.

Perhaps that’s where the idea of Yin and Yang came from?

The balance of the world, the universe, existence in its whole.

Because without balance, what could happen?

Humans thrived over laws, over rules, over cans and can’ts.

Without balance, they would be nothing more than the lowly house bug, just sitting in a corner waiting to be smashed.

Splash!

The sound of a shoe hitting a puddle.

The water sloshed under the force of his foot, send ripples cascading through it.

A red backpack shone bright within its reflection, fluffy tufts of raven black hair and a soft, pale hand clutched at the backpack’s strap.

The Utah weather was particularly humid that day, yet William walked leisurely on his trip back home.

School had ended not too long before, as he was not far out on his journey, and he could still faintly hear the sounds of children talking and laughing, parents chatting softly by the school gates.

He always hated those conversations.

The adults acted as if children like him couldn’t understand anything they were saying, gossiping and insulting people right in front of them.

They only hushed their voices when they noticed him, eyes wide and empty as he stared at their quick-moving mouths spouting nonsensical words they passed off as fact.

They looked back at him as if he were a monster, as if he were some sort of strange creature they didn’t understand.

Adults couldn’t understand kids, couldn’t think of them as anything more than beings with small brains that didn’t have half the information they did.

But William knew that wasn’t the case.

They observed much more than the loud people realized. 

He observed much more than they realized.

Perhaps that mistake, the mistake of discounting their feelings, of discounting his feelings, would come to bite back at them someday.

The teachers reminded constantly of karma, the word falling off their lips like they were chanting a mantra.

He could only hope that those people would get karma somehow, somewhere, someday.

He hoped it was soon.

The other kids seemed to notice his differences, his odd way of thinking.

His mother used to tell him that he was unique, that it was nothing to be ashamed of.

That people would understand with time how brilliant he was.

His mother was a fool.

He understood that, but he continued to let her go on with her useless words regardless.

She didn’t have much time with him, anyway.

She was only allowed an hour of visiting time after all.

She was more than a fool, he realized when they left the prison for the last time.

It was that time that she confessed to her deed, to the fact that she was truly the one who killed his father.

He couldn’t understand it—

Why she felt the need to be such a sore loser that it took her so long to finally breathe the words to life.

Perhaps that was why. 

By saying it, by making it know, made it true that the game was over.

Her screams were loud when they dragged her away from him, and his big empty eyes watched her twist and turn, dig her heels in the ground and scream, with the same cold indifference as always.

She was found dead in her cell the next day.

When they told him, he simply nodded, zipped up his boots, and walked out the door to go to school.

Now and then, his expression remained the same.

Since it was raining, the sky was covered with dark grey clouds, some lighter and some darker, painting a beautiful mosaic fit for a black-and-white television.

The rain fell from the sky, landing on the top of his umbrella with a pitter-patter.

The bottom of his pants were soaked, his nice dress shoes caked with mud.

He didn’t care.

The rain continued to drip down the umbrella, falling into the puddle to cause the same reaction as his foot moments before, only smaller.

He stared at the chain reaction, before continuing to walk.

The sounds of the school faded into the background until they were completely covered by the calls of birds.

The birds flew above him, following a distinct, complex pattern that William couldn’t quite understand.

They were louder than the wind, which blew strongly against the damp cloth stuck to his skin, and louder still than the insistent beat of water hitting a plastic surface.

They continued despite the terrible weather, despite the awful circumstances, trying desperately to find their way to who knows where.

It was pathetic.

crack!

The rumble of thunder accompanied by lighting resounded throughout the dense woods, making its way to the street William walked along.

The birds continued on their path, passing right above him, as if that were their sole purpose.

Perhaps it was?

William had never given purpose much thought.

He’d learned about different cultures, different religions, different peoples ideas.

But the concept was always the same.

It was always based around the same principle of morality.

Just the word was sickening.

No one was truly moral, not that world.

Not in any.

People spoke of gods as these all seeing, higher beings.

Creatures of unlimited powers, capable of adequately judging each and every minute imperfection of each human being after their lives came to an end.

He never believed in those kinds of things.

How could someone judge something they created?

All of that creatures mistakes, all of their faults, were directly caused by the one in the judges seat.

His teacher had asked him, once, what he wanted to be when he grew up.

The normal thing to answer could have been many things.

A doctor, perhaps.

Maybe a musician, or even a chef.

He responded with a light, unhurried tone, his large, empty eyes staring up at the teacher.

I want to become a god.

When he got back to the orphanage, the mentioned that they received a call from that teacher.

They asked what was wrong, if there was something going on, if he was struggling with his mother or school or just about anything.

He almost laughed.

He decided then, that when he became a god- when, not if- he would make sure to visit her first.

Behind the clouds, he could faintly see the sun as it set, the warm hues melding together.

It was hidden behind the smokey gray screen of rain clouds, but it was there nonetheless.

It was fighting, might like those birds.

Perhaps it was a nice metaphor?

William had never been good at poetry.

When they had that lesson, he’d stared at the paper before waking up and turning the blank page into the bin.

The teacher came to him, asking him why he’d simply thrown away the grade.

He shrugged, and that was that.

He couldn’t tell her that the only things that came to mind would get him sent to the counselor again.

When they’d sent him the the counselor before, it was always for similar reasons. 

Too serious this, too gory that, talked back to the teacher too much.

They knew each other on a first name basis by   Fourth grade.

More often than not, he’d spend his lunch hour in the counseling room, making paper cranes to pass the time.

He made a jar of stars, and kept them in his room for about a week before making a wish.

The counselor died of a heart attack the next day.

When they told him, he was surprised—

After all, that meant his wish had come true.

Crack!

The rumble of thunder accompanied by lighting resounded throughout the dense woods, making its way to the street William walked along.

He slowly lowered his umbrella, basking in the light underneath one of the street lamps as he allowed himself to get drenched by the rain.

Light purple button up shirt, cream colored dress pants, cheap leather belt, nice dress shoes—

If they hadn’t been before, they were thoroughly ruined by then.

He stood, covered in the unnatural glow, water dripping down his snake frame, down and down, flowing into the street until finally reach a drain.

The birds continued to fly, further now, but only by a few inches.

He watched them, soaring so high in the sky, without a single worldly care like the ones that humans were constantly plagued with.

He looked away, just for a split second, just for a moment.

Crack!

The rumble of thunder accompanied by lighting resounded throughout the dense woods, making its way to the street William walked along.

He watched the lighting as it flashed in front of them.

Down, down, down, one of the birds went, disrupting the previous order.

It landed on the street with an odd noise, one he couldn’t quite place.

It was at that moment that a car pulled up, one window rolled down.

A tanned, plump woman sat in the passenger seat, accompanied by a sturdy, professional looking driver.

”Young master, please hurry into the car. You’ll catch a cold if you stay out any longer.” The Woman urged.

As he walked lifelessly toward the car, he noticed that the bird was still alive, though suffering greatly, only barely twitching.

There were many things he could have done—

Many normal, usual things.

He could have ignored it.

He could have felt sad and moved on.

He could have taken a longer look at it.

He could have moved it to the side.

He could have tried to save it.

There was one day, back when the days felt longer, back when kids simply needed to be kids, where it truly struck the twelve year old William Afton that perhaps he wasn’t the same as everyone else.

It wasn’t his parents tragic love story.

It wasn’t the cult conspiracy of his old orphanage.

It wasn’t his profound inheritance.

It wasn’t his new famous, rich family.

It wasn’t any particular normal incident in which someone would realize that they weren’t particularly normal.

Crack!

“I’m ready to go home.”

The blood on his shoe was washed away by the rain, the squelch sound still ringing in his ears, echoing through his mind.

He got in the car, slamming the door with the minimum force needed for it to close properly.

And with that they drove away, the dead bird laying there on the wet road, head and body caved in.

Chapter Text

“You’re a monster.”

The words left the woman’s lips in a whisper, the soft push a breath drenched with hatred.

William didn’t pay attention to her, too busy staring at the blood pooling by his knees.

His father’s hand was still lying on top of his leg, though no longer holding the fabric of his pants in an iron grip.

He couldn’t.

He was dead on the cold tile floor.

His mother stood there, on the edge of the stairs, staring down at him as if he were nothing.

The chandelier had crushed his father, but not completely.

His face was uncovered, and his lifeless eyes stared daggers into his son.

William’s eyes remained big and empty, as was usual.

As if he had no feelings.

As if he suffered no loss.

After a few moments, letting the reality of the situation sink in, the blood seeping through his clothes with it, before he got up.

He wiped his hands on his shirt, the crimson staining the expensive white suit, and directly stared his mother down.

“I know,” he said, “but you’re the one going to jail.”

She got mad, angry, furious, and lunged at him—

The cops burst through the door.

While waiting, one of the officers handed him a notebook.

“It’ll be okay, kid.” He said, “You’re going to be safe now.”

He lied.

William still kept the notebook, though.

For someone who cared so little about the creatures of the world, he sure did observe them.

Quickly the pages had been filled with countless drawings of a much higher quality then what was average for a kid his age.

It started with drawings of stairs, of chandeliers, of eyes.

When that started catching people’s attention, he changed corse.

He focused on those insignificant creatures.

He started drawing foxes, bears, bunnies, squirrels, deer.

Anything he could come across during his trips to and from school on his little road by the woods.

More often than not, he’d come across the smaller animals.

If he were lucky, he’d come across the larger ones.

They never got close, though.

Only close enough to be seen.

Never touched.

Eventually, that notebook was filled too much, pages too worn, and he had to get a new one.

In that new notebook, he wrote his name.

William.

He omitted his last name, because it didn’t suit him.

His parents were cowards.

William was anything but a coward.

He listened to the ladies in the orphanage, and didn’t complain when he was taken out of school early each week to visit his mother.

Still, the visits were always the same.

Soon, his sketchbook started to be filled with new things.

Empty rooms.

Plastic chairs.

Chains.

Handcuffs.

Blood.

Blood all over the rooms, the chairs, the chains, the handcuffs.

It covered everything, engulfed the once ‘pure’ art.

Could anything really be defined as pure?

Everyone and everything had some sort of negative, some sort of flaw or dark side.

He’d seen many kinds of dark sides within his lifetime by the time he turned fourteen.

During that time, two years after his mother died, he was adopted by the Aftons.

A kind, rich family very influential in politics.

Their youngest girl couldn’t have children, so she had asked her parents to help find her a suitable child to keep the family going.

The orphanage burned down a week later.

It had been noted, later than that, that the orphanage in question was actually related to a cult known for human trafficking, and the incident was most likely not an accident.

Nothing came of the investigation, however, because there was nothing left other than the ashen frame of the once proudly standing wooden building.

In the field surrounding it, their laid a few charred pieces of paper, with drawings of bears all over them, and the word fredbear scribbled haphazardly in the middle of the page.

When he got into high school, William started to make flip books.

He had the best quality paper, best quality markers, best quality pens—

The best everything.

It started with depictions of different animals dying, from bugs and beetles to fish and birds.

Gradually, it grew to small stories with a certain bear concept.

His nanny had seen him finishing one, once.

“Why not to play outside?” She had asked, the warm summer breeze filtering through the patio, “The other boys are all just down the street.”

William didn’t even look up from his flip book before replying with a flat, “I’m not interested.”

She didn’t bring it up again afterwards.

However she did look.

She looked quite a bit.

She told him he should try to draw animations

when he grew up.

He shrugged, knowing it didn’t matter what he did, not to them.

He still had plenty of time to think about it anyway.

It was not long after that when he first came across mechanical engineering.

It was an interesting concept, something that intrigued him more than most things did.

He started learning about other things too, like animatronics.

Now those…

Those were going to be it.

There was something so thrilling about the idea of creating his very own characters, of making them come to life.

For once, he would be able to do more than simply pretend to be a god.

He could become one.

So, he studied, and he studied hard.

The students and teachers all looked at him in an odd way—

They looked at him in that odd way the parents at his middle school had.

As if he were an alien still adjusting to the ways of earth.

However, it never bothered him much.

He observed it, yes, just as their eyes observed him.

But he was never affected.

He found it amusing, really, how obvious humans could be.

How obviously they whispered about him, how obviously they avoided him.

Their eyes were always so full.

So full of emotion, so full of life even when they mirrored the images they were seeing.

He’d heard it once, when one of the caretakers at the orphanage were trying to get him to go to sleep, that the eyes were the windows to the soul.

He didn’t quite understand it, but he listened to them because it was the easiest thing to do.

But then, he understood.

Everything about anyone could be observed simply from looking at the reflection in their eyes.

For, if you looked close enough, perhaps you wouldn’t see yourself but instead what they saw in you.

He poured all of his time into his work.

When he wasn’t eating or sleeping, he was scribbling in his notebooks.

Pages and pages all filled with different ideas, covered with beta blueprints, schematics, calculations, notations of possible setbacks or complications.

His adoptive parents got worried, after a while.

He knew it because the pity was written, not only etched into their eyes but carved into their faces, their voices, their body language.

They tried to send him to a therapist, telling him it would make things better, that he’d be okay after.

They lied just like that police officer.

He attended therapy for roughly a week before they finally stopped probing him over it, and with that the sessions stopped.

Perhaps it had only been to satisfy their foolish morality.

To make sure that if anything happened, it couldn’t be there fault, because at least he’d gone.

At least they tried.

But did anyone really try?

People who tried for something that wasn’t beneficial to them were idiots.

Spending time, spending energy, spending resources…

Humans only ever did that to satisfy a selfish goal.

They didn’t just do things to do things.

They weren’t kind just to be kind.

At his high school graduation, William was elected valedictorian.

It wasn’t a surprise, not really.

Even without trying, he had accidentally been much smarter than the rest of his class, than the rest of his grade.

Some might’ve said he was too egotistical and full of himself for thinking that.

He understood that it was simply a fact.

He was a genius, perhaps, or maybe something else a little darker—

Maybe something else a lot darker.

He wasn’t sure.

But what he did know is that he didn’t care for things like school, like studying, like making some stupid speech.

He relinquished his position as the valedictorian.

It went instead to some girl he’d never heard of and had never seen.

He didn’t care.

He was much too busy with what matter, with what what important.

How could he care for worldly things with his own world begging to be created?

His graduation ceremony passed just like that.

He walked up to the podium and took his high school diploma with the a perfunctory look on his face the whole time.

It was as if he didn’t care about anything at all.

Maybe that was true?

William didn’t really know what caring felt like.

He’d never had that natural inclination to heal things, to protect things, to pay attention to things.

So maybe he didn’t care about anything at all.

Maybe he was a disgusting, vile creature.

Maybe he was incapable of love, incapable of caring.

And maybe…

Maybe he was just some sort of monster, just like everyone said he was.

Maybe he didn’t care about any of that, either.