A/N: Content Warning: Surgery

Children chased each other through the center fountain of the newly opened Missing Children's Memorial Park. August had been a scorcher of a month and the kids of Denver were thankful to have a safe place to play and cool off.

Fazbear's Fright had been demolished and once the dirt was leveled and the grass and trees were planted the land rid itself of the scar fairly quickly. For those old enough to remember Fazbear's, seeing it go felt like a fresh start. Grocers, bank clerks and waiters watched from their windows as bulldozers ripped the building away and when it was gone, the city breathed a united sigh of relief. The children didn't know much about it except for stories that got passed around school, so seeing a building removed that had been empty their entire lives didn't seem like such a monumental event; what got them more excited was seeing the fountain and jungle gym being constructed and they thought about climbing the statues of the children and giant bear in the center of the park during summer break. The park opened mid-August, giving the children of Denver just enough time to enjoy it before they had to go back to school.

One such Saturday, the Afton-Schmidts decided to go and enjoy the sunshine in the newly-opened park. Elizabeth, Beth, and Sammy raced on the monkey bars in the adjacent playground with the other children while Michael, Charlie, and William sat on a picnic blanket in the shade under a nearby tree. William watched Elizabeth and his grandkids intently, listening to their laughs and screams mixing with those of other children. The sound of children's voices still made parts of his brain feel fuzzy, but with Jack's help, he had been able to observe the feeling, validate it, and channel the nervous energy it created into something constructive. He knew he might have trouble with intrusive thoughts at the park today, so he brought along the sketchbook Jack had given him and methodically filled the open page with doodles of animals.

Charlie was reading a novel as she leaned against Mike and she looked up every so often to make sure her kids and Elizabeth were still in sight, even though if anyone tried to take them, Elizabeth could probably protect them better than any of the adults. Michael was hunched over his laptop getting some work done. To William's dismay, Mike's body had continued to weaken after the trauma in the lab. His old wounds never healed and new ones continued to pull open, which he wrapped with gauze or patched up with colorful bandaids. His skin had been growing slowly darker and worn like thin leather and William had worried it would continue until he rotted away. Finally, Mike's body reached a kind of equilibrium in the spring and, while the old tearing and injuries didn't heal, it showed no new signs of deterioration.

Physical activities were extremely difficult for him, and because of his discolored skin, mortal wounds, bloodshot eyes, and unnatural thinness, he never went out in public without a heavy coat and a baseball cap pulled low over his face. People didn't stare at him, as far as William could tell, but Mike was still self-conscious and for that William felt guilty. Mike switched to a desk job at the auto body shop to accommodate his new limitations, which meant that he could work almost entirely from home. William had to admit that he was more than a little delighted about this turn of events, because it meant he got to see both of his children all day and he and Michael got to spend time most afternoons ironing out the details for the memorial.

William had only asked to help with the memorial at first as a ploy to get Michael to go with him to the lab, but once everything slowed down and they actually began putting it together, William enjoyed being a part of things, even though the process dug up sticky feelings and painful memories that he had to work through with Jack. He didn't feel like he had any place putting a memorial together for his victims, but Jack assured him it was good for him to participate.

"Daddy, look!" Elizabeth called from the top of the jungle gym. She stood with cotton feet planted firmly on the top of the red plastic tube slide, the new summer overalls that Charlie had bought for her rustling faintly in the breeze. "Look what we can do!"

"Careful, Lizzie!" William called back, anxiously standing to his feet, preparing to catch her if she fell. Elizabeth swung her arms low and threw them up over her head. The other children watched in awe as she backflipped off the jungle gym and landed effortlessly on her feet in the bark chips below.

"You're so cool, Lizzie!" Beth called down from the monkey bars and Sammy ran over to give her a high five. Various other children cheered and complimented her. The other children didn't seem to mind that Elizabeth was a living doll, but children tended to be more accepting of those kinds of things; if anything, her differences added to her popularity.

She hopped over the edge of the bark chip bed and ran up to William. "Did you see?" she asked, bouncing.

William laughed incredulously. "I sure did!" He lifted her into the air—something that had taken him almost a full year to learn to do as a spirit—and spun her around once before setting her down again. "You're the most talented girl in the world."

Michael pushed the bill of his hat up a bit with a smirk. "You're making sure not to land on other kids when you do stuff like that, right Liz?" he asked.

"Yes," Elizabeth replied. "And we tell the other kids not to copy us because it's dangerous."

"Sounds like you're on top of it," said Charlie.

"Yup," said Elizabeth, craning her neck to see William's sketchbook. "Are the children bothering you?" she asked knowingly.

"Just, ah…" William rubbed the back of his neck to get the hairs to lie flat. "Just a little bit."

"We can tell them to stop being loud," said Elizabeth.

"No, don't do that," said William. "I'm doing okay."

"Okay, Daddy," Elizabeth said. "Your drawings are getting better."

"Thank you," he replied with a small smile. "I was never very good at drawing horses in life, so I thought I ought to learn."

"Beth draws really good horses," said Elizabeth.

"I know," said William. "I've seen them on the fridge."

"You should come play," said Elizabeth, then gaining more confidence, she repeated it. "Come play with us, Daddy." She grabbed his hands and pulled him toward the playground.

William stumbled happily after her for a moment, but as he got closer to the children, he felt his brain heating up more and more and he let his hands slip through her fingers. She looked back at him, confused.

"I, um, my head's feeling a little fuzzy today, Lizzie, and I don't think the playground would be good for me," he said. "I'll play with you at home, okay?"

Elizabeth's shoulders sank. "But why?" she asked. "We thought you said you were doing better."

"I am," said William. "But I don't want to overdo it. You understand, don't you?"

Elizabeth sighed. "Yes," she said. "We understand."

William smoothed her hair back and kissed her forehead. "Good girl," he said. William didn't think he was in danger of kidnapping or hurting a child again—he had removed that part of himself—but while the ammunition was buried in the ground with the suit, the trigger was still lodged inside him. He didn't like feeling that trigger pulled and he did his best to avoid events that set it off. There were some things he couldn't avoid, such as the memorial and children in movies, but he avoided what he could because he didn't want to get used to that feeling again; he wanted the hot, fuzzy feeling to remain a troubling anomaly in an otherwise healthy ecosystem.

"Hey, Charlie," Elizabeth called. "Do you want to come play?"

Charlie closed her book, gave Mike a kiss, and stood up.

"You bet," she said jogging over. "Want to go on the swings?"

"Yeah!" Elizabeth cheered.

Charlie gently squeezed William's shoulder when she walked by. They shared a passing look, a kind of melancholy approval of his choice to disengage, and William went to sit beside Michael.

Mike was still busily typing on his laptop, squinting close to the screen against the glare. "I'm proud of you, Dad," he said, patting William's arm. "It seems like your sessions with Jack are really helping."

William nodded, taking the sketchbook in his lap. "They are," he said, watching Charlie and Elizabeth on the swings. "I invited him over for lunch tomorrow, if that's okay."

Mike looked up briefly and smiled. "Sure," he said. "It'll be nice to see him again."

"I'm thinking of making egg salad sandwiches and soup," said William. "I should be able to manage that level of object manipulation."

"I'd think so," replied Mike.

William scanned the children on the jungle gym until he found Beth and Sammy; Beth was going down the slide and Sammy was climbing a pole. The fountain hissed and splashed nearby. "Michael," William said quietly, "I have a question, and I'd appreciate if you would answer me honestly."

Michael looked up again from his laptop and adjusted his cap so he could see William's face. "Sure, Dad," he said. "What is it?"

William absently drew circles on the page as he worked to calm himself. "Are you doing all right?" he asked. "I know your body has plateaued and you tell me that if you keep your injures clean and wrapped they don't bother you, but you know me: I can't stop worrying about it, and I'd rather you tell me you aren't doing well than lie to me because you don't want to hurt my feelings." He paused and Michael didn't respond. "So, are you? Are you okay?"

Mike slowly clicked his laptop shut. He didn't speak right away, but that was all right; William had an endless amount of time and the hesitation made him think that Mike actually might tell him the truth. William braced himself for it; what would he do if Mike said he was miserable? In excruciating pain? What could William possibly do to alleviate that? Maybe if he and Henry had continued their research ten, twenty, or thirty more years, he might know how to repair Mike. But that ship had sailed long ago and the only research on it was what they already had, and that wasn't much.

Mike folded his hands together pensively and ran his thumb along a line of bandaids encircling his index finger, back and forth as if the neon plastic would show him what to say. He drew in a long shallow breath. "Some days are better than others," he said like it was the hardest thing he'd ever been forced to admit. "I miss the shop, working with my hands, but the job puts too much stress on my joints now, you know?"

William stared at his lap. "I'm sorry," he said.

"It's not your fault," Michael said, gaze wandering to the swings. "And if we hadn't gone to the lab, we never would have found Liz."

"I still feel bad," said William.

Mike smiled wanly. "Don't," he said. "What's done is done, and things are different now."

William watched Elizabeth soaring on the swing. "I suppose they are," he agreed. His fingers folded the corner of his sketchbook page once, and then again; they pressed the crease until it was flat. "Would you tell me if you were in pain?" he asked.

Mike chuckled. "Not unless you forced me to." William's stare was unwavering and after a moment, Mike sighed in surrender. "Sometimes," he admitted. "But it's usually just a dull ache and I've gotten used to it." He shrugged like it was nothing but William stared onward, worriedly.

"What hurts?" William asked. "Have you tried taking anything for it?"

"That would require a stomach," Mike laughed, but William didn't reciprocate. Mike's face relaxed into something more serious and William realized he was finally seeing a bit of how his son was feeling and it wasn't good. "The ache is all over," he said, tracing his arms. "Everywhere the endoskeleton went. I think all the tunnels are still there, empty. But I don't ever hurt bad except when I push myself too hard or sleep on my stomach. When that happens, I just have to grin and bear it and eventually it subsides. Though, the things that push me too hard have been increasing lately and sometimes I have nightmares where I can't breathe or move at all." He stopped suddenly like he'd said more than he meant to. He glanced up at William and flashed a smile. "Aren't you glad you asked?"

William gently took hold of Mike's bandaged hands. "I promise you, Mike, I will find a way to reverse what happened to you."

Michael laughed and shook his head. "What are you going to do? My organs are long gone and I kinda need those to go back to normal."

"Your organs might be gone, but I'm going to find a way to get your body to heal itself," said William.

Mike patted William's hand. "Don't worry about it," he said. "Just focus on your own recovery. I'll be fine."

"I need to do this," insisted William. "I'm your father, and whether you believe me or not, I will find a way to fix this." Mike had a worried look. "Humanely," added William, more softly.

Michael scanned the playground until he saw his children. They had moved on to the fountain and were kicking water at each other in the wading pool. "I believe you, Dad," he said. "Just promise you'll stop if it starts compromising your recovery."

"I'd never let it do that," William promised. "You and I both know I can't afford to."

Michael searched his face and smiled. He gave him a quick hug and thanked him. As flippant as Michael pretended to be about his own health, it was clear it bothered him. And if there was any way to reverse the effects the endoskeleton and remnant had had on him, William would find it. William was tenacious to a fault, an attribute that used to get him into trouble but now it might do some good.

"Are we going to be transforming the garage into a laboratory?" asked Michael.

"Maybe," said William. "I'm not sure yet."
"Well, let me know if you need an extra pair of hands," said Mike and opened his laptop again.

William went back to doodling, jotting notes of where to begin his research next to half-finished drawings of horses and bears. Charlie and the kids came jogging up the hill. Sammy was all wet from the fountain and when he threw himself into William's lap, his t-shirt soaked through the sketchbook.

"Careful, bud," said Mike, gently lifting him.

"It's fine," said William, shaking water droplets out of the pages. "It will dry." Elizabeth took the sketchbook from him and shook it faster.

"The kids are getting hungry," Charlie said to Mike. "I was thinking of stopping for burgers on the way home, if you're up for it."

Mike slipped his laptop into his bag. "I'm always up for burgers," he said, grinning at his sopping wet children as Charlie helped him to his feet. "I'm glad we remembered to bring towels."

Charlie slung both her and Mike's bags over her shoulders. "Right?" she said, holding Mike's waist to support him as they walked over the uneven ground.

William and the children followed. It occurred to him that Mike smiled more now than he had before the accident but that didn't mean he was happier; it struck William that it was a habit Mike had picked up from him. He was performing a routine, trying to convince everyone that he was doing fine and they didn't need to worry about him. Maybe that's what Mike had meant about a "customer service smile." Well, William worried about him, more now that he knew he was in pain.

He felt nervous energy building in his chest. In the past, he would have gone out to his backyard workshop and broken things until his impulsive need was satisfied, but Jack said that response wasn't healthy so William hadn't done anything like that since June, when he tore all the pages out of a book. On the other hand, he couldn't pretend those urges didn't exist, either. According to Jack, the best way for him to lower his anxiety was to surround himself with family and friends, remind himself why he was trying to get better in the first place, and talk it out. He felt like he was always talking these days, sharing some dark secret or other, like draining endless infection from a deep wound. It was strange, then, that the solution to Mike's problem had to come from the old dark lab—the very thing William tried not to think too much about—but talking could only do so much; sometimes, flesh required surgery.

—

William searched tirelessly for a way to turn Michael's body back to normal—sometimes with Elizabeth or Mike's help, sometimes alone—but no matter how hard he tried or how good his intentions were, he couldn't find the solution. The kids would soon be on winter break again and William was still no closer to solving the puzzle. He talked to Jack about it often, but Jack wasn't a scientist and couldn't help him beyond offering rejuvenation theories he found on Google. William talked to Elizabeth, hoping that she might have some insight into remnant since she spent almost as much time in the lab as William had, himself, but she didn't know either and she didn't like talking about it, so he tried not to push her too much.

One winter night, he felt like giving up. Hunched over his worktable in the garage, staring down at the mounds of papers he had brought back from the lab and books about cell culturing, he felt himself starting to panic. He had no idea what to do; Mike's condition was getting worse, yet William was failing.

Elizabeth was sitting on the futon giving haircuts to her Barbies and suddenly looked up like she had remembered something important. William saw the light of her purple eyes reflecting off the wall. "Daddy," she said, "If we can't fix Michael with remnant, maybe we can fix him with robots. We fixed ourselves with pieces of the animatronics, so maybe it will work for Mike, too."

William shook his head. "It's a good idea, Lizzie, but unlike your body, Mike's is completely organic. We can't repair him with metal like you repaired yourself."

Elizabeth cocked her head. "Why not?"

William was about to reply, but then hesitated. Why not, indeed? Why couldn't an organic body be repaired artificially? Doctors did that all the time, from stints in hearts that kept veins open to screws that kept weak bones from collapsing. And Mike was on the verge of collapse. William didn't know the first thing about biology, but he knew machines. Maybe a mechanical solution was the next best thing. With a quick swipe, William pushed aside the papers on which he had been writing chemical compounds, and set a blank sheet on the table. He began sketching out the blueprints for a system of braces that would strengthen Mike's weak body. It wasn't what William had promised, but maybe it would still be appreciated.

"Lizzie, could you please hand me the banker box from under the bed?" he asked as he made a rough sketch of Mike's body and marked the numerous areas that required aid. Elizabeth knelt by the bed and dragged the box out from under the bed. She opened it before setting it by William's chair.

"These are blueprints of the animatronics, aren't they, Daddy?" she asked.

"That's right," said William. He handed her the paper and stood up to guide her through the diagram. "Here's what I have so far. A combination of silicon gel and plastic tubes. It might not stop his deterioration, but it'll at least keep the air out, give him more structure, and maybe help him feel more solid. And here: I thought, even though he doesn't seem to need food to survive, an IV drip still might give him some more strength, and who knows, maybe prompt some healing." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know what to do about his face, though, I know his nose and eyes bother him, but what do you think? Do you think he'll go for it?"

Elizabeth looked closely at the diagram; she ran her fingers over the pencil lines. "Mike really doesn't like needles. We felt very bad when we realized we had sewn him up instead of you," she said. "He will be scared, but we think this will help him feel better. Just be careful, okay Daddy? He hurts a lot already."

"If all goes well, he won't feel a thing," said William. "I might need your help, though, if that's okay."

—

Mike wasn't on board at first. When William came to him with the plans and explained the process to him, how they would put him under general anesthesia, insert stiff plastic tubes through his core where the endoskeleton had carved him out and fill in the finer holes, gaps, and gashes with a flexible, sanitary silicone, he thanked him but said that it seemed like overkill for aches and pains. "I've been fine so far without surgery," he said, "so I think I'll be okay staying the way I am."

A week later, Michael fell; he was going down the stairs and his leg gave out, snapped at the knee. Elizabeth helped him to the couch and gave him a heat pack for the pain, the only thing that helped. William sat with him, ramrod straight, hands squeezing fistfuls of his tattered twill pants. He didn't say anything but his eyes were screaming what they both knew: this wouldn't be the last time he fell and none of these new injuries were going to heal. "Okay, Dad," Michael said softly. "I'll do it."

They immediately began gathering supplies, both from the lab and online, and turning the garage into an operating room. Charlie fought them at first, warning William that she wasn't going to let him experiment on her husband, but Mike assured her it was necessary. The surgery itself went quickly because William was a well practiced, though untrained, surgeon. Once Michael had been put under, Elizabeth, with her mechanical efficiency, opened him up and fed the tubes where they needed to go. Afterwards, ever so carefully, she spread warm silicone inside from his fingers down to his toes, smoothing it into all the scarred crevices like cement, cooling old wounds and stopping them from tearing further.

Under William's direction and Charlie's nauseated but dedicated supervision, they patched the gaping chasm in Michael's stomach. There had been numerous new tears and injuries and the flesh was dry and cracked from being more or less open to the elements. They sculpted the silicone around what remained of Michael's guts and ribs until it filled his torso, stratifying it to make sure that he would be able to move when it solidified, and then they stitched him back up with a tight sewn line of surgery thread. Charlie was sitting in a chair nearby, hand over her open mouth, tears streaming down her trembling cheeks. Even though Michael had told her what happened to him, she hadn't realized the extent of what that meant until she saw it first hand. Elizabeth put her cloth skin back on and went to comfort her while William finished cleaning Michael up and preparing for post-op care. "We're sorry," Elizabeth said, "We wish we could go back and un-scoop Mike." Charlie hugged her and rubbed her back comfortingly, assuring her that it was all right. William gently removed the breathing tube from his son's throat, hoping that the procedure had been successful.

They transferred Mike to the futon and sat in silence, staring intently, waiting for him to wake up. William furiously picked at his fingers, worrying about what he would do if Mike didn't wake up, or if he woke up and he couldn't move because of the prosthetics. What would William do then? "You would take a deep breath and try again," said Jack's voice in his head. Elizabeth was getting fidgety, so Charlie took her out to play for a short break. William inhaled an artificial breath and let it out. If the operation failed, William would try again. If the tubes made things worse, William would just take them out. Because of the remnant, Michael wouldn't die easily.

A soft groan came from Mike's lips and William jumped. He knelt by the bed where he could see better. Mike's eyes pulled open and, slowly, his pupils focused on William.

"Dad?" he croaked, then winced. He felt the front of his shirt and lifted it so he could see the wound, but it had been wrapped with gauze. He let his head relax back on the pillow.

William smiled crookedly. "H-how are you feeling?" he asked.

Mike took a couple shallow breaths before answering. "Heavy," he said. "and in pain."

William quickly went to the desk and brought back two syringes. "This one has painkillers, and this one has nutrients," he said. "I-If you wanted to start those. It's okay to wait."

Mike smiled weakly and offered his arm; it was still discolored, but it looked fuller and sturdier, a more natural shape than the knobby skin and bones from before. "I'll take both, please," he said.

William smiled back, his heart beating hard with adrenaline, thinking that maybe everything had worked out, and he injected both, making sure to push each plunger down slowly.

Mike exhaled long when it was over. "Thanks, Dad," he said.

"Charlie and Elizabeth are outside," said William hopping to his feet. "I'll get them." He raced through the house, feeling his spirits lift higher and higher, so high that he found himself laughing. The operation was a success. They would need to monitor Michael to see if it was making a difference, but for now, his son was all right and he hadn't killed him. William burst through the back door so fast the glass rattled and delivered the news.

—

Morning turned into afternoon and sank into evening and Mike remained stable. When Beth and Sammy came home from school, they waited on him hand and foot, bringing him various stuffed animals, books, and card games to play. Charlie and Elizabeth came in and out, making sure Mike was okay and bringing him whatever he needed: everything, that is, except when he asked Charlie to get his work laptop for him, which she didn't bring and told him the shop could wait a few days and that he shouldn't be answering emails on morphine anyway. Laughing, Mike relented and spent the rest of the day playing card games with his kids. All the while, William sat in the desk chair and watched him closely, clutching the case of pain medication, ready to give Mike another injection the moment he asked for one.

Charlie and the kids ate dinner in the garage with Mike and then, when Beth and Sammy started yawning, she said goodnight, gave Mike a long kiss, and took them up to bed. Elizabeth followed quickly after, as she liked pretending to brush her teeth with Beth and Sammy. Charlie left the door open when they left in case Mike called for her in the middle of the night.

"Are you in pain?" William asked for the hundredth time that day.

Mike smiled. "I'm okay for now," he replied. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," said William, clutching the case closer to his chest. "If the tubes hurt too much, we can take them out."

"They don't," said Mike, shifting to soothe a leg cramp. "Though, I guess the real test will come when I try to walk."

"Don't," said William, suddenly alarmed. "It's way too soon."

"I won't, don't worry. I don't think I could even sit up yet."

"Are you cold?"

"No," said Mike. There was a pause. "To be honest, I don't feel temperature very strongly anymore."

"Oh."

William slumped in his chair and set the case of vials on the floor next to the nightstand. Mike repositioned his blanket, folded his arms overtop, and relaxed deeper into the bedding. William wanted to do something more to help Mike recover more quickly, but there was nothing to do, so he clasped his hands on his bouncing knee, and waited for the moment Mike would be ready for another dose of painkillers.

"Hey, Dad?" asked Mike. William looked up. "Do you want to watch some Immortal and the Restless?"

A smile tugged at William's lips. They hadn't watched that soap opera since his first night at the house. So much had changed since then, almost everything, and William hoped it had changed for the better. "Are you sure?" he asked. "You aren't tired?"

"If I get tired, I'll just fall asleep," said Michael nonchalantly.

That was good enough for William. He had spent a lot of concentration that day and he would probably need to avoid expending too much energy tomorrow to recharge, but he still had enough energy to pull the desk with the TV to the bed and use the remote. William climbed onto the bed and sat against the wall with his legs across Mike's. One perk of being a ghost is that he was weightless and didn't have to worry about hurting Mike. They decided to continue where they had left off: season two, the beginning of Vlad and Clara's life with the new baby. Mike seemed ready to fall asleep as soon as the episode started. He rested his hand on William's arm.

"Love you, Dad," he said quietly.

Something broke in William's chest and he looked over at his son, but Mike was out cold. He smiled and rubbed his hand gently. "I love you too, Mike," he whispered and went back to watching the opening credits.

Twenty minutes in, William noticed pinpricks of light beginning to show up on his legs. At first, he thought it was the light of the TV reflecting off folds in the fabric, but that was impossible because he was a spirit without a body and there was no fabric to reflect off of. He sat up and on further inspection, he realized the pinpricks were on his arms and his chest as well. All of a sudden, he realized what was going on.

William quickly clicked the TV off and scrambled off the bed. He stared at his reflection in the black screen. Spots on his face were glowing as well, but they weren't pinpricks; they were springlock scars. He traced the long, curved wounds with shaking fingers illuminated by their own marks, and dreaded what this meant. He pressed his hands to the scars on his face, as though he could snuff them out like candles. This was the worst timing in the world; Mike needed him here, not floating in some ethereal void. Besides, the afterlife had made it clear time and time again that he was banished to earth forever, so why was it, now that he had accepted his fate, he was being forced to move on?

"Mike," William nudged him, careful not to do it too hard. "Mike!" he hissed. "Wake up!"

Out of the corner of his eye, William caught sight of something else glowing in the garage. He didn't want to look at it, didn't want to acknowledge that it was there. Maybe if he pretended he didn't see the portal, it would go away. He nudged Mike again and finally, Mike stirred.

"What?" he asked groggily, then stopped, staring at him. "What's going on? Why are you glowing and what's that thing glowing over there?"

William fidgeted with his sleeve. "It's a door to the afterlife, like what happened to Charlie's father," he answered nervously. "They want me to go, but I've decided to stay with you, Charlie, Lizzie and the kids."

"No," said Mike, struggling to sit up. "If this is your ride, you need to go."

William shook his head. "I can't, not with you like this," he said, holding onto Mike's sleeve. "And I promised Elizabeth I'd stay with her forever, and Beth and Sammy, they'll be so sad, they'll think I left without saying goodbye. I can't…I can't leave now."

"Dad," Mike said softly. William looked up into his face. A line of dark liquid was sneaking from the corners of Mike's eyes, but he was smiling encouragingly. "If they're offering you a chance to move on, I think that means your punishment, or whatever was keeping you here on earth, is over." He shrugged. "It's a good thing, I think, and I'd feel awful if you turned it down because you were worried about us."

"I don't want to go," said William, trembling. "I have no one over there. I'll be alone for eternity, and I can't think of a worse hell."

Mike held William's hands comfortingly. "I don't know what's waiting for you on the other side, but I know that if you don't go, you'll regret it." William shook his head again but Mike didn't let go. "You can do it, Dad. And who knows, maybe you'll be able to visit us from time to time."

"Daddy?" The child's voice flowed clear and cold like spring water. William whipped his head around and gazed dumbfounded at the tear in the center of the room.

"G—Geor…" He couldn't get the name to come out.

Mike was staring as well. "George?" he whispered. It was still just him and William in the room, but there was no mistaking the voice of his little brother.

"Hi, Mike," said the voice cheerfully.

Mike sat forward and for a moment, William thought he was going to try and stand, but he stayed in bed. He acted like he wanted to say more, which was fine because William was frozen solid hearing his son's voice again. Poor little George, who died because William had made the animatronics so damn dangerous and couldn't be bothered to keep an eye on his kids.

"George," said Mike, "I'm so sorry for…what I did to you. I was such a shit brother…"

"I forgave you a long time ago for that. And you weren't, not all the time," said George. "I wish I could talk more, but I have to go for now. I'm here for Daddy."

William and Mike looked at each other, then back to the light. "You…" William cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice from turning into a whimper. "Y-you're here for me?"

George said he was. "The kids said you were scared when they visited, so I came to guide you," he explained. "So you wouldn't be alone."

Guide me where? William wanted to ask but couldn't bring himself to. If the answer was bad, he didn't want to know and he definitely didn't want Mike to know. William looked between Mike and the portal and stumbled shakily to his feet. He approached slowly, cautiously, as though it was a trap and he was afraid of setting it off.

He stood directly in front of the tear, it and his death wounds glowing in unison. Now, so close to it, so close to finally passing over, he thought of Henry and how he must have felt, why he had seemed so eager to go. The portal hung silent in the air; there was no film over it that he would have to break through, just a soft light that reached into eternity. It was both warm and cold, making William feel comfortable and shiver at the same time despite the fact that he couldn't feel temperature. He was afraid that, if he stuck his hand in, the portal would snap it off, and yet, there was nothing he wanted to do more so he clasped his hands tightly so that he wouldn't leave prematurely.

He looked up at Mike on the bed, now hard to see past the bright glow. Mike was smiling and nodding, though he looked sad. "Go," said Mike. "We'll be all right." Yes, but will I? thought William.

He stepped carefully around the portal and gave Mike a long, tight hug. Mike brought his heavy arms around William and held him close for a long time. What had William done to deserve this? It was a question he asked often, even though there was no answer that would satisfy him. He knew he hadn't done anything good enough to earn him more time with his family, not after how he had spent his time when he was alive. But whether it had been part of the eternal scheme of things or a fluke caused by revenge and tragedy, he was thankful for it.

"I'll go," said William, turning to the portal, "but I need to say goodbye to everyone first."

"The connection's already made," said George. "If you get too far away from it, it might break."

William clenched and unclenched his fists, pondering what to do. He couldn't risk messing up the portal, but there was no way he was leaving without letting everyone know where he went. Mike patted William's arm. "I'll tell them," he said. "They'll understand."

William picked nervously at his pants, looking between the portal and the door, wondering what to do. If the afterlife wanted him so badly, he thought, they could wait a few minutes. He stood up and started towards the portal, then walked past it to the door.

Mike grabbed for him but missed. "Dad, no, didn't you hear George?"

"I'll be right back," William said as he bounded up the steps and into the house. He heard Mike still calling for him but he ignored him for now. If his gamble meant that he wouldn't be able to cross over after all, so be it. All that would mean is that he would be stuck on earth with his family, which is a fate he had already accepted.

He went to Beth and Sammy first and explained the situation to them, saying that he had to move away, but that he would come visit as often as he could. They were sleepy and didn't understand what he was talking about, so they each gave him a hug, asked why he was hugging them so tightly, and then went back to bed. William went to Charlie's room and gave her the same talk. She was alarmed at first but in the end, she hugged him and said she was proud of him. William told her the things to watch out for as Mike continued to recover and said that if anything went wrong, Elizabeth knew what to do and could perform any additional necessary surgeries.

Lastly, he went to Elizabeth. She was building houses for her newly haircut Barbies out of legos. "Lizzie, I have some good and bad news," he said as he knelt beside her on the floor. He told her what was going on, and even though she was young, being no stranger to death, she knew exactly what it meant and how serious it was. She reminded him of his promise that he would stay with her forever and pleaded with him not to go. But William said what they both already knew: that he had to. He hugged her for a long time and they both cried. He said he loved her and would miss her and that he would visit as often as he could and that they would be reunited again someday. They stayed like that for what seemed like forever and William didn't think he'd ever be able to let her go, not again. But then, eventually, Elizabeth's grip loosened and she sat back.

"Go, Daddy," she said, still crying invisible tears. "I'll see you later, okay?"

William wiped his face and then hers and smiled. "See you later," he agreed. Standing then was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do, but he did it. Looking back all the time, he left Elizabeth's room and returned to the garage. The portal was still there and Mike looked panicked but upon seeing William's tear-streaked face, he didn't say anything.

"Okay, I'm ready," said William, with a final wipe of his eyes. He looked over at Michael. "I'll be back soon, hopefully."

Mike nodded. "You better," he said, choking out a laugh.

With that, William looked back at the portal, at his glowing wounds, at whatever lay beyond. "I'm ready, George," he said.

"You scared me, Daddy," giggled George.

A child's hand appeared from inside. William took it, and with one step, he passed through and the garage disappeared behind him, dissolving into all-encompassing white light. There was no furniture, no scenery, no sky. Where they were was blank, as though it was still being formed.

Before him, holding onto his hand and leading the way, was little George; he was wearing the clothes he had died in but he looked happy, he looked whole. His head wound was gone as well as the injuries from the surgeries trying to save him. He looked back, catching William staring at him.

"Cuts and stuff don't last long here," George explained.

William looked down at himself as they walked and realized that his own wounds were changing. The zig-zagging deep wounds from the metal and wires weren't bleeding anymore and they were fading like temporary tattoos. He didn't think it would mean so much to see that, but seeing his unscarred skin beginning to surface again, he found himself getting choked up.

"So, uh," William cleared the lump in his throat. "Where are we going?"

"Wherever you want," replied George. "We're waiting for now, but there's a lot of fun stuff to do and places to go while we wait." The light began changing from a white fog into something like sunlight, a form more grounded, and William was surprised that he felt the sunlight touching and warming his skin. "But someone wanted to see you first."

Someone? thought William. He squinted up ahead and he saw the figure of a man in a plaid shirt and glasses. He knew immediately who it was and his heart lept like an old motor.

"Hey, Willy," said the man with his hands in his pockets. "Can we start over?"

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who came along on this Afton family ride. I greatly enjoyed writing it and I really hope you enjoyed reading. I never expected it to get so long or to have so much support, and I'm truly thankful. If you have a moment, please leave a comment and tell me what you thought of it.

Have a great rest of your day, a happy New Year filled with FNAF and other good things, and we'll talk again soon. :)