This is a direct follow-up to "All On Me."

Begin Prompt in 3, 2, 1…

Broken Bonds

Prompt: William Afton's the one that needs to be fixed.

It was the first time William had been home since Michael's death. He had spent the last few days hiding in the safety of Henry's home, trying to avoid the weight of driving back to an empty house. At Henry's he was protected by comforting assurances that he did the right thing, that it wasn't his fault, and that he protected dozens of children through his actions. Here he would be alone with his guilt.

It wasn't an exaggeration to say that everyone William loved was dead except for Henry. His wife, sons, and daughter were gone and left an empty house in its wake. So many accidents and meaningless death haunted this house. It was as dark as it was the night he left to check the pizzeria and found his sprung trap in the back of it. There was nobody waiting for him inside anymore.

To be honest, William didn't know if he would last like this. He couldn't close his eyes without seeing Michael slumped in that suit and feeling guilt, and wondering if it was something he did that made his son into the monster he had become. He created this monster; it was his fault.

Gritting his teeth, William shut off the ignition and exited the car. His chest was hurting, but he doubted the world was merciful enough to give him a spontaneous heart attack and spare him from his mourning. He took the long walk up the driveway and to the front door, unlocking it slowly, and letting himself into the empty house.

Every time someone had died, William dealt with it the same way. He thought of the Christmases they wouldn't have, the family nights that wouldn't exist, the memories he and his children would miss out on, but this was a first because only now did he walk in and have no family left. This time they were all gone, and he was left behind. Michael, his last lifeline, his last child, was dead.

But he still went through the motions. He shirked off his jacket and hung it on the hook, ignoring when it fell off, and then stopped behind the living room couch and looked around at the pictures hanging on the wall. Smiles of a long-gone family looked back, standing with a father who he didn't recognize as himself any longer. Full of life and warm, now gaunt and cold.

While William knew what he wanted to do, he had a task to do before he even considered it. It had become somewhat of a tradition to lock the bedroom doors of his children when they passed. He obviously didn't do this with his wife as he still used the master bedroom, but when the others passed away, he promptly locked their doors, blocking them out from the world.

He got the key out of the kitchen drawer and headed down the hall, trudging the long walk towards Michael's bedroom. He let himself into the room and looked around inside. He couldn't remember the last time he had been inside, except that it must've been when Michael was still a teen. Everything was arranged nicely- maybe too nicely- with the only thing out of place being a shirt draped on a desk chair.

William took it and clutched it between his hands. It smelt like that horrible spray on deodorant that Michael would wear, that William had hated, that they had argued about, and that he would never buy again. It, like the rest of the room, reeked of Michael, but his son wasn't ever coming home again.

He had been alone when he died. William knew he would be too.

He stood there in the center of the room, silently weeping and holding the last tether of his son's life. He knew this must've been exactly what the parents of Michael's victims must've felt, but it didn't make it feel any better. With a shaky inhale, William folded the shirt and laid it down on the foot of the bed. Then he stepped back out into the hallway and locked the door again.

The shadows of the house weighed down on him and taunted him about his newfound loss. This time he didn't have anyone left to be strong for. Even Henry had his own life to live, so William had to think of his own, and now... He was thinking of a long bath. Maybe one he would sink into and never come out of.

With the key in his pocket, he began to head back down the hall towards the bathroom. He was stopped abruptly when his eyes just happened to land on the door between Michael's and the bathroom, another locked bedroom forgotten to time.

The bedroom door was cracked open.

For a few seconds William could only stare. The only one who could've opened the door other than himself- and he didn't- would've been Michael. He supposed his son could've gone into the room for something before he left for the pizzeria, but even that seemed unlikely. There was no logical reason that door should've been open.

Slowly, William approached the bedroom door and opened it. It was just as it had been left years ago. His youngest's toys were still left where he had put them, the bed was still messily made, the lights were all off, but William wasn't convinced. He reached in to flick on the bedroom light, but it didn't come on. The bulb must've gone out.

More impatient, William reached in and turned on the lamp, but it only cast a dim light over the darkened bedroom. No wonder his youngest child always had such terrible nightmares in this room. There came another wave of guilt, but by now he was almost numb to it, along with everything else. He almost considered it a mistake and was just about to leave the room when he glanced at the closet.

It was slightly open, but it was unclear if it was always like that or not. It was possible that Michael barged in here, threw open the closet, and started to search for something. What that was would be unknown to William, but he had a feeling it couldn't be anything good. He was drawn to the closet at the realization that Michael might've been hiding incriminating evidence in here.

William approached the closet with little fear beyond the dread of finding something unpleasant. He tried pushing the closet doors open, but they were partially stuck- he remembered that they always had trouble getting them to slide open. At least that much didn't change, and he leaned with his full weight to shove them open further.

It was then that the lamp light shined between him and one of the doors and fell on something in the back corner of the closet. At first it looked like a dark figure on the ground and William reacted accordingly, yanking back in horror. It was this motion that cast more light and illuminated the figure to the point that William could make out what it was.

It was the puppet animatronic that had once been stationed in the pizzeria's Prize Corner. As far as William knew, the thing had disappeared years ago, but here it was. There was a gash between its arm and chest, deep and at least an inch wide, and looked something akin to an axe wound. Almost like it had been attacked. Almost like how Michael had dismantled the other animatronics, and like he tried to do that to this one too.

Its head was slumped forwards so he couldn't see its mask, and its arms hung limp at its sides. It just seemed so strange that Michael would break the bot and then stick it in here. Then again, William was slowly beginning to wonder if Michael was even behind this. Something didn't seem right.

Then the Puppet raised its head and those black eyes stared right at him. The first thought that came to William's mind though was how it was possible that the Puppet wasn't smiling.

It fell forward and collapsed against the floor, dug its fingers into the carpet, and started to drag itself forward toward him. William was in a state of shock, backing away from the closet with wide eyes and gritted teeth. The Puppet continued to drag itself out of the closet. One hand grabbed the edge of the door while the other reached out for him.

Then, amid broken tunes and static rattling through its chest, it called out to him.

"Heee-nnghllpp... Da..."

William's back bumped the lamp and he was unable to catch it as it fell over and sent distorted light over the bedroom. It didn't stop the Puppet that continued to crawl across the floor towards him, struggling with a damaged body and limbs having to twist to propel it along.

"Haa... Br-k... F-th..."

It was trying to speak and that was what did it, sending William sprinting from the room and down towards the master bedroom. He tore open his own closet once inside and ripped away the clothes to see the floor safe located in the back. He remembered the combination by heart and only struggled with his shaking hands but got the safe open and reached in for the familiar cold metal of his gun.

By time William made it back, the Puppet was crawling its way into the hallway. It looked up at him, with its arms trembling to support itself. The man kept five feet between them and aimed the gun directly at its porcelain mask. Everything seemed so quiet beyond the pounding of his own heart.

It must've recognized what the gun was as it let out a cracking sort of noise, maybe a cry, and its face contorted into what looked like pain. He watched in unrivaled horror as purple fluid- maybe paint- began to drip from its eyes and down its mask, then onto the carpet beneath it. It seemed to be afraid of him.

By now William was at the end of his tether. He approached the animatronic slowly with the gun raised, easily able to deliver a shot to the head and hope it damaged it enough for him to escape. If he wanted to escape. It only occurred to him now that he had two ready, willing, and able vehicles for an escape from all of this. He inched closer to the Puppet.

It raised an arm to shield itself as it continued making the distorted noises of a broken machine. It wasn't supposed to have a voice and yet it was trying to talk with him, and if William wasn't feeling so numb then he might've found it fascinating. After all, it most likely was a victim of Michael's. Maybe it was worth giving it its final revenge.

And just when he was about to lower the gun, which would surely trigger it to drop the damaged act and attack, it managed to choke out a single complete word.

"Dad…"

It was like the world came to a grinding halt. William's breath hitched as he stared down at the striped marionette. "…What?"

"Dad," it repeated. It started trying to reach out for his leg, uncovering and putting itself at his mercy. "He…p…Br-k…"

It wasn't his son. It couldn't be. The only one it could be trying to emulate was his youngest son. But his son was just a child when he died and this broken voice seemed to be older, when it was distinguishable amongst the garbled chimes that accompanied it. And his son may have had his accident at Freddy's, but he had died at the hospital. He couldn't have haunted an animatronic like the others.

It couldn't have been him, but it wept just like he used to. William was ashamed to admit that his youngest was quiet and meek, and thus didn't receive the amount of attention he had deserved. He had been bullied, he had nightmares, he cried constantly and feared everything, and then he died on a hospital bed. He had lived as a forgotten child, and now this creature tried to emulate him.

William dropped his arm and then dropped the gun to the floor. The Puppet did not drop the ruse. With the weapon gone, it merely grabbed onto his leg and pulled itself up into a kneel, clinging desperately onto him and begging for help through crackling noises. All at once, any better judgement of the man's was gone, and he knelt to its level.

Slowly he took the Puppet into his arms and felt as it wrapped its own around his neck. It nuzzled into his shoulder affectionately, still crying and pleading, and seemingly fully convinced that he was its father. William wasn't nearly as convinced, but at this point he no longer cared. If this was what he had to hold onto to keep his family alive then so be it.

He would fix the Puppet, he would be the father he hadn't been before, and maybe somehow it would fix part of him too. Maybe he wasn't too far gone just yet.