William dreams of himself.

He's back in the forgotten pizzeria's safe room, trapped by the critters whose lives he'd taken. He runs for the window, though several floorboards encroach themselves on it, barricading off his escape. He looks towards the door he came through in hopes of making a quick getaway. Nevertheless, those clever little ingrates were in his way, snuffing out his last opportunity to leave.

In the corner of his eye is a girl with black hair and overalls, she steps closer.

He lands face-first on the floor after slipping on a puddle. His teeth scrape the tiles, his nose bends with an agonizing crack and a copper taste fills his mouth. The girl–Cassidy–peers down at him while he scrambles up, nearly slipping back into the filthy blood-stained water. The throbbing pain in his face is overwhelming, and his eyes dart to his last chance at surviving, tucked in the corner.

His greatest creation.

Spring Bonnie.

It wasn't as golden as it once was, the bright yellow fading to a brownish-green. Like everything else here, it has been abandoned and forgotten. Its fur was missing in patches. Some of its coverage has collapsed, exposing corroded metal and tattered cables.

He rushes towards it, hope and relief blossoming in him as quickly as the blood oozing from his nose. He slips on the costume, wasting no time, overlooking the water dripping from the ceiling. The pieces slip on tightly around his body, compressing him as he looks back at the spirits.

"What now? Can't reach me in this." Through his strained breaths and thundering heartbeat, he lets out a triumphant laugh, dismissing the taps he hears on his suit. He expects them to back away or something, but they don't. They stare at him, expressions unchanging.

Why? he wonders, why won't they fuck off already?

Then, it dawns on him. The poor structure of this forgotten shithole let water creep in through the roof. They got him right where they wanted him. It was almost as if they knew what he would do before he knew of it himself.

And as if on cue, the spring locks set off. He yelps as the metal rods snap shut into his sides and he lurches forward. His hasty movements cause more spring locks to snap into most of his body. He heaves and writhes as he falls back with a dull thud, knowing he has a slim chance of surviving a second spring lock failure, yet he strains his arms to rip off the bunny's head, involuntarily enabling the last set of spring locks to puncture his throat. He screams as much as his damaged vocal cords will allow.

He wakes up in a pool of his own sweat, the taste of blood still fresh in his mouth. For a split second, he feels the weight of the suit on his back, it makes him retch.

He breathes slowly through his nose, allowing his nerves to calm down.

He considers going back to sleep until his stomach growls–he's hungry. He can't remember the last time he ate. He stumbles out of his bedroom and into the hallway, it's as silent as it was in the morning though he hears faint chattering and clattering plates downstairs.

For some reason, he hesitates to descend on them. He stares the staircase down, wondering what could be waiting for him down there.

His family is, his two kids are squabbling away and his wife is humming a silent tune as William slowly enters the room, his light steps making him undetectable.

With wide eyes, his wife turns around to look at him when she notices he's walked in, flashing him a genuine smile. Something about it made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

She looks nothing like what William remembered. Then again, the last time he saw her alive, she looked drained…or something like that. He's never been good at recognizing emotions on peoples' faces, but whatever expression she had the last he saw her–it wasn't good.

"Look who's finally up!" She turns away from him and scoops up a portion of spaghetti and plops it down on his plate. The two kids shut up once they hear their mother. Michael stifles a cough and Elizabeth turns to face him.

"Daddy!" her green eyes light up as soon as she sees him. She looks as if she wants to get up from her chair and give her dad a hug, but doesn't. As lenient as William is with her, his hatred for physical touch has always been apparent, even to a young child.

"I was just about to send Liz to wake you for dinner, Michael said you haven't eaten all day–nor have you been out of your room." She spins back around to him and looks him up and down, "from the looks of it, I'd say you haven't had the chance to wash up either."

She's not wrong. Not only is he visibly sweaty, but his hair is also poking out in all different directions, and the bit of dirt above his lip did not help his disheveled look. He's 37, for fucks sake, why is he getting dirt lip. Clara–on the other hand–is an absolute beauty. Will hasn't gotten the chance to take a real look at her until now. The only other time being when he first woke up when it was dark. She hasn't been home all day (according to Michael) and yet she looks way better than her husband who's done nothing but sleep. She was just stunning.

William doesn't notice that he's been blankly staring at her for a while until she speaks up again. "I'm joking, you know that," she lets out a laugh that is very obviously forced. William doesn't think about the possibility that she might think he's upset at her little joke, especially with a glare like his, it's impossible for others to get a read on him. Claras' eyes dart away from William for a split second to look at her kids and practically beg them to save her from this awkward staring contest she unknowingly put herself in. There's a brief moment of silence before the two start whispering to each other–if it could even be called that.

"Oi, Mike," Elizabeth doesn't take into account her volume, "why don't you say something?"

Michael immediately starts to sweat bullets, "No, fuckface! He likes you more, plus I already pissed him off today…" And with that, the two children somehow instigate a fight with each other.

Michael nips at his sisters' arm, making her squeal an ungodly and horrific cry, one of blue murder. "Yowch! Heyyy! Mike, stop it before I tell mom!"

Both Clara and Will turn their heads at unimaginable but reasonable speeds, giving their kids stern but surprised looks.

Michael clears his throat loudly to stop this awkward scene, "you guys should sit down, the food's getting cold." He tries his best not to make the tremble in his voice apparent. Clara is more than willing to go along with Michael's idea, setting down her husbands' food on the table and taking a seat, with William trailing behind like a lost puppy.

The table's cluttered with plates and cutlery for the members of the gloomy but living family. The family was having the classic Italian staple: Spaghetti. Its aroma was of parsley, tomato, wheat, and a whole lot of steam. It's long, and luscious strings are wet with droplets. The tomato sauce sunk into all parts of the spaghetti, whirling everywhere, topped by scattered ripplets of parsley. The food seemed to be alive with flavour, gleaming in the light of the dining room. The family, however, did not seem to care for the spaghetti and its tasteful properties. Silence fills the room as the family of four sits and looks down at their grub.

With the exception of William, everyone in the room seems to be on edge, his own thoughts swirling in an eddy. He's had some time to accept the situation he's in (even though there's still a bit of doubt in his mind), it wouldn't be the first supernatural thing to happen to him, but now he needs to figure out what he's going to do. Luckily enough, his former self has yet to kill, so that's something that needs to stay the same. It shouldn't be too hard considering he doesn't have any plans of killing anyone in this lifetime. He also doesn't need to worry about any spirits meddling with his plans too–except maybe Evan. Evan was never a problem in the past, it was Cassidy, but since Cassidy is alive and well this time, there's a chance Evan won't linger around. Though he can never be too sure, it won't hurt to take a look at Fredbear when he gets the chance. Once he figures out the situation with Evan, he needs to take care of his surviving family next–as well as Henry.

He looks up from his food and at Clara. Her hair is long and sultry like the spaghetti he's chowing down on, and the redness of the tomato sauce parallels the redness of her cheeks in this somewhat awkward situation.

Has she always been this pretty? He thinks to himself.

If she really has always been this pretty, he never noticed. Or maybe he had–in the past. Every time he looks at her, he gets this sort of warmth pooling in his stomach. It isn't something he's familiar with, he's not even sure if he's ever felt this way before, not that he minds. It's nothing like the burning he felt in the first or second fire. No, it's comforting in a way…it's how he felt when he got to hold Clara again.

Oh, how he's missed her all this time.

It's a shame he's only just now realizing it.

Clara abruptly puts her fork down and clears her throat, slowly turning to William. "So… how was your day, honey?" she utters.

William blank out for a second or two, realizing that he's been staring. "Oh, love, I've been sleeping all day, so…" he mutters.

Suddenly, a cheery voice speaks up from the other side of the table. "Hey, mom, do you wanna hear about how my day went? I think I've done more today than…" Elizabeth trails off, staring at her father, gulping anxiously.

"Uh, sure, sweetheart," Clara perks up a little and speaks again, "we're listening."

"Okay, so, basically, uh… Oh yeah! So, uh, today I was talking with Mr. Smith in my first period and he said that I was one of his best students! Can you believe that, mom?"

"Yes, sweetie, I do… now–" Clara's cut off like it's nothing.

"Uh uh UH! I'm not finished yet. That was just my first class. So, like, uh, um, in my second period, everyone was making so much noise that the substitute teacher just left the class and called in for another one."

"Oh, that's horrible. Anyways–" William is also disregarded.

"AHEM! You guys aren't even trying to listen to me…" The couple watches as their youngest begins to tear up.

"No no, we're listening, it's just that I asked your father about his day, not you particularly. But, you can go ahead. We're all ears," she smiles brightly.

Gosh, you're so lovely, William thinks, I'm such a fool to ever forget why I married you…

Elizabeth continues to chat and mingle with her parents, while Michael teases her at every mention of a boy's name. With every passing second, the mood seems to lighten up.

After the family's hearty dinner, they decide that it's time to turn in for the day and go to bed. Of course, the decision is only reached after plenty of groans from their teenager and their youngest throwing a tantrum.

"Do I have to sleep now? It's like, seven-thirty, plus it's the weekend…"

"Sweetie, even if you don't have school, you're still a kid. Also, the clock says eight thirty, not seven-thirty…"

"Oh…right! Haha, I know how to read clocks, I was just testing you…!"

Silence falls over the room before Clara chuckles quietly. Her quiet chuckles eventually lead to her bursting out into a good laugh, the type that makes you want to join whatever conversation she was having, she's always been able to do that. Elizabeth joins her fits of laughter while William stands idly in the doorway. While he doesn't laugh, he feels a small smile creep across his face. It's good seeing the woman you love so much and your daughter alive and well, it's been a long, long time since he's been able to experience something like this, it almost feels wrong to be this content.

"Alright, sweetheart," Clara continues as she wipes a tear from her eye, "maybe I should talk with your math teacher during the next parent-teacher conference. Have you been paying attention to her?"

"Y-Yes! I said I was testing you!" Elizabeth says as she puffs her cheeks, "and Mrs. Frank wouldn't say anything about me!"

"Ms. Frank, Liz," William corrects, "she isn't married yet." Ms. Frank was one of the few people he does remember. She was his daughters' favorite teacher and he was sure Elizabeth was also her favorite student. Ms. Frank was one of the few people invited to his daughter's funeral–if it could even be called that. There wasn't a body to retrieve so it was more of a memorial service held months after she died, courtesy of the police ruling her disappearance as a kidnapping and then pronouncing her dead. The memorial service was held privately with few guests. It'd be hard to forget the woman who wailed like it was her own daughter who had passed.

"I knew that too! I'm just making sure you guys didn't forget what you learned...since you're old…"

"Yes, yes, thank you so much for that," Clara coos. And of course, as demanded by her spoiled daughter, she fluffs her pillow at least six times, makes sure she's warm, and gives her a kiss on the forehead. "Goodnight sweetheart, we love you." By the time she makes it to the doorway, Elizabeth is already half asleep and can only mumble back what she presumes to be an 'I love you too.'

She slowly closes the door and sighs heavily. "Could you check if Michael's in his room? I don't want him sneaking out like last time…"

William obliges as his wife heads back down to the kitchen to wash the dishes. He gently opens the door to his son's bedroom and peeks his head in. Michael, being the teenager that he is, didn't agree to go to sleep when it's so early, he opted to watch TV in his room and he was doing just that. Unlike other kids his age, Michael doesn't watch TV with the volume high so it's quite hard to tell if he's actually there or not. He's watching some show William doesn't recognize, not that it matters all that much, it's just good that he's still in the house. William closes the door, making sure not to alert his son before he goes to meet his wife downstairs.

He's back to watching her in awe while she busies herself with housework and hums the tune she was earlier. Clara somehow manages to mess up washing dishes every time, that's something he remembers. William imagines he would've gotten angry at her in the past for small things like this and feels a pang in his chest. She isn't thorough in the way she applies soap, rinses, or wipes them down. Nevertheless, she manages to make it look graceful in a way. As sloppy as her "skills" were, she looks carefree and happy. It makes William wonder if she really is happy–she's been out all day and when she finally comes home she needs to take care of her kids since her husband won't do it–but she still has a smile on her face. Maybe she's faking it like he used to.

"Devil in Disguise," he finally recognizes the song she's humming. He's been subconsciously wracking his brain to find the song and finally having it dawn on him feels relieving.

"Correct. I was wondering if you were just going to stare at me all night," she doesn't turn to face him but the joy in her voice is apparent.

"Why the song?"

"Very funny, Will, don't act like you don't know."

William can only stare at her in confusion until she points towards the calendar hanging near the staircase, one that he hadn't noticed before. March 1984 with a messy circle surrounded by hearts and 'W+C' inside drawn in pink around the 17th. Their anniversary was tomorrow. She's been humming Devil in Disguise because it's the song that played when he got down on one knee and proposed. Not that he remembers any of it.

"You can stop pretending now that I pointed it out." Clara assumes William is playing a little game with her until he doesn't reply.

"You really didn't know?"

No reply again.

"I didn't expect you to remember, really, but I got my hopes up when you started acting all nice today." Her voice doesn't sound any less joyous than it did before but it's clear she's dejected, even William can tell.

She still hasn't turned to face him and he worries he might make her cry. There's only one thing that comes to his mind during and it's out before he even realizes what he's said.

"Having your whole life revolve around your family can't possibly make you happy, can it?"

The suddenness of the question makes Clara stop and finally turn around, "it does."

William can't find a subtle hint of anger or anything on her face, she has a smile on her face the entire time, and he can't help but feel that she's telling the truth. It still doesn't make sense though, how could a life like hers be fulfilling?

There's a moment of silence before William speaks up again. "Do you want to go out tomorrow?"

Just the brief mention of going out seems to lighten the mood up again, "are you trying to make up for forgetting our anniversary?"

"No, I just want to go out with you. Would you like to do that?"

"It's rare you'd ask me to go out…even more so that you'd ask me, but even so, no."

There's another moment of silence before Clara giggles and brushes her hair out of her face, "I'm joking! You've gotten really bad knowing when I'm playing around, honey."

"Oh."

"I'll consider your offer if you clean up a little," she makes the joking tone in her voice more obvious this time around.

William once again forgot how pathetic and gross he looks, not even just in comparison to her, he looks homeless. "On it," he says, and leaves it at that.

He fetches some clean clothes he can sleep in, and then heads for the bathroom. He listens to the spray of the shower and just stands there. He's hesitant on letting the water touch him and it's not only because of the spring lock situation this time.

He's enjoyed most of his day in this reality and is keen on creating a new timeline in which his family doesn't have to suffer–but he's also scared. He's still a little doubtful about the validity of this whole thing, a part of him wants it to be real but a part of him doesn't. If he takes a shower and doesn't immediately wake back up in the fire, he'll take his time and follow his plan to lead his family to a happy life, but there's a chance that somehow the past–future–will repeat itself. What then? He doesn't want to repeat it all, he doesn't have the heart to. And if he takes a shower and does wake up being burned to death again, he'll be left remembering his family before most of the tragedies before he meets his demise. He's not sure which sounds worse. But on the off chance that this is all real and he does take time to rebuild his life properly and nothing bad happens, it'll be worth it. He so desperately wants it to be real. If it isn't, it's better to hop in the shower and get back to his world as quickly as possible, he can't grow more attached than he already has.

William watches as Clara tends to the wound on his head. The wound being a bump and the tending being holding some cold peas wrapped in a towel on his injury.

"Are you sure you don't need to go to the hospital? You're not feeling drowsy or anything?"

"No, love, I'm fine."

"Jeez, what even happened to you? Do you know how scared I was when I heard a thud upstairs only to find you passed out on the floor?" she tries whispering but ultimately fails on account of how panicked she still is.

"It's nothing you need to concern yourself with," his head hangs low, "I'm sorry for worrying you."

She looks appalled, she's not sure she's heard him apologize in a long while. It's even more of a surprise that he seems to be genuine. She snaps out of her shock and pulls back the towels to check if the bump has gotten any smaller, it hasn't, so she puts it back. "You're the love of my life, Will, I need to worry about you. And I'm going to get very concerned if my husband faints and won't tell me what happened."

Hearing her call him the love of her life ignites the warmth in his stomach again, it's pleasant.

Realistically, the whole situation is something she should be concerned with, but it's not a conversation he wants to have with her. Explaining that the moment his body was drenched in water, he began hyperventilating, reliving the time he thought he died and that his whole body practically shut down while his vision grayed out sounds like an excuse more than anything. Telling her any of that would arouse suspicion, she'll think he got PTSD from something and will press for more information. Not only does he not want to deal with that, but he's also not even sure he has PTSD, considering he's not a veteran. Plus, it'll seem like this shit came out of nowhere.

"I promise you it's nothing important, love, I'm fine now and that's all that matters."

"Fine," she sighs, defeated.

"Thank you," he grabs her hand that's holding up the towel and gives it a light squeeze. "How bad is it?"

"Bad."

"Can I cover it up for our date tomorrow?"

She plops the towel in his hand and looks for a hand mirror in one of their drawers. Once she finds one, she holds it up to his face, "you tell me." It is indeed, quite bad. He understands why she asked if he needed to go see someone so many times before. "We're not going anywhere tomorrow, I know how much you care about your appearance outside."

That is something he does remember well–to be recognized as a genius, you have to look the part, and he did.

"It's fine, it's our anniversary." he urged.

"You're just saying that."

"No, I really want to go out with you, I don't care how I look."

She scoffs playfully, "clearly not. You spent the whole day looking awful. I'm not sure you would've entered the bathroom if I didn't tell you to."

He chuckles at her little taunt and checks himself out more in the mirror, this is the first time he's gotten to look at himself this whole time. He's definitely attractive, he looks his age but in the best way possible. Even the giant bump on his forehead doesn't distract from his looks. It's humiliating, yes, but he's still very good-looking.

Clara notices him looking in the mirror for far too long and pulls it away, urging him to put the towel back on the bump, though William asks for her to bring it back up.

"I should've known this would've happened."

"What?"

"I thought you grew out of staring longingly at yourself in the mirror phase, but I guess not." she lets out a sigh that turns into a small laugh, "taking a one-day break from your work brought back your dumb habit."

"Aren't I good-looking though," he looks at her for confirmation.

"You're acting like you did before we had Michael. Yes, you're handsome, William." she cups his face in her free hand, "you don't need me to tell you that though."

When she retracts her hand from his face, he immediately misses the warmth.

"You're both brains and beauty, Mr. Afton, meaning you should stop swooning over yourself and put the peas back on your forehead." she tucks the mirror back into whatever drawer it was she found it in.

"Would you rather I swoon over you instead?"

She gives raises her eyebrow at him.

"I can if you want me to," and he means it.

"Really...what's gotten into you today? You're acting as you did in college, did you hit your head sometime earlier too?"

William can't remember what he was like in college and could only take her word for it. She loves him, that much is true, and he's sure that he does too, but maybe the past him fell out of love. She seems to know and remember a lot about him, despite their loveless marriage-or rather their one-sided marriage.

But William doesn't know anything about his wife.