Yay I'm so happy that fanfiction dot net isn't sending notifications for chapter uploads wow that really makes me feel that Christmas spirit inside1!1!1!1!1!1!1

If they don't send a notification for this, I'm sending a complaint LMAO anygays another William chapter! this was really the only idea I had available haha so I did it, and this is a VERY big chapter. Be warned.

Reviews!

Penguimom: haha, I'm glad you liked the chapters! How was your Christmas, did you get anything cool?

Song: Control by Halsey! Oh my God, why did I say this was William's favourite song back in 2021! He's so edgy! Anyways I still do love this song, one of the first things I added to my first playlist so it's got alot of good memories :D

Enjoyyyyy!

Chapter 95

Who's In Control Now?

"Hello, young man! Would you be interested in trying out one of our perfume samples?" A blonde lady who's name tag read 'Lora' asked, shoving a bottle of liquid lavender in his face. Sheesh. Samples.

William raised his eyebrows and gave her a flat expression. "Lady, do I look gay to you?"

Lora blinked, taken aback. "Er, I-"

"Yeah. Bye." He said dismissively, waving her off and heading away from the makeup aisle. He wasn't here for eye-watering perfumes or frilly lipsticks. What William had his eyes on in the mall were the watches. Shiny and gold and so goddamn expensive, it made his head reel with excitement. So worth the long trek through the December snow.

Taking in his surroundings, he saw Lora busy with another client and a family off in the distance buying milkshakes from a stand. With no obvious alarms on the watch, it was almost too easy. Slowly, carefully, he undid the clasp on the thick metal band and slid it into the secret pocket he'd sewed into his navy blue cardigan. He lingered for awhile longer, glancing loftily at diamond necklaces and sapphire stones till he figured it was time to go. Milkshakes, here I come!

"Hey, Will! Wait up!"

Ugh. He'd recognize that nasally whine anywhere. Andy, the gangly idiot who'd grown a foot over the summer and unsurprisingly hadn't gained a pound. He looked sort of like a Peter Pan who had grown up (just in height, not age). "Andy. Hi."

"Can't believe school ends in a week, huh?" Andy said with an awkward laugh.

William counted the light ginger hairs forming above his lip enviously. The only hair he'd been blessed with so far was on his limbs, and since it was so dark they just made him look like a gorilla. "...Mhm."

"Uh, so anyways, were you going to pay for that watch? Because I saw you take it, and I just thought that maybe you forgot to pay? It really is expensive." Andy rubbed the back of his neck, subtly flexing his large biceps.

William flashed him a smirk, pulling the watch out of his pocket and dangling it by one strap. "What, this thing? It's nice, right? Got it for free - old five finger discount." He laughed at his own joke, frowning when Andy didn't seem to find it very funny. "You don't tell anyone about this, got it? It'd be pretty bad if you did."

"I dunno, Will, this is some serious stuff. I wouldn't want you to go to jail."

"Lighten up, will you? It's just a watch, there's hundreds exactly like it! Who's hurting if I borrow one for myself?" William explained, very reasonably as he shoved the watch back into his pocket. He'd wait to flaunt it at school, where it was sure to impress. "Now, I'm going to go buy a milkshake. See you at school."

"See ya." Andy mumbled, staring at the floor. William rolled his eyes as he walked away. Freaking loser. Now, what flavour to get…

"Excuse me, son." He felt a fat finger tap him on the shoulder, and he turned around to meet the cool muddy eyes of a police officer, with a bald brown head and a dark blue uniform. "May I speak to you for a moment?"

William batted his long eyelashes innocently. "Sure thing, mister officer." He made sure to put a skip in his step as the cop led him to a set of benches surrounded by palm fans, slouching a little so he appeared small and harmless. The cop couldn't have seen him, could he? And besides, even if he'd somehow been acting suspicious, there was no way he could go to jail…right?

"What's the matter, officer? Do you need me to help you catch a bad guy?" He made his ice-blue eyes big and sparkling. "I wanna be just like you when I get bigger!"

"Cut the cute act, kid. It's not doing you any favours." The man grunted as he sat down, knees creaking, and motioned for William to follow. "How old are you?"

"I just turned twelve, sir." Really, he was nearly thirteen, but twelve sounded much younger.

"Right. Well, here's the story. Tall skinny kid around your age comes up to me and tells me you stole a watch from the store over there and are hiding it in your jacket. That true? Or am I gonna have to search you?"

Crap, crap, crap! What should I do?! Oh, Andy is so freaking dead after this. William conjured up a wavering, bashful tone. "My mummy says that if a bad man tries to touch me, I should run away and find a nice lady to help me."

"Oh, bloody hell." The cop face-palmed, shaking his head. "Just take off your jacket for me."

"Kay-kay." William slowly peeled off one arm, thinking furiously of ways to hide the watch. If he managed to time it right, he could snatch it with the other hand and stuff it down his pants without the cop noticing - and if he did, what could he even do about it?

"For God's sake, kid." Before William had time to stop him, the jacket was ripped off and the cop pulled the watch out embarrassingly fast. "Uh-huh. So, son, you have three options."

Sullenly, William nodded.

"First option: you can kick and scream and throw a tantrum, and I take you down to the station for your parents to deal with. Second option, you come back with me to the store, apologize, pay for the watch, and you're banned from the mall."

Well, neither of those sound very possible.

"Third option is the same as the second option, only you don't pay for it and you hand it in to the manager."

"Fine. Whatever." William sulked, stuffing his hands in his pockets and trudging back to the store, where Lora threw a hissy fit and he was promptly booted from the mall, forced to trudge down the side of the highway until he reached the suburban paradise he called home.

When William walked through the door to his house, he was greeted with the pleasant sight of donuts on a plate and a note reading that his mother was in the basement preparing a body and that he should go do his homework before supper. He selected a glazed one and chewed slowly, the sugary sweet taste almost making up for the downright awful time he'd had.

Though, his heart buzzed with excitement at the prospect of a new corpse. If his mum wasn't letting him see it, it must be pretty bad. And after the Mall Trip From Hell, he was really craving something gory. A splintered bone jutting out from the skin, or a nasty wound that needed a whole slew of stitches. It was sick, but his stomach twisted and tangled with delight at the mere thought of death, the flat jelly eyes and cold blue skin and the deliciously bloody circumstances all leading up to the eventual demise. He wanted to drown in it, to inject it into his veins and have it seep out every pore. He wanted to lick it off his fingers like the icing glaze on a donut.

"Hey, dillweed. Get out of la-la land and come help me with this corn." Alicia called as she untucked her ruby-red sweater from her jeans. William blinked his fantasy away, the real world blurring back into view as the fuzz cleared from his head.

"Coming," he mumbled, shuffling over to where Alicia and Vincent were busy shucking the corn, with the latter getting most of the white-blond husk stuck in his black curls.

After they'd finished shucking and boiling the corn, he heard a noise outside.

"William? Can you come help me with something in the car?" His mother called from the garage. William rolled his eyes. Women.

He stepped out into the garage, where his mother sat in the driver's seat, hands on the wheel. He furrowed his brow. Where is she going at 5:30 at night? "What's up?"

"Um, it's inside the car. Why don't you get in and help me, dear? And put on a coat, please, it's dreadfully cold out."

"O-kayyy?" William grabbed his black winter coat, wet with melted snow, and opened the car door, buckling his seatbelt. And the second he did, his mother slammed on the reverse, zooming down the driveway and skidding down the road like a maniac.

*What the heck?! Mum, where are you taking me?" William asked incredulously, gripping the armrests like a lifeline. The evening-lit neighborhood blurred past him at the breakneck speed his insane mother was driving.

"We got a call from Andy Driscall's mum today," his mother began. "Sounds like you've been robbing the mall, hm?"

William opened his mouth, a million excuses coming to mind. I am actually going to kill Andy for this. "I-"

"No, no excuses. I'm not letting you get off so easy, William."

"What are you gonna do?" He asked carefully. He wasn't too worried - it was his mother, after all.

"Your father and I think it might be best," she took a breath, "if we sent you to a child psychologist for a few sessions."

Oh, no. Oh no no no. Quick as a flash, he unbuckled his seatbelt, yanking on the door handle and preparing to jump and roll into the street. A broken neck would be far, far better then seeing a shrink. But alas, his mother had thought ahead and the doors were firmly locked shut. William slammed his fist against the tinted glass window as hard as he possibly could, but to no avail.

Time for Plan B. William inhaled a deep breath and began to scream the most glass-shattering, ear-bleeding scream he could possibly come up with. His mother gave him a light but firm nudge.

"Hush, you. The therapist is a very sweet young lady and she just wants to help you fix any problems you might be having."

"Yeah, well maybe I don't want to be fixed." William muttered slouching in his seat. This was the worst. This was hell. This was hell and brimstone and little red imps whipping him with fiery chains for all of eternity.

Dear Henry,

I wrote a transcript of the session I had with this strange old child psychologist. Here it is:

LADY: Hello, William.

ME: Hi.

LADY: Do you know why I've called you here?

ME: No.

LADY: You've been called here for your erratic and destructive behaviour, both towards your surroundings and the others around you. Does that sound about right?

ME: Sure.

LADY: Is there anything you'd like to say about that?

ME: No.

[45 MINUTES OF SILENCE]

LADY: It seems our time is up.

ME: Bye.

Ta-freaking-da. I'm into minimalism these days.

-William

William chewed on the pastry that Kenneth had brought him for tea - a chocolate scone slathered with melted butter - as he scribbled in his brown leather-jacket notebook, daydreaming. He was imagining what it would be like to travel on a plane, so high and mighty above everything else. It was awfully backwards that he was the only kid in his class who hadn't been on a plane (except for the funny girl Dolores who only came Tuesdays and Thursdays and never spoke a word, which made it terribly hard to tell if she'd travelled before). He could go anywhere, see anything. He could even go to…William's breath hitched. What if I went to America?

God. That would be so nice, to be able to hang out with Henry every day and not have to worry about his manipulating, gaslighting, practically abusive family. Sending him to therapy for two tiny, miniscule mistakes, without even the slightest chance to redeem himself? What the heck was that even supposed to teach him?

"William! Vincent! Can you two please go grab our orders from the fish-and-chips store?" His mother called, sitting primly with a romance novel on the velvet couch. "And bundle up, it's awfully chilly out!"

After helping his brother into his puffy winter jacket and snow trousers, the two of them set out, cash in pocket, for the shop downtown. The sky was the dark colour of faded jeans and the freezing air bit at his chapped lips and rosy cheeks, wiping his runny nose on his sleeve. Should've worn gloves. Most other stores were closing down, flicking off the lights and locking the doors. William examined a particularly fancy diamond necklace in a window display, but figured he wasn't quite ready for a jewellery store. Vincent skipped down the sidewalk, kicking up the fluffy pearl snow as he went. He looked like a walrus in his three layers of clothing, and William grit his teeth to conceal his annoyance.

Finally after trekking down crunchy wet gravel they reached the fish-and-chips store, the mouthwatering scent of hot fat and vinegar emanating from open windows. Stray wooden boxes of California tangerines were stacked beside the peeling paint of the muted-red door, and warm, cheerful light emitted from the inside. William pushed open the door which jingled their arrival, and Vincent attempted to recreate that sound (rather unsuccessfully).

Inside featured an old beat-up jukebox wheedling out sixties' tunes, and in front of the white counters sat five bar stools, one of which looked like it had been ripped up by a lion. Photos of harbours decorated the walls, and a mounted carving of a fish was pinned above a cupboard. Its one exposed eye watched William hauntingly, and he averted his gaze.

A fat, balding man with some serious sideburns whistled as he sliced up peeled potatoes with a butcher's knife behind the counter and threw them in a wire cage, winding a knob and lowering them into the deep-fryer, which hissed and bubbled like a volcano of molten oil. Noticing the two boys, he turned around and wiped grease and fish juices onto his stained linen apron, giving them a friendly smile. "Hello, boys. What can I do you for?"

"We're just here to pick up an order for our mum, uh, Judy Afton." William fished around in his pocket and pulled out the money, slapping it on the counter.

The man laughed a deep, hearty laugh and peeled on his gloves, stretching them and letting go with a snap! "Ah, the Aftons," he chortled. "You've got the stomachs of an army, don'tcha?"

"We have a lot of siblings," he explained, eyeing the now unattended cash register.

"Right, right. Well, I've got seven orders of fish n' chips, right off the fryer!" He slid the batter-rolled halibut onto thin green-chequered tissue, dropping helpings of buttery chips inside the cardboard packages with silver tongs.

William tapped his foot impatiently. "We've got loads of people waiting, just so you know." He ignored the glare from his brother.

"Sorry, kid, I usually have m' boy Andy helping out around here, but the kid's got so many playmates these days! Say, you and him must be around the same age! What's yer name, little lad?" The man seemed to mistake William's horror for delight, as his smile only broadened at his expression.

And as if things couldn't get any worse, the door jingled, and who else could walk in but Andy Driscall himself, flushed and chattering and dusted with snow like sugar on a slice of carrot cake. "Hey, Pa! Molly and I just went to this super new diner and ordered fizzy lemonade, and-" At the sight of William, he froze up, going ramrod straight.

"And?" William prompted, his eyes icy. "Finish the story, Andy."

The words seemed to thaw Andy, and he went back to his usual aloof self. "And, nothing. So what're you ordering?"

"Gosh, let me think. So little options. I have no idea what I could possibly order at a place like this? Nothing's really springing to mind! Can you help me out, Andy?" William jeered. He could feel his voice getting louder, his tone more abrasive, his heart rate picking up speed. It was the exact feeling he got out of stealing, the feeling he got when he'd snuck downstairs in footie pyjamas at the witching hour five years ago, opening the casket and sitting beside her all night to simply watch the dead woman sleep.

He liked this feeling. He wanted more of it.

"We're getting fish and chips. Remember, Will?" Vincent piped up helpfully, tugging on his sleeve.

"Yes. Thank you, Vincent."

"No problem-o."

The man handed the tall stack of items to Vincent, who balanced them teeteringly in his slippery blue mittens. "Thank you, mister fish guy!" He nudged William expectantly.

William forced a shark-like leer. "Thank-you."

"No problem, son. Now Andy, why don't you help these two with their orders? Work on those golfing muscles, eh?" He chuckled, motioning for Andy to help them out.

"Wow, so that's how you got so strong," William said sweetly. "C'mon, guys, before they get cold."

When they were finally outside, William hung back a step, letting his brother fall into the lead with a good distance between Vincent and them. He let Andy squirm a little as they walked, before jogging forward and getting as close as he could to the ginger boy's ear.

"I'm gonna pummel you at lunchtime tomorrow." He whispered. "You just wait. You just wait and say your prayers, 'cause you're gonna pay for ratting me out, you little snitch."

Andy sucked in a breath before responding with a little more gusto than necessary. "I can take you. Bring it."

"Please," William laughed, "you'll be crying for your daddy by the time I throw the first punch. E-Z."

~lll~

Okay, so maybe this wouldn't be as E-Z as he'd previously thought. Because Andy was not only rumoured to be a black belt in karate, but had demonstrated it on a poor sixth-grader in Gym class, all the while staring directly at him. But for what William lacked in skill, he made up for in a complete disregard for restraint. He didn't care if the kid walked out with a nasty bruise, in crutches, or was dragged out in a coffin headed to his basement, he wanted Andy to hurt.

When lunchtime came, William was ready. After chewing down a baggie of granola and a mason jar of ice and pure espresso, he stood up and walked over to Andy's spot at the other end of the courtyard, where he was chatting with Darcy and Mia.

Darcy's eyes, dark and shaped like two juicy raisins, brightened. "William! Gosh, we haven't hung out in forev-"

"Andy. Could you come with me for a minute?" William asked, tone smooth as cream cheese.

The aforementioned boy cast a nervous glance back. "Sure. See you later, guys."

"Bye," said Mia boredly, crunching on a blue peanut M&M.

Darcy, however, seemed much more interested than her friend. "Ooh! Are you guys gonna fight over me? That's so romantic! Are you jealous of him, Will? Are you?"

"Darcy, your feelings mean very little to me and I would like it if you refrained from speaking to me any longer," William explained in a very slow and punctual tone that maybe she'd understand.

Her face flushed bright red as she hid her watering gaze under a curtain of newly cut black bangs, and Mia whispered something rude about him under her breath. William, however, did not care. "Let's go, Andy."

The two walked away from the busy areas of the red brick building, ducking behind the neatly clipped hedges to avoid teachers prowling the campus. Finally, they reached the scuffed-up dumpsters behind the school, where older teenagers liked to scrawl cuss words and leave their nude magazines which most of his class had had the unfortunate viewing of.

Andy's gaze slid over to William as the latter removed his winter jacket and tossed it nearly to the side, clearing his throat and wringing his hands before meekly asking, "So, how are we going about this?"

William responded by punching him squarely in the face.

Andy cried out and clutched his nose with a claw-like grip, blood streaming down and coating his mouth like lipstick. "That wasn't f-fair, I thought we were going about this fairly?"

"This isn't one of your little karate matches." William explained, cracking his knuckles and watching with a grim satisfaction as Andy removed his hand to reveal an indigo and rapidly swelling nose. "I'm going to hurt you, and you're going to try and defend yourself." Another hit, this time to his forehead. He let out a small, tinny laugh at the other boy's lack of defense. "...or not. I don't mind. Makes it all the more easy to hit."

"Fine," Andy hissed, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "You want me to fight back, I'll fight back." He stood up, rolling up his fuzzy red sleeves as he sprinted towards him, holding his fist out like he was going for a punch. But unfortunately, what William didn't see coming was the sharp kick to his knees. He buckled and slipped to the floor. Andy followed and pinned him to the floor with his surprising amount of weight. He firmly gripped William's cheeks with one hand, ignoring his struggle.

"I don't want to hurt you, Will. I'm sorry if I got you in trouble, I was just trying to do the right thing. Darcy seems to like you, and it would really upset her if you were injured. And I don't want her to be upset, and I don't want you to be hurt. It comes full circle, see?" Andy spoke slowly and carefully, as if he were a dim child.

This cocky bastard, William thought indignantly, and the tone of the words coming out of Andy's mouth irritated him so much that he dug his teeth hard into his fingers, feeling the warm gush of blood and the scrape of bone.

"Sonofa-" Andy yelped, springing back and clutching his hand. Growling, he turned back to William, raising his fists up almost comically. "Well, now I'm going to hurt you."

William snorted. "Finally! I've been getting grey hair over here! Don't keep me waiting much longer, Driscall, or I'll simply explode."

Andy shook his head. "You're disgusting. A damn psychopath."

A damn…

Psychopath?

And that was when William snapped.

Recounting it, William couldn't quite remember what he'd done to Andy Driscall that December afternoon. His memory would black out at random points, only recalling snapshots of time. He remembered the best parts - the screaming, the sobbing, the blood (oh, the blood!). He remembered the yellow tooth that had gotten stuck in a crack after he'd bashed Andy's head repeatedly into the asphalt. He remembered how the tears tracked roads of pale skin against crimson. He remembered how there was a piece of gravel in Andy's eye. He remembered Darcy's shrieks upon discovering them. How he'd laughed and spat in Andy's face as the teachers dragged him away.

And now he sat upstairs in his room, ear pressed to the vents and listening to his parents bicker.

"He's scaring me," his mother said. "Andy's mum told him how Andy would suffer permanent blindness, and William just muttered that the poor boy deserved it."

Still does, he thought with a roll of his eyes.

"Honey, he shouldn't be scaring you." His father. "He's just a kid."

"That's just the thing! He's twelve! Twelve-year-olds should be playing baseball with their friends and chasing after pretty girls and chewing gum in class, not crippling their mates and having a good chuckle about it after! In the office, I caught him smiling, Ben! Smiling!"

"He's obviously sick, Jude. He needs help."

There was rustling. "Christ, I just…I don't know what to do. If he does that to a defenseless kid, what the hell could he do to us? I mean, is this my fault? Have I desensitized him to violence in our house?"

"Oh, no no no! Honey, look at our other children. Look at how successful and empathetic they all are." (Another eye-roll from William.) "And look at how successful and empathetic you are! If William has some sort of chemical imbalance or these violent urges, that is completely his own doing and not your fault." A deep breath. "My best bet is to send him off to the psychiatric ward for a month or two during the winter break. He won't miss much school that way, and he clearly needs this attention."

More rustling. "There's something very wrong with him, isn't there? Should we keep him away from the kids?"

"That would be the best option. For them, and him."

William almost giggled. They seemed to think he was some sort of rabid predator in a sort of killing-heat, ready to pounce and tear into anything with a beating heart and a mouth that screamed. As annoying as his siblings were, he didn't want to hurt them at the moment.

But the ward? That, that was an issue. The only possible solution that he could think of bordered on impossible, and that was to somehow convince both his parents and Henry's to let him travel across the world to live with Henry. He didn't have any other friends in the UK, and all of his relatives had died off (besides his grandfather, who he didn't even want to consider as an option). And really, the only way you were supposed to leave your household was if you were an orphan, if you were kicked out by your guardians, or if your parents were abusive.

Wait.

A slow smile spread across William's face, and he knew what he was going to do.

After packing his bag with his journal, stationary, a handful of pens, and Oliver's camera that printed the photos instantly, William pulled a white cashmere sweater vest over his black turtleneck and tugged on his boots which he'd recently cleaned of mud. After a brief consideration, he tossed a flashlight in there since it got so dark during the evenings. Footsteps behind him startled William, and he spun around to come face-to-face with Vincent.

He was struck by just how small Vince looked, wearing a baby-blue pyjama set that bagged at his hips and feet, and sucking on his thumb, a baby habit he'd never seemed to kick.

He shuffled a little closer. "Are you going to hit me?"

"What?" William was appalled. "Jesus, no."

"Mummy said you might. She's real mad, you know."

"Yeah, I know."

"I'm not 'posed to be talking to you right now. Mummy told us to all stay in our rooms. Even Alicia, and she's big. Are you going to hit Alicia?"

"No. I'm not going to hit any of you. I only hit Andy because he was bothering me."

Vincent's lower lip wobbled, and he sucked on his thumb harder. "But sometimes you say I b-bother you. I don't wanna be hit. It hurts."

Oh, lord, he's gonna cry. "No, you annoy me. That's different. Listen, I'm going to take a walk for a bit. If you don't tell Mum or Dad or any of the others that I'm gone, I'll give you some Twinkies. Okay?"

Vincent's eyes went big, and he nodded. "Okay. See you!"

William waved and walked out the door, sighing to himself as he left. That kid really got on his nerves, but hitting him would be like kicking a puppy: pointless, and everyone hated you for it.

He walked down the night-black streets for a bit until he reached the small patch of woods he and his family liked to take walks in. It really was beautiful, he noticed. Skinny bone-white trunks like branches with black stripes across them like a Bengal tiger lining the dark path which yawned into the rest of the woods. He turned off the path, crunching through the bracken, and set up his flashlight on a rock so he could see. He stripped off his sweater vest and rolled up his sleeves. What he was about to do might be hard psychologically, but he could do it. He could do it. He could do it.

Jeez, stop pussyfooting around and do it already! He rolled his eyes and groaned, burying his head in his hands. God, this is so embarrassing. And it's only me who's gonna see me do it!

One night, a few months back, William had sat with Alicia as she watched late night television. It had never happened that she'd let him watch, but that night seemed to be a special case. And on that show, he'd watched a boy with too much hair and a girl with too little clothing kiss in a car and the boy had done something odd where he sucked on the girl's neck and left bruises in his wake. It seemed strange to introduce vampires so casually into the show, but William figured it wouldn't be too terribly painful to do it to himself. Well, maybe mentally painful.

So, he sucked on his arm in several different spots, marvelling at how quickly they showed up. He added a few to his legs and stomach (being double-jointed did have its perks) and for the finishing touch, slammed his head into a tree trunk for a split lip. William did it fast three more times for good measure. He waited for the world to stop spinning, then he took the camera and the flashlight and snapped shots of his bruises, and a blurry one of his face, where he forced some tears and tried to look very much woeful and in misery.

He lay on his stomach on a large flat rock and began to write a letter to Henry, purposely smudging some pine-dew on the ink, as if tears had spilled into the words and made them bleed. He made sure that his story had a realistic depiction of abuse so that Henry would believe him, but stressed the importance of not telling his parents about him knowing. After folding up the letter and sticking it in an envelope, he paper-clipped the photos together and threw them in as well.

William left the forest just as it began to snow, white flakes like dandruff in his black tufty hair. He stood on his toes and dropped the envelope in the top spot of the metal mailbox before quietly slipping through the back door and scampered up to his room. A cold baked potato and mushy collard greens sat on a miserable plate on his bed. The sticky note in loopy handwriting read To Willyam Love Vincent.

He wasn't particularly hungry, so he dumped the plate in the trash and flicked out his lights, collapsing on his bed and falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

~lll~

The following two weeks were a mess of chaos and frantic phone calls between Henry's and his parents, of packing his bags with all his possessions and stripping his side of the room for Vincent to take over. William had refused to hear Henry's voice over the phone. He didn't want the crackle of static or microphone fluff to interfere with the first time he'd hear Henry's voice. William had been picturing it for ages, yet had only recently remembered he would have an American accent.

After mailing the letter, he'd received a horrified letter from Henry, detailing how his family would be more than happy to take him in and help him recover from his abusive climates, along with his phone number. William had explained the proposal to his mum (omitting much of the details) and their mums had talked for hours before coming to the exact solution William was hoping for: he'd be moving to America.

For good.

"Are you all ready to go?" His father asked after William and his siblings had said their goodbyes through a protective door like he was charged with assault. Well, maybe he would have been if he was older, because for whatever reason, he hadn't.

He'd also said goodbye to his mother, who just sniffed and told him if he ever wanted to go home he'd have to better himself first, and that he absolutely must take advantage of Henry's mum's 'therapy' which involved inhaling flowers to heal the soul.

"Yeah. God, I'm so excited." He didn't even try to contain the bliss in his voice.

His father gave him a wavering smile that curved up the corners of his silver-streaked raven beard. "That's good. You always have the biggest smile on your face when that boy writes to you. I do hope you're happy in America."

William smiled. "Thanks, Dad." He really didn't mind his father. Respected him, sometimes. He might even miss him a little, him and Vincent. The rest of his family could get eaten by a rhinoceros.

They drove for an hour to the airport, which thankfully wasn't as busy as he'd thought it would be around Christmastime, probably due to the snow. Luckily, the airlines weren't closed, and he said goodbye to his father and boarded the plane with his ticket. William got a nice seat next to the window and played some classical piano on his Walkman as he watched the ground grow further and further away till the little baggage men were just specks of dust like in a Dr Seuss book.

The rest of the flight was spent eating bizarre aeroplane foods like a pie sandwich and dessert sushi, and trying to avoid the sleeping passenger beside him's drool. But finally, the pretty flight attendant announced their landing and even gave him a temporary tattoo of their airline on his hand. He stepped out onto the American linoleum and heard people around him speaking familiar words with foreign tongues, signs advertising eggplant parmesan instead of aubergine, chips instead of crisps, airplanes instead of aeroplanes.

But nothing he'd ever felt could compare to the feeling of seeing the freckled boy in the green flannel holding the brightly decorated sign reading 'WELCOME TO THE USA, WILLIAM!' and waving wildly at him. Henry looked just like his picture, only realer. William could see how his hair stuck up a little at the back, how his glasses were smudged on one side, how he wore mismatched socks and had a toothpaste stain on his black shirt.

He took one step forward, two. William swallowed. "Hi," he said.

"Hi," said Henry.

His voice sounded like home.

A/N

But of a weird Christmas special, probably because it's not Christmas-y in the slightest. I did have one planned, but got demotivated in the process. It's still coming, though!

Also Fnaf movie cast news? Mikey is played by pita bread from the hunger games? Willy is played by shaggy from Scooby-Doo and some ghost serial killer guy? Neither are hot, according to the majority of my friend group?

Question/Challenge: What did you get for Christmas (or any other gift giving holiday), or if you don't celebrate one, how's your break going?

I got some perfume, a black zip-up hoodie, books, and a Fazbear Entertainment Security chain! So now I can be just like Ruby…wait, I do not want to be just like Ruby.

Have an amazing day/night!

~Gost kat