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His father was quite…. Odd. Michael wasn't afraid to admit this given his very abrupt increasing experience working alongside his dad's "eccentricities''. He even had faint memories of William's everyday rituals and mannerisms being seen as quite odd when his parents were still the gem of the town.
But those odd habits… they've been cranked up to 11 after their "family complications" and what has gotta be a decade of emotional isolation. All of that was culminating into the current neurotic mess that was William J. Afton.
-In his most recent house snooping, Michael's seen the unopened personal letters shoved into drawers and listened to the overfilled answering box with worried questions. He couldn't account for physical visits, but he had a feeling his dad didn't respond well to those either… call it a gut feeling.-
When Michael agreed to work for his dad and help him keep tabs with Henry (as far he himself was willing to go which was the restaurants).. He wasn’t really expecting the 180 turnaround from that first “reunion”:
Sometimes the man still went into his daze stating vague terms and phrases- something about Remnant whatever the fuck that is- as if in deep thought, then he’d be right back as if nothing happened.
The most egregious turnaround is the fact that William was actually making attempts at.. Bonding with Michael.
If bonding meant ill-timed jokes and slightly more concern for his son's health than Michael accidentally breaking something than his only other comparison ever had… well at least it was something.
That's how the two of them found themselves pretty awkwardly sitting at the ol' family house trying to find peace in just existing near each other when it wasn't Michael searching for answers and William wasn't focused on working above all else. Michael keeps swearing to himself he only agreed to come so he can keep an eye on the man given the man’s past behavior is all. Yeah.
It wasn't all bad just sitting in silence while Michael read the newspaper and William camped on the floor working on making a joint stop sticking at a certain point. It honestly reminded Michael about days long past when him and his siblings joined their dad in the garage. A pocket of existence in time that didn’t exist beyond them. He couldn’t tell if he was feeling nostalgic or upset by such a similarity.
He was about halfway on an update about a small burglary of a couple town over’s gas station when he noticed a change in his dad’s movements from his peripherals.
Looking up, William had put down his precision tools and was currently tugging at his hair. Not harshly, but it was clear he wasn’t happy with his seemingly ever-present eerie smile replaced by a neutral frown. Before he could let the guy stew too deep in .. whatever this was, Michael cleared his throat.
William froze for a moment before glancing over, that empty smile was back, “Is something wrong?”
“Nah not really… was about to ask you the same thing honestly,” Michael said, leaning back in the armchair.
His dad glanced to the side for a moment, most likely thinking of a thousand “business-perfect” lies, before looking back to Michael with a gaze that said he was searching for every motive Michael had to be in his house at that very moment. Despite him being the one that invited Michael in the most round-about way he’s ever seen.
It took him a while longer for the neutral frown to come back, “My hair is getting… a wee bit too long for my liking. I must admit…”
Actually looking now, Michael couldn’t argue against that. He knew his dad was keeping up with some semblance of haircuts, but he could see now how the other’s wavy-curly hair covered his ears and nested itself on the back of his neck. It made his father’s lack of hair care much more obvious when it could tangle up so easily like this.
He put his newspaper aside, “You gonna make a hair appointment soon then?” it was a bit awkward, stilted even, but Michael was trying.
“Oh no… I usually cut my own hair. Appointments waste time.”
Michael almost snipped back that it was more like William refused to interact with anyone that wasn’t his employee or his own son, but that was an argument for another day. Plus, he was trying to get the other’s trust here. His home snoopings haven’t been turning up anything he could use to get the cops to believe him after all.
He couldn’t help how even more painfully awkward his nod in response felt and just went back to his newspaper story.
To ignore how forced this all was, he further ignored his dad getting up and walking to the kitchen. If he asked, he knew William would come back with a second drink in hand, but this burglar story was just far too interesting, he swears.
Legs peeked out from under his very fascinating newspaper before he heard the other couch’s springs creak a bit and fabric rustle alongside some plastic. That was quite fast for a drink….
Then he heard snipping noises. There was no fucking way-
Michael brought the newspaper down fast enough to crumple the poor thing.
And there was genius, once man-of-the-year William Afton, cutting his own fucking hair with kitchen scissors, into a shitty grocery bag, without a singular mirror in sight. His eyes were even closed.
“What are you doing?”
Grey eyes popped open and looked to him, a singular split eyebrow raised in challenge, “Cutting my hair as I said I was going to do? Is there a problem here, officer?”
“You’re going to mess it up like that.”
“I assure you, I’ve been doing this myself for years. Plus, the curls tend to hide quite a bit.”
Despite his claims of confidence, Michael's eyes locked onto the way his dad’s hands twitched and faintly trembled at the odd angle they were being forced into. That damned accident was still messing with him to this day…
With a bodily sigh, the poor, crumpled newspaper got chucked onto the coffee table as he stood, stretched then swiped the scissors and plastic bag. Before William could wrestle the items back, he then bounded to the kitchen and pulled out a chair with a skipping screech, settling his newly found items on the table as he waited.
Sure enough, his dad waltzed on in, hand already extended to demand his scissors back. Michael just shook his head and pointed to the chair. There was a bit of a stand-off going on.
“I noticed your hands shaking back there, I’m gonna cut your hair. I can’t promise it’ll look great, but,” he shrugged.
At least the almost middle-aged man didn’t look too petulant about this sudden decision.
“Thanks,” and William couldn’t sound as if he just bit a lemon more if he tried, smile more akin to a grimace. He did sit his ass down though.
Plastic bag awkwardly attached to the back of the chair and scissors comfortably in hand, Michael did his best to remember how the various barbers he’d been to did this. He’s pretty sure water was involved in there somewhere, but it’s not like his dad cared too deeply on the journey to results here. Clearly.
Snip. Snip. Snip.
Maybe he should book a haircut at that new barber by the town square for himself, his mullet was looking more like a blob than hair lately…
Snip. Snip. Snip.
This was honestly kinda calming. The silence beyond the snips of scissors. Pulling strands out between two fingers as he’s seen in mirrors and TV and doing his best to keep everything relatively the same length. Or at least not lopsided to the point where his dad might strangle him.
Snip. Snip. Snip.
“You know… this reminds me… of your sisters…”
Michael stopped cutting and couldn’t help the weary stare he gave the man even if knew he couldn’t see it, “What are you getting at?”
Even if they were playing “buddy-buddy'' right now, he couldn’t help his knee-jerk of distrust. William hasn’t talked about his siblings so far without looking like he would rather die, so an out-of-nowhere input from him? Yeah, he didn’t trust that.
“I remember waking up in the morning and how your little sister would look so sodding serious,” he laughed quietly, “Her little unicorn hairbrush branded as if she might a sword! Forget the pen when you have a hairbrush.”
Michael leaned over a smidge and saw how unfocused his dad’s eyes were. They weren’t empty, as he’d come accustomed to, but he was clearly lost in a past Michael only caught glimpses of in his nightmares.
He continued cutting the slightly greasy, tangled strands in hopes that he keeps talking. If he didn’t actually cut half the time to drag this out, that could stay between him and the kitchen scissors.
“I remember how I had to put her up on the dresser and turn around so she was able to reach. She always did get a bit twisted with how short she was; kept going on and on about how she was going to grow big and tall just so she could reach my hair better!
I looked like a right mess when she did it alone I must admit, but it was quite fun. Charlie always made it so much more presentable. I honestly think your oldest sister was using my hair to decide which styles suited her best.”
It was… honestly kinda nice to hear his old man ramble about the past. He looked more relaxed than Michael had ever seen him.
Snip. Snip. Snip.
“Oh, I don’t think you were there for- for the great bow debacle of 85, Mikey! I think you were at your friend’s house if I remember right… Either way, Eli was so excited at the idea of joining us to check up on the toy pizzeria that day she dragged all her ribbons and bows on over to my room. It was like a crumb trail along the hall, I swear.
But she looked so happy to be going back. Charlie had to reason with her about the number of bows one person can reasonably wear I believe. She pouted and huffed, but we managed to appease her with a bow for each of us.
I even saw Henry give one of those ol’ big laughs of his when he saw us….”
Michael didn’t like the way the tone in his voice dipped at the end. He brushed curls of hair off his shoulders, “Is that why you cut your hair now?”
The tension William always held was still seeping back into his frame, “Ah.. no no. I cut it when Henry.. Left,” shit, wrong way to turn this around Michael, “After that… I just couldn’t bother to properly brush it anymore. I don’t mind spending time cutting it every couple weeks compared to dealing with the tangles again.
I’m much more easily presentable this way,”
The forced chuckle made Michael’s grip on the broom he nabbed ever tighter. Maybe.. Good things were never meant to last for people like them. He sighed at the tense silence that settled in the room beyond the sounds of sweeping into the little, grimey dustpan.
His dad didn’t speak up again until the crinkles of the plastic bag filled the kitchen, “We used to be so happy didn’t we…”
It wasn’t a question. Michael stayed quiet, focused on cleaning up the mess.
“Michael, your siblings are still alive.”
The rubbish bin’s lid slapped shut.
“What… what do you mean, dad.”
The kitchen chair scraped. Socked footsteps came over and there was William on his right, leaning close. That… desperate… look from the first time he saw his dad’s face again swam just beneath glassy eyes.
“They are. I know it. I’ve seen it. Every time I went back to that pizzeria… I know that puppet is her. Is Charlie. That Baby is Elizabeth… That the old spring Freddy suit.. It’s Chris. I know it. I know it’s true.”
“How do you know,” Michael’s forced his fists to unclench.
“It’s the eyes. Look into their eyes and you’ll see. They’re trapped, but I can free them. I- We can put them back together,” he moved away to pace in a manner that Michael couldn’t help but liken to a tiger trapped in a just too small cage.
And in that moment, Michael couldn’t recognize his father anymore. He wasn’t there; all that was left was this… husk with his face. All that was left was someone willing to kill people, children, employees… family… to get what he wanted.
Yet, all Michael could feel was this… pity? No… sadness. But why?
Was it from seeing how far gone his father was? Was it from the reminder that chipped bit by bit at his internalized idolization of the man? Or was it just from how he was witnessing how broken one man can become?
Maybe it was from realizing that that could happen to Michael too.
That this grief could tear his insides out beyond recognition. A murky reflection in the mirror just like them.
He did have the same grey eyes as William despite the lack of relations…
Instead of dealing with it right now, he let his anger snip and snap at William. Let it make the man stumble back enough for Michael to slip out to the living, to the door, to his car, and leave.
He needed time to think. Every step of progress felt like fifty back. Was this all even worth it anymore? It’s not like turning him to the cops last month did anything… Not like he expected much with their incompetent asses after the first missing cases.
No. He’ll try again. William was still in there. He didn’t want to lose any more family to the past if he can help it now.
He’ll try and try again.
He’ll try until he dies for it. His therapist wasn’t going to be happy with him.