Chapter Text
One is drawn to ask - what world has a William Afton that is truly happy.
Not content, not tormented, no - truly honestly happy. A world where Henry Emily is also contented, a world where the people who are the cause of so much strife and so much interest lead pleasant and happy lives? What sort of world takes people like that and makes them truly, truly pleasant? What leaves them contented?
What sort of place protects toys on the tables of monsters? What raises up beloved heirlooms of demons?
What world protects broken people and keeps them happy?
—-
“Michael, don’t play with your food.” Clara Afton glared at her oldest, leaning against the kitchen table, “Please.”
“Yeah Mike. Don’t play with your food.” Elizabeth spooned more spaghetti onto her plate and Clara sighed as Michael groaned. She sighed, running her fingers through her hair, “Daddy will get mad.”
“Dad won’t do shit-”
“Michael Afton-”
“He won’t!” Michael raised a hand, “He’d be proud of me. He wants me to be creative.” He glared at his mother, “That’s his whole thing. He wants us to be creative. To have fun.” his brow furrowed, “...He says I’m not that creative.”
“Fun doesn’t include your food.” Clara glared. She pointed at the spaghetti, “Eat. Or He’ll be angry. trust me.” She leaned close and hissed at him, her eyes gleaming, “Do you want him to be angry with you? I promise he doesn’t want to be angry with you. And you won’t like it when he’s angry with you.”
Michael froze, Elizabeth’s grin too bright and far too wide. Clara leaned back, arms crossed as she began to pace again, watching the window. William was always too late, he played it too damn fast and loose. Every day he’d go out and come back and she’d watch warily before he’d come back, always just a hair later than expected.
“Daddy’s home.” The door opened and closed, “Christ what a bloody day…”
William Afton was tall and handsome - a cookie cutter version of a businessman. He was powerful, broad shoulders, tall, healthy and thin as best could be described. He had a spider-web of graying hairs at each temple, his features smooth, his dark blue eyes glowing purple in the light of the kitchen, “Ah. Family.” He padded across the floor and kissed Clara’s cheek before pulling her close and kissing her hard enough to send shivers down her chest and back and center, lightning running from bow to stern as her father would have said once upon a time. Elizabeth giggled and Michael gagged before he pulled back and traced a finger over her neck, “You look positively ravishing.”
“Your children aren’t eating.” She gestured, “Ravish me after feeding them lord of the manor and king of the castle.” she kept herself against his chest, one leg sliding posessively over his own as William glanced down and sighed, “Michael…”
“Daddy I’m eating Spaghetti.” Elizabeth beamed, “See? I’m eating my food.” she spooned more spaghetti into her mouth, “Mike was playing with it.” Clara watched her older son rub at his jaw in discomfort before he began to spoon his food around again, making little piles of meat and sauce and other parts of the meal.
“I-” Michael had his father’s dark hair. Clara suspected that her son’s gaze would darken as he got older. For the moment however his eyes were a bright blue and he looked chagrined, “Dad…Father…”
William sighed, “Michael your mother worked very hard scaring that up for you.” His fingers trailed across Clara’s collarbone, sliding up from her waist to trace over her shirt, gently running his fingers over her skin, “You need to show her how much you appreciate it.”
“I do! You said you wanted me to be creative.” Michael pushed his plate back, “I…I…” he growled, a low animal noise that made all three other people at the table jump, “Sorry. I just don’t feel well. Can I go to bed? Please?”
Something tickled at the back of Clara’s mind. She pulled away from her husband’s touch and knelt, “Honey.” She glanced at William, “You keep rubbing at your jaw. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“I said I’m fine!” He shoved his plate away, “Why am I stuck here anyway? Why are we here it can’t just be for Charlie and Uncle Henry and them. I want to go somewhere else can’t we go to the city or or or-” he was stumbling, rubbing at his face before he flopped over like a baby rabbit onto the table, “Oww.”
Clara stared at her husband, the two of them exchanging glances before Elizabeth hopped down from her chair to poke her brother, “Is he okay?”
“Fine.” His voice was muffled. He pulled himself into a sitting position, “...It’s just. It’s not moving. The spaghetti. I want it to move." He looked confused, "I'm losing it "
He stared at his spaghetti and Clara felt her heart skip and beat in her chest.
“You want to hunt is that it?” Michael’s face brightened and then fell, burying his head in his hands. Elizabeth frowned, confused - but William and Clara found themselves exchanging looks. Michael William Afton, their first born son, Michael William Afton, their family’s heir, Michael, their Mikey wanted to hunt and kill his first victim.
Clara bared her fangs at the thought, the whole family a room of gleaming white feral smiles. Michael whimpered and curled against her. She leaned against her son, kissing the top of his head before pulling back so his father could hug him. Dressed in his baggy gray sweater with wild hair, he looked sullen, like a teenager. My little boy is growing up..
“You said hunt like what dad does and I…is there something wrong with me?”
William wrapped his arms around his son as tightly as he could, leaning into him before kissing him on the cheek. He rose and ruffled his hair, “Liz, leave your brother alone.”
“But-”
“Leave him alone Elizabeth.” William gestured and Clara sighed. She watched her husband and folded her arms over her chest as he knelt, looking at her, “I’ll read you a bedtime story hmm? Then we have to have a talk about your big brother.”
“Dad-” Michael bleated, “You’re not answering!”
“Michael…” William Afton rubbed at his head, “This is a lot. a lot. I’ve…” he exhaled, “Son. When I’ve put your sister to bed we need to have a long talk okay? But first. Let me eat. What are we having?”
“Irish.” Clara put a finger in her mouth, licking at her nails, “I made spaghetti out of them and used the leftover fat to grease the pan but Mike if you’re not hungry I think I have some O positive in the fridge that might tide you over.”
Michael Afton froze, “Blood.”
“Son.” Mike turned to his father, sitting at the corner of their kitchen table, sipping calmly on a beer glass filled with dark red liquid, “It’s going to make your jaw stop hurting and your teeth stop aching.”
“How did-” he winced, nodding mutely, “I…I guess.”
There comes a time in every vampire’s life, just as in every human’s, where their children that they naturally beget become their true selves. Inescapable truths, bound to the night, their figures changing and desires and tastes changing. It was all hideously painfully natural in their own way.
“I want blood!” Elizabeth piped up, “When can I have some?”
“When you’re a little older.” Clara turned away from the kitchen, pushing the fridge closed with her backside before getting to the counter. She smiled fondly, picking up her son’s favorite baseball mug and pouring some from the bag she purchased under the table from the blood bank into it and passing it to him. She felt her heart beat a little faster as her little boy gulped it down, red running over his cheeks and chin before he lay back against the wood again and whimpered like a lost little cub.
Clara Miller-Afton had been born in 1880, the daughter of a ship’s captain. She had been turned, her father’s business partner turned murderer had fallen in love with her and convinced her to join him in his travels, to see the world. She had convinced him to sire actual children with her. You have doubts, when dealing with a vampire like William Afton.
Seeing him gently stroking his son’s shoulder, smiling softly, she didn’t question her choice for the first time in a hundred years.
—-
“I’ve put Elizabeth to bed.” William was being unusually domestic this morning, Clara stifling a yawn, “She’s upset that her brother is getting so much attention but when I explained how this works she seemed satisfied though.” he chuckled, “she wants to go hunting too. I don’t suppose I could convince you to take her…”
“Of course.” Clara rubbed at her neck, fingers tracing over the very old scars that ran down her neck to her chest, the mauling that had made her into a monster, “But Michael…”
“Michael is going to…need us pretty substantively and if all of the lore I’ve collected is correct he and I may quarrel frequently. You need to prepare yourself for that and remember I adore him but he needs to be taught, curbed, and understand the community he’s a part of.” he looked chagrined, “I barely remember it. I wish I did. I think my father threw me out a window.” he chuckled, “It didn’t really hit until I came over with Cornwallis so I was able to deal with that bloodlust pretty well but you can’t exactly ship an 18 year old off to war given that most wars now aren’t up close and personal.”
She felt her heart leap in her throat, “Quarrel. You mean fight.”
“Clara, he’s going through a number of changes…” William sighed, “As I said, I don’t remember most of it…”
“So does every boy!” the thought of her son, the tiny creature she’d nursed through heartache and ducking the humans at the hospital (it had been so long since she’d been human. So very long.)
“Yes, but every little boy isn’t a vampire.” her husband hissed, “Every little boy can’t lift up a car at full strength and every little boy doesn’t need blood to survive.”
She whimpered and remembered ducking the doctor at the hospital, putting forged chart notes in Michael’s little crib. Her doctor, the ally, smiling and patting them both on the shoulder before slipping out the back. You get so damned practiced…
William was still talking, “He’s not your little boy anymore my love. In another 10 years, he’ll be fully grown, he’ll have his fangs and we’ll be talking about safe places I can take him to teach him his powers. Did you have any inkling of this? Has he been acting like this?”
“He-” she whimpered and leaned against him. His familiar figure warmed at her touch. His hands traced to the scars on her neck, “He was complaining earlier about a headache.”
“Hmn.”
“He said the sun hurt his eyes. I gave him some aspirin and it didn’t help.”
“Henry will have something stronger.” William snorted and kissed her head, “Be thankful we’re not werewolves. Charlotte is about to become a holy terror and I do not envy Henry in the slightest. I’ve known him for decades and the poor bastard is the only wolf I can stand but cubs are dangerous.”
“And little …”
“Neonate. Dear. The word for a born vampire is neonate.” he kissed her neck, “The word for a turned vampire is Clara, and also mine, if you use the English dialect.” he rolled her over atop him and kissed her as she instinctively spread her legs, sitting on his chest, “...I can’t believe I was ever against it.”
She tilted her head, “Against what?”
“Kids.” he looked peaceful, staring up at her, “Children. I just wanted you, sitting there all high and mighty, reading by candlelight while your father shouted at his crew.”
“You bewitched me.”
“I offered you a book, I’d hardly call that bewitching.”
“You offered me the Malleus Maleficarum and convinced me to sell my soul to the dark forces.” She playfully smacked him, sliding closer to his phallus. His body was surprisingly coarse, covered in scars and slices and marks of a life well lived and an eternity of activity then and now and yet to come, “You turned me into a witch.”
“I didn’t need to do much.” He traced her cheek, “You’re already quite bewitching. I just awakened what was already there.”
She moved to kiss him, leaning down as the two ground against each other for a moment, “They’ve both been so good. So understanding, this isn’t fair. He’s happy, he’s loved, he’s…
“Got no choice in the matter sadly.” Though her husband, her love, her mate did not sound upset. Still, she caught his features softening, “He has another ten years of human activity before he becomes a full vampire. The turned can be cured in those first few months. The born…”
He paused, staring at her, “Do you regret that? Not taking the cure offered to you by that priest-”
Years and years ago, just after she was turned - her body in the throes of altering itself to it’s demonic physiology, she’d fallen into the care of Father Fitzgerald. It was cliche, straight out of a Hollywood movie, a priest dedicated to dispatching the dark forces. He had begged her to take a cure, promising she’d be scarred and broken but alive.
To cleanse yourself of this sin you must join the church. To spend the rest of your life in prayer, lest the disease fester once again within you-
“It’s not a real cure.” She muttered, “I’m not a damned nun. Are you ever going to let that go?”
He stared at her, eyes glowing faintly in the light and she leaned against him, taking his length inside her and kissing his neck, “I chose you. I meant it. You and I are going to hell together when the time comes, if such a thing exists.”
His laugh was throaty, “...I am hesitant to bring more neonates into the world but Clara, if you are truly planning on missing our son’s human phase that much we have options.”
She sat up, “Such as?”
He groaned, wincing, “Well. Do that again a few more times and we can see what happens shall we?” he grinned, “You twist like a bloody snake. I could never leave you if you fuck like that my love.” His hands reached upward for her breasts, “Seriously. Do that again.”
This is the agreement you make as a vampire. You can marry in a church (what foolishness to think that hallowed ground would stop something dead and buried. The only thing that stopped a vampire directly was prayer.) You can make promises, you can cheat, but to sire children upon another…
William was bound to his son and daughter, bound to her, and no matter where or who or what he fucked, or she fucked, she would always be called back to his arms and his bed and…
“Get Henry to give Michael something for the pain.” she moved forward and began to kiss down his chest, “Let’s make these last ten years of his human life the best he could hope for and wish for.”
“I’ll do that.”
“Promise me that if you and he go at each other’s throats you’ll both come back.”
“To the bitter end. I always come back.” He chuckled, “No really, I do. Remember how your father tried to come after you and he buried me in that box and dropped me in the ocean?”
“Yes…” she began to move atop him,his own hips bucking against her as he held her to him, “You broke into my window, dripping wet.”
“Remember how-” he stirred beneath her and began to quicken his pace, “You left me in New York and traveled all the way to-” he gasped, “London and I followed you?”
“You had to get-” it was her turn to whimper, a breathy little noise, “You had to get Henry to help you. “I’m not a damned blood hound.” he said. He was furious and Suzanne was too…”
“It took me thirty years to track you down.” he murmured, “Thirty years of being on my own, and you said to me -”
“I said if-” she gasped, “If you want to stay- you have to make me your wife-” She arched her back and felt one of his claws run down her spine, “Oh my God -”
“Yes?”
“Stop it. Stop it Stop it-” she dragged him upward and he sank his teeth into the scar tissue at her neck. She growled low in her throat and he lifted his bloodstained lips to hers and kissed her hard. She laughed, picking one of his wrists herself.
They tore and fought like cats, like dogs, and lay together in a haze of adoration and love and blood and sex and all the things that made up life despite them both being very dead. He slid a protective hand over her middle, “If you miss Michael being a human so much than we’ll just have to have another one.”
Her eyes went wide.
Raising a vampire, raising a werewolf, raising any sort of creature that crawled out of human folklore and into the pages of word and screen and sketchbook, took time and energy and effort. By human years, Michael should have been in his 30s. Elizabeth in her late teens. By human standards they should both have been at the top of their classes, yet they were encouraged not to constantly take every prize. By human standards…
“Clara? Earth to Clara.”
“You can talk about how badly you wanted me.” She murmured, “But remember, you refused to acknowledge Michael first.”
He sighed, “Yes…”
“You kept saying “the baby isn’t mine.””
“I did.”
“But you knew he was. If this happens again that’s not going to-”
“It didn’t with Elizabeth. Why would it with any future children?” he rolled his eyes, “Besides, he ate the cat. I liked that cat.” he snorted, “He was orange and very sweet.”
“You would have done it too bastard.” she smacked his shoulder, “Eaten him.” her husband laughed and wiped blood off his features. She smacked him again and he feigned offense.
“Never! Unhand me wench. I refuse to stand for this slander…”
She giggled, cupping his face and kissing him as hard as she could. World, wife, and mother were laid out before her, everything just perfect. She lay against him, feeling the heavy dredge of death sleep dragged her into. Closing her eyes, she lay against her husband and slept.
—-
Life in the Afton household followed very strict rules. The children woke up, they dressed themselves and went to school, they made lunches - human lunches - then they went home where Clara and/or William would have picked some unlucky bastard from the restaurant to feed on.
Fredbear’s Family Diner had a very distinct relationship with the community of humans that inhabited it - one that was enabled by the human beings who liked quite a bit of money. It was the 80s, everything was decadent and for those who had lived and died so many times alread, humans were just catching up.
Tonight’s meal was a father and mother of two. Wearing a pink shirt and a pair of flowered jeans, Clara tossed her long hair and put it up in a ponytail, watching William work. She sighed, watching the mother whimper as weapons were used, William’s features amused. He had been dashing, positively roguish. Dressed in black, fine silks and silver…
Now he was wearing a pair of dark black slacks and a dark pink and purple tank top that said “rad dad” and was splattered with gore, trying fruitlessly to discuss Mike’s impending puberty with her. Parts and Service had a drain in the center of the room for a reason.
“I’m-” he grunted, “Telling you. It’s wise to invest in some kind of a panic room. Elizabeth is - thankfully - several years away from this and Mike won’t be able to tell the difference between her and a…a chicken nugget.” He slapped the man hard, watching the human moan with pain before continuing his work, “You could come and give me a hand with this my love.”
“You make him sound like an animal.” She pulled a cigarette from her back pocket, ignoring him, “I hate it.”
“Well. He doesn’t really have a choice in the matter.” He growled, “I didn’t. But My father - if you can believe it - was a bigger bastard than I am. Galavanting across all of Europe siring-” he grunted, cracking the man’s ribcage like one would a turkey. The white was sobbing, curled up in a fetal position sniffling into her ropes and gag, “Children on every bloody milkmaid and wench without giving a thought to how to raise them.”
She inhaled smoke, moving forward to slam a heel through the woman’s grasping yearning fingers. She shrieked, and William raised his eyebrows at Clara before moving over to drag a knife over her throat as she stepped back. The dim sound of Sweet Dreams by the Eurythmics echoed from the front as the employees cleaned up, “Michael’s lucky I am so involved and dedicated.”
“Right.”
“It’s true damn it.” He sounded offended, he stood up and sighed, “I’m changing into shorts. Do you think you can get the blood out of these?” he gave the woman a casual kick and moved away to strip out of his slacks and slip on a pair of hideous cut off jean shorts.
She rolled her eyes.
“Ask me when you’re not trying to tell me I need to lock myself away from my own child.”
William Afton was there then. Right in front of her, fangs bared inches from her face. She glared right back, both their eyes glowing, her nostrils flaring. It had been explained to her that they were predators, singular ones that did not move in packs or tribes or groups. If I had to guess, if I had to seek an animal comparison to us, it’s falcons. Isolated, mating for life…
“I’m not suggesting anything of the sort.” he bared his teeth, hands over her jugular, “Don’t make me hurt you my love. At some point you’ll have to let your little birds out of the nest and then-”
“Don’t you “falcon and independent” me bullshit. My children are eternal, and I love you. I adore you but in the grand scheme of things I will bury each piece of you in a different corner of the earth if you try to separate me from my children. Our children. Mike…”
“Clara.” he put his hands on her shoulders, “Clara, Clara, my sweet sweet silly Clara. Mike will be fine. I’m fine!” she stared at her gore-covered husband in bloody jean shorts and shirt, “...This is a temporary setback!”
She stared at him.
“I’m…relatively fine!” he kissed her cheek, “It’s not for me. It’s for Elizabeth. And then, if we have more children it will be for them while Elizabeth goes through…this.” he sighed, turning away from her to grab the mother by the hair. She was whimpering, trying to speak. He grimaced, holding her up by her hair, “Yes? Begging?”
“-I was going…” she whimpered, “I was going to say th-that if y-your son is going through a d-difficult time you s-should ask him w-what he wants.” The woman had pissed herself, was crying, features caked with human ooze, “It-It’s g-going to s-sound so new age but m-my b-brother’s a psychologist and he said t-that was what he did with his son. I was thinking about how to attack that with my Christopher and Elise please tell me they are alive please please please-”
William rolled her onto his back and Clara snuffed out her cigarette, crouching down on her heels to stare at her, “What do you mean ask them what they want?”
“H-he called it - he said he wanted to empower him.” Clara wondered if the woman had lost her mind, sniffling, “To be firm, he had to give him all the tools. Be b-brutally honest.” she sobbed, “Where are Christopher and Elise-”
“They’re fine.” Clara held up a hand, “So you’re saying we should be brutally honest with him? And not baby our Mike?”
The woman shook her head quickly, crying out before William set her down, crying.
“If he’s g-going to be turning into one of you he should know exactly what he’s in for! I always said, Darryl. Darryl needed glasses…” she sobbed, “You took his glasses, you broke them-”
“Focus.” Clara held up a hand, “...I suppose honesty is the best policy. And it won’t scare them?” her features softened, “It’s a terrifying thought. Becoming a monster.”
“That’s what g-good parents do. You protect them from things that scare them.” she was weeping now, “But you can’t stop them from growing up. N-no matter what that looks like.”
Clara nodded slowly, looking at Will who had his arms crossed over his chest, “Forgive us. Most people don’t know that vampires can actually reproduce. They think of it in terms of…” she tapped the scar tissue on her neck, “And it is, but…well. One mother to another, my Michael is my world. He doesn’t get a choice in this. Like him.” she gestured to William, “I just want him to be a good man. Like his father.”
“Added that a bit too late.” William muttered. Clara smiled at him as he good naturedly waved her off, “I’m a good vampire, not a good man but there you go…”
“I’m s-sure he will be. And you could be…the best example if you let me go I promise not to tell anyone please just let me go home to my babies…” she began to cry softly and Clara shook her head.
She’d had her first horror at killing, at murdering, at relishing in slaughter, burned out of her years ago.
“I can…” she stood up, “I’ll make you a deal. We really just need your husband, but I can promise you’ll go quicker. That fair?”
“I…” she began to cry, “No, no please I want to go home I was good I was helpful…” her long hair was matted with gore and dirt from the floor, “Please…I was so helpful…”
“It’s a full moon tonight.” she said, “I’m feeling a little feisty, he’s …well.” William was beaming, studying a long slim knife, “But our friends…”
Something pounded against the door and the woman let out a shriek as a large fore-legged thing slammed through the door with a loud bark and slammed into the woman’s throat. Clara winced, her features misted in red, “Jesus Christ Charlotte Emily…”
“Sorry.” Henry looked unkempt, “Sorry, Sorry, Sorry - she’s - Will told me about Mikey. Guess we’re synched in more ways than one huh?” Henry clapped his hands, “Charlie! Charlie off!”
The black and gray werewolf, small and round and almost cute, was foaming at the mouth and ripping Clara’s erstwhile parental connection to pieces, worrying at the woman’s figure. She looked up at her father and ignored him, going back to gnawing on the woman before turning her attention to the man with a sniff and an almost adorable wag of her tail.
“No.” William growled in turn, “Hands off.” he growled at the werewolf who growled right back. He hefted the corpse up to a table and began to butcher it with the ease of an expert. Charlie growled, padding back to the woman’s corpse.
“I thought you two were heading up to your cabin.” Clara winced, licking her fingers, “Charlie’s…you heard about Mike.”
“Oh yeah.” He shrugged, “This is Charlotte when the moon hits for the foreseeable future.” he gestured at his poor daughter who was happily gnawing on entrails, “...Her mother used to - she had plans for this.” He wiped a hand over his face, “I’m a damned basket case over it. She should be here, she should be here and be able to pass on all the things that I have to pass onto her…”
“Are you still-” William plopped something soft into a cooler, “Going to talk to the pack in Santa Clara? I’ve made a few friends up there. Trying to be supportive.” He gestured at Charlie, wincing, “God such a waste of good meat-”
“You didn’t tell me that.” Henry looked grateful, “Yeah. I mean, I’m not good with being packless. My loyalty is to you, we’re pack.” He paused, “You actually saying you’re okay with it…”
“Henry my darling.” William stepped past the werewolf, “I’m not a sadist when it comes to my loved ones. Charlotte needs her own kind about her and Michael could stand to make more friends of his own. It’s time we come out of hiding. We can franchise.” he wrapped his arms around the larger man, the older werewolf growling happily into his shoulder. Clara, tentatively, reached her fingers out toward Charlie who growled, then whined when she saw her own father staring at her.
“The more things change, the more we grow closer together. There’s just us.” William murmured, “I’m protecting all of us. There’s only us.” He inhaled and Clara felt a warm wet tongue touch her long red nails. Charlie’s features were wide and playful, “Only us.”
“I gotta get out of town. I’m getting itchy.” Henry kissed William on the cheek then moved to Clara and kissed her. He gestured, “Charlie, c’mon. We’re going elk hunting not human. Now young lady.” The werewolf bounded out the door and Henry stared at the remains of the woman, “...I’m so sorry…”
“I promised her she’d go quick.” Clara sighed, “Will? Hand me the hose. I’ll help with this.”
Henry and Charlotte were gone, the two Aftons finally getting Parts and Service to a respectable state. She sighed, “Sun’s almost up. So much for a romantic evening.”
“Who says this isn’t romantic.” Her husband was absolutely splattered by this point, “I’ll strip this off and drive home naked. That’ll be fun.”
“You bastard.” Clara muttered, “You absolute bastard.” but she kissed him all the same as they took the keys, locking up the restaurant and heading out the door.
—
“And so that’s the long and the short of it.” Clara had made marshmallow squares, poured blood into Mike’s batman glass and sat he and Elizabeth down, “We’re both sitting with you because it will happen to both of you and we want you to know we love you.”
“You’ve always known you were different.” Will murmured, “This…cements it. It should make things easier, you’ll feel more comfortable, that itchy feeling will go away and the pain in your jaw will stop.” Will stroked his son’s head and Michael leaned into it for a moment before flinching away.
“I have to give up baseball.”
“No, no sweetheart.” He nodded, “There is a thriving vampire community in Santa Clara. They have night leagues! And, there are night classes, there’s a whole community that we’ll be joining. When you’re a bit older we’ll buy a house up there and we can spend our time doing both…doesn’t that sound nice?”
“What about…what about Bobby and Henry and Scott?” He sniffed, “My friends?”
“We’re better than they are.” Elizabeth’s voice was prim, “Obviously.”
“That’s my girl.” Will ruffled her hair and Clara turned her attention to her son, “Honey, you can’t stop this and you can’t cure it. If you want to be angry at me then be angry at me-”
“I can be angry at both of you pretty easy!” His voice deepened an octave and he sniffed, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…my face…”
“Your jaw hurts because your teeth are growing in.” William sounded annoyed, “I didn’t have the advantage of loving parents who gave me a safe home to transform in.” His own teeth bared, all four fangs long and sharp and dangerous, “I am trying to be patient but I am losing my resolve. Michael we are doing everything we can to make you feel comfortable. You cannot stop this. Do you want to stop it?”
“No!” the word burst out and Michael sighed. Clara felt a flare of pride …and also sadness. Her son’s brief flirting with humanity was over. She stroked the back of his soft hair as he spoke, “I mean…I don’t think I can? I had a dream last night. I was in a field chasing somebody. And it was so great. I could…I could feel the wind on my hair and rain on my face. It was a human. He was terrified of me and Dad it felt so good, And I ran him down and that’s it right? That’s what we are?”
“Yes.”
He smiled, “That felt…nice.” he nodded, “It was nice. I think. Doing that. It felt…not right but like I needed to? Then it clicked.”
Elizabeth was pouting and Clara pulled her onto her lap, “Sweetheart, this will be you someday and your daddy and I and your brother will be here to walk you through it okay? And then you can walk others through it.”
Clara sighed as Elizabeth jammed her thumb in her mouth and curled against her before nodding mutely, “Get your thumb out of your mouth dear. Mom’s here.”
“So.” William nodded, “We need to discuss what makes you feel comfortable. You’ll have urges where you’ll need to hunt and if I’m unavailable you…you might have to find a safe place…we’re going to make plans son. You’ll have a brand new room in the basement and you can decorate it however you want…”
“Can I put a video game system in?”
“Of course.” William looked nauseated and Clara laughed, holding her children and feeling utterly content.
—--
Jeremy Fitzgerald watched his father stop outside the motel in the center of town. They parked, his old man finishing off his coffee with a long swig. He burped, gesturing at the car.
“Three hotel exits.”
“Da-ad…”
“Exits. Now.”
He was tired. He rubbed sleep from his eyes and jumped as a dark green truck zoomed past them. A huge gray and black thing in the back stared at him with wide yellow eyes before it turned and moved into the cluster of residential buildings surrounding the area.
The hotel was a pink and gray thing that said “La Flaminco” with a huge pink flamingo on the sign. It was decaying, much like the rest of the town’s urban center.
“Around back…out into the desert.” He paused, “Inadvisible,” he paused, “Down the street. Police station’s three blocks down, but they’re unreliable and untrustworthy.”
“Keep going.”
“Restaurant.” he stared at his dad, “Why does a town like this have a kid’s restaurant like that?” The sign said Fredbear’s, a beacon of color and light in the midst of a decaying shopping mall, “Looks like fun.”
“Hmnh.” His father grunted. Jeremy watched Kyle Fitzgerald wipe sweat off his face and gesture, “They’re here. I know they are. And we’re here till we find them. You remember what happened to your Momma.”
Jeremy could not forget what happened to his mother. Things had been normal-ish when his mother was alive. Now he and his father traveled the country, “Dad-”
“School in this town. You’ll be going to it. I expect you to make friends and keep an eye on the kids there.” he glared, “See that?” His father stumbled out of the truck and pointed in the direction of a massive housing establishment to the west, “That’s where they live. People think that vampires stick to urban centers, but this is where they’re hiding now. Yuppies, the rich, in big condos like that with businesses in the big cities.” He pointed, “We’re gonna get them. And when …when they’re gone your Momma…”
He gulped and Jeremy sighed. He felt broken, cracked, “C’mon dad. Let’s go get a room.” His father needed to sleep it off.”
The owner of the Flaminco seemed happy for any business and when Jeremy handed him a stack of dollar bills and said they didn’t have a set check out date. The room smelled like mothballs and the bathroom smelled like cleaner but at least it didn’t smell like pee. He sighed, flopping his father down on his bed, leaving suitcases on the floor beside him. The old man snored, the walls rattling.
Jeremy ignored the siren lull of the old TV, pulling the bible out of the drawer and setting it beside his father. Keeps them away. Only thing that keeps them away is prayer. Only thing that knocks them out is prayer.
Jeremy wasn’t sure what he prayed for anymore.
He locked the door behind him and made note of useful places. A convenience store for food, a chinese place, an Italian restaurant - the kid’s restaurant that seemed to be drawing in people, and block after block of closed old stores. The town looked half dead.
Familiar.
Burshing dark blonde hair from his face, Jeremy kicked a rock, crossing the street at a run before stopping in front of the sign. Fredbear’s Family Diner. A big yellow bear and a big yellow rabbit held up both sides of the sign. The place was lit up and he could hear the sounds of coins and cheering and joy coming from inside. The flame drew him, a moth to his death, before he was knocked aside by a collection of kids jostling each other, tossing toys at one another in a twisted game of catch. Jeremy beamed, catching their joy in return. The place smelled like cigarette smoke and pizza but it was beautiful.
It was the most beautiful place he’d ever seen.
Games lined the walls, tables filled with eating families were everywhere. A big yellow rabbit was happily waving at guests. It twisted and did a spin and the children clapped. A bear was singing on the stage, it’s jilted movements making Jeremy’s eyes go wide. That’s a robot.
He beamed, waving at a few people, before colliding with someone, “Hey man, careful.”
The boy was 13, Jeremy saw. He had bright blue eyes, pale skin, and dark hair that hung down his face. He was unnaturally pale, but his bright blue eyes were shining. Surrounded by the swirling lights and happy sounds he looked like something that had come out of one of the bright games. A painted figure, something not real.
Jeremy was conscious of his baggy and torn jeans, how he smelled from days on the road, his dark green army jacket, his lucky necklace. The boy smiled nervously at him, “You okay?”
“Yeah.” He gulped, “I’m new in town. Sorry.” He offered a hand, “I’m Jeremy. Jeremy Fitzgerald.”
“Mike.” Mike smiled, “Michael Afton.” he hesitated, “You want a soda? Slice of pizza? Dad’s-” michael glanced at the rabbit, “Dad’s busy. I’ll grab you something. You look hungry.”
“Sure.” Jeremy grinned, “Pepperoni?”
“I can do that.”
—-