Chapter Text
“I aim to prove that death simply does not exist.”
Henry Miller was well aware of this. He was the one who said it. Even still, he honestly thought he was truly dead for a good minute there. When he finally realized that he was, —in fact— not dead, it took him about half a minute to get used to the light that surrounded him.
Gosh, how long has it been?
Henry hadn’t seen light in decades, due to being trapped in an endless void of Venta Black. When he finally stopped pitying himself and came to his senses, Henry looked around to see a vaguely familiar place. Posters lined the walls, toys covered the ground, and most importantly, a picture. Of him. Oh ya, and William.
This was William’s room.
He then recalled his last encounter with the man, no… the boy. William was nothing short of a child in Henry’s mind. He was dumb, immature, and far too attached for Henry’s comfort. The specific way in which William had been attached to the skin-husk calling itself Jack was… quite sickening to Henry. It made him remember how William had been attached to himself.
Disgusting.
Henry was not, and would not ever be William’s father.
Foolish.
Just the thought made him sick.
He walked over to the photograph and placed it face down onto the table with a slight grimace. He then noticed a window shrouded by red and yellow-striped curtains.
Henry pushed aside the curtains and looked outside the window. He was greeted by a familiar black void. It was empty. Uncomfortably empty for something only characterized by its emptiness. To any other person, that is; he was all but friends with the void. They didn’t call him “The Voidwalker” for nothing.
The void.
But despite the familiarity of a dark, endless void, it was odd. There was a moon. Interesting. It made the atmosphere colder. Good. Henry liked it cold. He closed the curtains and stepped back to take one last glance around William’s room, to once again remind himself how much he detested that thing. Henry turned around and opened the door to the rest of the house.
He chose to skip all the irrelevant looking rooms and head straight for the end of the hallway. To any normal person, the door would be easily looked over, but Henry had an interesting way of seeing things.
He opened the “hidden” door and entered. He recognized this room much more clearly, as had been his. Neat shelves full of books regarding various topics. Not that he needed them. Crimson red sheets neatly tucked into the bed he had never used. He preferred to spend his time… elsewhere. Posters from Fredbear’s and newspaper clippings lined the walls. One in particular drew Henry’s signature unsettling grin to his face.
“Drunken man kills sister at Fredbear’s…”
He remembered that day, with William, outside of Fredbear’s. He remembered the sad little girl in the red scarf who was left behind, and best of all, he remembered framing her idiot of a brother for her murder.
That one was fun, even if it came back to headbutt him. Literally.
Goodness, how did the world contain so much immaturity?
Henry decided to quit reveling in his past and exited back into the hallway.
The hallway walls were white, with matching white doors covering the entrance to every room, and a dark hardwood floor that was so clean it would look to have been brand new. Henry opened a few doors, and unrecognizable rooms filled his vision. Interesting—he’d take note of that.
He moved to another part of the house, and was delighted to find a piano sitting in the middle of the room. It was a Blüthner—model 1—to be exact. Henry very much enjoyed playing piano, despite it not contributing much besides personal pleasure. Henry’s favorite? Waltz In A Minor, by Frédéric Chopin.
He visited the kitchen, which had a wide array of different appliances. Henry was also a pretty good cook, of course. He would make sure to put this room to good use. He ventured over to the fridge, curious to see what was inside.
Henry was somewhat of a food enthusiast—despite the drawbacks. It was one of his few pleasures. He enjoyed foods that were exotic and unique, but also familiar, simple meals. The fridge revealed to him, surprisingly, exactly what he would have liked to eat.
Magical fridge? Okay.
Well, more like the ingredients to make what he would like to eat.
Milk, eggs, butter, a wide array of vegetables and fruits, dressings, etc.
Meats like beef, pork, chicken, turkey, duck, even veal.
One in particular caught Henry’s eye.
He smiled.
How wonderful.
Henry presumed the pantry was the same, filled with spices and herbs and grains, as well as baking ingredients. Fun.
He came across a dining room, living room, and a shower, all of which were not interesting in the least.
The next room he entered sent his previous plan to stop reveling in his past down the drain—guess he wouldn’t be out of the woods so soon.
Henry found himself in his childhood room. Yikes.
It would have been quite a normal room at the time, at least for someone in his situation. It was all but falling apart, with sickening yellow wallpaper that almost resembled flakes of dried skin, floorboards being pulled apart by the dirt and mold seeping within them. Multiple felonies would be bestowed upon a parent if they had a child living here these days.
These days.
What year was it?
No matter. He would find out soon enough, in light of his escape.
Back to the room. Henry didn’t like to think too much about his childhood. Sure there was the mother that killed herself like the weakling she was, and the father, who was absolutely insufferable. Henry was almost relieved when he finally died.
Henry thought about his time after that. He thought about the war, college, those foolish imbeciles that had challenged his genius, the circus…
And William.
Why couldn’t he get that… vermin out of his head?
Probably the detestation he felt in his “heart”.
Unimportant.
If William knew of Henry’s thoughts, he wouldn’t shut up for the next millennium about how Henry’s just “denying his feelings of fatherly love”. What an imbecile.
Whatever.
Henry continued to think for a little bit.
His childhood.
His adulthood.
His life.
His memories.
Perhaps this place is based on memories, similar to the other layers? Strange…even if it was, he didn’t recognize some of the rooms that he had come across.
Even if it was, how could there be memories in here that did not belong to Henry?
Even if there were, who would they belong to?
Voices from another room out of view snapped him out of his thoughts and confirmed Henry’s underlying suspicions.
He was not alone in here.
…
Henry had a pretty good idea of who his unwanted company would turn out to be. He could also hear William’s voice booming throughout the building, no doubt talking at his idiot crew consisting of the nuisance child, mutt, and phone-headed companions.
Henry pondered what the next step of this particularly irritating puzzle would be.
Ah, yes. That would work well.
Henry had created a secret observation room within his adult house, on account of the pesky purple parasite prancing around the place. He decided that was the best place to stay, not out of fear, of course, but to hide himself from them until the time was right to reveal himself. What then? Henry wouldn’t admit he had no idea. That was a bad habit of his. But Henry had always found a way to build a bridge, rather than walk through the murky water.
Henry also had no thoughts of empathy for the bodies that bridge was made from.
Henry swiftly made his way back to his adult room, closing and locking the door behind himself. He then opened a drawer in one of the bedside tables, and pulled out a small silver key.
Henry walked over to a dresser on the far side of the room and pushed it aside, revealing a small white door. He unlocked the door, crawled inside, and turned around to reposition the dresser in front of the door. He then relocked it, and turned on the lights.
It was a combination of a standard office, lab, and what Henry blantently refused to admit was a torture chamber.
He booted up the severely out of date camera system, and was surprised to find that it connected not only the house it had been installed in, but the rest of the building as well.
And then he spotted him—them.
Them.
Him.
William.
God, Henry hated him.
…
After a few hours adjusting to the place they resided in, as well as exploring the house-building weird amalgamation, Dave, Dee, Peter, Steven, and Blackjack all went their separate ways.
Dave Miller was peacefully resting on a navy blue couch when suddenly…
“DAVE!” A male voice yelled.
“Mnehnamyyaaa?” Dave replied.
“We have a question for you.” A second male voice said.
“Five more minutes…”
“Dave come on.” A young female voice said.
Dave was reasonably annoyed at the intrusion on his couch slumber, but obliged nonetheless.
He followed Dee, Peter, and Steven to a random door he hadn’t bothered to check behind.
“Is this one of your rooms?” Dee asked him.
Dave looked into the room, it was quite unpleasant. It looked like a moldy biohazard mixed with dated 1920’s decor.
1920’s…
“Oh yea, this was my room. Before the orphanage, that is.” Dave replied.
Dave wasn’t about to tell them it most definitely was not his, and that he didn’t recognize it at all. But if it wasn’t his, and it wasn’t any of theirs, he had an aching feeling of whom this room belonged to.
…
“Now, I can definitely get used to this.”
Dave said mockingly to Steven as the phone man rubbed at his back.
If Steven had the ability to grimace, he would be.
He had made a drunken (yes, they somehow found alcohol) bet with Dave during their time in the Flipside. Steven said that if they somehow made it to some sort of afterlife, he’d write Dave a blank check.
“Phoney, Steve, can I call you Steve?” Dave asked.
“Please don’t.” Steven responded languidly.
“Listen, Steve, have you —mmmhhhh— ever considered… taKING… up massage therapy as a career?” Dave was all but writhing on the couch.
“I haven’t really had an option to do such since my free will was taken away.”
“Jeez phoney…trauma dump much.” Dave rolled his eyes.
Steven scoffed. He stopped massaging Dave for a moment.
“Not like I didn’t already know.” Dave said dismissively.
Steven was silent and still, his hands unmoving.
“Keep at it, Phoney.”
Steven dug his fingers in between Dave’s shoulder blades, pressing aggressively onto his pressure points.
“AGH—Okay GOSH man I’m just joking!” Dave stammered.
Steven continued massaging.
Dave tried to spark up some conversation between them, to no avail.
“Givin’ me the cold shoulder now Phoney?”
Steven did not reply.
“Oh, did I offend you?”
Wow. Dave is just wonderful at testing people's patience, but Steven would not be so willing as to let Dave cut his figurative anger-tension rope with a knife of insults. So instead, Dave burned through it with a blowtorch of asshole-ness.
“Please, as if anyone actually cares.”
Steven rashly slapped Dave across the back of his head, causing Dave to cry out painfully.
“JUST SHUT UP!” Steven yelled.
Dave was about to retaliate (due to his massive egotistical nature), but he thought it best to listen to Steven. That man was incredibly unstable.
Steven reluctantly continued massaging.
A thick and awkward silence followed.
Fortunately for them, Peter was kind enough to break it.
“This is something I never expected to see.” Peter was leaning in the doorframe. He had just entered from the kitchen, most likely due to the noise level.
“I lost a bet, that’s all.”
Peter snickered.
“I can tell. You would not be doing this willingly.”
“Believe me, every moment touching him is making me uneasy.” Steven was on the brink of committing various acts of homicide, but he kept his tone joking.
“I can change that.” Dave interjected sadisticly, taking Steven’s masking for dismissal.
What did that even mean? Was it another vague sex joke?
“I’d like to see you try.”
“Challenge excepted…”
Yes. Yes it was.
Dave then twisted around and grabbed at Steven’s crotch, causing Steven to let out an involuntary yelp.
“Nope nope nope nope I’m done goodbye.” Steven quickly exited the room to the sound of Peter and Dave’s hysterical laughter.
To be honest, that wasn’t the reason he left. He was done with that conversation. He was done with those people. They pissed him off.
More importantly, he didn’t deserve to stand among them. He couldn’t shove those feelings down with his sob story.
Steven was so lost in his own mind that he hadn’t even noticed where he was as he wandered around the building.
“Can I help you?”
Steven found himself standing in a doorway, and he became conscious of his notasleepwalking.
“Hello?”
Steven looked up at the voice speaking to him. It was Dee, who was currently working on an illustration in her notebook. It looked like a dog.
“Oh, uh… my bad—must have zoned out…” Steven said distantly.
“Cut the baloney, Phoney. What’s going on?”
That voice came from what Steven presumed was Dee’s reference. Blackjack was lying on a dog bed, bone in mouth.
“What?” Steven replied confusedly.
“You’re obviously bothered by something, so spit it out already.”
When Steven yet again didn’t reply, Blackjack continued to pester him, but Steven zoned out once again.
What.
He was probably disassociating.
Do not yiff the fax.
He noticed Blackjack had a strange way of speaking, as a dog mouth couldn’t physically form into the shapes needed for human communication.
He then noticed the very concerned look on both Blackjack and Dee’s faces as he was nodding along and agreeing to absolutely no one. Blackjack had stopped talking about 20 seconds ago.
Steven turned on his heel and walked away.
This time, he managed to go to his own room and lock the door.
It was empty. Good. He didn’t deserve to have anything.
…
“What on earth is up with him?” Blackjack asked.
Dee was now laying on her bed staring at the ceiling. “No clue.” She replied.
Dee sat up in her bed. She knew Steven had issues, and she knew that it wasn’t her business whatsoever, but she felt a bit responsible.
Protect lost souls, and whatnot.
Maybe it was like a coping mechanism for Dee, protecting those who cannot protect themselves, and attempting to save them from a fate like hers. In Steven’s case, it was too late to accomplish the latter, and protection wasn't something Steven needed.
“Unless you count from himself.” Dee thought out loud.
Dee soon found herself at Steven’s door, and knocked.
“Steven?” Dee kept her voice quiet and soft. “Steven, I know you’re in there.”
No reply.
Dee shifted slightly to a more impatient tone as she began to pound rapidly on the door. “Come on Steven, open the door.”
She stopped knocking.
“Please? I just want to make sure you’re ok.”
Steven opened the door.
“Can I come in?” Dee asked.
Steven stepped back and opened the door to let Dee enter.
She entered the room, and let Steven close the door behind her. She looked around, and saw… nothing. The walls were a muted sky blue, the floor carpeted in a pale brown. The fan-light in the ceiling was out, leaving only the illumination of the moon from outside to light the room. There was a window on the wall opposite with off white curtains pulled to the side by ribbons that were a slightly different hue, clashing with the fabric they restrained. The blinds were opened up, their cords hung low on the floor.
Wait. The moon?
Dee walked over to the window and peered outside. Yep, definitely the moon. Though, it looked… different. The recognizable texture was gone, as if they were looking at the dark side of the moon.
Nevermind, that’s not important now. She’d look into it later.
“So are you going to talk or what?” She asked, her back still turned to where Steven was standing.
Dee looked at Steven, and he knew that she knew that he was lying, but he couldn’t say anything… he couldn’t make this about himself.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Steven…”
“Nothing.”
“Will you at least sit with me?”
Steven sighed, but joined Dee on the edge of his bed.
“If you ever need to talk—”
“Dee…”
“Sorry, sorry.”
The door slowly creaked open. A fluffy purple head with a yellow hat peeked in.
Blackjack entered the room
“I know what you need.”
“Hmm?”
Blackjack gave Steven a look.
“No, really…it’s fine—“
Blackjack hopped onto the bed and curled up on Steven’s lap.
“Shush.”
Steven reluctantly began to slowly stroke through Blackjack’s fur, his fingers shaking.
Wow, that actually really helped.
Dee was about to continue intruding with her questions, when Steven stopped her again. That was probably Dee’s biggest flaw, boundaries.
Their silence was interrupted as the door was once again opened, and Peter’s phone-head peeked through the crack. He gave Dee and Blackjack a glance, and the siblings stood up, understanding the message.
Dee and Blackjack exited the room.
Peter walked over and sat down next to Steven in Dee’s place. Steven didn’t want to talk anymore, and he most definitely didn’t want Peter to talk to him. Peter knew this.
He also knew that he didn’t need to talk in order to be there for him.
Peter laid his hand on Steven’s. Steven stiffened at the gesture.
Peter squeezed Steven’s hand. “Listen, I know better than anyone what you’re feeling, so please, let me help you.”
“I don’t need your help. Or anyone’s.”
Peter sighed. “Listen, I was in the same place you are, but I found someone to stay by my side and help me swim to the surface.”
“And what if I’ve already drowned?”
“Well, technically, we don’t actually breathe, so…”
Steven chuckled.
“I would love to be that person for you, Steven. Let’s say, your lifeguard.”
Steven didn’t respond.
“If you just—”
Peter was interrupted when Steven suddenly yanked his hand back and stood up.
“I don’t need your saving grace, Peter.” Steven attempted to say in an assertive tone, but his words came out shaky. He crossed his arms and avoided looking in Peter’s vicinity. His stare tore through him like an arrow. It was a burning warmth that threatened to engulf him in flames. A flaming arrow. One that he desperately tried to dodge.
Steven was unsuccessful in his efforts, and Peter’s warmth slowly engulfed him.
The two phone-headed companions stayed like that for what felt like an eternity to Steven. Peter’s arms were awkwardly situated around Steven’s, squeezing him intently from behind. Peter’s head rested on Steven’s shoulder, and Steven could’ve sworn that they looked increasingly homosexual. Not that a relationship with Peter would bother Steven, it just felt… strange. Steven quit his mind-rambling and concluded they were just friends, albeit strange ones.
It occurred to Steven that it was probably because they were both phones, despite how cliche that reason was. But it was true, they both had the same beautifully wretched trauma inflicted upon them, and they were the only ones that could relate. Sure, everyone else most defidently went through Hell and back, but
“You can let go of me now.” Steven said through a strained voice.
“Oh—Sorry.” Peter laughed awkwardly as he pulled away.
Steven turned to face Peter.
“Thanks, Peter… and, sorry for being such a hecken’ dick.”
“Of course.” Peter hugged him again, this time remembering to let go, but as he pulled away, he was stopped by Steven.
A second very suggestively gay hug takes place. Steven melts into Peter’s arms, and nearly falls asleep before Peter speaks once again, a low whisper right next to Steven’s receiver.
“Hey, Steven.”
“Yea?”
“No homo.”
…
Dave had unusually good hearing. One of his many gifts from Henry. From Dad. He could hear Peter and Dee and Blackjack and Steven talking about how much their lives sucked. He saw Steven’s feeble attempt at hiding his emotions, and it drove him mad.
If you’re going to act all depressed and melancholic, at least do a better job at pretending you don’t want attention.
Oh, but of course, Steven doesn’t want attention! He just needs someone to be there for him.
How pathetic.
Dave, on the other hand, was excellent at deception. He was probably the one that seemed the least miserable out of all of them. Dave knew this wasn’t true. But he wouldn’t drop his act for pity like Steven. He wouldn’t be weak. That’s not what Henry would want.
What were his problems? He didn’t have any. He was fine.
Despite being manipulated into killing dozens of innocent children, he was fine.
Despite intentionally being Springlocked to death, courtesy of his father, he was fine,
Despite losing his father-figure that refused to be his father-figure, abused him, neglected him, and ran excruciatingly painful experiments on him, he was fine.
Despite losing Jack, his Old Sport, the only human he ever somewhat had even a hint of—dare he say it—“feelings” for, he was fine.
Despite being shut out and hated by everyone he knew, he was fine.
Despite killing his father and losing his best friend, he was fine.
Despite his life being shit, he was fine, he was fine, he was fine, he was fine…
No, Dave Miller—William Afton, was not fine.
But no one could know what he was really feeling, and no one did.
…
Except Henry.
It was quite amusing to Henry, to watch William act so lively and insufferable around the others of his group, and then sulk in his room like a child in punishment. Henry sometimes wished he could be there to rub it in and make William feel that much more horrible about himself. Henry couldn’t help but smile at those particular thoughts. He wanted very badly to teach that child the manners that it somehow had not retained. Henry reminisced of the earlier times. Beating him, hurting him, breaking him. Like a father would to his son, but worse. Much worse.
Wait.
No.
Nothing like that.
Henry just about wanted to rip open William once again for placing those thoughts inside of his head.
Oh yes, how Henry loved his wretched creation, how monstrous and vile it could be. Henry loved the memory of breaking William, over and over again. Henry loved how merciless William could be at best, yet still submissive to him, and only him.
But he could not ever love William like a son.
God, and calling himself Dave? After Henry’s own son?
Disgusting.
…
Over the next few “days”, similar zany antics filled the groups’ time in the void, and Henry continued to watch them.
He did have to admit that he was bored. Extremely bored.
Henry started rearranging things in his “office,” cleaned up a little, trashed things he didn’t need, and took time to revel in his old notes. Whilst working, he came to the realization that he actually really liked this space. He came to the conclusion that in the future, he would have to build a new one in the real world—for the reason that Fredbear’s had most defidently been destroyed by now, especially with William being dead.
Halfway through his cleaning, Henry got an unwanted reality check.
Henry was moving a filing cabinet from one side of the room to another, and it stupidly fell over. How dare it disrespect him.
Foolish filing cabinet.
Much to Henry’s annoyance, he picked up a slightly concerning phrase from the camera’s audio feed.
“Did anyone else hear that?”
Were these walls that thin?
He had to be more careful.
Henry continued cleaning his office, being forced to hand dust rather than use a vacuum. The inconvenience was extremely aggravating.
Minus that one incident, the lives of Henry and the others stayed relatively separate. Sure Henry occasionally had to sneak in the kitchen (when everyone was asleep) to get food. This was partly for the reason that he just hadn’t eaten anything in ages, and partly because the risk of getting caught was dreadfully exciting, but otherwise, just that.
The bridge’s sides remained totally, 100% separate.
Until they didn’t.