Rain pelts down on the front window in sheets. The windshield wipers frantically swing to a metronome beat, futilely trying to clear the view for the safety of its driver. The driver does not care, neither for his safety nor the clarity of his vision.
With only a single hand on the wheel, William swings his head back as he downs the last of his flask- an emergency prescription he keeps around for times like this. The alcohol has long since set in, the dim glow of headlights a blur in his vision and the pouring rain creating a pounding white noise in his head.
"Damned idiots, bloody twats who don't understand anything."
He's alone in the car, mumbling out loud— a habit born from times in which he did have a person to direct his ire and frustrations towards.
The flask raises up in the air once more, only for nothing to hit the ever-parched throat of the driver. Frustration hitting in a wave, he tosses the empty flash onto the passenger seat beside him and turns the now free hand his once neatly combed dark hair.
"'They wanted to discuss a few things more with me. Go ahead and head home without me.'" His voice takes on an unnatural tone for him, clearly mimicking another, less accented, person.
"Bullshit. We're partners, what gives him the right to go off without me? Without me he would still be nothing. I'm the one who brought us this high, I'm the one who came up with the first designs, I'm the one who was running the damned business while he was making trinkets and toys for-"
The man's rage hits boiling; his free hand slamming down on the steering wheel horn right as he swerves to the side, almost driving straight off the road were it not for him jerking in the opposite direction just in time.
He grits his teeth in rage. His car won't cooperate with him, the board members won't cooperate with him, his partner won't cooperate with him, his business won't cooperate with him, his wife won't cooperate with him, his son won't cooperate with him- yes, "son," singular.
He needs another drink.
The dim lights of sleepy Hurricane are well in view now. His home, his kingdom. His actual home, his house, is outside of town on the other side. He could just go straight there via an off-road, it would be much faster- and safer, but instead he stays on the main road. He has a different destination in mind. The streets are clear, empty, his to command. A blessing, given his current state, he does not have a clear enough head to appreciate.
He pulls onto a road leading straight into the heart of town and then into a dark alleyway, crammed between two rows of buildings and just barely wide enough to accommodate both his car and the line of garbage bins.
Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. That's his destination. The shiny new location that he and his business partner opened not too long ago. In his office, in the back left corner when looking from the door, in a cabinet tucked against the wall, the tonic for his anger is safely tucked away. There's no need to go through the front, neither the tired teenager working the evening cashier nor the busybody supervisor need to see him in this state. He has the keys to the entire building; he can easily slip through the back door without anyone but the hallway security camera knowing he was there, and who would care about the owner himself slipping in and out to pick up something from his own office?
Keys, keys, right his keys! William fumbles around his jacket pockets and then the pockets of his slacks, even taking both hands off the steering wheel and both eyes off the alley road for a moment, until his fingers make contact with cold metal. But as he nears the back door to Freddy's, the glow of his headlights illuminates something that causes him to stop.
A figure. A small figure. A small figure with long hair and its backed turned slowly trudging through the rain-filled alleyway.
Just as his foot pressed down on the breaks, slowing to a stop in a rare moment of clarity through his drunken, burning haze, the figure stops her shambling and turns to face the car now pulled up behind her.
She looks like a pathetic display— soaked dark hair clinging to her equally soaked sweater, long, black skirt hanging limp and heavy from water weight down on her legs; her arms wrapped weakly against herself in an attempt at warming her shivering body that only makes her look more like a small, weak creature. It takes him a moment to realize who she is, despite seeing her face nearly every day.
Henry's daughter. His precious little daughter.
She's visibly exhausted, her glazed over eyes painting a picture of sorrow that would have any artist foaming at the mouth— unfortunately William was never the "artist" in his little duo.
William unlocks the doors to his car, opening the door and stepping out in such a smooth motion it surprises even himself. He stands in a line with the open door, one hand resting on the top. The girl now faces him with her whole body, staring blankly at him as recognition slowly dawns on her face.
"Charlotte, dear," he tries to hide the slight intoxicated slur in his voice, "What are you doing out here?"
Without responding, the girl stumbles straight into him, throwing her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest as she lets out a weak sob. Henry's daughter never hugged anyone, she seemed to loath even touching another person, so such an act made her level of distress apparent.
"Come now, Charlotte, why are you out here in the rain?"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," her voice is high-pitched and weak, even more than usual for soft-spoken girl, and William can't help but see her as younger than she really is in this moment. Small. Helpless. Henry's poor little daughter. He moves his hand from the car door to rest, a bit too forcefully, on her quivering back. She neglects to answer his question, just standing their holding onto him as she repeats her misplaced apologies between sobs.
"Charlotte. What are you doing out here?" his voice comes out harsher this time. The rain has already soaked through his jacket and irritation builds in William's inebriated mind.
Finally, she says something new.
"He's right... Mike's right..."
William cocks an eyebrow at the mention of his son's name (nickname, specifically, which the boy began using without his permission).
"I'm still just a useless little kid." her words keep breaking up through sobs, "I can't help anyone. I can't even help myself. All I do is get in the way and be a nuisance."
She sounds so pathetic. William always knew Henry's daughter as the stubborn and silent type, withdrawn but never swayed from standing up to older kids and even adults despite her small size. He had seen her arguing with his son many times. She was a lot like her father, in fact, introverted and always against the grain. Perhaps that was why Henry adored her so, spoiling and coddling her like the center of his entire world. Henry always did adore his creations, beyond merely the pride of an artist and engineer. The image of Henry, with his daughter and his other mechanical makings, forms in William's head. His jaw tightens. A king, no, a deity, presiding over the world he has crafted. A world that Henry was slowly trying to kick him out from like he was some sort of devil.
Her hands are clinging tighter to him. Rain soaks further in to his clothes, down to his shirt now. The cold hardly bothers him, thanks to the alcohol, but annoyance stirs something within.
"Whenever... whenever I try to help someone it just makes other people get mad at me. I don't understand. I just want to help. I don't- I don't want to see people getting hurt or being upset, but everything I do just makes people hate me."
What does it matter when you are perfect by design? What meaning does a being's actions hold, when its maker loves it simply for existing? This girl, small, frail, and incomplete, stands as a testament to the purity of her father's love, a vessel for his spirit. What a beautiful thing- that neither creator nor creation deserves.
What a beautiful thing, indeed.
William hardly even hears the words spilling from the thing before him; his mind consumed by thoughts of its maker. What a lucky man, a horribly lucky man he is. Everything that man creates is harmonious and beautiful, a perfect image of a perfect creator. And what of William's creations? Filthy and base and incompetent. The board committee certainly thought so, from how they threw him out like nothing of value. The school faculty must certainly think so, from the vile looks they give him when he comes in for yet another meeting with the counselor because his son got into a fight. Henry must certainly think so, from the pity that's been laid in his gaze ever since thatday.
While all of Henry's creations form perfection, and he receive endless praise, all of William's creations are broken monstrosities. Things cannot go on like this. With how high Henry has flown, it is about time his wings melt.
A hand creeps up to rest on a bed of wet hair. Has the thing clinging to him been quietly babbling the entire time? William was not listening, nor does he care.
"Calm down now, Charlotte. We can't stay out here in this rain any longer. Come now, get into the car. I'll take you home."
He ushers, pushes, more like, the shivering thing into the back seat of his car. A new fog begins to fill his head, not of drunkenness or rage, but one of destructive compulsion. The urge to break something simply because it can be broken.
~~~
William discards his soaked jacket on the passenger seat beside him, conveniently covering the flask. By the time he is pulling out of the alleyway, the thing has calmed down enough to explain the circumstances behind why she was outside in the rain. Something about a child being bullied by some classmates of her's. She had tried to intervene, only for it to escalate into her being dragged outside and locked out. By now, William's priorities couldn't be further from caring. Still, he makes some weak excuse about how her father had some work pop up, but wouldn't be busy for long, and asked him to take her home (It isn't completely a lie). What luck that he found her at the moment he did!
Henry's house is also located near the outskirts of town, though not as far as his own. Hurricane is a small town. It should only take a few minutes to reach there from the Pizzeria, but William deliberately takes a slow route. He needs time to formulate his plan.
In the meantime, William glances up at the little rear-view mirror, adjusted so he can see his backseat passenger. She's gone quiet, head hanging low and hands in her lap, fiddling with the nails on her thumbs. Her hair is flattened to her body from wetness, her face flushed— whether from crying or embarrassment he does not know, but the skin on her neck and hands is porcelain white. Her clothes are soaked through their entirety, and he can already see how her sweater and long skirt are getting water all over his fine leather seats. He contemplates telling her to take them off, but that would likely put her on guard too soon. It won't matter, soon enough.
Even now, she is still such a beautiful piece of craftsmanship. A crystal rose, forever in vulnerable bloom.
They near their destination now. Williams eyes fix back upon the road, feigning apathy.
"You know, dear. I've gone so much out of my way for you, and yet I still have not heard a single 'thank you' come out of you."
The thing slowly lifts her head with a small noise of confusion. A coy, predatory smile plays on William's lips.
"I've delayed going home after a long and tiresome day and gotten myself soaked to the bone just to get you home safely. And here you are, getting my entire back seat wet without a single word of gratitude."
Despite the harshness of his words, his tone is even and calm. He doesn't really care about anything she says, he'll get what he wants (needs) out of her regardless, but he wants to entertain himself with her squirms for a bit.
And squirm she does. Her eyes blink rapidly, flitting between the back of the chair in front her and her home through the window. The car has pulled up to the curb in front of Henry's house by now, though she'd have to either go around the car or cross the seats to be on the right side.
"I-I'm sorry. Uhm... Tha-Thank you."
"The longer you put off repaying what you owe, the more you'll have to pay back in the end, dear. Has your father never taught you any business sense? Try harder than that." His tone harshens. Artificial. A performance.
"Uhm, uh... Thank you... Thank you... Uncle William"
She has no clue what he wants. How could she even begin to guess?
"Not enough. When someone gives something up for you, dear Charlotte, you give something up in return. Unbuckle your seatbelt. Stay in the car."
His last two sentences come out as cold, stern commands. She instinctively obeys; her seatbelt clicking away as she curls in on herself again. William unbuckles his seatbelt the same, throwing open the car door and shoving it closed behind him as he moves to the back seat.
The thing flinches at his forcefulness, shuffling backwards across the seats as William inserts himself into the car, bearing down on her. She is confused, tired, and increasingly fearful, the situation too strange and unnatural for her brain to process. She gazes up at William with her glassy, dark eyes, biting her lip in nervousness. A lamb. Yes, a perfect little lamb led right to the sacrificial altar. The sacrifice who's blood will absolve her father of his sins.
William is crawling across the back seats now, long legs and broad shoulders filling the small space. His prey continues to flee him, sliding herself in sluggish movements as confused noises and half-spoken words spill from her lips— red from how much she had bitten them. When her back hits the opposite door, frantic hands groping at it in search of the handle, William grabs her by the sweater, pulling her back underneath himself as she screams.
"I've done so, so very much for your hack of a father. I've worked thrice as hard as he has, given up twice as much, and yet he's the one who gets recognized, he's the one who gets recognized for our business, HE'S the one who achieved perfection. And now I get to take something from him." His voice drips with venom, her the conduit to reach his true target.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," her voice chokes as fresh tears begin to fall from her eyes, "I don't- I don't understand but please let me go home- EEP!"
Ahh, how sweet, how wonderful. Such a perfect creature, apologizing for sins not even her own.
William rips at her sweater, sending a button or two flying into some abyssal nook, to reveal her white dress shirt underneath. Her shirt is as wet as the rest of her, forming a white frame of her lithe body. His hands immediately press onto her chest. Even without taking her shirt off, he can maneuver her bra to feel her small breasts underneath, softness which quickly gives way to the ridges of her ribcage.
"Wha- what are you- Uncle Will-!"
Her hands fly up to grab at his molesting hands, trying to pry him off of her. For all her beauty, strength is the one thing she lacks compared to Henry's other creations, and William easily pulls his left arm from her grasp, grabs both of her wrists with the same hand, and pins them against the car door above her head. She yelps again, now trying to push him away with her legs. It is not yet enough to hurt him, but he wants to make sure she's trapped thoroughly. His left leg he uncurls from the seat, pushing her right leg to dangle off the seat and using his bent leg to trap it, while his right leg slams her left leg into the seats. Cornered. Checkmate.
With his quarry spread out beneath him, the victor is free to do as he pleases. His free hand returns to grope at her chest; then pulls her shirt apart the same as he did to her sweater. The prey gasps and sobs as her cold chest, sticky and damp from her clothing, is exposed to the even colder air. Her little white bra is already half pushed off, the areola of one of her nipples peaking through. She must be wearing half a size too large for her. Silly girl, always trying to be more mature than she really is. He gives her bra the last push towards her neck to free her juvenile breasts. Her nipples are hard and red, skin covered in goosebumps, like two strawberries. She's choking on her own saliva in panic, gasping for oxygen to feed her overwhelmed mind.
"What a fine, well-crafted thing. So small and fragile. It will be impossible to piece you back together once you're broken."
He speaks to himself as he briefly grasps one of her breasts, pinching one of her nipples only for a moment (this is just the window dressing, after all, his main target is elsewhere) before releasing to trail his hand down her body. Her chest rapidly rising and falling, her ribs jutting out from her stretched torso, her belly soft and thin, her hips bony and quivering. Once he reaches her legs, he grabs the length of her skirt, bunching it in his hand and shoving it up to her stomach.
"Uncle William- What are you- Why- Stop, stop, please-!"
She stumbles through words and twists her torso this way and that as she devolves further and further into hysteria. He pays her cries no mind, focused entirely on piling her long skirt fully onto her stomach. Once pushed out of the way, her panties revealed themselves to him- as wet as every other part of her body. William pushes himself back into more of a kneeling position in order to properly admire his prey. Thin legs with supple thighs, a perfect combination of soft with childlike fat and firm with youthful muscle, connect in delicate lines to her core, that most delicately crafted bit he seeks out. Something itches in the back of his brain with the desire to bite into her flesh, but what pools down below is of much higher priority. His crotch feels tight and hot. The tool by which he will perform his master work alight before he even realized it.
"Charlotte," the name that Henry gave to this thing drips with sickening honey from William's lips, "tell me, dear. Have you ever been touched here before?" His hand grazes down the center line of her panties, the warmest article of clothing he has touched by far.
"STOP. STOP IT, UNCLE WILL. DON'T TOUCH ME." Her voice reaches a fever pitch, eyes full of tears and primal fear.
SLAP
A large, rough hand strikes across her face, knocking her breath out only to immediately return to hold a vice grip on her jaw, now forcing her to look in the eyes of her assaulter as he once again bears over her.
"Don't you dare speak to me like that, you little cunt! You think you have any right to even speak right now? You'll take this quietly and obedience or I will make things so, so much worse for you." His hand tightens around her jaw to emphasize his point.
Broken-hearted fear fills her face. She tries to nod her head in his grasp, it comes out more like weak shivering, and shuts her eyes as fat tears dribble down her stinging cheeks. She's neither too young nor too stupid to not realize what's going to happen to her, but confusion and shock kept her clinging to some delusion that this man she trusted nearly as much as her father would never do such a thing to her. Fervently denying that her kind, sociable, and whimsical Uncle Will, the friend of her father and the father of her friend, would do such a thing to her. But now reality bore its cold weight upon her face, helpless to do anything but lie back and take it.
That violent hand released her jaw to fumble with its owner belt. The process felt excruciatingly long, especially for the thing that lay silently sobbing with tightly shut eyes. Remove the length of the belt from its belt loops, pull it out from the buckle, remove the buckle, remove the belt, unzip his slacks- Finally, finally, William pulled his cock free from its confines, slowly pumping up and down the burning length in anticipation. His breathing was heavy and fast, elation wearing on his face with a fever wholly unlike himself. This sort of cruel joy was now his to indulge in, sustenance for the desires and hungers that had festered underneath a perfectly maintained skin and mask.
William reached down to push her dampened panties to the side, revealing her pink slit. Her forcefully spread legs shook at her sensitive parts being exposed to air, but she made no further protest. Boney fingers slid across the warm flesh to part the set of soft lower lips. Her hips jolted at the sudden sensation, a whimper rolling from her throat as she involuntarily tried to move her arms to push him away despite her wrists still being held tight above her head by a single hand.
William continued to molest her for a brief moment, testing to see how far he could spread her pussy with just his fingers. It was hardly an act meant to prepare her body, never mind pleasure her. Whatever discomfort he would feel from fucking a small, dry cunt would be vastly outweighed by the euphoria of tearing apart this thing before him. And so, William's hand returned to his cock, releasing his grip on her now-bruised wrists to shift that limp body so he could press his tip against its entrance.
"Please... don't." The voice was weak and hoarse, more a whisper than anything, from the thing too defeated to even move. It was a worthless request, one that the speaker already knew the response to before it even asked.
William smiled, "And why would I do that when I've already come so far?"
"Ah- AHHH!"
He pushed the engorged head into her tight folds, groaning at the feeling of warm flesh parting around him despite fierce resistance. Like tearing off all the petals from a beautiful rose in one pull, or scoring a deep gorge into soft metal. He hardly even heard the wail of the body beneath him at the painful intrusion; hardly saw the look of dreadful panic in its opened eyes as the pain dragged it back from darkness and into the real world. He slowly pushed deeper into the tightening hole, moving his hands to grasp the thing's legs and maneuver both bodies into a better angle. Something hot and wet began to coat his piercing member. Was it slick or blood? Both thoughts sent a shudder through his body from top to bottom. Flesh constricted around his cock like a warm embrace. How could this thing pretend to reject him when it enveloped him so wonderfully?
The tightness only increased the further he drilled into the hole, forcing dry, choked whines out of the body. Once about an inch away from connecting pelvises, he suddenly shifted his grip closer to the thing's hips and pulled out violently until only the tip remained inside.
It screamed once more at the rough exit, only to sputter and choke when William slammed back into it with bestial force. He laughed, a deep, genuine laugh, at the thing's suffocating coughs and pained expression. This motion repeated into an aggressive rhythm. The thing's eyes looked like they were about to roll into the back of its head. From pleasure? No, most certainly pain- the greatest pleasure William Afton could ask for.
William looked downward to the point where both bodies connected. Streaks of bright blood could clearly be seen against pale skin, some of it already seeped into the edges of the thing's white underwear.
"What would your father think of his precious little daughter losing her virginity in such a violent manner, hm?" He shook in pleasure as his fuckhole clenched once more around him, "I bet he's told you so often to never let a boy touch you here."
Pleasure built in his core as he rambled on.
"He won't believe you even if you told him, you know? Poor Henry, he wouldn't even be able to fathom his daughter being raped by his best friend, hah."
The thing whined pathetically, eyes emptily gazing at some spot on the car ceiling. Suddenly, William dropped the now purpled hips and bent forward, the body now practically folded in half and held up only by momentum. His hands wrapped around the thing's neck, covering it completely. Its eyes grew wider, though still unfocused and dead. Pressure increased in his hands, fingers wrapping around the sides of its neck while his thumbs slotted into the hollow underneath its jaw.
"I could have done so much worse to you, you know? I could have killed you back there. Strangled you just. Like. This." His grip tightened for emphasis, as did his testicles down below. "No one would have seen and no one would have noticed your absence for hours. Poor little Charlotte would have died all cold, wet, and alone."
The thing's mouth fell open slightly and its hands weakly clawed at William's own in whatever last remained of the will to survive in its draining consciousness. Years of experience meant William exactly when he was going to finish, but none of that had prepared him for the sheer pleasure performing such an act of violation would incite. He no longer bothered pulling out to the tip, just rutting against the thing pelvis-to-pelvis.
"God, this is the best hole I've ever fucked-"
Eyebrows furrowed, a sickening grin spread on William's face as he slammed into the body below to the hilt, coating its fucked open hole white with cum. Lightly rutting through his orgasm, he released the thing's neck, allowing it to cough and sob freely- though only for as long as it took him to get his bearings.
His breathing was heavy as his hand returned to grab the thing's bruised jaw, "Now, what do you have to say to me, Charlotte?"
"Hh- wha-"
SLAP
A hand struck out once more, the opposite from the previous time.
"You're not leaving the car until you've said it."
SMACK
He slapped the thing in its dazed face once more, aggression only growing in his voice.
"I- I- ont-"
CRACK
A third time, he was entering a frenzy and-
"What do you have to say to me for not killing you, stupid cunt?!"
"Tha-thank... ou."
A shot in the dark and the mania drained instantly from his face, replaced with a placid, perfect smile. He lightly patted the stinging cheek in some mockery of affection as he pulled out of the hole he had thoroughly ruined- white and red mixing as they oozed out of the vacated space.
"There, that wasn't so difficult," he pinched the thing's cheek as he spoke, it did not react, "You know what will happen if you say anything about this to anyone, right?"
The thing groaned, not in response to William's question, but the pain and emptiness inside of it. Despite this, he seemed pleased.
"Good girl, run along then. Your father will be getting home soon."
Finally did William remove himself from bearing over the thing, sitting back onto his knees with a string of the pinkish mixture still dripping down his cock, though his eyes still followed it. It lay there for a moment, like a stringless doll, before suddenly scrambling up to claw at the car door. It struggled with the handle, body moving purely out of freshly renewed adrenaline, and its eyes did not leave William's for a moment. When the car door finally opened, it practically fell out and onto the pavement. With predatory precision, William watched it as it grasped at the opened door to launch into a half-run, half-stumble straight to the front porch. The poor thing, with its arms clutched around its exposed chest and legs visibly unsteady, ran straight into the door in its panic, worthless slamming itself into it before realizing the door was lock. It fell to its knees, pulling and pushing at all the little paraphernalia that covered the porch. Upon finding what it was looking for, no doubt the spare key, it gave one last fearful glance at William before finally completing its escape.
A deep breath, too, escaped from William's throat. He leaned forward to pull the back seat door that had been left open closed. Normally, such a careless and irresponsible act would leave him enraged, but the pleasure that filled his very being in that moment left no room for it.
To break something permanently without destroying it. To see such a beloved and perfect thing marred so horribly. He had not realized how long he had yearned for this feeling until he got to experience it.
"Thank you, Henry, for creating such a beautiful thing."
The man may never know how the most perfect of his creation was violated so, but William shall- and that is enough to even the score between the two.