(( "You don't understand- it's not possible... How could Foxy move... by himself?"

William's Death.jpg. ))

Scott sat in the cheap plastic chair, his elbows resting on his knees and his head in his hands. The tears had no intention of stopping anytime soon, and Scott felt like a dam wall that had just been broken. Everything felt so real now, after being cut off from his true emotions for so long. It was a kind of grief that he couldn't describe; to know that he would never be able to talk to William again. Never again to seek comfort in his advice, or joy in his humour. 

Vincent was watching him, looking entirely out of his depth. Actually, if you had a screen with which you could hear thoughts, from Vincent you'd hear 'It's moments like these that I really understand that humans are 90% water... is he made from tears, or what? I think he's cried more today than I have in my life. Oh, there we go. He's cheering u--oop, no, no... never mind. Ugh.'

"Hey, Scott?" Vincent said at last, choosing his words carefully, picking the most concerned-sounding tone he could manage. "Do you want to take a break for a minute? You're not doing too well. Why don't we step aside, so you can come to terms with how you're feeling? Then we can come back."

Scott sniffled, wiping his eyes on the back of his sleeve. "N-No, it's alright..." He finally straightened up, turning  to Vincent with a dry smile, "I think I've about cried myself dry, don't you?"

"Definitely," Vincent agreed, a little too readily. "So, you're feeling fine now? All better?"

"Well..." Scott blinked, "Obviously I'm not feeling better, but crying isn't going to help it, right?"

Vincent gave a funny half-smile, "Well, I guess not, apparently. It's alright, anyway. They're just doing the closing now, and then we'll finally be able to put this all behind us. Move on to the important stuff."

Scott winced at Vincent's slightly insensitive choice of words, but said nothing. After all, numbness was his coping mechanism. He supposed Vincent would be a little emotionally numb for a while after a tragedy like this. It didn't really help him, especially because he needed a lot of support at the moment, but it was his job to realise and accept their differences. "...Yeah. Like throwing Foxy in storage and trying to turn Fazbear's into a 5-star establishment in a month. Oh- they're doing the prayer, shh!"

He caught Vincent giving him a weird look out of the corner of his eye, but just glared, and then shut his eyes and bowed his head. Vincent wasn't religious, didn't believe in all that 'superstitious' stuff. He always asked Scott why he would believe in a God who was going to send him to Hell for being gay, anyway?

Scott tried not to think about that. 

"Amen." Scott opened his eyes again and let out a deep breath. "Okay. That's it. That's... goodbye."

Vincent stood up, stretching. His shoulder and elbow joints popped in their sockets. "Geez, sitting down for so long isn't such a good idea. I feel like an old man. You ready to go, sweetheart?" 

Scott nodded, sighing once again, "Yeah. I guess it won't do me any good to dwell behind. Boss would want me to move on." 

"Ha, you're Boss now, hon." Vincent paused for a moment, staring off into the distance. "Woah. I never thought about that. You're my Boss now... that's... really hot?" 

Scott rolled his eyes, "As usual, Vincent, your mind is 90% consumed with how to make our relationship kinkier. But, you're right."

"I am?" Vincent's eyebrows raised. He smirked, "I didn't think you'd admit that out loud, you-"

"Oh, for goodness' sakes, Vincent, not that," Scott huffed, slapping him lightly on the arm. "I meant, I really am the boss now. It's going to be weird having you guys call me that. You're... my employees now? It's odd." 

"I say we fire Micheal," Vincent nodded.

"Ha, ha. Very funny," Scott deadpanned. "No. We're not firing Mike. But, depending on how much the Freddy Fazbear bank account has in it (which I'm assuming is not a lot), we might be able to hire someone. You know how the cooks are always whining about the lack of staff in the kitchen? I reckon we should just hire them a kitchen boy to do the work."

"Anyone in mind?" Vincent asked.

"Eh... it depends. I'm thinki-" Scott abruptly stopped talking as he saw his Dad step up behind Vincent. He blinked in silence, his brown eyes scanning his father's thin, sickly face.

He was starting to realise Mike's point of view about Scott blaming himself for William's death. 

"Dad..." he said softly, stepping forward past Vincent, who stepped back politely to give the two room. "...I loved your speech. It, uh... it made me cry, I-" 

Andrew smiled, and there was something about the way his eyes crinkled at the corners that made Scott stop talking. It made him think of toddling to his parents' bed after nightmares in the middle of the night, and warm milk and cookies after bedtime, and secret pulled faces at the dinner table while Robin was busy nagging the twins for something. 

"Scott, I know we... haven't been as close as always now that you're all grown up and independent. And we've drifted. Especially since about... seven months ago..." Andrew started.

"Since I came out to you," Scott corrected, nodding his head just slightly. 

"Uh..." Andrew shrugged a shoulder, "I-I guess... yeah. Yes. Since... you came out to me. And I know I haven't been... the most supportive of parents. Heck knows I should have seen it sooner, I should have been there for you more, and I should have stuck with you throughout it. I'm sorry that sometimes... William was more of a father than I was." 

"Oh, Dad..." Scott laughed. A nervous laugh, "Dad, it's not like that..."

"Then how come I only ever found out about your school achievements through him? How come you spent whole holidays away with him, instead of staying home with us? How come William knew you used to wear your sister's dresses, and I didn't?" Andrew prompted. 

Scott's eyes widened, his face flushing bright red, "W-Well, uh- Y-Y'see the- The w-whole dresses thing, i-it was m-more of a s-st-stage, than- How'd you know?!"

"Oh, he..." The light in Andrew's eyes disappeared once again, the small smile that had just begun dancing on his lips died. "He left me a letter."

Scott let out a small, "Oh...". His Mum had told him about this. His Dad had gotten the letter, and read it in silence in the kitchen. And then he'd collapsed into the dining room chair, shaking. "What... what did it say?"

Andrew's smile flickered once again, "William was a lot more like you than you think, you know, Scott."

Scott blinked, and frowned, "What's that supposed to mean?" For just a moment, his mind fluttered to the worst possibilities. He hoped he didn't have to get a gene test, now...

"Nothing important." Andrew waved a hand dismissively. "You're still my son, don't worry. It's a discussion for another time. For now, I heard you've got a business to fix up, so I'll leave you to it." He turned to Vincent, "Take care of him for me."

"I will," Vincent said. "For as long as I can, and as well as I can."

"Good," Andrew nodded, and turned back to Scott. He was silent for a while, and then sighed, "I'm proud of you, Scott. Hopefully the next time we catch up will be somewhere a little happier."

"Thanks, Dad..." Scott barely whispered, as Andrew turned away and started walking back over to Robin. He stared after him for a moment, emotions battling in his heart, before he raised his voice, "Hey, Dad?!"

Andrew turned back around, looking at him, "Yeah?"

"I love you," Scott forced out. "Even if you... made some mistakes." 

Andrew's face broke out into a genuine smile, those crinkles at the corners of his eyes back and making Scott feel once again like he was back home, curled up next to him on the couch. "I love you too, Scott. Even if I didn't always show it."