Five Nights at Freddy's one-shots

More Angst

WARNING self harm in the name of toxic love. If this makes you feel a little... Y'know... maybe don't read.

"Afton? Afton, where are you? Babe?" Scott called, rushing into their house. He slammed the door behind him and threw his keys on the little end table. Panic began to bubble in his stomach, that throat clenching, sweat inducing panic that made you lightheaded. He rushed through every room of the dark house, calling for Afton but had no idea where he was. Room by room all turning up empty until finally, he heard a weak voice from one of the bathrooms. Scott rushed to the door and as he began to turn the handle, he heard Afton within.

"Don't come in, Scotty! Don't, don't, don't..." There was a violent cough and that was enough for Scott to shove the door open and see Afton laid in the tub. Gore strewn the walls and pooled underneath his lover. Scott backpedaled from the small room, and vomited just out of Afton's sight. The whole room smelled disgustingly and nauseatingly sweet. Not in the sugary way, but how festering bodies smell, like ammonia, like death. He tried again, but had to lean himself against the doorway, his stomach aching deeply. Tears rushed down his face. Afton stared at him, his silver eyes seemed lifeless and his skin was pale and covered in a sheen of sweat.

"What can I do? Please... p-please..." Scott murmured, barely maintaining his own consciousness. "What do I do? What do I do!" He sobbed louder, he scrubbed at his face with the back of his hand as tears flowed freely. He felt sick again, the smell tormenting his nose and polluting his thoughts, he couldn't escape it. Afton wheezed and looked away from Scott and towards the ceiling, clutching onto the side of the tub as though it were the only thing keeping him alive. The white plastic walls were smeared with blood and dark clots sat in clumps on the floors, little black masses among the burgundy liquid. Scott heaved, but didn't throw up, he kept it in.

"Stop crying for one." William coughed. His other hand, the one not clinging to the tub, was clutched onto his midsection, the only thing, currently, holding it together. The veiny, grayish, mound was just visible through his finger tips. Scott couldn't look or he'd lose it. He whimpered a little, tried to compose himself, shuddered again, and then burst into one more crying fit. And then he stopped. He bumped his glasses up with the back of his hand and stared at William through glassy brown eyes. "You want to help me? To save me?" William asked him, his expression had grown dark, or maybe that was the blood loss draining his face, but there was definitely something deeper in his eyes.

"Yes. Anything, please, anything. I love you..." Scott begged, he was three seconds from dropping to his knees by his lovers side, but William's words stopped him dead.

"Bleed for me." He commanded, his head lolled to the side to stare directly into Scott. He wasn't smiling, he wasn't jesting. He only stared on, malice burned in his features.

"What... William, what?" Scott asked, his voice barely above a whisper. William shifted in the tub, Scott could hear the slosh of blood and uncovered internals.

"You heard me, Scott. If you want to save me, cut your wrists open and bleed for me." William's voice darkened, his accent creeping into his tone. "If you really loved me, you would slash your veins and pour your life out for me."

Scott's heart seemed to slow. Why would he do that? Why would he cut his wrists for him? He couldn't, no he wouldn't, it wasn't right, this wasn't right. But still.

Still.
Still.
Still.

Scott went to the kitchen and grabbed a black handled knife and brought it back to the bathroom where William still laid, unmoving, in the tub. He knelt in the blood, feeling the now cold biohazard leak through the fabric of his pants. He held the knife to wrist, it wasn't clean. Nothing about this was clean, but yet. A small smile crept onto William's face, distorting his gray features, twisting his thin lips. Scott pressed the blade down. He was too scared to break skin the first time, merely creating a tiny red line. But he went back again and grit his teeth. If he really loved William, he could do this. He would save him. He just had to do this and then his lover would be okay.

He replaced the knife to his wrist, lining it up with the pale line he already created and he put more pressure and pulled it swiftly across. The pain was sharp and undeniable, a burning sensation as his wrist involuntarily flexed and twitched. He groaned, putting his hands on the rim of the slick bath. William took his wrist and held it over himself. Scott hung limply over William, staring into his eyes. William stared back, but there seemed to be nothing but selfish pride behind them.

It occurred to Scott that he had no idea how much blood he'd need from him. The room had started spinning, but William's steeled grip never lessened and Scott now lacked the strength to pull away. He let his body go numb, a tingling sensation filling his limbs as he leaned his whole weight against the tub. He had bled out for his lover, so that William would be okay, that's what he wanted. It was becoming harder to keep his eyes open and his glasses had slipped down his face. William looked better, actually, the more that Scott stared.

"You did this for me. You've done a good thing, Scott. You've done so well." Scott smiled weakly. Breathing was becoming harder and the pain had ebbed away from his wrist. He adjusted, letting his hand stay in William's grasp, but he turned, sitting in the pool of blood on the tiled floor and leaned his head back against the tub, looking up at the ceiling. There were a few cobwebs hanging in the corner.

Darkness crept into his vision, he didn't notice William sit up. His wrist fell limply into his lap. He felt drained, but he felt... good. He nodded slowly, head falling against his chest in final defeat.

William stood up.