A collection of one-shots based on various story ideas and alternate universes for the world of Five Nights at Freddy´s, and the big and small impacts of those changes. Most involve the Aftons in some way or form. Includes Mrs Afton being the woman behind the slaughter, The parents of the missing children teaming up to kick Williams's ass, Phone Guy becoming a dad to a group of ghost kids, and the most unlikely scenario! William becoming a good person.
Many Nights at Freddy's (A One Shot Collection)
- Thread starter Martin Noctis
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A Different Shade of Purple AKA What if somebody else became The Purple Guy?
- Pronouns
- He
Michael was late William noticed. He always came to Fredbears right after school with his friends right behind him. But today he was late. William would usually not notice after all he had more important things to focus on but Henry mentioned it so it got Williams's attention.
"He is probably with some girl Hen," William told Henry even though he didn't exactly believe it. If Michael was dating someone Jennifer would tell him. Unless she didn't notice she was the music teacher at their son´s school so she would.
Ignoring the weird feeling he decided to go for a smoke break. He would wait for Michael while outside.
He lit a cigarette, the nicotine momentarily soothing his nerves. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the parking lot as William scanned the area for any sign of his son.
Nothing. No sign of him. By his fourth cigarette, William decided to drive down to Michael's school and find out what the hell happened.
A faint sound caught William's attention—a distant, muffled cry, barely audible over the rustling of leaves in the breeze. Instinct propelled him forward, his heart pounding in his chest. He moved swiftly toward the source, his mind screaming at him to run. And so he did.
Around the corner of the building, hidden from the diner's cheery facade, William stumbled upon a scene that shattered his world. Michael, his little boy, lay sprawled on the ground, his school bag discarded nearby.
There was so much blood.
Panic seized William as he dropped to his knees beside his son, a primal roar escaping his lips.
Michael wasn't breathing.
His little boy was dead. The stab wounds were all over his body.
William didn't even realize that he wasn't alone. One of the employees must have heard his scream and was asking him what had happened. William just glared at him.
"Call an ambulance," he finally managed to spit out, his voice a mix of rage and despair. The employee backed away before running to the dinner´s landline or to get Henry. William didn't care. His son was dead.
The next few hours were a blur. The police arrived, taking statements and trying to piece together what had happened. William watched them numbly, the reality of his son's death sinking in like a heavy weight on his chest.
Henry tried to comfort him, but William pushed him away. He didn't want comfort.
Someone had taken Michael from him—someone who would pay dearly for their crime. As the rain began to fall, washing away the traces of blood and tears, William Afton vowed vengeance.
Author Notes:
This story would obviously be a murder mystery following William and the Aftons as they hunt down Michaels's killer. Michael's death of course prevents the Bite of 83 and makes the timeline diverge even more but to be clear: Michael won´t be the only victim. Also, I always saw William as a psychopath who pretended to be a normal guy whose son's death released the monster beneath the man. This time though he won´t target kids
"He is probably with some girl Hen," William told Henry even though he didn't exactly believe it. If Michael was dating someone Jennifer would tell him. Unless she didn't notice she was the music teacher at their son´s school so she would.
Ignoring the weird feeling he decided to go for a smoke break. He would wait for Michael while outside.
He lit a cigarette, the nicotine momentarily soothing his nerves. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the parking lot as William scanned the area for any sign of his son.
Nothing. No sign of him. By his fourth cigarette, William decided to drive down to Michael's school and find out what the hell happened.
A faint sound caught William's attention—a distant, muffled cry, barely audible over the rustling of leaves in the breeze. Instinct propelled him forward, his heart pounding in his chest. He moved swiftly toward the source, his mind screaming at him to run. And so he did.
Around the corner of the building, hidden from the diner's cheery facade, William stumbled upon a scene that shattered his world. Michael, his little boy, lay sprawled on the ground, his school bag discarded nearby.
There was so much blood.
Panic seized William as he dropped to his knees beside his son, a primal roar escaping his lips.
Michael wasn't breathing.
His little boy was dead. The stab wounds were all over his body.
William didn't even realize that he wasn't alone. One of the employees must have heard his scream and was asking him what had happened. William just glared at him.
"Call an ambulance," he finally managed to spit out, his voice a mix of rage and despair. The employee backed away before running to the dinner´s landline or to get Henry. William didn't care. His son was dead.
The next few hours were a blur. The police arrived, taking statements and trying to piece together what had happened. William watched them numbly, the reality of his son's death sinking in like a heavy weight on his chest.
Henry tried to comfort him, but William pushed him away. He didn't want comfort.
Someone had taken Michael from him—someone who would pay dearly for their crime. As the rain began to fall, washing away the traces of blood and tears, William Afton vowed vengeance.
Author Notes:
This story would obviously be a murder mystery following William and the Aftons as they hunt down Michaels's killer. Michael's death of course prevents the Bite of 83 and makes the timeline diverge even more but to be clear: Michael won´t be the only victim. Also, I always saw William as a psychopath who pretended to be a normal guy whose son's death released the monster beneath the man. This time though he won´t target kids
The Doom That Came To Hurricane
New
- Pronouns
- He
William mourns and meets a new friend. 
William was doing what he did best—drinking his worries away. The sharp burn of the whiskey did little to dull the ache that pulsed in his chest. He should have gone to see Henry. The man had always known how to keep William grounded, even when everything around him was falling apart. But Clara had taken his keys. She had pleaded with him, voice trembling, "I don't want to lose you too."
Her words echoed in his head, hollow and meaningless in the haze of alcohol. What did it matter anymore? Evan was gone. His youngest. His baby. Nothing could change that.
The dim light of the workshop flickered overhead, casting shadows that seemed to dance mockingly around the room. On the workbench, the Spring Bonnie suit lay slumped over, half-forgotten. A grotesque reminder of what had been lost. The yellow fur, once vibrant and pristine, was now streaked with dark, drying stains. Blood. Evan's blood.
William stared at the suit, the flicker of the light catching on the metal skeleton beneath, half-hidden behind the mask. The faceplate, splattered in red, looked almost human in the dark. His stomach twisted, but not from grief—no, that had passed. What remained was something more primal, more vicious.
"All of this," he muttered, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, "because I couldn't protect him."
But had it been his fault? Or had it been something else—something lurking beneath the surface of this cursed town, pulling the strings all along?
He took another swig, the glass clinking softly as he set it down next to the scattered blueprints of his animatronics. His gaze drifted back to the Spring Bonnie suit, lingering on the blank eyes of the mask. For a moment, he thought he saw something. A flicker of movement, a twitch.
The light overhead buzzed and dimmed. The room grew colder.
William blinked, his vision blurring. Had the whiskey hit him that hard already? He rubbed his eyes, but when he looked again, the suit had changed.
The blank, lifeless eyes of the mask seemed to gleam, reflecting an unnatural light that wasn't coming from the workshop. The mouth, frozen in a permanent grin, seemed wider now, as if the thing was smiling at him.
"You're seeing things, old man," he muttered to himself, shaking his head.
But the feeling didn't go away. The air grew thick, oppressive, and with it came a faint sound—so soft at first, it could have been mistaken for the hum of machinery. But it grew, steadily, rising in pitch until it formed something almost recognizable. A melody. A song.
The voice was cold, distant, but familiar in a way that sent chills down William's spine.
"Six little souls in exchange for one little kit to come home..."
William froze, the whiskey glass slipping from his hand and shattering against the concrete floor. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat reverberating in his skull. The voice—it was coming from the suit.
The Spring Bonnie suit slowly, agonizingly, began to move.
At first, it was subtle. A shift in its posture, the slightest creak of metal as it raised its head. Then its limbs twitched—unnaturally, as though guided by invisible strings. The half-smeared blood on its face seemed to pulse, the stain spreading like tendrils of darkness.
The thing sat up fully, its head tilting to one side, its hollow eyes locked on William.
"Six little souls in exchange for one little kit to come home..."
The melody repeated, like a lullaby twisted into something foul. The grin on its face grew wider, stretching impossibly far, until it seemed as though the suit itself might tear apart from the pressure.
William's mouth went dry. His pulse throbbed in his temples, but he couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Couldn't scream.
The Abomination—because that's what it was—stood up slowly, its movements jerky, unnatural, like a puppet being pulled by some unseen hand. And yet, it was in complete control. It took a step forward, its feet dragging slightly as it moved closer to William, that eternal grin fixed in place.
"You want him back, don't you?"
The voice was inside his head now, echoing through his thoughts, scratching at the edges of his mind. It wasn't human. It wasn't even close.
"I can give him back to you... your precious boy. You only have to do one thing, Daddy Bunny."
The nickname—spoken with such casual malice—ripped something open inside William. It wasn't just mocking him. It was claiming him.
He tried to speak, but his voice caught in his throat. The Abomination tilted its head further, the sound of metal scraping against metal filling the room.
"Six little souls. That's all it takes."
It was laughing now, soft and cruel, as it took another step closer. The air around William felt thick, suffocating, like he was drowning without water. The workshop seemed to bend, the walls warping and distorting as the creature's presence grew more oppressive.
"I can bring him back, William."
The sound of his name—so personal, so intimate—sent a shiver down his spine. He looked into the eyes of the thing in front of him, and for the first time in years, William felt true fear.
"Six souls," the Abomination repeated, each word dripping with dark promise. "Six little souls, in exchange for one little kit."
William's mind raced. Six souls. Six children. The pieces fell into place, and with them came a sickening understanding of what was being offered. He could have his son back—his beloved Evan—but at a price he had never imagined.
"What will the Daddy Bunny do?"
The Abomination was so close now that William could feel its cold breath, the stench of decay and something far older than death itself. It leaned in, its twisted smile inches from his face.
"Will you bring him home?"
The words hung in the air, a challenge, a curse, and a promise all at once.
Authors Note:
Yeah this would be a Lovecraftian spin on FNAF... I think you know Williams Answer
William was doing what he did best—drinking his worries away. The sharp burn of the whiskey did little to dull the ache that pulsed in his chest. He should have gone to see Henry. The man had always known how to keep William grounded, even when everything around him was falling apart. But Clara had taken his keys. She had pleaded with him, voice trembling, "I don't want to lose you too."
Her words echoed in his head, hollow and meaningless in the haze of alcohol. What did it matter anymore? Evan was gone. His youngest. His baby. Nothing could change that.
The dim light of the workshop flickered overhead, casting shadows that seemed to dance mockingly around the room. On the workbench, the Spring Bonnie suit lay slumped over, half-forgotten. A grotesque reminder of what had been lost. The yellow fur, once vibrant and pristine, was now streaked with dark, drying stains. Blood. Evan's blood.
William stared at the suit, the flicker of the light catching on the metal skeleton beneath, half-hidden behind the mask. The faceplate, splattered in red, looked almost human in the dark. His stomach twisted, but not from grief—no, that had passed. What remained was something more primal, more vicious.
"All of this," he muttered, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, "because I couldn't protect him."
But had it been his fault? Or had it been something else—something lurking beneath the surface of this cursed town, pulling the strings all along?
He took another swig, the glass clinking softly as he set it down next to the scattered blueprints of his animatronics. His gaze drifted back to the Spring Bonnie suit, lingering on the blank eyes of the mask. For a moment, he thought he saw something. A flicker of movement, a twitch.
The light overhead buzzed and dimmed. The room grew colder.
William blinked, his vision blurring. Had the whiskey hit him that hard already? He rubbed his eyes, but when he looked again, the suit had changed.
The blank, lifeless eyes of the mask seemed to gleam, reflecting an unnatural light that wasn't coming from the workshop. The mouth, frozen in a permanent grin, seemed wider now, as if the thing was smiling at him.
"You're seeing things, old man," he muttered to himself, shaking his head.
But the feeling didn't go away. The air grew thick, oppressive, and with it came a faint sound—so soft at first, it could have been mistaken for the hum of machinery. But it grew, steadily, rising in pitch until it formed something almost recognizable. A melody. A song.
The voice was cold, distant, but familiar in a way that sent chills down William's spine.
"Six little souls in exchange for one little kit to come home..."
William froze, the whiskey glass slipping from his hand and shattering against the concrete floor. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat reverberating in his skull. The voice—it was coming from the suit.
The Spring Bonnie suit slowly, agonizingly, began to move.
At first, it was subtle. A shift in its posture, the slightest creak of metal as it raised its head. Then its limbs twitched—unnaturally, as though guided by invisible strings. The half-smeared blood on its face seemed to pulse, the stain spreading like tendrils of darkness.
The thing sat up fully, its head tilting to one side, its hollow eyes locked on William.
"Six little souls in exchange for one little kit to come home..."
The melody repeated, like a lullaby twisted into something foul. The grin on its face grew wider, stretching impossibly far, until it seemed as though the suit itself might tear apart from the pressure.
William's mouth went dry. His pulse throbbed in his temples, but he couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Couldn't scream.
The Abomination—because that's what it was—stood up slowly, its movements jerky, unnatural, like a puppet being pulled by some unseen hand. And yet, it was in complete control. It took a step forward, its feet dragging slightly as it moved closer to William, that eternal grin fixed in place.
"You want him back, don't you?"
The voice was inside his head now, echoing through his thoughts, scratching at the edges of his mind. It wasn't human. It wasn't even close.
"I can give him back to you... your precious boy. You only have to do one thing, Daddy Bunny."
The nickname—spoken with such casual malice—ripped something open inside William. It wasn't just mocking him. It was claiming him.
He tried to speak, but his voice caught in his throat. The Abomination tilted its head further, the sound of metal scraping against metal filling the room.
"Six little souls. That's all it takes."
It was laughing now, soft and cruel, as it took another step closer. The air around William felt thick, suffocating, like he was drowning without water. The workshop seemed to bend, the walls warping and distorting as the creature's presence grew more oppressive.
"I can bring him back, William."
The sound of his name—so personal, so intimate—sent a shiver down his spine. He looked into the eyes of the thing in front of him, and for the first time in years, William felt true fear.
"Six souls," the Abomination repeated, each word dripping with dark promise. "Six little souls, in exchange for one little kit."
William's mind raced. Six souls. Six children. The pieces fell into place, and with them came a sickening understanding of what was being offered. He could have his son back—his beloved Evan—but at a price he had never imagined.
"What will the Daddy Bunny do?"
The Abomination was so close now that William could feel its cold breath, the stench of decay and something far older than death itself. It leaned in, its twisted smile inches from his face.
"Will you bring him home?"
The words hung in the air, a challenge, a curse, and a promise all at once.
Authors Note:
Yeah this would be a Lovecraftian spin on FNAF... I think you know Williams Answer
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