18. Wasted Potential (Henry & William)

Summary: A bit between Henry and William/Dave in which they discuss the potential of souls, playing sometime after DSaFTales:Nothing (timeline is a bit whack, just roll with it)

CREDITS TO @ Arteez ON TIKTOK FOR AN IDEA WORKED INTO THIS. No spoilers though as to what it is raghh !!!

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I did it. I finally did it. I GRAZED HENRY'S CHARACTER!! This is largely experimental (and therefore a little short) so let me know if you have any thoughts:000 Please God I can't decide if I love or hate this.

!! Since this is a largely ship-centered book, I feel I should clarify that this is in NO WAY a ship. Henry is his usual self and William is a victim, let that be VERY clear. If you do ship these two in any way I find that very gross and would like you to keep that far FAR away from me. !!

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"William."

His voice rumbled like thunder through the dingy workshop, alerting his concentrated assistant. He'd been working on a defect springlock leg, one that was soaked in his own dried blood unbeknownst to him. Hesitantly, he turned towards Henry, only to find that he hadn't diverted from where he was hunched over his desk.

"Yes Henry?

William replied eagerly, albeit with a hesitant tone upon rubbing a hand along the wound on his chin. He could never figure out what Henry's intent was by his tone, and rarely ever his words. A brief silence fell between them, only accompanied by the strokes of Henry's pencil. He'd been sketching for a while now, working on the design for an animatronic that held the capability to harbor a soul. It was honest but mundane work, and Henry found himself entertaining his train of thought;

"Do you think a soul has a predetermined potential, before it attaches to a vessel?"

William stared at his back, wondering if this was a gateway into one of his, typically crude, life lessons. Then again, leaving Henry unanswered could have far worse consequences. He briefly considered the question, before giving his answer:

"Well I dunno- I'd think it's experiences, that form meaning..."

Henry sighed at the dimwitted nature of his companion, crossing out one of his designs. The difference between meaning and potential was both vast and obvious, in Henry's opinion. He decided to further enlighten William with questions, desiring to make him understand:

"Then how do you explain twins, raised in the same environment, who turn out entirely opposite?"

William swallowed, realizing his own mistake. He'd abandoned his previous work in favor of watching Henry for any unexpected movement, toying with his screwdriver.

"That proves that there's something engraved in the soul, then?"

He spoke softly, and though William had never been in any formal education he felt as if he was called in front of the class. Henry hummed, seemingly satisfied, before silence embraced them again. He watched Henry for a minute more, before resuming his work. Henry tapped his pencil, repetitive sounds to accompany his thoughts. He found himself acting increasingly nicer to William, more often resorting to simple speech rather than violence. With the exception of regularly removing parts of his organs and brain, that was. He wasn't particularly fond of that, and turned around in his chair:

"Aristotle had a theory in that nature."

He watched as William damn near jolted from his seat, turning his head to face him. William had to learn somehow, and if Henry had to teach him; then so be it.

"Matter, such as the human soul, has a purpose. Everything has the potential to become something and everyone must strive to achieve that, although it is rarely achievable in our lifetime."

That was putting it incredibly simply, but he ought to use language William understood. As he observed for a reaction, he noted several changes in his physicality since their last procedure. His waist had only gotten slimmer, his posture more hunched and his joints seemingly more flexible.

"Do you understand, Willy?"

He asked when he decided William had taken enough time to answer, crossing his arms.

"Fuck, I think?"

William rubbed his chin at his words, over the wound inflicted by Henry's wrench. An injury that would scar permanently; a reminder that William was utterly and unreasonably devoted to him. Despite not being convinced in his answer, Henry continued anyway:

"I've always thought my potential to be abolishing death."

He spoke, a hint of pride evident in his voice as he turned to his sketches. The puppet, something that would further prove a soul could strive upon the death of its vessel. Everyday his research progressed further, every little discovery was a step closer.

"And yours, William? What's your potential?"

He turned back to William, a malicious smile on his face. By now it was clear that he'd stepped directly into his trap, but there was no retreating anymore. He put his feet on the chair and hugged his legs to his chest, making himself as small as he could despite his absurd height. William tended to do that a lot as of late, Henry had come to notice. His eyes landed on the animatronic leg he'd been working on moments earlier, shrugging his shoulders.

"Dunno-"

He whispered, largely under his breath but just loud to convey through the quiet room. Henry sighed in turn and stood up from his chair, pacing the room with his arms folded behind his back.

"Nothing? You can think of nothing?!"

Henry's voice thundered through the room, the word nothing alone bringing William to shivers. Despite his deteriorating physical state, he still had involuntary reactions to threatening situations, Henry noted.

"Somethin' to do with tinkering, I'd think-"

He spoke in a quick and fragile whine, a futile attempt to try and appease Henry. He cocked his head towards William, a ridiculing expression on his face as he stood perfectly frozen in place. Something in his posture told William that his response was somehow terribly wrong. Then Henry stepped towards his workdesk, picking up the springlock leg that lay there. William watched nervously as he turned it around in his hand, before giving it a few harsh taps on his desktop. They could hear the springlocks come loose and shoot back in place at the gesture.

"And how is that working out for you?"

William shamefully let his eyes down at the floor, not having been able to repair the simple machinery despite all the time he was granted.

"I'm tryin' Henry, it just- It doesn't always work out..."

He slammed the springlock component down on his desk harshly, startling the already petrified William.

"Do you know why that is?"

Henry's voice was heavy but not yet harsh, turning towards his companion with his hands folded behind his back again. William swallowed thickly, hesitantly shaking his head.

"Because you're wasted potential."

He'd expected him to yell, shout at him; not this disappointed tone. It was somehow worse than anger or even violence, and he felt himself shrink under Henry's gaze. William knew he was right, he knew he'd never live up to Henry's expectations. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor, swallowing back tears. Just as a droplet hit the floor, he saw Henry step away from him. Not daring to look up when he heard the door open, he simply waited for Henry to leave, instead met with monotone words:

"Boys don't cry, Willy."

Nights after interactions like these were always tough for William. For one, he always struggled to fall asleep; tossing and turning while he thought over every word. He would often stay awake until he came up with the ideal progression for their conversation, heavily altered by that point. Along with that, his sleep by itself seemed especially restless on those nights. His body motionless while his soul trashed, or so it seemed. Always waking up more exhausted than the night before, he wondered about the cause.

Unbeknownst to him, Henry knew more than anyone what caused it, or rather; who caused it. Matter of fact, his bloodied hands were currently buried knuckle deep in William's intestines. It was another one of his procedures, this time targeting his liver. With the removal of his heart, William's body writhed less and less, staying perfectly still as he kept an eye out for his soul. It typically departed from his body after a while, a dark hue that momentarily circled them before re-entering its vessel. Henry felt dubious that it could see him, given souls held no physical component that allowed them sight.

It was a terrifying experience, to be without a physical vessel. Dancing the border between life and death; there were no senses, and only the movement of something theoretical amidst physicality remained. Desperate attempts to grasp anything in close proximity, only to phase directly through it. In panic induced mania, it circled around where it first came to existence; directly above its own vessel. Henry watched it settle down on William's pillow, engulfing his head in a dark hue mere inches away from where he was operating.

He knew from experience that, when he began stitching him back up, it would vanish back into its vessel. It always did, William couldn't let go and would return fully functional to work the next day. Sometimes it seemed like he hardly realized anything had happened to begin with, and he certainly didn't suspect Henry. William's soul was extraordinary, the ways in which it behaved had greatly contributed to his research. He hummed a content tune to himself, stitching his wounds shut with medical precision.

He left William in lousy bandages caked with his own blood, like he always did. It was evident that he merely saw William as testsubject, an experiment at his disposal. His soul hadn't yet taken possession of its vessel, but Henry felt confident enough in the knowledge that it would, to leave William by himself. He sealed his retrieved kidney, gathering his equipment before taking his leave. He'd blame the bloodied mess on his springlock wounds, which still regularly opened up.

William's soul and body remained, separated yet longing to reunite. His soul shook, desperate to push itself back into purple flesh but failing to do so. He had to, he had to prove his worth to Henry. And yet, the underlying knowledge that he would never quite be able to withheld him. It trashed and panicked, the terrifying idea that he was approaching death taking hold of him whole. It wanted to cry, to wail and feel the sensation of tears against skin, but it held no physical capability to do so. Instead, it settled where William's heart once was and rested, accepting defeat.

A voice, faint and inaudible, called out. Briefly, there was the illusion that he possessed his physical body again, before the realization hit that something had managed to reach his immaterial state. Despite his inability to see, he registered a distant light approaching him. Much weaker than the presence of his own soul, but much lighter; he concluded it must've belonged to a child. His suspicions were confirmed as the voice of a young girl surrounded him;

"You won't die."

It felt simultaneously like a comfort and an accusation, and it sent him back in a frenzy. Uncertainty somehow seemed worse than imminent death, he could at least say his definite goodbyes with the latter. The soul simply rested alongside him, a calmth in an overwhelming sea of confusion. The energy emitting from it seemed almost entirely driven by anger, although pity began to take the dominant position.

It made no sense for a soul to be alongside him, not in this moment. They only rarely departed from their designated vessels, and could only momentarily do so if they had an emotion strong enough to motivate them. Most of them contained only anger towards whoever had reduced them to merely a soul, but it seemed they felt sorry for William as another voice chimed in with the previous.

For a moment, he tried to run. In the end there was blood on his hands too, and the childish voices could very well have it out for him. Their voices kept fading, almost entirely vanishing before he regained sight of the light entities. None had followed him, instead residing in a circle formation where they originally collided. They were all likely children; weak but bright and innocent souls, contradictory to his own which consisted of dark plumes. Their voices spoke with comforting tones, and he felt his energy drain the further he removed himself from them.

William's soul stood before a crossroad. The souls of unnamed children marked where his body once lay, a reminder of what could be. On the other end, he could only conceive darkness. And yet, he somehow understood that it meant death by the way it drained him the closer he got to it. If he ran further, he would be dissolved into the simplicity of nothingness, and he only now understood that. The souls weren't tormenting him; they were putting all their efforts into helping. In life or death, he chose life once again.

The souls remained in their formation, it was the only thing he could conceive without his physical senses. Hesitantly, he reapproached them and briefly circled around them, restlessly apprehensive. They spoke to him in words that surpassed that of the physical, telling him that all would be right and that they only intended to help. Eventually, after copious amounts of persuading, he landed amidst the circle they had formed.

William's soul was one that had little to no direction, rarely ever straying from his physical body in fear of passing on. The children's souls marked his body for him, and he lay back over his chest with their help. A bright formation of many individuals, stripped from their lives far too early, coming together to help a dark soul that only knew confusion. Their anger at their killer subsided when another one of his victims, albeit with a bit more of a history, was distressed.

"You won't die."

The girl's voice from the soul that had first found him repeated, seemingly some sort of guidance to the rest of the souls. He rested amidst them, before being engulfed by a blanket of intertwined souls, all working together in keeping him concealed against his body. He thanked them, he couldn't stop doing so during the entirety of it, but his soul had not yet mastered immaterial communication and the words all came out in garbled confusion.

That was typically all he could produce when he got like this, which was only rarely the case as he wasn't fond of showing any sign of weakness. A habit implemented on him by Henry, undoubtedly. All there was to do was comfort him until he regained his composure, let him cry and stress in comforting arms as he recalled the memories that were so incredibly painful to him.

The only thing Jack could decipher through Dave's sobs was Henry's name, which could hardly be a good sign. He'd gone especially bad tonight, a manic sadness overtaking him when Jack mentioned something about the potential of a worn down bar. Once they arrived back at their room, Dave had pulled him in a hug and frantically started sobbing in his arms. He settled them on their bed, holding tightly onto Dave as he cried his soul out.

"Davey- Dave, what's wrong?"

He'd asked when there was a brief moment of calmth amidst Dave's breakdown, only for him to crash again. He began telling a disheveled story, something about Henry and how he could never be good enough, how he suffered nightly torments. Jack simply kept rubbing his back, assuring him that it was all okay and that he was safe. It was the same sense of comfort those souls had provided him with, decades ago by now.

It made sense that the soul who had first found him then felt resemblant of Jack; she had learnt a thing or two from her older brother.

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[2697 words]

I dooon'ttt really like this, but also given how this is my first time writing Henry; I don't hate it entirely? PLEASE provide me your thoughts I'm so conflicted eughghfjdks dies