I’m working on a canon-adjacent FNAF fic! I wanted to know what you guys thought! I’ll be dropping more chapters soon (also soon to drop on AO3 once I get an account)
Daniel wanted safety. William wanted money. They had the same plan in mind; but different ideas.
Chapter 1; Bristol, England 1975
The rain was relentless, a miserable Bristol downpour that turned the cobblestones of the quay into slick black glass. Inside the cramped office, the air was thick with the scent of stale tobacco and the hum of a flickering fluorescent light. Two men stood hunched over a scarred desk, peering at a notebook that held the blueprint for their future.
“He needs to be approachable, Will. Soft around the edges,” Daniel said, his jumper sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He tapped a finger against the grain of the paper. “Rounded eyes, big stout arms... perfect for a cuddle, yeah?”
“Friendly is profitable, Dan,” Will replied, his voice dry as bone. He didn't look up; he was busy calculating. “But the thing needs to be massive. A silhouette you can see through a foggy window from across the high street. It’s not just a bear—it’s a brand.”
Will snatched a pencil from behind his ear and scribbled jaggedly across the margin.
“Top hat needs to be larger,” he muttered, circling the purple accessory with a heavy hand. “Make it stand out against the yellow. Needs to look proper, doesn't it?”
“I suppose. But you’ve got to keep the main thing the main thing.” Daniel watched his friend, his brow furrowed with a growing sense of unease.
“The money,” Will answered instantly, a sharp, cold grin tugging at his mouth.
“No! The safety! Safety comes before the bloody margins, Will!” Daniel waved his hands, his voice echoing in the small room. “We’re catering to kiddos. A mum’s only going to let her kid near that thing if she knows it won't take a finger off. Safety first.”
“Keep your hair on, we’ll get to the mechanics,” Will said, waving him off with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “Trust me, I’ve got the measure of it. Who else is doing this? A singing yellow bear? We’ll corner the market before the year is out.”
Daniel huffed a weary sigh and gently closed the notebook. On the front, the words FREDBEAR’S were written in bold, slightly shaky ink. He tucked it away into the desk drawer, wedging it between the legal folders and the tin they used for their starting capital.
“You’re a right piece of work, Will,” Daniel muttered, shooting a sideways look at Afton. He tried to make it sound like their usual banter, but the sarcasm felt heavy in the damp air.
“I simply know what’s required, Dan,” William murmured, clasping his hands behind his back with a clinical sort of poise. “Let’s pack it in for the night. Remember—once this layout is finalized, we’re taking the bear straight to the land of the free.”
Daniel paused, his hand hovering over a set of calipers. The weight of the plan seemed to press down on his shoulders. “We’re definitely sorted for the States, then? The arrangements are solid?”
His voice was thin, betraying the worry that had been gnawing at him for weeks. “The house, the visas... have we actually converted the quid? I don't want us landing in America with nothing but a handful of useless pounds and a dream that hasn't been safety-tested.”
William waved a hand dismissively, the movement sharp and impatient. “It’s all been handled, Daniel. Every penny, every paper. I’ve the measure of it.”
He stepped back from the pool of light over the desk, his features disappearing into the shadows of the workshop. “Get some sleep. We leave the gloom of Bristol behind soon enough.”
“...Right,” Daniel breathed, looking at the empty space where his friend had just been. “Goodnight, Will.”
“Goodnight, Dan,” came the voice from the dark, sounding already miles away.