Chapter Text
Days were becoming cold and nights chill in the old New York as winter already settled in. And in the old studio, through cracks and loosely boarded holes in the upper levels, snow could be seen gently falling and covering any crevasse with its white blanket, and a little toon-shaped Dancing Demon was truly amused by its sight.
It's not like Dancey hadn’t seen snow before, it was always a sort of spectacle for the little demon. Though always his experiences with it were from as far as possible; first through the old reels with cartoons of the original Bendy, and currently, just admiring how it delicately piled up between the cracks that still exposed the studio to the outside world. There was only one time he dared to play with it, too amazed and curious, wanting to replicate what he saw in the cartoons, and that was an immediate mistake, for the ink that composed his body froze at the direct exposure, and everything from his forearms to the tips of his fingers totally paralyzed; any attempt at moving his limbs resulted in a painful crack, his ink breaking apart like a crumbling cookie from the movement strain. It took about a couple of hours and quite an amount of fresh ink from the machine to gain back mobility, another hour for the dullness and pain to ebb away, and a whole week of constant nagging and reprimands from his big sibling for him to understand to never do something like that, ever again.
Not like anyone else would believe how caring and protective the Ink Demon truly was, but he just was like that, always with an eye over the Dancing Demon, and with rules to make sure the little one wouldn’t get into much trouble.
If only the rest could see him the same way as Dancey saw him...
Watching the snow fall, though, really put the little demon in quite a nostalgic mood, thinking on his sibling, on the cursed creatures below, on how he’d like them to enjoy something as simple as snow as much as he did, or soup, or music! That’d be so nice, for all of them just enjoy the simplest things.
What was not so nice was the coldness. A chill draft leaked through the crevasses, sending goosebumps all over the demon’s body, shaking and rattling like the toon he was. He crossed his arms, rubbing his upper arms in a bleak attempt at keeping some heat, but wasn’t enough. Either he just dropped the snow-gazing, or went to find something to wrap himself up.
...the first choice meant to go back to the lower levels and that’d also mean no more fun at the snow-gazing, so even if his big sibling didn’t approve, checking on the old locked closets in hopes to find something useful was it.
And just as he expected, most of them were locked. Some, though, would budge if he was insistent enough, and it was the case for 1 door out of 13 he tried, with the door busting open so strong it sent Dancey rolling all across until he hit the opposite wall, upside down.
Shaking out the dizziness, he quickly recomposed himself and went to check on the now-open closet. A corner had a box full to the brim with bacon soup cans—a small victory he’d save for later. A few projectors occupied a shelf in a haphazardly manner, as if just thrown over in there, thing that surely would upset the Projectionist if he came to know about it. A stack of paper used another corner of a shelf, self-explanatory given how close he was from the old Art Department. And in upper shelf a box, which contents couldn’t decipher due to the location and height; he’d have to climb up to get it.
Lucky for the Dancing Demon, he was rather light in weight, and the shelves still were pretty sturdy, so climbing them was not a problem. What meant a problem was taking the box itself; as soon as he edged it to take it down, its weight immediately followed gravity curse and, with Dancey being helpless as he had to use at least one hand to hold himself as in a ladder, the box went straight to his face, pushing him and making him drop his hold on the shelf, falling and being squashed under the box’s weight.
A little undignified “Oof!” was released along with a grunt, but sooner than later, Dancey once again recomposed himself, sitting up and checking on the box’s content. Indeed, there was some pieces of cloth, he could use one to cover himself! It was soft but a bit raspy with some strange patter and, of course, covered with dust. Seemed like an old sweater long forgotten by time. Well, he now could give it new purpose as his own winter sweater!
What else was in the box? His curiosity mused to himself.
There were a couple of tapes, maybe he could play them later in one of the recorders, ask Sammy for help. There was also a tied-up bunch of some yellowing paper/cardboard thing, he wasn’t sure, as it was thin as paper but rigid as cardboard. Could be both? They had some pretty pictures in one side while the other had smeared ink that made what was once written in there unintelligible. The bottom of the box was filled with little reddish-brown—maybe withered—balls along with crumbles of leaves that kept turning into dust the more he rummaged around the box (he gave a guess of it being old dry leaves, from what he’d seen of those strange plants that keep growing in the deepest levels when their leaves fall). And last thing was a smaller box inside.
With solemnity and anticipation, he took the smaller box, pushing aside the bigger one. In expectance for something, he didn’t know what, slowly, dramatically slowly, he placed his hand on the lid, and inched its way open.
What he found inside were... pictures, old, yellowing, some fading, but still pretty recognizable. The pictures, of course, were from the old times, when the studio still worked as a studio and not the cursed place it currently was. They varied from people standing alone, in couples, in trios, or bigger groups; some blurry from movement, some sideways, but most capturing the moment without the people noticing, letting them to just do whatever they were doing and it being captured by the images. They all were varied, but given how the people wore the same clothes photo after photo and how the background seemed to be pretty alike in every take, the only conclusion Dancey could get to was that these all were taken the same day. But that as a way to discard any other options and confirm some suspicions, as there was some other thing that caught his attention.
Admittedly, he couldn’t recognize all of the people in the images, but some, he was familiar with them, and among them was a way too familiar face.
Joey Drew.
No matter who in the wrecked studio, everyone was capable to recognize such name and face. The sad and sour (and almost angry) taste his image left in the little demon’s mouth, though, was not rival for his still growing curiosity as to why people in the pictures was so happy and comfortable around him. He kept studying the images, and even he had to admit, Joey’s smile seemed almost... real, authentic. Maybe it was a real smile.
A picture showed him with his arms slung around Sammy and Norman, and even if they both seemed like they just rolled their eyes, there was a smirk, a smile in their faces, over Drew’s antics. Another one showed a group of three people sitting where they could, as they unwrapped some small boxes and opened their lids to see their contents, with smiles, warm, tender, excited smiles in their faces looking what was inside, as Joey was standing in the middle, rather smug. Another showed the janitor and the toy-maker, Wally and Shawn, that were holding Joey down, or maybe pushing him down, as Wally jumped over his back and Shawn was hanging from his neck, and Joey was still smiling, maybe even laughing at the antics. Susie hugging him and giving him a peck on his check, making him smile with eyebrows shot upwards, and his face even looked darker in this one. A side-hug from Mr. Piedmont, both grinning and giving thumb-up to the camera. Even Mr. Cohen was in one, smiling with tiredness but smiling nonetheless, while sitting on a chair, showing something he picked up from one of those wrapped boxes, and Joey beaming, standing right behind him.
All the pictures were like these, with smiles, and laughs, and joy, with lights strings, and a decorated tree, and bushy garlands, and ribbons, with people wearing sweaters with strange patterns, holding mugs whose steam was still visible through the old images, and one was wearing a hat with a couple of leaves and some little spheres—like the ones at the bottom of the big box—hanging of it (those in the picture caught below such garment, no matter who they were, were kissing, with varying kinds of faces they’d do while at it, but the one wearing the hat behind them always sported a triumphant grin from ear to ear).
Figurative gears were churning inside the Dancing Demon’s head. One thing he was sure of, and that was he liked what he’s seeing. He liked to imagine that was actually full of color, like purples and blues and greens and oranges (very little was his experience with color, only what he managed to see from the cracks in the upper levels, just like the snow, but was enough to make his imagination blow up with the possibilities, especially in a sepia toned hellish place like this).
They all, he also concluded, looked happy. Were happy, even with Joey being there. Maybe regardless of Joey being there. No, still didn’t sound right. Definitively was with Joey being there. But why? Wasn’t he the most despised person in the studio? Definitively, the pictures were not from before the Ink Machine times, as he could see some dark pipes gleaming in the background of some pictures. What made this day so special that everyone could be... okay with him there? Happy with him there? Was he forgiven? ...No, definitively not that, it had to be something else. Was the day itself? A day to leave behind differences? No-quarrels-allowed kind of day? A truce day?
...Truce day...
That... that’s it! It had to be! They made a truce for the day? After all, it was pretty obvious that people still loathed Joey up to that day, but still in these pictures, they were able to put aside their differences and spend at least a single day, merry and happy.
He really would like that something like that happened to them now, for them to be able to be together like this, regardless...
Why not try it?
...yeah... Yeah! Why not! He even could invite everyone in the studio! The lost ones, searchers, the Butcher Gang, miss Alice, just- Everyone! Even Inky...
Excitement grew more and more in his minute body from all the possibilities. Dancey sprawled the pictures, trying to identify and mentally list everything in there so he could recreate it as close as possible. He might not have had an idea of when it was actually made, but the people in the pictures wore sweaters, and he does feel like in a sweater season, collecting the rest he found back in the big box and taking the pictures back in their own container, and back in the box too. If he wanted this to work, he truly had to pan out this well and smoothly.
But first of all, and before anything, he had to go and show Inky.
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