Chapter Text
“Darlin, forever is a long, long time. And time has a way of changin’ things.” –The Fox and the Hound
Part I. The Overture
It is a wonderfully productive day, and Henry Stein is proud and eager and slightly breathless, but mostly he is Triumphant. His heart his light from accomplishment and his mind joyful, because they are doing what they set out to do down here, on the lower Levels of the old, old Studio.
This makes it a Good Day.
A Mega Searcher splashes viciously, raking through the air with a heavy hand to swat him away, but Henry has seen it coming and he grins, darting to the side lightly and rolling across the smooth and worn dirt. He uses his own momentum to swing the other way and around, cleaving the sharp black and white axe in his hands sideways. Before the mindless brute can react to losing one arm, there’s a shrill shrieking that once chilled the artist, but only warms his heart now.
He turns, uncaring, brazen in every line of his body, with his back on the Searcher and lets the Projectionist finish it off. Norm like usual, has it covered, has Henry’s back. Henry wouldn’t expect anything else at this point, Norm is too loyal and good a friend.
Henry turns his attention on the only Mega Searcher—swollen and overly aggressive with Joey Drew’s Dark Ink, and readjusts the rather cartoonish axe in his grip.
It goes down quickly, wet ink seeping into the ground and vanishing like an oil spill sucked down.
His prize is ahead of them now, finally, and he drops the axe now and watches it melt down to lively and fresh, damp ink. And then suddenly the small and adorable dancing demon himself stands up from the hardening alive sludge, giving himself a cute little shake and flicking his little spaded tail. He beams toothily up at his Creator who chuckles and gives him a warm rub between his cutely curved horns.
“Yer really gettin’ down pat this Creatin’ thing down good, old man!” Bendy praises right back, adjusting his little white bow tie. “Bet I could try bein’ an even bigger weapon next time!”
“It’s easy when I have a good teacher.” Henry smiles when Bendy kind of freezes for a second, halting as if shocked by the return kindness. If he blushes, Henry wisely doesn’t tease him for it.
“Let’s keep it simple for the old man, okay kid? Long as you don’t mind it, I’ll stick to the axe or a pipe.”
“Suit yourself~” Bendy dances happily in place and scampers after Henry’s long strides toward their whole reason for being down here.
“Them the ones you wanted ta find, right Henry?” Bendy’s good natured, chipper little voice demands as he jerks his head before them.
“Sammy was right, here they are. Let’s see if we can’t get them free, pal.” Henry encourages, nodding to the cages that sit before them.
“Bars look thick, Henry.” Bendy muses with a shrug.
Inside, huddled together with bright eyes of yellow fear were a small group of Lost Ones. They quake and wince and flinch, trying to avoid attracting attention, especially when Bendy’s ink swallows him whole and he rises to tower beside his Creator as the terrible and revolting Ink Demon. He is willowy and slender and absolutely nightmareish as ever, his muddied grin widening as he stalks forward to obey Henry.
From the side of Ink’s right arm grows the blade of a familiar axe—Henry’s axe—and he swipes it with a strong jerk so the blade sings true.
The bars rattle.
“Try again, bud.” Henry says, and the Ink Demon obeys with a broiling low hum and nod.
A second. A third. Fourth.
Finally, finally, the metal whines and quivers loose. Sturdy stuff, but not sturdier than Henry’s stubbornness and Bendy’s power.
They really did make a good team.
“Atta’boy,” Henry praises, quickly checking over his shoulder. The Mega Searchers are few and far between now, and the last two are lurching off and toward the back of the archives, unwilling to combat the ever powerful and possessive Projectionist, who hisses at them to encourage the wise choice of fleeing.
“Good.” Henry snorts, his smile growing when the bright lens of the Projectionist swings toward them and the eldritch horror sends a warm purr at him from across the room. When he takes a few lurching steps, forever slightly lopsided from the weight of his own projector head, Henry stays Norm with one hand held out into that warm golden light.
“Stay there, Norm,” Henry asks quickly, “They’re terrified of all of us. Even me.”
They don’t recognize Henry, is what it is. He doesn’t blame them, though the fear and slight disgust in their glowing eyes does sting his heart, and pick at it like vultures to carrion.
Is he really that scary?
He hasn’t changed much. He doesn’t think he has, anyway. How many years had it been? He was older than he looked, but even still he was pretty much over the hill even before the nightmare of the Studio’s Loops. Being bonded eternally to an ink demon made did hit a huge reset button on his life, sure, and he would continue to Never Age so long as he and Bendy remained together. A spooky concept but one he was willing to swallow. He craves company and familiarity and slowly Bendy is learning how to be good too. His pants were still ink stained at the bottom, his suspenders and shirt slightly cleaner but he was rumpled and in need of a good shave. His army cut had grown out, the top white hairs a mess and the back dark and prickled. Henry had put on some muscle—wrestling with things twice your size, even for recreation, will do that to a man. And anyway, Bendy liked rough housing and he needed the chance to creatively burn his endless energy out before he got himself into too much trouble.
Stein motions a hand carelessly when he feels Ink is too close to the frightened Lost Ones, and when Bendy steps backwards obediently, those terrified eyes flick from Bendy to him and hold his own gaze. He tries to muster Faith and Friendly and Hope all in one look, but it doesn’t seem to work.
Perhaps it wasn’t how he looked, then. Perhaps it was how he acted, who he was with…the way he acted around them…
Mores’ the pity. Henry will save each and every good, lost soul that he can find down here.
But he will never turn his back on Bendy, or anyone of his new, strange little family.
“C’mon,” Henry tries to ease them anyway, checking to make sure the opening is sufficiently wide enough for them to crawl out one by one. It is. They do not move, despite seeing and knowing for themselves. Henry moves the looming Ink Demon back more feet. It does not work. They stare, hugging each other, pained, shaking. Terrified. They don’t blink.
Looking at Henry as if he is the Monster.
“Just let us help you,” He begs softly, “You can go anywhere you want, but I can’t believe you want to stay here…trapped and—“
“Don’t go presuming things, Artist.” A silken voice advises him. “Thought you’d have learned that lesson already down here.”
Henry half glances to his left, sighing as Sammy Lawrence wanders up. Sammy could hold his own against one or two Megas, but when the numbers got overwhelming, he must have run off and hid somewhere. Which was odd, because before, Allison always remarked that Sammy could keep Searchers at bay.
Why wasn’t he now? He didn’t look too worse for wear, either.
“Sam—” Henry starts, but is interrupted.
“You have no idea what these souls have been through. None of you do,” Though his masked face dips briefly to the Projectionist, he does spare the Ink Demon a short, fearful glance or two. Henry gets the full brunt of that dead-eyed cardboard stare though. It’s empty as ever, Bendy’s blank painted eyes streaked with ink, (or bloody ink, one could never tell down here) his smile smudged, the mask crinkled and worn.
“Of course they aren’t going to trust you, not even if you kill a hundred Mega Searchers to get to them. Do you think that one tiny little act just erases the past, Stein?” The musician argues icily.
“I’m not out to erase history, Sammy,” Henry warns with a growl of his own, his temper flaring like it usually does lately. He tries not to blame Bendy’s influence but where else could that anger be coming from? “I’m just trying to help them and get them freed!”
“Then help those that want you to.” Sammy hisses, leaning in close to the taller man who frowns and takes a step back. “Stop running around playing hero all the damn time. And stay where you’re safest. It’s dangerous down here, even with Our Lord and your…” The cutout face cants mockingly to the Projectionist, who snarls lowly, “…shadow.”
Advice apparently given and interest apparently gone, Sammy turns away and ignores them all, even Bendy. He hops up into the cage and slinks through the gouged at opening, and begins to approach the cluster of victims.
The Lost Ones visibly perk up and shift toward Sammy, recognizing him. Without much effort at all, Sammy has them leaning in and whispering to him as he listens and whispers back.
Henry pulls away, though it’s tempting to try and listen, and learn what he can. Between the furtive glances and unhappy tones aimed at him and the Ink Demon, maybe he doesn’t want to listen. Mood killer or not, at least they were being freed. Henry didn’t care who did it, though that was something Sammy didn’t seem to understand.
Beside him, the Ink Demon’s smile melted downward into a horrifically vicious glower, and it was no secret as to why. Across their even deepening and familiar bond, Henry reached back, trying to soothe brittle edges of Ink’s growing ire and insult. Sammy’s backhanded remarks at his Creator were getting stale—and had been for a week now. Even his fear and worship of Bendy wasn’t keeping Sammy in line anymore.
Henry hummed absently, reaching out to cup Ink’s dripping visage and swipe some of the ink away with the fond touch of a father cleaning muck from his kid’s features.
“Don’t hold it against them, Bendy.” Is what Henry tells his Demon, and maybe a little bit to himself too. Because it does hurt. He busies himself with keeping Bendy at ease or just distracted and so he goes for playful, chuckling when the ink he cleans is replaced with a new dribble of ink, and Bendy purrs softly anyway and taps his long spaded tail against the ground.
In truth? He’s actually pretty glad they brought Sammy with them.
This isn’t the first set of rescues who’ve nearly refused freedom just to avoid him or his entourage. He’s sure it won’t be the last. He wishes it were easier, but the fact they were saving the Lost Ones at all is what pushes stubborn, loving Henry Stein on.
There’s a soft muffled shuffle, and the Lost Ones file out and slink away in some seemingly random direction, but with certain steps and only a few glances over their dark shoulders.
Henry watches them go, and begs to any stars that will listen that they’ll be okay.
He wishes he didn’t feel like he was sending them out of the frying pan and into the fire, though. Mega Searchers didn’t really hunt anything in the studio, according to Bendy and Norm’s scouting. The creatures created by Joey seemed only interested in Henry or his friends, and so they stuck to hunting them and only them.
“Out there, they gotta chhance, Hen.” Norm’s whisper-mumble from his unclogged speaker hits his ears, and Henry sighs. “S’all yah can give’im.”
“Did I look that miserable?” He asks, knowing that of the three of his companions, only Bendy can read his mind. Norm’s just good at knowing him, and Henry drinks in the comfort of the Projectionist’s presence even as Ink sways away toward something with a noise of interest.
“Loohk’n like yer’ bes-t-t frien’ jus’ died.” The Projectionist lurches out with a fond grunt of amusement, and stops beside the artist.
Henry eyes the top-heavy monster up and down with a tired, but appreciative smirk, “You look alright to me.”
The living reel tape that spews in out long tails of movie tape flitter and flick lightly, though Norm doesn’t tease him further. Mostly because Sammy is back by them, and Sammy could kill the mood in a room faster than a fox in a henhouse.
“Are we done here?” Sam snaps at Henry, ignoring Norm’s hiss of disproval and even Ink Demon’s warning head tilt.
“That depends; there any more Lost Ones close by?” Henry retorts right back, giving alight, affectionate tug to a strand of reel tape that flutters against his wrist like a feather.
“…we’ll have to cross the river. But yes. There are hundreds more. Especially there.” Sammy finally says, and he sounds unhappy. Well, that wasn’t fair. These days Sammy always sounded unhappy. Henry thought he knew why but now the curiosity burned in him anew. Ever since he and Norm and Bendy had returned after rescuing Norm’s heart from the rejuvenated and suspiciously alive Joey Drew, that is.
“Then let’s go.” Henry decides for them all, mostly because Bendy isn’t much interested in playing Good all the time and so he occasionally needs a bit of coaxing, and because the Projectionist will follow him literally anywhere without complaint.
The Ink Demon’s smile hasn’t returned, but Henry doesn’t take notice of it.
In hindsight, he really ought to have.
The river waits before them, treacherous and milky and ponderously slow. Still, it’s familiar enough. Joey and his Mega Searchers haven’t been lurking here it seemed, and Henry isn’t really surprised. Besides the Lost Ones Village, what else was there? The river that branched to the left and the right was mostly inhabitable. Well, save for one thing…
He has the Seeing Tool in the small of his back, tucked safely away. (And even if he wanted to, he could just ask Norm to aim at wherever he’s written something in that strange gold ink, so long ago. Nowadays, the Projectionist’s light can illuminate Henry’s hidden notes, because as Bendy reminds ‘You two share one heart now! An’don’ya for geddit!’) But he glances anyway toward the section of flooring that would warn if it were light up, ‘THERE’S SOMETHING IN THE RIVER’. Henry remembers where he wrote it very well. It was good advice, and had saved him on his trips through the Loop countless times.
It was good to be aware of one’s surroundings, after all.
He’s sure his warning words are still true. Whatever lurked in the Sewer seemed wholly and miserably monstrous and inhuman even to the point Bendy didn’t want to address whatever it was down there. Henry shivers, and doesn’t mind admitting he’s creeped out. Something about the quietness, the stillness…the indifference of this one area, clung to him and muddled his thoughts. Made him jumpy. Even the Ink Demon gave himself a wary, uncharacteristic shake of agitation as he dogged Henry’s steps as they followed Sammy’s lead.
Henry eyes the little boat with a tight, worried frown that is echoed immediately by Bendy and the Projectionist.
“Are you sure about this, Sam?” Henry asks a second time, and he thinks it’s remarkable how a man with a cardboard cutout strapped to his face can still manage an eye roll without eyes.
“It’s two to one boat, unless you’d like to sink us all and really screw us over, Stein.” Sammy, the Pariah, warns firmly, even as he loads himself onto the first one at the dock. “Or better yet! We’ll go so slow with all the weight we’ll be capsized and ripped apart by who knows what! Do you like that idea better?”
“Fine, fine Sam.” Henry barely keeps the bite from his tone. “Bendy you stick with—no, no pouting—you go with Norm.” He points at the second little boat beside the first for good measure.
“Why!” The Ink Demon demands, more petulant teenager than vicious entity in the face of his Creator who he loves and who, interestingly, loves him right back. “Don’t like, Henry!”
As the Ink Demon, Bendy cannot talk very well, certainly not as well as his cartoon self and even his playful accent is faded away, his voice deeper and richer in tenor, sometimes wobbling as if underwater, like right now. But his pitch and emotions ring well enough. It’s nothing like his messy, bare-thought mind-speak when he’s his full beast form, though.
“I know you don’t, but you’ve been known to go at Sammy before, and don’t even get me started on how him and Norman interact.” Henry reminds with a sour note to his own words. He’s tired, and he wants to be done and to get to the safety of the first floor, but he also knows he cannot stop pushing until he’s tried to save some more. As for Norm and Sam’s interactions these past few months since Henry and Bendy had broken the Loop…?
They weren’t good.
“The sooner we get over there, the sooner we can go home. But we have to try, Bendy. Those Lost Ones need us, so we gotta do the best we can. Someone has to help.”
The Ink Demon grumbles in disquieted irritation, and even the Projectionist’s winks his shutter-lens unhappily, but everyone climbs into their respective boats with slightly less fuss than Henry expects.
“Ready?” Henry asks, then gives the old boat some juice when the musician nods, arms folded and leaning against the side by the back, watchful and waiting by the paddle.
And without much fanfare the little boat chugs sleepily forward, following the flow of the river.
Henry sighs, sparing one glance behind him when he hears the second boat begin to paddle along behind. He doesn’t hear growling or arguing, so that’s good. Bendy and Norm, despite their original hatred of each other (something Henry has long since learned was due to Joey’s design of making the Projectionist an insurance policy to keep Henry in the Loop) were downright copasetic these days, even friendly. They sort of had to become more tolerant of each other, since each were possessive over Henry in their own way and for their own reasons. Sammy says not a word to him which is fine by Henry. He made the right call about who to match with who at least.
His lifting mood is short lived and halted when there’s the familiar sound of the Ink Demon’s curses behind them. Across their bond, Henry feels ‘Go-Away!’ and ‘He-Mine!’ in short, irate bursts like small pops dancing across his own feelings. Bendy would argue with anyone, and apparently that included that old Hand-in-the-Sewer. Henry had to make no guesses about how belonged to Bendy—that possessive snarl wasn’t being declared so venomously at Polk, who could take care of himself and did so happily.
“They’re stuck already—and they’re fine,” Sammy relays smoothly, almost too quickly. “Old Polk’s getting them free, M’Lord is steering. Keep going, Henry.”
Henry does, and though the second boat is still behind them, soon they are heading into the tunnel that curves so deeply along the river’s path, nearly doing at a 90 angle in some points.
It’s not that he’s worried about those two, but more so about Sammy.
The strange fellow’s just been acting off, and though it seemed to come to a head after finding Norm’s heart, Henry can’t honestly admit in good conscience that Lawrence hasn’t been off this entire time. The endless babbling, the strangely kept hours compared to his or Allison’s, the mindless humming, the almost blind worship of Bendy.
The anger, most of it aimed at Henry himself. He can’t really blame the man, only it just seemed to keep Sammy so distant from him. And it wasn’t even as if—
“…did you call me Henry?” The artist turns, taking his attention off the front of the small tugboat.
“…did I?” Sammy purrs, sounding disinterested. The hairs on the back of Henry’s neck crawl. Across their bond, Bendy perks up answering only to the broadcasted emotion of Confusion from his Creator, but it is too late.
Because Henry notices a few things in the next second or two.
One, they are well out of sight of Bendy and Norm’s slower boat due to the natural bend of the pipeline and the fact the Hand slowed the other two down at the start of their travel.
Two, Sammy is not leaning at the stern but standing, and he is standing directly behind Henry.
Three, a white knuckle dips below the surface of the black river just to their left, silent and skulking.
Four, Sammy is grabbing hold of his shirt and suspenders, and with a strong tug, brings him over the side and releases.
“This is business, Stein,” Sammy tells him even as he heaves the startled man overboard with movement almost too quick to see. “You’re no Creator—you never were…” Sammy’s mockingly kind voice is jarring, a discordant noise that shatters the silence and tears through Henry’s heart.
And worst of all, the ink he lands in isn’t just the usual gloop, but some of it…yes, some of it. It is Dark Ink, Joey’s Ink.
Not all of it, thank whatever god that hasn’t abandoned him yet, but enough of it.
Henry’s usually solid and stable connection with Bendy is smothered due to the veins of heavier, rotten ink and he flounders, trying to right himself and swim to whichever way has oxygen and light and Norm’s reaching cording, because surely Bendy’s noticed something’s wrong by now, and if Bendy is set off so will Norm—
Henry flounders, lungs burning, his aching lungs soon begging to cough and choke, but he can’t. If he does, it’ll be game over for real then, and he’s worried what Bendy will do if he loses Henry.
Something paws at him, something big and heavy and clumsy. It is strong, and just as Henry feels his head start to break the surface, it closes around his entire upper body tightly and yanks down, hard. He goes with it.
Something in the river, indeed.
It was still there.
And it was waiting.
And he was going to die down here.
The loud splashing and general noises of the river and the boat’s ancient and unhappy motors covers most of the noise of Sammy’s little gesture of ill will and betrayal. Sammy pushes himself into a pant, clutching frantically with shaking hands, scrambling to the bow as he pretends to be throwing the boat into frantically earned forward, even as the boat behind them begins to round the corner. Light filters over his shoulder, that familiar irritating click-clicking of old Projector #17, and there’s a low, rippling shriek that means Polk has noticed the missing passenger.
And then, as the ripples where Henry was thrown in start to fade—there erupts a roar of rage and bewilderment behind them, and then it bellows outward into Pain and Alarm and Anger. The sound shatters Sammy’s bravery and makes it easier for him to act fearful.
Well.
There’s the connection broken, and now Bendy is aware of…Something Gone Wrong. Good. It worked then, just like Sammy’d been told it would. It was almost too easy, really.
There’s no way to prove anything of course, he only has to act distraught and frightened meek and miserable. How everyone always expects him to act, that is.
How terrible!’ He will mourn and moan, ‘The-Thing-in-the-Sewer, it got Henry!’
Hmm. Better make that ‘Stein.’ Henry had caught on quickly, and unfortunately Polk might too. Those two were a dangerous team, it was better they were kept separate.
Yes! He will lament most cleverly, ‘There is Dark Ink in there, M’Lord, I felt it! It stung me! None of us could hope to save him! He even made sure I wasn’t grabbed, the Artist was brave to his very end…’
It will be easy. Even better, those two will buy it. Something must be broken before they can be fixed, and Sammy wanted things back the way they were. He thought he did, anyway.
So easy.
Like whistling a few notes up on the fly. And if he was lucky, Polk would try to go into the river himself, and become one with the river or crushed to death by the Hand that lurked in the depths.
And, with a little more luck and some promises kept by Mr. Drew, Sammy would finally be the The Pariah once more.
No one could say he hadn’t earned it.
Not this time.