Chapter Text
The elevator fell. There wasn’t any dramatic snap or crack or anything to herald the turn of events, it just started to drop.
Bendy jolted, ready to bound up the stairs- and what? He didn’t want to watch it fall! But if he saw there was maybe no one in there… But again, if there was, what could he do anyway? He couldn’t think of anything he could do to help. Reaching behind him only gave him fistfuls of air. There wasn’t anything funny he could think of to manifest when he was panicking out of his darn demon mind! A few lucky saves didn’t yet make improv his specialty.
Bendy shook his head and started up the stairs. The inky pool and the Projectionist’s speaker were rising in some awful chattering. The Projectionist called after him but wasn’t following.
If he just knew no one was in there then Bendy didn’t have to worry about nothing! And if there was? He would, what? Go down to check on the absolutely-still-alive body at the bottom?
Bendy stood at the top of the stairs and grit his teeth. He could hear an incoming, screeching friction even if he hasn’t seen anything yet. The elevator shaft wasn’t visible at all from here, with walls blocking it on the right side. Bendy ran across the landing until he could just barely see the metal bars like a cage above. There was still another set of stairs before he could reach the elevator entrance itself if Bendy legged across the winding wooden structure. He hesitated, just a little bit. Bendy debated morbid curiosity and naive heroism for precious moments.
The grating then reached its peak as Bendy watched the cables race and rattle until, there, blink and you miss it. The elevator car and its possible passengers dropped past before he could reach the stairs.
Way too fast.
Sparks spilled from the failing brakes as the cab flew by, just barely visible.
Unlike the last time Bendy saw the Creator, with time feeling like it flowed like that thick, clumpy ink, this moment slipped right through like water.
Was there actually anyone in that death trap? The monochromatic everything doesn’t help pick anything out at all.
‘Maybe I was all worried for nothin!’ Bendy tried, disbelievingly.
Bendy hissed and snapped. Darn, what was he thinking?! Of course he wouldn’t get a good view if someone was in there! Maybe if they just screamed. Bendy would scream if he was in their shoes. He pouted.
Oh, who am I kidding . It fell way too fast and he just wouldn’t be able to tell if there were one, two, or none poor fellas in that cab.
The cacophony of metal noise and whispering chatter came and went with the elevator cab, letting Bendy to listen to it falling away to whatever depths he’d yet to explore. He wearily sat on his knees and continued to pout. The little toon barely registered a possibly inquisitive tone from the Projectionist who had backed further away to see Bendy from the ground level. Bendy gave him a halfhearted wave through the banister. He was fine. As fine as he could be with this Schrodinger's elevator victim. The little demon still just, really didn’t like this elevator. Since day one (Today? Yesterday?), he has had only bad feelings about it.
Well. No. The borrowed memories didn't like the elevator first. The borrowed memories that probably were given to him by the Creator, who had still rode in it for some reason! Whatever reason that drove them to do whatever they keep doing.
A queasy feeling settled in Bendy’s stomach. The chains were still rolling. The elevator was still descending.
An Angel could now be heard, taunting through some crackling speaker above.
Piper had mentioned the two could’ve been cahoots and yet... Did something happen between the Creator and Alice? Just how deep does this go? Figuratively and literally.
The wait was dreadful, even he didn’t have to wait much longer. It only really lasted a minute then, wherever the elevator met its final stop, it was heard in more ways than one. There was no way anyone should’ve survived that, not unless that creator was any worth their salt. (and Bendy sure hoped they were, if he was hinging their escape on the guy)
The echoing crash resonated upwards, rattling through the walls of the elevator shaft with the cries of aching metal. It just barely shook the old platform Bendy sat on. It sent shudders through the ink. The vast ink pool below was disturbed; way more than it should’ve been with how far down this catastrophe was. Barely a beat passed when ink didn’t seem to settle. Instead it rippled, churned, and then screamed .
The Projectionist screamed.
Bendy’s heart leapt to his ears and himself to his feet, whipping around over to the banister. The Projectionist was staggering back, kicking and scratching at nothing Bendy could make out. The ink around him was practically writhing. The little demon was too far to see what exactly was wrong but he needed to grab the Projectionist out now .
Floor is lava. Bendy froze at the bottom of the stairs that led to bubbling ink that seemed to gasp and retch. The writhing across the surface began to morph into wailing faces. Voices drowning through ink and static filled the room. The Projectionist seemed locked in place, limbs struggling against the record-breaking amount of Searchers surfacing at once. From the pool, Bendy could now barely make out reaching arms, more desperate than ever, searching for some salvation through what or whoever was in reach.
With the Projectionist still screeching, Bendy was bracing against volume once again. Even through his gloves, Bendy heard something off about the Projectionist’s screeching this time around. It was like someone was forced to throw up every radio channel at once.
“..w… hhhgo hhhomee..?”
“-n’t want t…. k anymor…”
“..o anng….els…!“
“Howww… nfairrrr….”
If it sounded this nightmarish for Bendy, he didn't want to imagine how it must've been for his friend. Could a single elevator crash really cause this much cacophony?
Pitch black cavities in the ink- eye sockets - noticed Bendy hesitating at the lowest stair step and a mimicry of a hand reached out. A convenient hammer smacked it back down and Bendy jumped back up a step. The hand wasn’t solid or stable enough to survive the hit and it was promptly splattered against the wall. The face continued to wail, or speak, or groan, whatever it was trying to do. No proper sound truly came out of its gaping maw, but Bendy could hear the cries from the Projectionist’s speaker, some words lip-synced by the creature before him.
“Nnnk…Deeem…nnn-shh”
“Krshhh—..phet… ill r…turn!”
“Hthhhhe Cr...tor-”
The bodies- corpses- still not dispersed have begun to convulse erratically, leftover arms twitching to grab at the Projectionist or each other. It was a blundering, uncoordinated mess. Bendy could only worry what would happen if the Projectionist managed to get pulled under. The Searchers seemed like they’d try to tear the speaker right out to reach his ink heart. Some Searchers dropped to dive deeper to the studio depths on their own volition, with just as much desperation for whatever might be down there. Bendy wished they would take to it like lemmings and follow suit, leaving him and the Projectionist alone.
“To..h heav-n….-n old lyr-c-st..”
There was a familiar nasal voice crackling through the speaker.
“S….y’s ssongs always h..d …”
Oh. So that's how it is.
A nice, abandoned hat came to mind. Bendy's grip on his hammer tightened. Deep down he knew it was a possibility but this place was just so unfair sometimes. The old lyricist's voice was quickly drowned out once more by the Well.
“Krshh- K- Ff- aall-n down!!”
“KrsshhHhCREAT-Rzhh”
“A-Alri-t Joey…”
'-I’m here.' the borrowed memory echoed back. Bendy's expression fell. If the Creator was in the Well of Voices then...? No, no, maybe that didn't mean anything. Bendy heard that voice when he first emerged too.
Bendy hit away another Searcher by the time the Projectionist twitched and stumbled away from a bite at his wires. He was kicking through the Searchers at his ankles, angled towards the stairs, towards Bendy, and the smaller toon rushed back down to meet him halfway. He climbed up the handrail, holding out the hammer like a lifesaver. The Projectionist was soon yanked out of the pool and sprawled awkwardly along the steps. Bendy did not envy the other creature's taller physique with how the chipped wooden edges must be digging into his sides like that.
It was then that the ink finally started to die down, the noise from the Projectionist's speaker following suit.
Bendy sighed with his whole body and plopped down in a cross-legged sit. Inability to speak a word meant the toon just made an obnoxious, whiny whistling to express how much that sucked . He didn't feel like he was helpful at all there. A similar, more tinny whine was let out by the body beside him. Bendy watched as the Projectionist awkwardly shifted his position on the stair steps until he was in that almost casual-sitting position from when they stayed at Heavenly Toys. He was still acting in that more lucid state of mind then, if he wasn't trying to step back into the pool and work on the projectors or something. Bendy sighed even more dramatically at constantly being worried of losing progress on the Projectionist's awareness. He wanted to be more annoyed about that but he rarely gave the Projectionist less reason to fuss over him either…
Speaking of fussing over… Bendy marched up and down the steps in a clumsy circle around his friend. If any of the Searchers did enough hurt to what Bendy had JUST fixed up, then he WILL be annoyed at that. Luckily enough, it seemed that the Projectionist did far better to avoid getting any wires caught this time around. Maybe not A-OK but still more than intact! The little demon sat back down.
With the Projectionist sitting, Bendy could easily lean in and listen to the speaker on his chest. There were still wisps of muttering, lost voices and staticky feedback, however, nothing else more disturbing than the usual. Bendy strained to make out any notable voices, namely the Creator.
Aaand…
Nada.
Think positive, Bendy! Other creatures have been able to step out of the Well before, so someone as important as the Creator shouldn't go down that easily either!
The Projectionist gently pushed Bendy away from the speaker. His head was tilted up, projector light barely illuminating the wooden slats making up the ceiling. Bendy found himself mesmerized by the startling amount of moving machinery that decorated the walls of this chamber. There were numerous gears and exposed hydraulics all in motion, powering and processing who knows what. This area could be some weird maze of some maintenance tunnels, if Bendy wanted to theorize. Those shortcut hallways meant for behind the scenes workers? Or maybe it was just nonsensical, like most things here were. Bendy mostly made a mental note to refrain from touching the sides of the room here if he wanted to keep his limbs well-attached.
At some point, the Projectionist’s speaker crackled a little louder and was emitting a low tune. Bendy perked at the new sound even though he couldn't make out if there were lyrics, or just a humming. The tone of voice, though distorted, was familiarly pleasant and did have Bendy relax.
Until he recalled what the Prophet sounded like, and then he cringed just a little bit. He had enough to unpack at the moment and forever, thank ya very much.
Bendy flapped a hand at the Projectionist before hopping to his feet. He threw a thumb in the direction of the elevator before making his way up. The Projectionist carefully followed behind, speaker back to the normal static drone.
At the now useless elevator entrance, Bendy peered down the shaft as if he could see what must now be a crumpled tin can of an elevator car. Only pure darkness could be seen, giving the toon brief vertigo and a need to double-check his stable footing. There were metal bars that prevented him from slipping to his demise but still...
He couldn’t see any floors below their current one so Bendy felt smart to guess this level had a floor thick enough to flood this much.
The Projectionist sauntered up and glanced down as well. Flickering light now pushed away a little bit of the darkness and revealed zilch. Bendy had already seen what the interior of the elevator shaft looked like in the upper floors with Alice and down here was pretty much the same. Now that Bendy was thinking about it, the elevator really, really sucked. Alice, to her credit, even warned him to stay near the centre when it was moving unless he wanted to know how it felt to be in a taffy puller. He may be paraphrasing that.
Squinting upwards now, Bendy realized he hadn't heard the Angel in a good while. He had no idea what she could possibly be doing now after deciding to literally drop her last errand boy like that! Such a bizarre lady.
Bendy mourned the elevator just a tad though. Catching up to the Creator (Who is definitely still alive. They gotta be.) will now be the same long task of more staircases with the Projectionist.
That is, if Bendy could get across the message to the Projectionist that they gotta go downstairs. How was he gonna do that?
They needed to go downstairs.
How was the Projectionist going to explain that to Bendy?
Something (what) happened down there (where) and it hurt and he needed to know.
No. He needed to keep working. But he wanted to know.
The Projectionist turned away from the defunct elevator, making his way down back to the maintenance tunnels. To following this different but strangely not-new feeling of curiosity through. No, the Projectionist had more work downstairs. Could he do both?
Little ink-black horns popping in and out of his peripheral told him that Bendy was keeping up. That surprisingly made him feel a bit at ease. He couldn’t feel the floor shifting from the weight of another when it came to stairs.
Something suddenly grabbed the Projectionist’s hand tightly before he could step back into the ink. He couldn’t see- couldn’t hear- A cold wash of fear had him tense his other arm to strike- No! You know who it is! You know!
Bendy did not let go despite his flinch, squinting through the projector light. The toon was pointedly gesturing, this way and that, then down.
Down. They needed to go downstairs.
The Projectionist tried to move forward again before being yanked back.
This time, he was sure he let frustration through as Bendy finally let go, rushing to cover his ears. The toon looked back at him with panicked eyes.
That… That didn’t feel right. He didn’t mean to hurt him but they couldn’t stay at the elevator forever. Why wouldn’t Bendy let him keep moving?
So far Bendy had seemed happy to follow the Projectionist during his tasks as long as the kid(?) wasn’t bored. He could continue his route (Keep moving. Take care of the-) downstairs and perhaps poke around what happened without causing-
Stay out of trouble
But he wasn’t looking for trouble. He was looking for- for- what?
He could feel an impatient clicking in himself.
What exactly could he be looking for?
Where was he-? (Keep moving.)
They needed to go downstairs.
The Projectionist shook his head, unable to properly clear that feeling of being underwater, too far away. It was quieter, ever since that event with the gold ink, but it still felt like he was blanking on something. Something else kept trying to fill between the lines.
He focused on the flooded hall before him. Some of the crates the Projectionist set up for Bendy’s sake had been pushed around or destroyed from the frenzied Searchers. That irked him.
He needed to keep moving- work- investigate- stay out of- take care of- go downstairs.
The stairstep below him began to shake rhythmically. Bendy was tapping a foot against the wood until the Projectionist focused on him again. He still looked upset, yet determined, about something. The Projectionist’s speaker rattled in a low vibration. They couldn’t make any progress like this. If it came down to it, the Projectionist knew that the little cartoon wouldn’t be able to actually stop him. Nothing really stopped him from moving forward before. Nothing could stop him from leaving Bendy right here either.
No.
No, he had left Bendy before. Some feeling did stop him from wanting to do that again.
The Projectionist kept his sight on Bendy, making his step into the ink with the mangled, metal leg a blind gamble. He watched the Bendy jolt and expected the panic that took over the kid’s expression.
Bendy had barely raised an arm as the Projectionist didn’t want to give him a chance. He swiftly brought the other leg down into the pool as well. He braced himself against the slippery surface and the returning buzz of the Well of Voices. It was subdued now, after the Creator left (Something happened downstairs) . The ankle-deep ink just flowed and whispered as normal. He stood, still hunched from the weight and ache of his head, but defiantly just out of reach.
Bendy floundered, hands waving in a futile ‘Stop!’ pose, and the Projectionist waited. The toon went through a series of expressions, cringing, wildly gesturing the pool, before slumping in defeat. He peaked up again in time to see the Projectionist gesture something back. A simple point downwards. They were going downstairs.
The Projectionist wasn’t sure what response he wanted or expected as Bendy just pressed his face in his hands.
An internal turmoil later, Bendy raised his arms up, ready to be picked up again. The Projectionist obliged of course. As difficult as Bendy was being, he still couldn’t risk him in the deep ink pools. He secured his passenger to the comfortable hold against his right shoulder and set off.
The Projectionist could go through his routine that led him deeper down the studio. He could fix more of the projectors downstairs, and then… and then. Something. What did he want to go downstairs for? What was he looking for? Maybe he’ll remember when he gets there. Just focus on going downstairs. Focus on taking care of Bendy. Bendy, who was apparently pouting against his shoulder.
Thinking of Bendy’s little leap off of the crate just a while earlier, the Projectionist would like to think they were now even.
The Projectionist was right to assume Bendy would find a way to entertain himself immediately after he was done sulking. A couple levels down, the toon had begun scrambling around and picking up cans and seemingly random other objects in their path.
Once, Bendy asked for the Projectionist to reach for an old mining light. It seemed haphazardly thrown away; the glass cracked and the rust was hard to make out from the scribbly texture that took it over. The battery was dead and Bendy quickly lost interest in it, leaving it on a lower shelf. The Projectionist wasn’t sure what he did with the objects that did interest him. He hadn’t seen what happened to the tower of soup cans Bendy balanced earlier as they were missing by the time the Projectionist checked on him.
There had been Lost Ones wandering around again. The same ones from earlier. They should know better than to do something so reckless, so dangerous. They were bumbling without their precious Prophet and they would not find the man here . It has been so long since the Prophet has harassed the Projectionist that they shouldn’t even have thought to come to his station earlier either.
The Projectionist did not see them so much as felt the burst of anxious stammering through the ink, warning him of another presence in that flooded tunnel. These Lost Ones ones in particular were hardly a threat. They were too afraid of the Projectionist and would clumsily drag each other in their attempt to flee. Still, he hid Bendy inside a nearby Miracle Station before approaching.
The Projectionist screamed at them then, frightening the Lost Ones into that clumsy mistimed run from their conjoined hands. A cardboard cutout toppled down from the impromptu shrine the cultists left behind. It sunk below the pool by the time Bendy peaked back out.
That had all happened just a few minutes ago. The Projectionist was taking longer than usual with his work this time. Bendy sat on a chair he must’ve brought with him, drinking something from a soup can as the Projectionist stiffly unscrewed the arc lamp. This projector in particular was shuffled away in a far, barren corner of the studio; nowhere that anyone could normally stumble on easily. It wasn’t really broken. It wasn’t even plugged in (these things rarely were and yet they play). He still went through the motions. Just, slower. Until the coast was clear.
The Lost Ones weren’t a threat, but he had overheard them through the ink they all stood in. The stammering had become stronger, the taller Lost One showing signs of melting away if not for the other one holding him so closely. She gently tutted at him, reassuring him about something, barely causing ripples for the Projectionist to make out. Waves of anxiety still broke through and Well of Voices reveled in it, echoing the Lost One’s fear.
The Angel.
She had been seen impatiently but giddily making her way down the studio depths. The Angel almost never traveled deep down the studio and the Projectionist couldn’t fathom why she would descend so far.
The Projectionist fit in a different lightbulb and picked up the side panel to reattach.
A part of him was admittedly… curious. Whatever happened downstairs could’ve drawn out the Angel. Or she could have caused it. Maybe he could…
Another part of him told him to stop that train of thought. It was veering to something reckless. He could not dive into something he already knew would be trouble and- Take care of the-
And he can’t let her have Bendy.
Let her play with whatever else she found. He wasn’t going to investigate the elevator after all.
The Projectionist spun a reel absentmindedly when Bendy waved his arms in front of him. The toon presented an empty soup can proudly, balancing it on the tip of his finger. The Projectionist could only tilt his head to convey confusion. Did he need to do something with the can? It wasn’t like the Projectionist could- needed to- eat.
Bendy must’ve gotten bored then, and decided to include the Projectionist in this latest scheme. The little demon tossed the can playfully from one hand to the other. He reached behind his head, then seemingly pulled out another can out of nowhere.
He did that before. With the hammer. How did he—
?
The Projectionist’s thoughts suddenly escaped him as Bendy suddenly had three soup cans in total and juggled them effortlessly. He circled them around a few times before throwing them into a balanced stack on the palm of his hand. Each can precariously balanced on its corner but somehow didn’t topple.
Bendy thrusted his hand forward, endangering the soup can stack even more, and seemed to offer it to the other. The Projectionist lifted a finger to poke at the highest can when the tower finally fell.
It was barely a second before Bendy brought his hands together in an overexaggerated clap, pressing the cans together until they were gone in an instant.
?!?!
Where—!? What?!-- Why- WH?
Bendy showed off his empty gloves, grinning wide.
?!??!?
Bendy sheepishly stared at his friend, defeated by the disappearing cans. He could practically see smoke coming out of that overwhelmed projector head.
Right, okay, he felt a bit bad about that one.
He may have wanted to get back at the Projectionist for shoving him in a box (twice!) but…! He could admit to being a bit overzealous at showing off his toony tricks to the Projectionist. Hey, maybe Piper would’ve found it entertaining? Or annoying. But better than almost short-circuiting a friend.
Yeah, he’ll stick to the basics for now. At least, until the Projectionist had more mind to afford being mind blown.
Bendy decided to simply sit by his buddy until he felt better. They still had a Creator to find! A hopefully, very alive Creator!
If only Bendy could shake off the feeling that they should turn back now. He felt like they were close to something, maybe a breakthrough, or a lucky break? All he knew was that they had to press on.
The Projectionist eventually felt his thoughts return to a semi-coherent state. He rushed down the next sets of stairs and tunnels to make up for lost time.
He rejected an ink heart Bendy had offered in apology(?). He didn’t need it. Bendy’s mind was probably still on his trick from earlier and so had set the heart down instead making it disappear.
The Projectionist stomped on it after, startling Bendy. It was best not to leave those lying around after all, in case other ink creatures spawn around it.
There were no more signs of the Angel as they descended.
There were, unfortunately, signs of the Ink Demon.
It was just a few floors down, close to the end of the Projectionist’s routine. Soon they'd reach the final stop before the Projectionist would make his way back up, starting the cycle over. (But there were floors even deeper weren't there? Past the archives, there was-) He’d take care of the projectors in another makeshift theatre. Another one that was meant to be within an amusement park that doesn't exist. Instead, there were only the abandoned pieces of one stored away down below. Surely that was still enough to entertain someone like Bendy.
The Projectionist took narrow, winding corridors away from the paths that should meet with Lost Ones. He was rarely bothered on his route this way, so he had never noticed the evidence of Lost Ones traveling through here regardless. Such as another Miracle Station. He took note of it when the lights suddenly dimmed.
Writhing, seeking ink veins seeped through the walls, ceilings, floors. They passed over sporadically, a reverberating heartbeat fading in then out. It was like the Demon was searching for something. The Projectionist watched the veins carefully, avoiding its touch. He could feel Bendy tensing, bringing his legs to his chest.
Soon the dark receded back into the ceiling as the Ink Demon passed.
The Projectionist kept moving.
They made their way toward the huge storage facility, one that rivaled Heavenly Toys in how much it encompassed with trinkets and novelty. The Projectionist balanced his hold as Bendy started to lean far away, probably trying to get a closer look at everything.
And as always, he should be able see the unlit sign reading ‘BENDY LA—
The Projectionist found himself thrown out of his loop as they came across yet another Lost One who was painting over the amusement park sign. He gave the two newcomers a halfhearted wave. Bendy was excitedly waving back.
The sign now instead read ‘BENDY HELL’.