Chapter Text
Cuphead was angry– SEETHING angry.
Not at Bendy! No, Cuphead hadn’t directed the anger at him in any way, and the imp knew he hadn’t (really) done anything to warrant it. Still, there was no denying the rising tension in the air.
Bendy Darling may play the part, but he is no fool. This isn’t his friend’s usual hot-headedness– not the sudden splash of boiling moonshine, nor hissing billows of steam. This is cold rage, slow-roasted over burning embers and on the verge of falling apart.
A rage the demon knew all too well. It hung over the lengths of the studio like shadowy drapes, suffocating the Toons and human staff alike. Joey was especially affected, no matter how he tried to deny it.
Time is running out; his fantasy is crumbling.
The broken dishes dropped into the sink. The phone slung back to its place on the wall. The floor, splotched and stained with leftover ink. Cuphead’s eyes bounce between all three, deep in thought– changing color?
Bendy sees it, for a brief second; at least, he’s pretty sure he does. A flash of gold. The glimmer of deep red– or… purple, maybe? Just a flicker, and then it’s gone.
The various colors of this world have left him in awe since he arrived, but he has yet to truly understand them. Afterall, he’s spent his entire existence deciphering the spectrum of values between black and white. Now this?
What do the different hues symbolize? What feeling is he supposed to associate with which tone? Does each combination mean something different?
If that’s the case, what should he see in Cuphead’s palette?
He’s a simply designed cup: a pale grey face, a thin red nose, wide eyes and an even wider smile. He wears crisp white, balanced with vibrant red (which would be a dark-leaning, medium gray in his world, right?). So… he’s bright– passionate and light-hearted, and… perhaps innocent?
Should Bendy acknowledge the fact that his own ink has permanently stained the cup’s clothing, in that sense?
…perhaps not.
There are yellow highlights (basically white, according to his own palette): Cuphead’s gloves, his shoes… his eyes, where the light struck them just now. The color is intense– energetic. Cheerful, but also powerful.
Such a chaotic color… he’s almost shocked to remember that there’s so much of it coursing through his own body.
Maybe the imp should reach out, to attempt to console the other– to grab his attention, at least. He isn’t sure it’s the right thing to do, but he nearly aches with the need to do it. He extends one shaky hand, stopping just an inch from the splattered shoulder as if an invisible force had blocked the way.
The hand just hangs there…
…then stretches out…
…hovers…
…Bendy’s staring again. He pulls his hand back and opts to whistle quietly instead. The cup’s eyes open wider, darting to meet his gaze.
There’s another flash of… something, like he doesn’t quite recognize the little devil. Like he’d somehow already forgotten. It’s so sharp, Bendy visibly flinches.
Is this what the locals saw, when that casino devil ruled the isles? The stare of a hunter, ruthlessly collecting their souls in an attempt to redeem his and his brother’s own?
At this moment, he’s sure that Cuphead could have killed him, if he wanted to.
What a jarring contradiction to the boy he’d been falling for this whole time.
[Please,] he begs in silence. He’s trying to smile, but he knows it’s ragged round the edges. [Please don’t let this dream end so soon.]
The silence stretches on, each beat of the demon’s trembling heart reflected in his limbs. The cup’s pupils constrict, unblinking as he stares at him.
Bendy isn’t safe here.
Just as he thinks that, the sharp-edged glare dulls with recognition.
“Sorry, Darling,” Cuphead mutters, rubbing his face aggressively with one hand. The words buzz through the air, soft enough to build tears behind the demon’s eyes. “The old man, he’s– Mug said–”
Bendy’s smile falls, but doesn’t fade. It’s smaller. Trying to be understanding despite the anxiety that still riddles his body.
Cuphead falters, then sighs, “...you should grab yer things. Once we leave, we can’t come back.”
The imp nods; he steps with the intent to zip back upstairs. Doing so, however, would deem breakfast officially over. A stupid, selfish part of him doesn’t want that to happen– not on such a sour note.
So, he doesn’t leave. He freezes– shuffles his limbs awkwardly. Wanting a hand to hold, or a hug.
Needing something to distract him from this lingering sense of dread.
The atmosphere has thickened, dense enough to cloy his lungs. It’s an invisible fog that clings to him– that has since the phone first rang. There are so many colors– too many colors. He drops his gaze to the floor, trying to focus.
The wooden planks are far too brown… too unfamiliar to be comforting. He knows that shadows are slithering between the cracks, ever closer to his shoes. They circle his head in silence, buzzing loud enough to drown out his heartbeat. He can feel the walls looming over him– closing in on him.
Before the imp knows what he’s doing, he’s curling up– melting into himself.
Bendy can’t stop thinking about that flash in the cup’s eyes. The sickly twist of such menacing intent from his only real friend, if only for a blink.
Cuphead could kill him– WOULD he, if he felt he had no choice?
“Still got some hooch in yer head, huh?”
It’s embarrassing how easily the unexpected question makes him jump.
“I can feel ya thinkin, ya know,” Cuphead teases, stepping forward to nudge the demon’s shoulder.
Bendy jerks away as if the touch had burned.
…why did he do that?
The cup’s smile falls noticeably; it feels like a hot knife stirring in his chest. ‘I’m sorry,’ he wants to say. The squawk of a wounded clarinet is torn from his throat when he tries.
Cuphead’s expression furrows in concern. The golden glow is gone, replaced with… again, something– but something else this time. Something heavy that Bendy can’t stand to look at.
His welling tears are turned back to the floor.
“H-Hey, I…” he hears more than sees the cup fumble. “Jeez, slug, I didn’t mean– I was just tryin’ to…”
He trails off; the silence is deafening. It crowds Bendy, weighing on his shoulders until they hunch forward.
His lungs feel like they’re about to collapse–
“-endy? Bendy! Hey, look at me!”
Suddenly, a splotched yellow glove is waving in front of the imp’s face. Blinking the tears away, he finds the other Toon’s head looking up at him from below.
When did he get there?
“Deep breaths, slug,” the disembodied cup hushes. His body is standing close, suspending his head by the handle in one hand. “In through the– uh… straw? Out through the mouth.”
That sounds familiar. He told Mugman to do that before, didn’t he?
Bendy tries to take a stuttering breath in; it’s almost immediately pushed out, raw and wheezing.
He can’t… he can’t even BREATHE. His body betrays him; it burns like wax beneath a flame.
He can feel the pages flipping, the cameras recording.
The audience laughs–
Red and white spiral rapidly before his eyes, a whistling rattle catching his attention again. A pinwheel?
“Aha! There he is!”
No… Cuphead’s straw.
“Forgot how to breathe?” the cup twirls the straw in his head again. “Eyes on me.”
The imp watches as the straw stills, standing straight and expanding; as it does so, the cup inhales deeply. He holds the air in puffed cheeks long enough for the straw to slowly stir twice along the rim of his head. Then it falls to its usual right-ish angle and he slowly releases the air, bubbles playfully rising to the surface of the moonshine.
A beat; he starts over, rhythmically repeating the process. Bendy’s enraptured by the serenity of it, subconsciously following along as well as he can. It’s a simple, silly exercise that lightens the atmosphere around them.
Though it takes longer than he would like, he’s soon wrangling his lungs into doing his bidding. He slowly solidifies again, slumping in exhausted relief as the burning cools. Once Cuphead notices the even rise and fall of his chest, the stirring slows to a complete stop.
“Better?” he gently asks.
Bendy responds with a small, grateful smile.
“See, there’s nothin’ to get so worked up about,” the cup shrugs, a not-quite-reprimand. “You and Mugsy BOTH panic like I don’t have the situation completely under control.”
The blatant disregard of their earlier tension is as absurd as it is refreshing. It’s such a ridiculous suggestion that a symphony of laughter huffs from the demon’s chest. He’s too tired to stop it.
Honestly, what had he been expecting?
“I mean it!” Cuphead assures, placing his head back onto his shoulders. “What, you forgot my whole introduction from yesterday? The run-n-gunner, the debt-collection-refunder…”
He’s shadow-boxing the air, a proud grin on his face. Bendy takes a cautious step back, like before. Though this time, it’s more for the other’s sake than his own.
“...your certified trump card,” he boasts, pointing proudly at the imp. “Under my protection, you are one hundred percent guaranteed to leave here without…”
He's bouncing from one foot to the next, his fists clenched and ready to swing.
“...I'll knock every one of those looney Toons right into next week if I have to! It’ll be a straight shot from here to…”
…are there Looney Tunes on this island? Surely one or two have been scrapped in the past decade or so, but… hm. It’s likely Cuphead doesn’t know who he’s talking about.
A flattering gesture, nonetheless. The cup-headed boy taking on a clever cast of critters, all for the little devil’s sake… His chest and face both grow warm at the thought.
Bendy frantically shakes his head and slaps both cheeks, glancing at the other to see if his swooning was noticed. To both his relief and amusement, it would seem not. Cuphead is still rambling, “...and Mugsy’s gonna have all the intellectuals figured out by the time we get there. Trust me, you won’t sweat a bullet!”
Trust. Despite all logic, there’s an air of certainty that remains in his ever-winding words. The more the imp listens, the more he believes each claim.
“So,” Cuphead proudly finishes. He holds his hand out, red splattered bowtie neatly settled into his palm. “Puff up that wool, pack those pockets, and let’s hit the road!”
The red bow. The late night talk. Their… their date– PLAYdate, at the carnival.
‘Look, I swear it– for real this time– that we ain’t gonna hurt ya.’
‘Hate me all ya want for it, but I believe in Bendy’s innocence.’
‘Why would anyone wanna hurt a Toon like you?’
Bendy has had no choice but to trust him. He knows he shouldn’t; he knows that he puts himself at risk doing so. It’s illogical, and yet… he suddenly feels like a traitor for doubting him.
Cuphead has been risking it all for a stranger– a foreigner. A demon, from a world that rejected him. He’s known this, and he’s still so… genuine. So caring.
How could– why would he let one phone call get to him like that?
…maybe he CAN blame the ‘hooch’ in his head.
With a newfound confidence, Bendy takes the cup’s hand in his own; the red bow slightly crumples between their palms. He steps forward, tugging the other close to him. If anyone asked him later, it was just to pull him into a much needed hug after that morning’s scare.
The residual emotions stirring within the devil, however, compel him to press a kiss to Cuphead’s cheek. He raises his free hand to cradle the other cheek, his eyes drifting shut.
He has so much he wants to convey in that moment, he could stay there forever…
A loud train whistle erupts from the cup’s head, snapping Bendy out of it. He’s so startled by it all, he takes the bowtie and zips all the way to the upstairs bedroom.
They have to go– he needs to pack.
He berates himself every second it takes.