Chapter Text
“The truth is you were always so good at pushing, old friend, pushing me to do the right thing. You should have pushed a little harder, Henry.”–Joey Drew
“Cheer up, child. It'll turn out all right in the end. You'll see.” –Beauty and the Beast
IV. Epilogue: The Reel Ending
The reel is broken, Henry knows. He knows because of Norm, he knows because of the way Allison speaks to him, and he knows by the breaking of his own heart.
He failed Bendy. Failed all of them, really, because anyone who wanted to be saved couldn’t be, not now. Not anymore.
Henry is never going to move again.
He fully plans to lie here, on his back on the sad little cot, in the sad little room Alison Angel and Tom-Boris have forced him in—this go round, Henry is not alone at least—and he will stare at the ceiling. He will not draw, or eat, or do anything but stare into nothingness and wait for blissful death, the kind that comes through depression and inaction.
600 times, and nothing else has killed him for keeps. Hopefully this will.
But the reel is broken, and now Henry is no longer in this alone.
He feels more than hears the approach of the lanky Projectionist, who towers over them even if Henry’s standing. The animator lifts his arm from over his eyes, and peeks one open.
“Huh?” He says, brain dulled by over-sleep and heartache.
The monster rattles his film tape, a chilling sound normally but now Henry knows it to be a noise of calling, of question and concern all rolled into one.
“No, Norm. I told you. I’m done. I’m not going on.” Henry replaces his arm, uncaring. “Bendy can come and kill me, for all I care. I deserve it.”
Another rustling noise, this one ending in a whirr that sounds like the spool has run itself right off the track. Henry knows it has not, and interprets the noise as dissatisfaction and annoyance.
“You can leave anytime. I told you that, too, y’know.” Henry knows it is wrong but his pain turns into teeth and he bites with his words. “No harming Allison or Tom, but you could get the hell out of here and go back to your territory.”
The Projectionist makes a humming sound, half thoughtful and half exasperated.
He lumbers over to the other wall and slides down it, sitting in the corner like a broken mannequin left to rot.
Henry understands the gesture for what it is, and his heart squeezes at his old friend’s stubborn loyalty.
Henry sleeps, dreaming dark dreams that threaten sunlight and fresh air. They are no longer rewards, but punishments. For everyone he left behind is crying and roaring at his back, as he struts out the doors and abandons his friends and old coworkers.
And his creation. Can’t forget him, of course. Lord knows Henry has tried.
“How…how are you doing that?”
Henry pauses, unaware he was being watched. He almost removes his buried hand, confused by the sting of guilt as if his mother had caught his hand in the cookie jar.
Except his hand is buried deep in the back of the Projectionist’s head, his fingers almost closed round the film’s advancing mechanism. Norm is sitting and bent over, the only way for Henry to reach up into the monster’s projector.
Allison is close, her curiosity drawing her in but the slates keeping her safe. Norm had only threatened Tom once, when the Boris model had tossed Henry’s soup. Any action Norm didn’t like toward Henry usually earned a negative growl or slash of searching, snake-like cords. Both had recoiled when he did this, and though Henry would shush or comfort the monster, Allison and Tom clearly didn’t trust Henry much, either.
Right now, though, the Projectionist is about as tame as he’s ever been, waiting patiently for Henry to finish untangling the ragged reel tape so he can cycle through fresh reel that has been stemming from the darkness of his skull. He is a living, feeling creature and Henry feels pain for his friend.
“I’m…fixing his reel. See? It’s stuck.” Henry points with his free hand to the limp, copper strands. “He can’t track his environment otherwise.”
“He sees with them? So he’s blind right now?” Allison asks in growing, innocent interest. Her inquisitiveness makes Henry’s lips twitch.
“Something like that, yeah.”
Norm shudders in reluctant agreement, then shakes himself all over, the black cords quivering before relaxing.
“I mean—but, it’s just…it’s letting you? Fix it?”
“He.” Henry corrects with a snort, then goes back to work with cautious touches and fingers.
“Down here, if you stay broken for too long, you die.” Allison ignores him; Henry’s not sure he blames her.
“It never occurred to me that things like…like The Projectionist could get broken. Could be at risk for the things we feared.” Now her eyes roam to Henry, and they soften a fraction. “I guess it’s lucky it’s got you, Henry.”
“Yeah.” Henry glances down at his handiwork. “I guess so.”
The film reel slithers from his grip and folds into itself, and the back opening of the projector snaps closed. The familiar tk-tk-tk and humming starts up and the Projectionist jerks up, turning his square lens on Allison, who naturally tenses in instinctive terror.
“It’s alright.” The animator edges between them, showing the young woman that his trust in Norm was just as firm as Norm’s in his. “It’s okay. He’s not gunna hurt you.”
“He would, though. If I hurt you.” Allison doesn’t sound remotely interested in doing so, but her words are stated as calm facts. “I understand that.”
“I—you do?”
“Down here, if you have something others want, they could take it from you. Sometimes we care about things besides our own lives. But only sometimes.
Because if you care too much, you could lose what you’re trying to keep. And you have to ask yourself; ‘Is it worth it?’ You know, Henry?”
“Yeah. I know.” Henry glances over his shoulder, watching the square light dim as it swung to stare back at him.
“He’s my friend, Allison. He’s the only one I’ve got.” Henry knows he is pleading, and he knows what prideful Bendy would think of such an action. But he also knows Bendy is not here anymore.
“I understand that, too.” She speaks softly, a trace of acquiescence in her tone.
“So...” Henry trails off meaningfully, and when he’s only prompted does he go on. “Will you let us out of here? We can help you.”
“…I’m sorry, Henry.” And Allison steps back; any progress unraveling not unlike the reel tape Henry can hear rustling softly behind him.
Like always, Allison and Tom abandon him.
“You have to get out of here, too, Norm.”
The Projectionist refuses with several no’s, his speaker choking on a sound that somewhat resembles the denial. Mostly that great big projector swings side to side, and the tendrils of cording and living film reel ripple and thrash like angry cat tails.
They argue for a while, the monstrous machine knows safety when he sees it. He wants Henry to flee fro, here, and also send Norm out to scout. Henry doesn’t like that idea—Norman isn’t a pawn to be moved across the board anymore than Bendy was. Whatever they do, Henry wanted—needed—them to do it together.
“I’ll be alright.” Henry assures with exhaustion seeping through every pore. He manages a watery smile in that dimmed light and Norm doesn’t seem impressed nor convinced.
“Hhnnree.” Norm huffs in aggravation; either over his own limited use of words or Henry’s acceptance at his fate, the animator doesn’t know.
“Nnn.” Says the monstrous machine dogging his step, herding him toward the slats and reaching out to destroy them easily.
Henry sighs, his resolve caving.
“I’ll only slow you down, Norm…”
But he follows the Projectionist, pausing only to grab the gent pipe from the toilet behind the hidden wall.
The Hand-in-the-Sewer doesn’t care for Henry’s new tagalong, and the feeling is mutual.
Their little boat ride is short lived, with Henry nearly falling in once or twice. He is saved only by Norm’s black clawed hands or cords grabbing his waist and hauling him back from the inky river. Norm stays planted at the bow of the little dinghy, shrieking in a terrible note when the hand sloshes too close and makes a grab for their ride.
But they make it, which is good because Henry isn’t sure what will happen to Norm if he dies. Will the Projectionist spawn with him? He thinks not. His luck had run out a while ago.
The Lost One’s village is barren and desolate as always, and a sour wind blows from somewhere. Rocks crumbles above, wood creaks, and the muggy, swampy river burbles creepily behind the two.
Henry is tired, his bones and sinew and soul want to cave in on themselves, he wants to stop Everything, he wants to give up. He wants Bendy to catch him, because maybe the demon will kill him, finally, and this nightmare will be Over.
But it will only be over for Henry, and he feels cruel for wishing such freedom when he remembers his way is light up because of Norm lurching along behind him, protective and watchful.
“Sammy,” Henry murmurs, watching an axe splinter through wood.
“BETRAYED! ABANDONED!”
Henry sighs, halting. Sammy’s words are drowned out by a familiar oscillating shriek of anger from Norm, but Henry lifts an arm and stays the Projectionist in that single motion.
“—and you left me to rot! Why? WHY!?”
“Sammy—wait! Wait—“ Henry ducks sideways, rolling out of the way. “Sammy!”
Cords snake round Sammy’s wrist, and the axe goes flying. Film tape wriggles and lashes, and Sammy is lifted up with little grace but plenty of force, and he is slammed into the back wall and pinned viciously.
“I told you to wait,” Henry grumbles as he rises, dropping the pipe for the axe on instinct.
“Let me go! Let me go!” Sammy howls, though his struggling only earns low growls from the Projectionist and more cords constrict round the black, humanoid figure.
“Sam!” Henry barks, and both creatures pause, and the ruined Bendy mask turns slowly in shock to stare without eyes at the animator.
“Cut it out! I’m sick of all this! Bendy’s gone, okay? He’s gone! We—we abandoned each other. If you want to blame anybody, keep blaming me, but you killing me only keeps Bendy from doing the job.”
The Projectionist suddenly starts, and hisses in realization over at the animator.
“I know, Norm. I’m sorry.” Henry tries to sound it, but his plan worked so far. Norman hadn’t known he was only helping Henry meet his doom, though the cat was out of the bag now.
“But it’s my only choice—I finish this run through, and Bendy can have me. For good. Maybe—maybe all this will end. Maybe you guys—and everyone else—can finally be at peace.”
“Stop speaking in riddles!” Sammy accuses, his thrashes starting in absentminded haste. “And put me down!”
“Fucking hell, Norm, put him down—“ Henry starts the ‘g’ in gently but then Sammy lands in the ground with a thud.
The Projectionist shouldn’t be capable of such noise, but Henry is pretty sure he hears a sadistic cackle when the masked man collides with the cavern floor.
Alice and Tom approach them slowly and Henry is distantly aware of this, both poor souls wary and tense with The Projectionist out on the loose now.
“That is why we didn’t let you out, Henry.” Allison murmurs in her calm voice, blade firmly held at her side incase Norm turns on them and begins to hunt. His flickering light stays intently on Sammy’s miserable form, even as the masked man rises wobbly.
“He won’t hurt you.” Henry snaps again, adrenaline and fear still lacing his words heavily. He softens at Tom’s glare, waving the Boris-model off apologetically. “C’mon. Stick with us, guys. Please.”
The animator turns to the two monsters.
“Sammy—you and Norm need to keep the Searches at bay. Agreed?”
Sammy mumbles something moody and incomprehensible, but The Projectionist rattles its ticker-tape in staunch agreement and nods its oversized head.
“…and Norm, keep an eye on everyone. Well—“ Henry glances at the single lens of an eye and snorts in tired amusement. “Sorry, figure of speech.”
Despite the jab, Norm takes it in good humor.
“Think you can lead the way, Henry?” Allison asks of him, as she always does.
The animator obliges, feeling a fraction of relief when he hears the usual line come from the young woman.
But, as always, the board bridge breaks. Henry is so used to the plummet he doesn’t even cry out anymore—just drops like a stone. He lands with a splat and groans, then hesitates, and glances warily up, eyes squinting reflexively shut in the bright light and the growing sound of the reel filtering from above.
“Norm?”
Allison, Tom and Sammy, all looking tense with mixed expression of concern and fear, clutch at the cording as it lowers them as far as The Projectionist’s lovecraftian-limbs will go. The three fall only a few feet into the ink, and Henry quickly scrambles to help who he can.
“Sure beats a rope, huh?” Henry smiles faintly at Allison’s glance as he helps her up.
“I think you and I will have conflicting opinions on that, Henry.” She answers carefully but lightly, and the animator doesn’t hide his smile this time.
By the time he’s finished, The Projectionist has crawled from the hole in the ceiling to the wall, and leaped down beside him.
“Good thinking, buddy.” Henry praises with tired warmth. “And if Bendy shows up, I expect you to get everyone out of here just as fast, even if you have to do that again. Even if it means leaving me behind.”
The Projectionist grumbles a sour note, and no more is said on the subject. But Henry hopes Norm listened. No one else should have to pay what Henry is planning to.
Administration feels a little more…lively, this go round. Mostly due in part to the lively music, and the fact Henry has four souls following him instead of his usual none. Bendy and the Searches are nowhere to be found, which makes Henry so uneasy he jumps at every little noise, backing up to cover Allison and Tom and wielding his axe in warning.
But every time…nothing. The Projectionist and Sammy seem almost bored, both wandering from Henry in such a way that he knows they wouldn’t if there were something truly down here to threaten them all.
“You should feel right at home in there, Polk. Why don’t you go in and I’ll lock up the place behind you?” Henry hears Sammy’s hissing, snide little remark as he turns the corner. He finds them both standing before the Film Vault, and snorts. He didn’t realize Sammy still had a sense of humor. The Projectionist hisses, arching its cording and film in angry warning until Sammy flinches.
“Play nice, you two, come on.” Henry interrupts before the two can get into it. “Allison and Tom are already on edge.”
“Wolves have no worries about the concern of sheep.” Sammy sniffs.
“Well this wolf does.” Henry punctures his point with a protective grunt. “Okay? Help me make the pipe shapes from the Ink Maker.” And he waits, noticing both bewildered looks even with their lack of facial features. Maybe it’s just because he’s spent enough time around Norm, but he knows how to read them now.
“…you guys…can’t make ink for the ink maker?”
“No.” Sammy answers in concern, his mask looking Henry up and down as if the animator just asked them to go pick flowers in a meadow together. “None of us can. That’s not—who told you that?”
“Uh…a friend.”
“Well…then just like the Creator, he lied to you, Henry.” Sammy whispers icily, and even Norm nods softly.
But Henry knows he didn’t, and he feels as if he’d been presented a piece of a puzzle that he hadn’t realized was as complete as it was.
“Yeah. Guess they did. Uh…okay, c’mon. And watch out for Allison and Tom. I don’t want the Butcher Gang tormenting them.”
Of course, the Butcher Gang do spot them all, and they do make lunges toward them. And unlike Bendy, who could chase them all away just by grinning, they do engage.
“Hurry up!” Sammy demands as they fight their way through, “We don’t get unlimited lives like you, artist.”
Which presents Henry yet another clue, and this one he chews on for a while.
It was small, and indistinct. But the script was changing for sure. Maybe it had been this entire time, and Henry wasn’t paying enough attention to notice it. Henry just wishes he knew if this was by happenstance, or by Bendy’s own design.
“Wow! I’ve never seen this before!” Allison’s gasp of awe never fails to catch Henry off guard. Even now, 600-and-some times, she doesn’t seem to recall the great guts of the Machine that she’s seen as many times as Henry has.
“I don’t see any way around.” She muses. “Nothing to build a raft with.”
“Nothing that would hold us all, even if we could.” Sammy snaps as he looks around in actual interest.
“Maybe Norm could lift us across?” Henry tries, even knowing this won’t work. It would leave the Projectionist stranded by himself, and there was no ceiling to hook his cording round, and the walls were too slick for even him to climb.
“We’ll have to wade through it, then.” Henry knows the answer to this, too.
“We can’t.” Allison says before Sammy can answer. “We’re not like you, Henry.”
“I’m sure I could make it farthest,” Sammy brags in his feathery tone, but then trails off before admitting, “…but even I would likely fail, Henry. She’s right. You’ll have to go on alone.”
“I can’t—“ And for the second time in this entire new adventure, Henry feels real terror strike his heart. The same kind he felt when he failed Boris and Bendy left them.
End Game might just as well be the same. Henry might fail, talk to Joey, and die and be reborn again. And if he has to go back to the old way of doing this, of being alone and fighting for his life without companionship—either Bendy’s or Norm’s or even Sammy’s—Henry knows he will surely go insane. But what else is there? Bendy left him. He didn’t save Boris. He broke the demon’s deal, and Henry will have to pay the piper sooner rather than later.
He couldn’t even save Susie at the beginning from Bendy…what made Henry think he could change the script’s ending this time?
“There, there must be some way. Maybe if we just—“
“Oh, no, no. You’ve come far enough, Creator, with your lil entourage.” Bendy sloshes from the inky lake, his mouth wide and gaping and his lighthearted tone ringing between them all like an untamed bell. He’s the Ink Demon again; laboring on long lean legs and snickering when everyone gasps and rears back in fright save for Henry. Even Norm hesitates, then steps aggressively forward, blocking Bendy from the rest of the gang.
“Let’s see who we’ve got here.” And Bendy moves, quick as a flash, pining both Allison and Tom against the wall and leaning in to study them with invisible eyes. They tremble and stiffen, clutching at his claws round their necks, but not even Tom takes a swing, just stares in unbridled anger and fear up at Bendy. Bendy’s horned head tilts lazily as he studies them.
“Almost-Alice. Not surprising, actually. …oh, the handy-man? Good old Tom. You fixed a lot, huh? Pity you couldn’t fix me.” Bendy’s smile turns downward and he pushes off the two, who drop to the floor, quivering and wide-eyed at their Nightmare, come to life to threaten them. They stay pinned to the wall, but their eyes dart from Henry to the only escape, the door behind them. Henry motions and mouths for them to go, to run, but surprisingly, they don’t.
“Ugh.” Bendy then spies Sammy, who falls to his knees gibbering and praying to his ‘lord.’ “Really, Henry? Him? Fine. I can work with that, ah’suppose.”
“Bendy—Bendy stop,” Henry whispers, voice cracking, because Bendy is rounding on The Projectionist who will not be intimated and stomps threateningly at Bendy, keeping Henry behind him.
“Can’t forget you, Mr. Polk, can we?” The Ink Demon sniggers, the sound nasty and cruel. He grows talons on his human hand, and wriggles them near The Projectionist’s sensitive limbs of reel tape.
“I hope you know what road you’re choosing, Projectionist. You think the animator knows enough to win against me this go-round? You think he’s figured it all out?”
And then Bendy is gone, and Henry hears Allison cry out just as claws tighten around his waist and he’s wrenched backwards, axe and breath left behind.
“Then let’s try this one more time, Henry!”
The Projectionist swings round, shrieking in fury and reaching for Henry’s hand even as the man sinks backwards into the ink covered wall.
But Norm isn’t fast enough, and ink swallows Henry’s vision up entirely, and he sees, hears and knows nothing at all.
“…simply awe-inspiring what one can accomplish with their own hands! A lump of clay can turn to meaning... if you strangle it with enough enthusiasm…”
Henry stirs, head lolling as his world comes back in bits and pieces. He hears Joey, hears the roll of tape and the recording he’s heard hundreds of times by now. He knows where he is by the sounds alone, lying prone on his back before Bendy’s strange little throne. He is an Offering, and some part of him accepts this.
But some other part…some other part is growing cold and hard. That part wants to fight back.
“Look what we've built! We created life itself, Henry! Not just on the silver screen, but in the hearts of those we've entertained with our fancy moving pictures! But... when the tickets stopped selling, when the next big thing came along, only the monsters remained…”
Monsters…
“The only monster was you, Joey.” Henry croaks to the dark ceiling. The tape plays on.
“--Shadows of the past. But you can save them, Henry! You can peel it all away! You see, there's only one thing Bendy has never known: He was there for his beginning, but he's never seen...—“
Something crunches, plastic and metal flying apart.
Henry looks over to his left, watching Beast Bendy chomp through the recorder. His claws hit the seat, and the reel tape goes rolling, landing comically close to Henry’s hand. He gripes it, slowly, eyes locked on the Ink Demon’s final, brutal form. The monster labors over his throne, moving with deceptive grace over drawings and other pilfered, prized objects. He spies Henry watching him and licks his mighty chops theatrically, both of them stilling in growing anticipation.
Heart pounding, Henry suddenly rolls to his feet as Bendy winds up.
And then Henry is airborne, sent flying with the backhand from the monster.
And the script is the same, again and Henry is sure he has never felt such pain like he has right then.
For Henry, it begins in despair.
He’d chosen.
He was sure he had chosen.
He had fought back, against his better judgment. And Bendy had died, so horribly, in a flash of awful golden light that sizzled him from existence—for now—and Henry had won.
But Henry had lost, too. He knows this without needing to question it, because it hurts. His wounds are fading, rapidly, his body refreshing as if nothing at all had happened. But it did, and it had, and now he must start it all over again.
The animator stands, blinking dazedly in the yellow light of Joey’s apartment. It’s nowhere near as bright as The Projectionist’s light, but the animator takes a quiet minute to himself to adjust to it regardless. He misses Norm more than ever, because he had adjusted so rapidly to the protection and security his old friend had provided him.
He hears the phonograph playing its tune, and thinks of Alice…of Alison and how enamored she would be with taking it apart and learning how it worked. How Boris…er, Tom, would just enjoy the songs it produced, and not really care how it worked so long as it was something that made Alice happy.
He thinks of Sammy, as the animator walks by the drawings of the monsters and sketches of Bendy on yellowed, crinkly pages. They are not his drawings, but he thinks of his sketchbook all the same. The sketchbook that ensnared Bendy’s attention, what feels like ages ago but surely must only be a few days or even less.
If what happens is what Henry thinks is going to happen, he will never draw again. It would be better to deny himself his favorite thing—a thing more precious to him than air—if it ensures that this will Never, Ever Happen Again.
He never wants to be so close to Freedom that he can taste it, only to fail Bendy and have it ripped from them all and the people Henry had promised to save.
So Henry walks into the little kitchen and halts, feeling hollow and mechanical for an instant.
“Henry? So soon?” Joey doesn’t even turn to face him, he never does. It’s so…dismissive. Rude. A neuron kicks Henry’s brain in gear. The animator bristles.
“I didn't expect you for another hour yet. Now you're just trying to impress me. But I know, I know. You have questions. You always do! The only important question is thi—“
“Shut the hell up, Joey.” Henry’s voice surprises even himself. But his anger burns through cognitive thought, and he watches with grim, empty satisfaction as the old man turns from his sink and gapes.
“I don’t want to hear it from you anymore. You ruined lives, Joey, you ruined my life—Susie’s, Sammy’s, Norm’s….Wally! Tom and Bert’s and—and even Bendy and his friend’s lives! For what? For your goddamn success and money and fame?!” Henry isn’t sure what’s happening, but he knows he’s angrier than he’s ever been in his life and it feels Good to fight back. And not just against the Searchers or Sammy or even Bendy.
“I was ‘always so good at pushing’ huh? Maybe it’s time I pushed you harder!”
Somehow, without even realizing, he has yelled and postured Joey from the kitchen, and the two men stand face to face in the tacky little living room. Joey in front of his desk and his hand behind him, like he’s leaning on it for balance because he is, after all, an old, old man. And Henry, fists tight and eyes sizzling, only caring that Joey is now the cornered one instead of Henry--
“Maybe it’s time YOU got a taste of your own medicine!” Henry roars and takes a single, threatening step. Joey’s arm moves from behind him.
And then a shot rings out.
It brings with it a piercing, dazzling pain so strong all Henry can do is stagger from it, pressing a useless hand to the hole in his chest. His eyes are on Joey, on his friend, who lowers a little pistol and tutts regretfully, as if only putting down a diseased dog and not his once best friend. His partner. He glances down, fingers curling out of the way and almost vomits at the sight of the black ink that gurgles out in place of where his goddamn blood should be.
Joey spares him a look of surprise, then covers it with a sad, disgustingly fake expression.
“Oh, Henry, Henry.” Joey’s tone is gentle, and fond, and Henry hates every goddamn syllable. “…you shouldn’t have eaten so much soup down there. Oh, look what it’s done to you.”
With a thousand and one responses screaming, yelling, in his head, Henry can only shift sideways, curling down against the floor of Joey’s home and feeling the cold sweep over him like a welcoming shroud.
“I’m sorry, my friend. I couldn’t let you complete this round. Hopefully this is a good lesson for you, though. Not to stray too far, not to deviate. It only ends in pain, you know.”
The puddle is large now, and spreading like a little lake out of control. Henry moves his hand through it, swallowing the dry lumps in his throat that won’t go down as he watches his inky-blood smear behind his gesture. It’s so…thick. And warm.
“Close your eyes, Henry, and you’ll feel better.” Joey whispers, far too gently to be true. “This whole nasty business…it’s better for me to remain in control, don’t you think? Sure, we were partners, yes, on paper. But not where it counted. Not really.”
‘On paper.’
And Henry Understands.
Oh, he Understands everything now, every final missing puzzle piece that slots so welcomingly into place. Why he was brought here. Why he never succumbed to the ink. Why only Bendy could make Ink for the Ink Maker. Why Joey had kept him locked in the horrific endless loop, knowing what Henry did not.
But Henry knew Now.
He can see it, and he can hear it. The Ink Demon’s smiles at him, the Beast Bendy that licked his wounds cleans. Original, happy, darlin’ lil Bendy, awing over Henry’s drawings and rambling on and on. So against being called ‘An Abomination’ but so delighted whenever Henry spared him a fraction of affection. The sketchbook that must have broken some of Joey’s control over Bendy. Bendy, who wanted something from Henry—poor, poor Boris—and Joey, who couldn’t let that happen. Henry, who could call for Bendy in his voice or in his mind and the demon would obey. Bendy, who was told by Henry he wanted to save Norman—and Bendy. Who just so happened to doodle the very thing that broke Norman from his angry rage long enough to get through to him. And, though Alice was gone….it didn’t matter for Joey. He made sure she had already mutilated Boris. After all, if the Deal went through, if Henry succeeded, well…
Bendy might just rethink who was the better partner between the two.
The insurance policy, his own name signed despite Henry having left years before—it wasn’t for an insurance company. It wasn’t for anything normal. Bendy knew that. He had rifled through the desk. He knew the entire Cycle as well as Joey. But he couldn’t risk Joey finding out, otherwise Henry—Bendy’s ticket out of here—would be in worse jeopardy. Henry had to be kept in the dark for all their sake. If Henry only saved Bendy, Joey might get suspicious. So Henry had been allowed to go on his own, with Norm. He had been allowed limited freedom to trick Henry and Joey.
“Because…on paper,” Henry chokes, face twisting at the vile hint of ink swelling up behind his tongue. “We’re partners.”
The company had been created that way.
But so had someone else, too.
Joey is silent, but his stare is tight and critical, and he raises the gun again carefully. There is no tell tale sign of Recognition in his face though, so Henry still has Time. He has Time, and that’s all he needs. That—and to keep himself Alive for a few more seconds. The animator spies his puddle of inky blood and decides, then, that he would have to try with what he had. If it wasn’t enough, then it wasn’t. But he had to try. For Boris, for Norm, Allison, Tom. Even for Sammy and Susie...
And, most importantly, he had to try for—
“Bendy.” Henry calls, through pale lips. The look of shock and unbridled fear on Joey Drew’s face is more than enough satisfaction for the fact Henry might die for good this time, might not live to see Bendy’s revenge plan come to full fruition. Fine. At least Henry had done all he could.
Because no sooner has he finished the word, then a pair of horns rise slowly from the pile of ink under Henry’s open wound.
“Ya finally figured it out, Henry! I’m proud of ya.” And then there’s a giggle, twisted and amused.
“No—no!“ Joey tries, he does. He fires the gun again, aiming down at Henry’s center, but it is too late. Bendy’s ink ripples like an Alive Thing, sucking down the bullet and bubbling up as the Ink Demon solidifies rapidly to shield Henry from the blow. His demonic, growing grin is wide and hungry.
“Nice digs, Mr. Drew. Too nice, for someone like you.” Bendy is the Ink Demon now, but his thick, cartoonish accent is back. ‘Mistah’ is how he says Mr, complete with playful glance around with his unseeing, black and drippy face.
“Been livin’ it up real good, haven’tcha? All this time…don’t you miss the old Studio?” Bendy lurches out of the puddle he’d risen from, moving slow on deliberate, angry purpose.
“We missed you.” Bendy whispers softly, and the door behind them flies open.
Henry couldn’t look if he wanted to, but he hears the sound of squelches, and film reel tape, and the noises of the Butcher Gang.
“Stop this, Bendy! Stop this right now—you, you listen to me! I’m the one who Created you!”
“Uh-uh.” Bendy shakes his great horned head, wagging a gloved finger playfully. “You might’ve made me Real, but you sure as Hell didn’t Create me. You never gave him credit for it, but I knew. I knew. And I wanted him back.”
It’s flattering words, really, even if it might be the epitaph to Henry’s funeral. He doesn’t even make a sound when the Projectionist stoops by him, letting the others crowd around Joey.
“Ben-Bendy,” Henry does manage to slur something when The Projectionist lifts him up and supports him. “Les’go. ...I pr’missed.”
Bendy turns, and he can see half the Ink Demon’s teeth over his shoulder.
“Yer a lucky bastard, Mr. Drew,” and Bendy spits the name like a curse, “That my Real Creator is nothing like you.
“Go ahead. Take him. Mr. Drew? My friends have something to show you.” Bendy’s tone is casual, far too causal.
It’s then Joey really comes undone, fumbling back as he’s grabbed by claws and paws of inky anger. Tom trips him, but he and Allison hang back beside Henry and Norm as the Butcher Gang and Sammy drag Joey closer and closer to the door of the studio. He’s crying, soon, real tears of terror and Bendy only seems more excited by them, even as he turns and watches The Projectionist lowers Henry onto the couch.
“You know what this means now, Henry. Right?” Bendy asks the dying man with uncharacteristic softness.
“Me an’you…together. Forever. We can leave, sure. And go outside. But it’ll still be like it was down there, kinda. You could do a helluva lotta damage with something like me at your disposal. If you’re not careful, that is…”
Henry can only nod, finding it very hard to keep his eyes open. He feels bad, because Norm and Alice have noticed and look worried, and even Tom is leaning cautiously in with a furrowed brow.
“I’ll take care of you, Bendy.” Henry says with a shaky nod. “It’s over now. M’…m’notta traitor.” ‘Not like he was.’ Hangs between them.
“Awh, shucks, Henry.” Bendy says, leaning in and sinking his gooey hand into Henry’s chest, ignoring the way the man cries out in pain. “I know all that already.”
It hurts, god, it hurts. Worse than Beast Bendy attacking him. Worse than the pain of losing Boris again. Just as worse as the betrayal of his oldest friend who turned his back on everyone and let his greed and thirst blind him.
Every nerve feels like it’s on fire—and he can just make out worried projector sounds, Alice’s call of his name and Bendy’s rolling, cackling laughter.
And then his mind shuts down, and he feels his heart literally restart, and Henry blessedly, for the second time in a few hours, he knows nothing.
It’s a very surreal thing, to wake up sharing your soul and mind with something else entirely.
Thankfully Henry is so tired and relieved, that the weight of his shoulders is enough to encourage him to keep waking up. Otherwise he’d stay put on this musty couch and not move for a month. Still, there’s something on his chest that isn’t heavy or painful, and he’s confused as to what it is, so he opens his eyes.
And finds Bendy, original, dancin’ darlin’ Devil himself, curled up like a cat. His wide pie-eyes are closed and his head is buried atop his pristine gloves. The tip of his spaded tail flicks as if he’s doing something in his dreams, and his little black body rises and lowers in time with Henry’s own breathing.
The familiarity of the sight softens Henry’s nerves, and he shifts to sit up, keeping Bendy tucked close with an arm under the bundle of demon. Light immediately falls over him when the couch crinkles, and he glances with a tired grin at Norm, who is perched close by and clicking at him with a noise Henry now understands well as Happiness and Interest.
“Hey, Norm.” Something occurs to Henry and he frowns thoughtfully. “Are you…stuck like that?” He looks around, finding Alice and Tom and—strangely—Sammy as well, hovering near the door by himself.
“…are you all stuck like that? Can’t we find a way to change you guys back?”
“You better rest, first, Henry.” Alice answers gently. “Even if you can, if you don’t survive it, and if Bendy loses you…”
The odd little gang all shiver and fall uneasily silent, glancing at the small devil snuggled on Henry’s chest. They glance at him the way the slowest zebra in the herd glances at a lion, and Henry sighs. It would take time, the wounds Joey had used Bendy to cause to heal. He shouldn’t be surprised.
“Will Bendy go back to Joey, if he loses me?” Henry asks, unsure if any of them even know this answer.
“No.” Sammy says, his soft voice not carrying well since he was far back as he could be from them all. “There’s nothing left of him to do so. We made sure of that.”
“But it’s…better we don’t test that theory out, right?” Alice says to Henry with a knowing stare.
“No, no you’re right. For sure. I just meant…” Henry sighs. “Maybe I should keep these questions for another day. Let’s see if we can leave the studio. If this…still is…the studio.”
“Yer smart, Henry. But it ain’t quite anymore.” Everyone looks down to Bendy, who yawns adorably and stretches before crawling up to perch on Henry’s shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world for him.
“The studio’s just a building, again. How it used to be? No walls knocked down. No extra floors. Nuthin’. It’s how you remember it.” Bendy explains blithely.
“Even the Ink Machine?”
“Even the Ink Machine. If you want it back, you have to tell me. If you want something else, you gotta do that to. But,” Bendy yawns, “Not right now, okay? M’tired. That was a lot of work, switching contracts and fixing you up, Henry.”
“Then you get some rest, kiddo. But I think we all agree staying in Joey’s place is out of the question.”
There’s a chorus of agreements, either spoken word or, in Tom and Norm’s case, grunts and eager nods.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but let’s get back to the Studio, and then we can go from there.” Henry knows he’s asking a lot, but right now he has to. “If anyone wants to go their separate ways of course—“
A round of disagreement, this time. With varying firmness—Norm sounds grumpy at the mere implication—but Tom and Alice just wince softly and say, for now, they want to rest and make up a plan. Henry doesn’t even pretend to be surprised when Sammy proudly launches into a sonnet about sticking by his lord’s side until the end of Time. Everyone ignores him, and Henry makes a mental note to try and revert Sammy back first. There was only so much of this even Bendy would take.
And so, they go, leaving the man’s apartment to return to the studio hidden across the county, where the forest has nearly overgrown it after all these years. An animator with his creation, perhaps a bit more real and lifelike than he’d initially intended, but his nonetheless, and one who cannot be taken from him again. A man that sticks to shadows and sees quite a bit, and whose loyalty to his old friend will certainly come in useful one day. An angel who is quite convinced she is nothing of the sort, but who holds hands with a handyman as they step hesitantly but hopefully into bright sunlight, which makes them squint. The Pariah behind the mask that follows behind them all, a bit unstable but keeping it together for now. And an abomination, a Demon, who broke his shackles by creating another set entirely, but this time for the better. Some chains are good, after all, like ships that need anchors to keep from capsizing.
Some chains are Very Good, indeed.
Whatever lies before them most certainly won’t be easy, because the good things that are worth working for never are. But it is a far better thing than what lies behind them, this they all know.
For now, and with so little film left, it is time to pause the moment here. For what comes after, and how they all deal with it, is another story for another day.
END.
“And in response to your previous memo: If you claim your failures are because these things are soulless, then, damn it, we'll get them a soul! After all, I own thousands of 'em!”