Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Joey calls him Bendy. Or, rather, ‘Bendy,’ because he’s Not Right.

He isn’t Bendy, or ‘Bendy.’ He knows this.

He isn’t even he at all. He is they. They are him. 

They are Before and After. 

And that’s all they are for a long, long time. 

• • • • •

After did as he was told, no matter how much he hated it—because if there was one thing he hated more than all that, it was Joey getting angry with him. 

He followed the script as best he could, which he knew full well wasn’t that great. Boris and Alice sent him looks, Joey got louder, Sammy acted like he wanted to hit something—probably After—and he could feel his ink gettin’ goopy. 

You should run while you still have the chance, Before said. 

No, After mentally shook his head, ’cause then Joey’ll still be mad next time.

Before grumbled, but knew just as well After was right. They’d learned that one the hard way, several times over. 

Someday, After, I’m gonna have control for once, and I’ll kick that good-for-nothing, waste-of-space right in the nuts. That loony bin reject won’t be safe from me forever, mark my words!

That was how they knew—the swearing. Even in their mental conversations, any attempt at cursing like a sailor resulted in nothing but a string of symbols, nonsense noises to the ear, no matter what words Before tried. And, if he was to be believed, he’d tried nothing less than all of them. That was when the realization had hit: After didn’t know any swear words. Before seemed to know them all. 

That was a long time ago, when they were both nameless, and the only way to differentiate between them was by thinking of whoever they weren’t as the Other One. It was a confusing time for them both. 

It hadn’t been long after ‘meeting’ each other that the Other One had let loose a long stream of bells and whistles, and the One could practically see the @s and the #s and the %s. The Other One had been furious, going on and on about the indignity, the injustice. He remembered being able to use those, so that was how they knew he was Before.

Before existed—something happened—and then there was After. They didn’t know what happened or if whatever it was was meant to happen at all, and they didn’t know why they were smushed into the same body, or why Before was so different, or why After was the one in control. They didn’t know where After came from, or why no one liked them, or why everyone called them ‘Bendy’ when they weren’t. They didn’t know why they couldn’t talk, or why Joey seemed to think After was alone, or why they— 

—why did they have mitten hands?

Sometimes, they’d think things like that, and Before would start screaming. Not the high-pitched sort of noise a person made when they screamed on purpose. No, when Before thought those questions, he screamed like he was being torn apart, limb from limb. 

After did his best to make sure neither of them asked questions like that.

The point was, with proper, satisfying curse words no longer an option, Before got creative and started making up his own substitutes. ‘Loony bin reject’ was one of his favorites.

After! 

After startled, both physically and mentally. Joey was glaring viciously at him, and with the way Before was all tense, After assumed Joey had been trying to get his attention for a while now.

He wants you to run through the scene again, and this time, and then, mimicking Joey’s voice, “no mistakes!”

After laughed at his counterpart, even as he gave Joey a meek nod, thin shoulders shivering. Oh, why couldn’t he be more like Before sometimes?

Because if you were more like me, you’d be less of yourself. And that’s all we got, After. Ourselves. Who you are in here is you. Not what Joey wants you to be, not how the writers write you.

I know. But I still wish I could give Joey a piece of my mind the way you want to.

Well, I’m glad you don’t. 

After mechanically went through the scene’s movements, hardly paying attention. Everyone would hate what he did anyway, so why bother? 

I don’t know why you don’t want me to. You love anything that frustrates Joey.

Not when you have to face the consequences.

They figured Joey must've had something to do with the The Thing That Happened to them. Before was always mad at Joey, and After was always afraid of him. There had to be a reason…

Before?

Yeah?

How long have we been us?

After asked that question every day, without fail.

I don’t know. A long time, I suppose.

Before always answered the same way, never straying from their self-made script.

But?

But not as long as I was me.

Because if After didn’t ask, if Before didn’t answer—they went one step closer to being One. And neither of them wanted that, not when they’d gotten a taste of what it was like in the Beginning.

The Beginning. There was so much—events, experiences, simple words defining who they were—that deserved capitalization to them; they had no other way to remember certain things’ importance; they didn’t know anything outside the studio. In the Beginning, when After first woke up, Before didn’t fully exist. Or, at least, there wasn’t enough of him to exist. Those first few weeks, After had been alone, confused and scared, surrounded by people who stared at him with eyes full of emotions ranging anywhere from disgust to outright hatred. 

Locked in his closet one night, he’d felt something, deep in the back of his mind. A presence, an Other. It screamed and wailed, and he had been able to feel its suffering. He’d been afraid of it, at first. But then he had realized the Other was just as confused as he was. So, without a friend in the world, he’d started talking to the presence. 

It took a long time. There were lots of nights where he rambled until sleep took him, lots of days spent desperately reaching for the presence, reaching to not be alone anymore. He was the One, a nameless, lonely One—and with the tantalizing prospect of Another One dangling within reach, he’d taken to hiding in the air ducts. It had infuriated Joey, but for the first time, he hadn’t cared. 

He’d known he was Worthless, a Mistake, a Failure. He’d known he wasn’t ‘Bendy’ the way Joey wanted him to be.

But, he’d thought, if he could just save this flickering, hurting presence, if he could just save his Other One—then maybe everything would be a little better. Sometimes, in the cartoons, they showed that things weren’t as scary if you had someone with you. 

It had all been worth it in the end, when the Other One finally uncurled a bit and asked in a voice so small, Who am I?

I don’t know, After—still just the One—had answered, but that’s okay. I don’t know who I am either.

The Other One hadn’t said anything else that night, but he’d been the one to start a conversation the next day. 

I had a name that was me, the Other One had said, but it’s gone now.

I didn’t, the One had told him, and I don’t know if I ever will. 

That was how it had been until they discovered the swearing bit. Those became their first proper names, names they could call each other: Before and After.

Neither of them were okay—but as long as they weren’t alone, it wasn’t so bad.

• • • • •

They fought once, over control. Sammy had kicked After, playing it off as an accident. No one had believed him, least of all Before, but none of the humans who saw it happen had cared enough to so much as say something. Joey had even laughed. 

Before had been furious, and for the first time, he had tried to gain control of their body. After, wanting to just forget about the whole thing, had pushed him back. Colliding instead, they’d fought for dominance. 

It hadn’t ended well. 

• • • • •

Time in the studio seemed endless and unchanging. The only proof of it passing at all were the little hash marks After drew on the walls of their closet every time Joey threw them in there. 

But even then, the days blurred together. 

Wake up—get pushed around—work on the cartoons—get yelled at—sneak away for a while—Before gets sassy and bitter, Joey gets angry, After gets tired—maybe catch a quick break in the air ducts—get yelled at some more—get locked back up in the closet. If they weren’t totally exhausted after all that, sometimes they went exploring in the ventilation shafts. Otherwise, After tucked himself into his little drawer-bed, and they hoped they didn’t dream.

(They usually did.)

Over and over and over, like a broken record. It took everything in them to keep themselves sane.

And then, one day, the pattern deviated. 

(They really, really wished it hadn’t.)

• • • • •

After stumbled away from Joey’s office, mitten-hands pressed to his burning face. He could still feel his static-sounding screams echoing in his tiny body. 

Before was shouting, trying to get After to answer, to say he was okay, but After couldn’t spare even a moment of concentration to reassure him. Part of them—his own part, he was sure—just wanted to retreat to their closet or find a dark corner of the ventilation shafts to curl up in. But he knew Before deserved to see what Joey had done.

It took three tries for him to ram his shoulder into the bathroom door hard enough for it to bounce open. Knees shaking, After tripped to the counter and struggled to haul himself up, Before not so much as taking a breath between worried demands for answers. 

He went silent fast enough, though, when he saw their reflection. 

They’d known from the start that one of the things that made their body Wrong to Joey was their eyes. While the pie-cut black part was normal, they were each surrounded by a ring of blue-green—there from the moment After had woken up. 

The color was gone now. Most of their eyes, in fact, were gone. 

That… that monster. He took—he hurt you.

After sniffled and rubbed where his nose ought to have been. It doesn’t hurt so much anymore.

Liar, Before said, almost absently. There was a long pause. After…?

After straightened, a little crinkle forming between what remained of his eyes. It had been ages since Before’s voice shook like that…

I think those were mine.

The wave of pained despair that swept over After sent him to his knees, hands raising against the mirror to brace himself. How do you know? he asked.

I… I can just feel it, I guess. 

An emotion larger and harsher than the despair welled up in Before’s part of their mind, threatening to overwhelm After. It wasn’t the first time something like this happened; like with the mitten-hands, there were some things Before simply couldn’t handle without losing himself. This time, though, felt different.

Before! Before! After yelled, trying to snap him out of it.

Something in Before shriveled up and retreated into what little privacy he had in their shared consciousness. 

Before!

But there was no response, and After was helpless to do anything but sit and wait as the emotions bubbled over and began to drown him too, and then he could only watch in misery as the ink of their hairline began to melt down, down, down, until it completely covered their ruined eyes.

• • • • •

Things became worse. Joey reached whole new levels of infuriation, not just because his attempt at correcting ‘Bendy’s eyes had failed, but because the ink on the toon’s face proved impossible to remove. And the more Joey’s moods worsened, the more everyone else’s moods worsened. The studio hadn’t been doing well for a while, but now it was really sinking.

According to After’s little hash marks, over a week had passed after the Eye Incident by the time Before was able to respond to the questions After constantly asked him. 

He wasn’t better, though. After wasn’t sure Before would ever be better again. 

The loss hit him hard too, of course it did—the whole thing was yet another example of why they were Wrong, and that would always hurt—but seeing Before utterly destroyed about it made After want to be strong. He’d saved Before once, pulled him out of the dark place that was tearing him apart and damaging him beyond measure, and he was determined to do it again if necessary. 

Before needed him. Before was the only one who needed him. And he was the only one After needed. 

That knowledge caused him to make a decision, and that decision became something of a turning point. Being around Joey made Before want to give up, After knew that. He refused to let that happen, he refused to let Joey take his only friend in the world away, like he took so many other things.

So, one night, he wrapped his only earthly possession—an old button-up shirt he’d found between the wall and a desk whose animator had left suddenly—around his shoulders, tying the arms in front of him like a cape, and entered the ventilation shafts without any intention of leaving. 

After had always been the one scared of Joey, with Before the one to lessen that fear however he could—usually through ridiculous curses and an anger that made Joey seem far smaller than he was to After. If his Other One needed time to be scared, then After would step up and be strong for him in his own way. And that meant hiding until Before’s entire presence stopped trembling at the sight of Joey. 

• • • • • 

It worked. 

Before began to recover more fully than he ever could’ve when he had to see Joey every day. It was easy enough for After to block out Joey’s enraged shouts as he tried to find them. Luckily, After knew the vents better than he knew himself—which wasn’t that impressive of a feat, actually, all things considered—and Joey didn’t stand a chance against After when he was truly determined like this. 

If After thought the studio was coming apart at the seams a few weeks ago, then it was nothing compared to the fallout of his little disappearing act. Though the employees were quick to pick up the slack in his absence, their general unhappiness and apathy about their jobs became all the more obvious. The cartoons’ quality—which had been limping along, steadily declining, for quite some time—managed to hit rock bottom. 

Word spread that Joey Drew Studios was closing its doors for good. 

Though he was scared about what that meant for them, After hoped that it would only improve Before’s mental state. For the first time, the prospect of being truly rid of Joey crossed his mind. 

His mouth, so often lingering on a frown, shakily turned up into a small but utterly genuine smile. After couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled without prompting or threats; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been happy enough to.

Didja hear that, Before? he asked softly. 

He received an impression of a tiny head shake.

They’re closing the studio. I think it means everyone will leave.

Before perked up a bit. Really?

Yep, After said. Or at least, that’s what everyone’s saying.

With a little laugh—still a bit broken, still a bit empty—Before curled back up. But this time, After couldn’t help but notice, the edge of Before’s presence pressed up against his. 

After preened a little. Maybe, someday, they’d both be okay. 

• • • • •

By the end of the month, most of the employees had packed up and booked it outta there. After snuck through the ducts, his soft, rounded footwear silent even on the metal. He planned on getting into the staff lounge and making off with whatever treats were left, now that no one would notice them missing. 

His path took him over Joey’s office, where he always made sure to slow down and tip-toe extra carefully. Today was no exception; Before was resting—not fitfully, for once—and After had no intention of waking him up by getting noticed.

After hadn’t made it far when he realized Joey was in his office, talking to someone. From the sounds of it, it was Murray Hill, the studio’s repair man. 

“It’s hardly my fault the spell screwed him up!” Murray shouted. “And it’s even less of my fault that you couldn’t control him!” 

Though After wondered what they were talking about, he didn’t pause to eavesdrop; he was on a very important mission, and he really hoped he found something that might make Before smile a little. He ignored their argument. 

Right as he was about to turn a corner, there was a loud bang, rattling the wall. After froze. 

In a low voice—one that After could only hear because he was listening so carefully for danger—Murray said, “I ain’t the idiot who wanted to use the one man in this entire studio who wasn’t afraid to give you a wallop. Choosing Henry as the sacrifice to make that worthless runt is all on you, Joey.” 

Something in After’s head cracked and split open. He somehow managed not to cry out and alert the two men to his presence, but the damage was done. Holding his mitten-hand to his face, a parody of that day Joey took his eyes, he stumbled silently down the shaft. 

And he knew—as he collapsed to his trembling knees beside the vent access panel to the staff lounge—the something leaking through his mind didn’t belong to him at all. 

Before had said the colored parts of their eyes had been his, that he could just feel it. Now, After understood what he'd meant. There was no reason for him to think—to even for a moment entertain the thought—Before was who they were talking about, that Before was—

Henry. 

The ink on After’s face dribbled down his cheeks like a leak had sprung. The droplets went pat pat pat against the metal, the only thing he could hear. 

It all made sense. Why Before was always mad at Joey, why Before had been suffering so much when After first felt him, why no one knew Before was watching everyone through After’s eyes, why Before couldn’t handle certain thoughts—it just, it all made terrible, horrible sense.

The second thing Before had ever said to him was, I had a name that was me, but it’s gone now.

It’s gone now. They’d taken it from him. For once, After felt like giving Joey a good kick in the nuts—one of Before’s most common threats against the man. A well-deserved one, too, it seemed.

After hiccuped, his small body shaking violently. From what Murray had said, it sounded like Before—no; he was Henry back then, wasn’t he—had given Joey the beatdown he still believed the man deserved. 

He sucked in a sharp breath at a sudden thought, accidentally inhaling some of the ink dripping down his face. Muffling the coughs as best he could, After slowly slipped down so he was curled up on his side against the cold vent.

Should he tell Before? 

Should he tell Before that After knew—I can just feel it, I guess—what his name used to be? Would it devastate Before worse than anything else ever had, having that little part of himself back but unable to do anything with it? Would it be nothing more than an empty, painful gesture? Would Before spend the rest of their life wondering if he could ever be Henry again?

Would—After nearly gave a static-scream at the thought—would Before want to leave him? 

The hiccups turned into sobs, the sobs turned into dry-heaves. Beyond the access panel, the studio’s lights shut off, signaling a building empty of humans. 

It was all After needed.

• • • • •

Elsewhere in the studio, Boris’s inky fur stood up on end, and Alice’s halo pulsed as she leapt a foot into the air.

The hallways filled with a piercing, grating, echoing cry. It was one of pure devastation, of rage that had nowhere to go, of indescribable sadness. Overlaying the eerily human noise was a rising crescendo of static. 

They’d never heard a sound so filled with loss. 

• • • • • 

It took After a long time to gain control of the shuddery, gasping breaths that punched out from his tiny form. He didn’t move from his spot in the vent, instead choosing to remain there in a slowly growing puddle of ink.

Warmth engulfed his mind.

After?

S-sorry. I didn’t—I didn’t mean to wake you, After said, sniffling. He felt even worse now for disturbing Before’s much-needed sleep.

Or would it be Henry’s much-needed sleep?

After, what’s wrong? I’ve never felt you so upset. Before pressed closer. 

It was the most active and alert he’d sounded since the Eye Incident. 

Tell him? Or keep it secret? Say he’d only had a little breakdown, nothing to worry about? Or say he’d overheard something great and terrible? 

He didn’t know what to do. After didn’t know what to do. How could he choose? How could he possibly choose?

After? You’re scaring me. Please, at least tell me you’re all right.

He couldn’t do it—

Before?

Yes?

I think I know your name. The name you had and lost. The name they took from you.

—he couldn’t be like Joey. Joey, who was a liar. 

Before didn’t say anything for a long time. When he did, he sounded small, like the first time he spoke to After. You do?

After nodded, his slippery cheek sliding against the metal beneath him. 

How?

I overheard Joey and Mr. Murray arguing. They were talking about sacrificing someone. I think they did somethin’ to you to make me. 

But we’re us.

And you used to be you. 

Before’s consciousness shook against After’s. 

Then what are we?

After fidgeted with his droopy bowtie. I dunno, he said. But do you wanna know who you used to be?

Part of After hoped he’d say no. A frighteningly large part of After didn’t want to share Before with whoever Henry used to be. Before was his. 

I… yeah. Yeah, I wanna know.

He wasn’t quite fast enough to suppress a new sob. His shoulders quivered.

Hey! Hey, what’s wrong, what happened?

You’re gonna leave me! You’re gonna remember who you are and you’re gonna leave me!

Before almost growled at him, shocking After into silence. I’d never leave you, numbskull. Knowing my name ain’t gonna change that. Trust me.

After did. Gathering his nerves before he could back out, he said, Henry. Your name was Henry.

He expected Before to have an epiphany, to suddenly shout that he knew exactly who he was. He expected to be left in the dust as his Other rediscovered everything about himself, as though knowing his name was the key to unlocking whatever it was Joey had done to them to make Henry forget in the first place. Instead, Before mentally frowned. 

Henry, Before tried. Hmph. It sounds funny.

A gurgled laugh burst out of After. He imagined Before swearing he’d kick Joey in the nuts someday, and then he imagined what Henry might’ve looked like giving Joey a wallop, like Murray had said. He came to a decision. I think it suits you. Henry.

Hmm. Henry, he said again, like he was trying on a coat and couldn’t decide whether he liked the look of it or not. I guess it’s okay.

You don’t remember anything new?

No. I think, though… I think I’d like to test it out.

Funny enough, After didn’t feel so scared anymore. It was just a name. 

• Epilogue •

The studio finally closed, once and for all.

But Joey didn’t leave. He stayed, and brought back old workers one by one, and After and Henry watched from the vents as Joey pushed Sammy Lawrence into a giant, rumbling machine. 

Whatever Joey was hoping for—he came out Wrong. They understood that all too well. 

Norman Polk was next. He was Wrong, too. Susie Campbell showed up one day, though Joey hadn’t sent her an invitation. 

After and Henry wondered if what happened to Susie was at all similar to them. They decided it probably was, but she was just Extra Wrong. 

There were others, ones who melted into nothing only to pop up and attack After in the hallways, gurgling pleas for help they both knew Joey couldn’t hear. 

Joey tried something different, and then there was a real monster roaming the otherwise abandoned building. Its smile always seemed wider when it caught sight of After, chasing him down as Henry yelled and the not-Bendy screeched through its teeth.

They ran out of space for their hash marks in their closet and had to start using a different room. This time, After went about it in a more orderly way. 

Time passed. Boxes of thirty or thirty-one lines formed a group of twelve in a column running down the wall. The group of twelve became two groups of twelve, became three, then four, then five. The five groups of twelve eventually became two groups of five twelves.

Ten columns—made of twelve boxes, each made of thirty or thirty-one hash marks—became fifteen columns. And then twenty. 

They ran out of room. They chose new walls. Another column. Another column. Another column. 

Another column. 

Another column.

Sometimes, Henry was Before. Sometimes, Before was Henry. After was After, and that didn’t change. 

Nothing changed. Searchers still gurgled in the hallways, Sammy still yelled whenever he saw After, Norman still mindlessly roamed around the lowest of the lower levels, Susie still screamed about the ink and her lack of perfection, and Joey’s second attempt at creating Bendy still leered and chased After at every chance it got. 

Joey, well… he was still Joey. 

• • • • •

Somewhere out there, in the world beyond, a letter—an invitation—sent by Joey Drew fell into trembling, white-gloved hands. 

“Hello? Joey? I’m here now, what do you want?”

Deep within the studio’s ventilation shafts, a small body stiffened.

Chapter Text

After crouched motionless inside the ventilation shaft, watching through the thin slats as not-Bendy trudged down the stairs. His tail twitched behind him. He wasn’t usually so impatient— he had, in fact, waited not-Bendy out in longer and worse conditions— but it was one of Those Days. 

Before— he’d been Henry for most of the week, but even After could tell that it was a Before sort of day— was hurting. And that was unacceptable.

Not-Bendy finally vanished through a wall-portal, and After forced himself to wait another minute in silence. Sometimes, the monster backtracked if he thought After was nearby; After couldn’t afford a chase right now.

Once he’d counted six pairs of ten, After propped the vent cover open and tossed the rope he’d borrowed from the prop department down. It unraveled easily, the end securely tied to a handle further along the shaft. 

After scaled down the wall, landing with a little hop on one of the studio’s many discarded couches. He froze, the rope still clutched in his mitten-hands. None of the ink puddles scattered throughout the room so much as bubbled. 

They were safe.

After jumped to the floor of Heavenly Toys and scrambled beneath one of the boarded up railings. With no danger in sight, he was free to to climb right on top of the giant Boris plush resting against the ink-splattered counter. With a happy little wiggle, After settled into the small nook between Boris’s oversized snout and his soft tummy. 

Before? Look.

The presence that shared his mind stirred a bit, expanding closer to its full size, rather than the tightly crumpled ball it had been in since earlier that morning. 

It had been a rotten start to the day when Before had woken from a dream he could no longer remember. Faces, he’d told After prior to losing himself. There were faces, and they loved me, I think. I can’t see them anymore. So many smiling faces. 

Before hadn’t said anything since, and by the time an hour had passed, he’d collapsed in on himself, torn by memories that he hadn’t even known he’d lost. 

But now he slowly unfolded, allowing awareness to return. After waited with a wobbly smile on his face. 

As soon as he was sure Before was paying full attention, After raised his hands and shoved Boris’s snout up with all his might. It lurched like the plush was nodding, and then fell back down to boop them on the head. 

With a burst of giggles, Before’s melancholy lightened— it never fully went away, but After gladly took what he could get— and his presence finished filling his proper space in their head. 

Not waiting for his laughter to stop, After did it again, his grin a little more sure. 

Boop. 

To After’s glee, Before laughed so happily and so genuinely that some of it bled through the divide between them and escaped his mouth, echoing in the large room. It was dangerous to make noises like that, ones that were very clearly not from the Searchers or one of the other Wrong toons, but After didn’t care. He merely pushed up on Boris’s jaw for a third time, even harder than the first two.

The resulting boop nearly sent them sprawling, and even After began giggling too. 

Do you feel better? After asked.

Before nudged up against him. Yeah. It’s— not being able to remember hurts, especially when it was so close, but… I’ve got you, so it’s not so bad. 

After didn’t bother pointing out that he could feel how much it hurt— somewhere between the Eye Incident and how it felt whenever they looked at the Burnt Picture. 

Instead, he asked, You wanna go scavenging?

Before perked up. Uh, does Susie’s double-voice sound funny when she yells?

Duh, they said at the same time. 

Snickering, After slid off Boris’s belly to head back to the couch he’d used as a landing pad. 

Since they couldn’t quite manage the large staircase leading to the room with the toy machine, After used the rope to walk up the wall to the vent, and a few twists and turns later, he climbed down a tilted bookshelf to the floor.

Picking a corner they hadn’t explored yet, Before and After began sifting through the various discarded plushes. They took their time, After picking up one and turning it every which way, slowly but surely checking each and every detail. 

That one’s kinda like us, Before said as After lifted a Bendy up. The soft black felt at the top of the white portion of its face had come unstitched, giving him the appearance of slightly melting ink. 

After carefully set the plush aside. We’ll take him home with us, then.

They continued with their self-appointed task, an Alice missing her horns and a Bendy whose squeaker wasn’t working right joining the melting one. 

Caught up in examining a Boris toy, After leapt a couple inches into the air when Before suddenly hollered, Not-Bendy’s coming!

After looked up, his ink bubbling a little at the spike of fear that raced through his heart. There were wall shadows approaching from the direction of Heavenly Toys, extending far enough into the room that After knew he wouldn’t have time to make it to the vent. Already, he could hear not-Bendy’s raspy breathing. 

Scooping up their rescued friends, After dove into the pile of plushes, worming his way to the middle. 

He could just barely see out of a gap between various stuffed limbs, but it was more than enough for him to make out not-Bendy limping into the room. After gulped, trying to quell his trembling. It was a lot different being so close to the monster when he wasn’t safe in a vent. 

It’s okay, Before whispered. After, it’s okay. He’s not gonna see us as long as we don’t move.

After mentally nodded, though he couldn’t quite stop his shaking.

Hey. C’mon. Look at him, After, he’s blind as a bat! He wouldn’t stand a chance against us in a game of hide-n-seek, and the only reason he’s better at tag is ’cause of those darned long legs of his. 

They are pretty long, aren’t they? After relaxed a bit. 

Yeah! And, ’sides, we can always tell when he’s coming, because of those squirmin’ shadows. Y’know, I bet those are smelly lines or something, like in the cartoon, because Searchers always melt whenever he gets too close to them! Not-Bendy’s killin’ them with his stink! What a cheater!

After had to hold his breath to stop from giggling, but he wasn’t tense or trembling anymore. It wasn’t long before not-Bendy moved on, aimlessly wandering somewhere else. 

Thanks, Before, After said as he cautiously poked his head out from his hiding place.

Aww, it was nothing. We should probably head home, though. As much as I’d like to fight not-Bendy for scaring ya, I don’t think he’s got any nuts for me to kick.

Before!

I’m just kidding! Kinda…

You’re right about going home— I think we’ve had enough excitement for one day. After paused as he gathered up the three new additions to their collection. I’m glad you’re feeling better.

Before was silent until After had returned to the safety of the vent, the rope training behind him, carefully tied around each of the plushes for easy transport. 

Me too, he finally said, wiggling closer. 

Their presences pressed up against each other, After began the trek back to where their little home— where the Burnt Picture, and the shirt he’d found while the studio had still been in business, and the rest of their off-model toys, and their Special Candy— waited. 

Where he’d add a tally to the wall. If After remembered correctly, they were nearing the end of their fourth group of twelve. 

They’d have to start a new column soon.

Chapter Text

I don’t remember this room, Buddy said, frowning. He followed Bendy down the stairs regardless, hoping for a piggyback ride on the way back up. 

Me neither. I gotta bad feeling about it, though. Henry’s presence squirmed, and Buddy could feel how much he wanted to leave.

Why’s that?

It was blocked off by ink, Aft—Buddy. That can’t possibly be a good thing.

Ahead of them, Bendy swung his axe down at a lone Searcher. It dissolved, and no more emerged. 

“Looks like we’re safe for now,” Bendy said as he leaned up over the edge of the table, stretching to reach something. Buddy watched as he stepped back with an old tape player in hand. “I don’t think I’ve listened to any of these with you yet, Buddy.” He scrubbed his sleeve over the label, his shoulders drooping at whatever he saw. “Oh. Well, maybe this’ll have some answers.”

I want to leave. I don’t like this.

It’s fine. Bendy’s right, we’ve never payed any attention to the tapes.

We never needed to. 

Bendy pressed play. 

“Only two weeks into this company and already it’s gotten interesting. Joey is a man of ideas… and only ideas.”

Something sharp stabbed through Buddy, coming from Henry. The voice was interesting enough as it continued to play that Buddy might’ve waited to ask if Henry was okay, but whatever that sharpness was, it sure felt a lot like the pain from the Eye Incident.

Henry?

“Instead I give, and he takes.”

A hot, trembly feeling spread through Buddy’s limbs. His heart started to beat faster. It was like something was building inside him.

Henry? Henry!

“When in doubt, just keep drawing, Henry.”

Buddy’s head slowly raised towards the tape. No. No. No no no no no. The something began to tear him apart inside. The section of his mind that Henry occupied went white with loud static. Buddy stumbled back, hands pressing against the sides of his obscured face. His vision wavered, first physically, and then his inner-self began to fade.

Henry! 

The tape was about to end. A very very cold feeling pierced through the heat in Buddy’s core at the thought; the something pulled taut like a stretched rubber band and—

“… a new character I think people are going to love.”

—snapped.

Buddy fell; the static grew.

His breathing became faster and faster, his lungs working overtime until they couldn’t keep up. He’d been shaking before, but now he was nearly convulsing. His legs gave out and he collapsed back against a wall. What little remained of his vision warped. Loud, gaspy sobs shattered in his throat as some instinct he didn’t recognize forced him to shove his palm against his mouth.

It wasn’t static, he realized nonsensically—his whole being felt floaty and disconnected; he didn’t feel real—it was Henry screaming. 

The shreds of their mindscape melded back together, wrong. 

Henry was shoved to the forefront of them, and Buddy felt the inky void rise up to greet him.

• • • • •

Bendy watched, horrified, as the pipsqueak shook wildly on the floor. He’d been fine earlier, but it seemed like as soon as Henry’s tape ended, the little toon had lost it. 

Air was passing uselessly in and out of Buddy at a rate far too fast for such a small body. Ink was dripping off him—something that hadn’t happened before—and a steady stream of static emitted from his grimacing mouth. 

It was like nothing Bendy had ever seen. 

He wanted to help, he did, but every attempt he made at reaching out to Buddy resulted in violent flinches and flailing arms, like he was trying to fight back. Bendy knelt there, babbling about his years outside the studio in hopes that the sound might calm him down.

All at once, like a puppet whose strings were cut, Buddy went limp. 

For a long moment, Bendy was sure his own heart stopped. 

But the little guy was breathing, and the static was gone, so—did that mean he was all right? Had he just passed out?

“Buddy?”

The static returned, subtly increasing before falling into silence again. 

If Bendy hadn’t been paying such careful attention, he would’ve missed the little tendril of ink that raised up from the floor to latch onto Buddy’s ankle. But he saw it, and without so much of a pause, it spread; suddenly, Buddy was melting.

• • • • •

“Buddy!”

There was nothing—there was pain—there was—Joey? No, not Joey, please no, he was going to—

He couldn’t—Henry tried to—no! Let me go! 

Stop, stop, it hurts— 

Empty, full, bursting, collapsing—dying.

One. Be One. You are One.

He’s gone—where did—who—

He is Budd—After—not-After—Before—who was—am—I? Lost, I am lost.

Void. Screaming. No no no no no no—

I was huma—

Stop it! Let me go! 

Hͫ̾̐e͊͋ͩ l p̿̇ͤ͌ͦͥ ̽͌ͫͣ͒ͪ m̋ eͣ̑̂̿̿͌͑̊ͣ .̋ ͆͌̃̐̉

Join us. Join us! JOIN US! 

Drowning. Drowning.  D r o w n i n g . . .

I̷̧̹͓̜̳̥͉͔̤̮̳͔͐̅͑̓͢ͅTͨ̏ͮ̔͗ͣ̄̃̌ͥ̓̍͏̧̼̫̪̟ ̗͓̲̰̤̣̟̝̦̻̘͍̐̂͌͑ͤ͂̒ͭ̎͌ͭ̀H̸̷̲̼͇̻̗̮͙̿ͮ̆ͪ͑͜͠ͅU̸͍͍͚̲͓̜͍̰͆̒̀̒͘R̵͈̬͔͇̻̮̺̹̦̠̗̤͎̹̱͚̘̽̔̽̋ͯ͐̅̉̏̆̃͌ͮ͐̈̓̚͡T̸̑ͬ͌͑̎ͫ̾̅͆̾̓̓̋̈͋͗͝҉̵̛̹̼̘̦̖̲̜̘̭͍͓Ş̵̺̦͉̬̥̩̬͍̩ͭ̇̅̆̒̓̊́ͭ̑ͪ̋ͧ̀́͘ͅ ̨̰̖̖̜̖̰̭͖̤̘͎̭͔ͨͪ̽́̒́̕͝T̡̃͛̆ͦ̒̑ͧ͌ͮ̒̾ͨ͐͒͂̐̓́͏̞̤̥̮̻͈̬͇̰̱̼͎̟̳O̷̪͓̬̜͖̫̳̘͍̳̣͇̳̦͛̃̀͐͑͗́͘ͅÖ̙͈̮͓̝̩̦͖̯̪̤̰̯̲̮̦́ͫͬ̔ͦ͒̀͠ ̰̙͔̥̜͕͙̼͔͑͋͌̒ͩ͗͢͡͞M̴͇͙̮̰̥̻̟̥̟͎̿̋ͪ̄͒̊̾̽̕͜͝͞Ǘ̷͔̙͇̯̥͂̀͊̊̂C̡͈͙̼̫̑̐ͮͨ͒ͮͮ̀̋̚͟Ḩ̡͕̙̤̥͎̩͇͍̺͙̦͇̭ͮͭͪ͋͂ͪ̆͘͜͞ͅ,̢̰̲̱͕͔̥̝͕̳̜̈ͧ͆ͪ̎̀͐ͪ̎͊̏̽͌̀̿̚͟͢͞͠ ̶̡͓̰͇͇̲̘̫̹̃̍̎̔̄̇͒ͩͤ̃̆ͭ̅̐̂̊͗ͣ̚͘Į̛̣̫͉̙͉͇̞͕̜͖̬͗̒ͦͤ͂͌ͪ̈́ͣ͆͑́̐̈́͂̍ͥ͟ͅ ͑́ͣ͋̌͠҉̪̜̲̦̮͉̯̜̭̲̭͖̲̣̼̘́̕͡ͅC̵͙̝̠̤͕̲̯̜̩̙̬̪̟͍͔͚ͮ̇̿̌̇ͯ͛ͫ̽̒͜͡A̛͎̫̬͚̯̮̺̺͚̞͈̟̮̳͇͓͕̒̇ͤ̀̀̀͘͝ͅͅN͔̦̰͍͓̟͇̤̼̤̲̰͎ͣ̐͛̈͊̿ͤ̓̇̀̐͒͌̈̐̈͂͛̕͟'̵̷̯̮̩͙͎͈̏ͫ̃̋̈̾ͮ̿͝T̷̬͉̣͈͙̫̭̫̻̫̩̹̼͈̉̎̍̎͒̽̑ͬͥ̀͛̎̀̓̐ͥ͟ͅͅ ̸̘̦̦̟̠̭̙̼̣̺͐ͪͪ̉̉͗̔̑̌ͅD̴̨̮͙̟̺̝̘̜̟͖̬͓̝͌̆̑̂͐̎̅̆̒ͪ̄̆̔̅̾͂̀̚͝O̶͇͚̺̭̝̘͙̺̹̺̼̦̣͔̬ͮ̌̎̒̈́̒͘͝ ̷̷̡̡̠͓͎̰̈́̈ͬͤͭͯ͂̅ͩȈ̡̢̞̯̠̼̟̗̺̥͎̝͇̰͕̤̯̘̉́́ͯͪͩ͌ͣ̄͑̀T̶̢̞̬̹͇͔̘͇̪̬̪ͣ̀ͧ̓͋́ͮ̎ͬ̑͆̓ͨ̓͐̒̀̕ͅ,̴̷̧̙̻̥̟̦͇̖ͮ̅͗̾̉ͦ͑̎̋̈́ͩ̿̈̓̑̋̉͆̾ ̧̮̯͔͚̜͈͉̗̫͚̲̻̬̫̩ͬ͗ͮ̃̅͑͝P̸̪̭̼̩̯̞͚̺̻̤̣̥̱ͯ̅̊̃̒̆͛̚͘̕͡Lͬͬ̋̓̂͏̶͙̻̘̞̠̦̘̮̥͓̠̗́́Ȩ̡͙̺̻̩͔͎̱̞̥͇͚͖̭ͯͦ̾ͦ̒ͧͨ͒ͨ͜͟A̿ͣ̆ͤ̆͏̶̨̫̼̤̱̳̱͇͓͈̱̼͖͈͟S̵̵̞͙̪͚̤͓͙̰̙ͪͨ̈́̃ͬ̌̄͗̚͞E͖̞̹̱̦̻̺͕̝̠̲̭͉̘͗ͯͯ͐͌ͨͨ͊̑̕͘ ̴̷̵ͮ̒̅ͦ͑̈́̂ͮ̚͡҉̳̲̦̤̮̦̠̼͚̹̩̤̲T̨̙̱̗̣̬͍͋͗̓̍͌͐̀ͮ̾̏ͣ͆͂ͫ̀ͭ̚͟À̴̖̫̥̤͍̹͔̘̘̟͙̱̐͋̅̃͐͋̃̾͆͋ͭ͞K̶̵͎̳̻̘͉̝͈͈̹̟̹͈ͫ̔̉̃̑ͣ̃̏̿͡E̢̠̩͈͓͍̗̹͔̜̠͎̟̙͉̩̗͈͋͐ͨ̎̔̏ͨͬͭ̆̽̑ͣ̾͢͢ͅ ̲̻̗̬̜͖̜ͤ̽ͩ̓͆͛̐̋ͮ̏̾͗͐̔ͪ̄͟͝M̥̱͉̝̺̜̞̬̘͖͎̿ͬͦ͗̓͒́ͯ͒ͬͧͫ́͜ͅȨ̸̘̜̰͙̝̻͎͚̠̜̙̝̞̟͐͂̃ͭͩ̃̐̆ͣͪ̀͜,̵̶̈́̂̿̒͂̓͂҉̶͈͈͓͎͙̬̘̘͖͍͙̼̩̀ ̴͔̼̲̳͎̰̠̪̰͕̘͍͈̝̺̅ͫͭ̒̂̐ͣ͊̃ͫ̏ͤ̾͒͌͊͒ͥ͞͞ͅͅK̵̛̼͔͍̘̼͇̎͗̏̍̋̆͂̿̎̾͊ͧ̎̆̐̀̚̚I̍ͥ̏ͩ͐͊̾̒͂ͮ̂̿̿̑̚҉̴̫̭͔̱̦̰̺̝̣͔̤͇͎̀ͅL̸̷̽͂̽ͮ̐͛̆͋̂̇͘͜҉̗̰̣̫L̢̨̹̜͓̩ͦ̓̉̿ͥ̾̇ͧͤͣͯ͂ͫ̂͑ͤ̅ ̵̡̜̲̩̪̮̺͎͍̹̲̜̭̬̺̞͕͓̻ͩ͌ͧͪͨ͐ͯ̌ͪ̄̀̎ͥ͛ͬ̚͡͝M̴̧̠̹̹̟̬̻̞͕̹̟͇̰̼̗̣̗̤ͧ̽̔ͤ̿̈́ͦͧͤͥ̿̿ͯ͗Ȩ̮̞͓̞̼͚̗̖̯̼̜͐ͩ͌̔̔̂̈́̓͐̎̂̆̇͗͐̚̚͘͝ͅ,̿̎ͨ͛҉҉̛͎̠̼͙̤̦̰̀͜ ̶̴̟̜̜͙͎̙͔͊ͤ̎ͩ̓̃͂ͬ͆͛ͦ̓̌̾͛͘I̷̱̲̤̬̠̲̼̰͍̼̤͉ͯ̅ͧ̎̓ͥ̈́̊ͤ̓̈̀͛̃̚̚͜͠ͅ ̴̛̠͉̭̻̪͙̮̲̯͚̞̭̳̘̺̘ͭ́̔̉̎͛̃̉̍ͥ̐̒̀͘ͅW͎̼̜̤̹ͥ̏ͦͫ͑͑̓̒̚͟͡͡ͅA͋̾ͨ͌ͦ̑̚҉̡̲̼̪͈̯̰̗̜̭̖͓̻̙̠̻͈̳Ņ̶̦̩̗̳͙̹͓̮̮̲͙̦̲̳̰̮̫̺̥͆͊̌͑̂̾̿̽͒ͫͧ͐ͣ̈̚͝T̨̡̢̳̗̻̝̖̣̖͖̩͖̓ͭͫ̓͆̇ͬͨ̑ͤͭͨͫ̚͘ͅ ͧ̃ͨ͊ͪ͋̓ͩ͐͂̓͗̀̐͋̇͏̯͓̬̻͇̟Ţ̛̥̩̟̞̟̝̰͇͉͕̤̥͎ͣ̈́͑̾̈̒ͩ͋̒̚͝O̶̰͖͓͔͍̿̾ͥ̓́ͮͧ̍́́ ̌̑̐ͯ̍͗͗͂͐̾́͘͏͈̲̘̠̜̣̞́D͎̤̰͉͈̹̬̩̰͇͙̤͖̊̔͌̃ͯͯ̄̈́̊̉́́͘͘͡ͅI̸̡̨͖̰̗̭̳͉̾̾̾ͫ͜E̞̙̗͕̩̻̱̠̘͇͚̫͙ͮͯ̾̋̈́̓̃ͨͥ̇̊ͫ͗͌ͣͦ͑͂̒̕͢͞ͅ,̶̸̩̞̳̻̻̖̬̤̳̖͍͚͕͇̌ͨ̓̌̌́͘͝ ̬̝̻͇̲̲͌̅̀̚͟͝E͔̻̲̘̟͂̉̏ͦ̍̓͋̂̽ͫ̾͑̓̄ͬ̐̀̀͘N̷͔͓̳̘̹̞͇̖̯̭̰̜̙̙̍̉͗̒ͦͬͣ͌̀͘D̢̝̮̖̾̈́ͪ͒̈́̑̃͒̉̿͊̾̎̚͞ ̷̨̮͔͙̣̬̺̙̲͉̱̳̟̟̤͊̒͋̿͒ͣ̑̀́͞T̢͙̲̭̝̝͚̪̳̺̙͉̦͎̱͉̺ͯ͐ͪ͊͟H̵̢̥̪͍̟̳̦̞̰͐̐̈́̚͟ͅI̶̶̩̱̫̻̠͉̮͖̤̝̝̩̭̦̭͚͎ͦ̒͌͛̉ͩͪͦ͆͆̈͆̿͛ͯ͌̚͘͠S̢̝̤͉̬̮̲̉̈̄̈̈́̿ͨͬͫ̌̈́͌ͯͫ̀͘͢ ̛̟̜̦̜̞̫ͪͤͭ̂͐ͦͦ̀͢͟͞S̶̡̡̩͕̫̥̠̺͓͎͉͕͚̱̜̟̙̠͓̲̋̇̇͊̒͞Ú͊̓͂̀҉҉̹̳̹͈̞̺̙̘̘̜͎̹ͅF̡̤͈̙̭͉̼̺̫ͤͪͧͯ̽̃ͤ͑̓̒̄̉̅̚͘Ḟ̡ͥ͗̔ͬͦ̔ͦͭ̍͆̒̊҉̛̻̟͖̬̣͍̲̥̩̗͟ͅͅẺ͑̈́̉ͭ̉̏̇̉͛҉̳̣̰̟̰̯̗̞̣̬ͅR̙̮̥̺͈̺̠̜̰̳̠͎̻̞̣̠̊ͤ̄̏̽̍̓̃ͮ̄͐͒ͯ̚͢ͅI̢ͮͯ̍ͭͮ̽̊͏̶͏̬͙̝̠̭͈͉̣͕͚̬̗ͅN̶̉̓ͪ̀ͫ̑͊͐͋ͩ̃͊̑̍͝͏̗̟͙͖̱̱̭̖̝̖͇͎͉̣̲̹̝͟͠G̸̩̝̮̳̝̞͚͕̲̟̭̩̺̭̠̟̦̽̌ͮ͊ͩ͋͌̏ͯ̓̓̄ͣ̇̚͟

The everything and nothing coalesced in Henry’s chest. The Ink reached out like an old friend and offered peace.

Henry-Before-One-Lost-Alone—who was he?—extended his hand—

(There was no need for thoughts in a hive-mind.)

—but Bendy grabbed him instead. 

• • • • •

Floating. Floating in nothing, in everything. Paradoxically alive and dead, One and None. 

—sharp pinprick stabbing, stretching, shrinking, made new, made better—

Voices screamed around him, deafening. He couldn’t hear any of it. He saw the words and tasted their anger and felt  n o t h i n g .

—Wrong, finally stopped screaming, just a rough draft—

Who am I? I don’t know.

—mistake, mistake, mistake, Mistake—

All I know is what I am not.

—a light in the darkness, an Other— 

Help. He needed help.

—something happened, something that divided them—

A soft touch, a whisper of a time befo—

Before and After. 

Buddy came back to life. 

Or at least—mostly to life. 

His presence was devastatingly entwined with Henry’s, with no discernible end or beginning. They’d almost become One, like the way Susie and and the Wrong Alice had become a screaming amalgamation. Even worse, the Ink had almost taken them.

Henry?

His Other was gently convulsing, his entire being irrevocably shattered, held together only by Buddy’s own. And that was when Buddy realized, with horror building up within him, that Henry had control of their body.

Henry?

There was no response. No static, no emotion, not so much as a twitch. It was as though Henry was just… gone, leaving the shell of his presence behind.

Henry, please. Are you there?

Buddy didn’t face any resistance when he pulled control back to himself. Their individual minds began to slowly unravel, returning to their proper places. Henry’s crumbled a bit, dust dissolving into nothingness, but the cracks didn’t get worse. 

Something touched his body, and with a startled gasp of static, Buddy shot upright, smacking headfirst into Bendy’s face. 

They each reeled back with a cry. 

Buddy rubbed the stinging spot and cautiously peeked at Bendy. Not an hour earlier, he would’ve gotten frustrated or snarky with Buddy for bumping their heads like that. But now, he just stared at him as if he’d seen a ghost— which, Buddy knew he couldn’t see them, so that wasn’t it.

“Ya had me pretty scared there, pipsqueak. Are you… are you all right?”

Joey would’ve wanted him to nod; Joey wouldn’t have cared if his not-Bendy wasn’t all right.

He slowly shook his head.

Bendy blew out a shaky breath. He stood, and carefully picked the tape recorder up off the floor, flinching slightly when Buddy tensed. 

“I don’t know what that was. I’m… I’m not sure I want to know,” Bendy said. He cast a glance at the name tag on the unremarkable machine. Bendy laid it on the table, out of Buddy’s sight. “But,” he continued, “is there anything I can do?”

Buddy turned inward to Henry, silent and still somehow missing. His Other wasn’t dead or gone gone, he would’ve felt that. But there was something deeply and unquestionably wrong. 

Wondering if he looked as hopelessly lost as he felt, Buddy shrugged.

“Okay. Okay.” Bendy nodded to himself. Coming to stand in front of Buddy, he scooped him up and started the trek to the main stairwell. “We’ll figure this out, Buddy,” he said, voice cracking slightly on his name. 

Exhausted in every way possible, Buddy simply nodded and curled closer into Bendy. No one had every carried him like this before; it felt nice, like he wasn’t alone.

Alone. But he was alone. Henry was still gone. 

Buddy didn’t want to be One without his Other, not again. It hurt too much, and he was sure he wouldn’t last long without him. The Ink was a constant danger, and there were too many days to count where Henry had been the only reason he was able to escape a close call.

Henry? he called quietly. Please, please try to find your way back. I’m waiting, and I’m lonely, and I need you. 

Please? For me?

Henry?

Chapter Text

Henry laughed as Joey threw an arm around his shoulders, waving at the studio in front of them. “Can you believe it?” Joey asked. “It’s finally happened!”

“No, I can’t,” Henry said. “It feels a bit like a dream.”

“Ah, yes. But remember, my friend: dreams come true!”

“Yeah.” Henry smiled, thinking of the great team they had built. It was only a matter of time now before their animations—before Bendy and Boris and Alice—would make it to the big screen, as alive as Henry could make them. “Yeah, they do.” 

They’d gone through their trials to reach this point, had experienced setbacks aplenty, moments of doubt too numerous to keep track of, and even a family emergency or two that they’d been sure would spell their downfall. But here they were, finally. 

The worst was behind them.

• Over Thirty Years Later •

Buddy shrieked, the static hurting even his own ears, as he tugged at the ink wrapped around his wrist. Across the room, Bendy was forced farther and farther away from him by a growing hoard of Searchers. 

“You’ve gotta fight it, Buddy!” he called, swinging his axe. 

I am! Buddy shouted.

His heart ached at the silence that answered him. Usually Henry would respond with something along the lines of, Well, fight harder! C’mon, After, show that ink who’s boss!

But there was nothing now. Just an empty, gaping void. Buddy’d been alone for a while in the beginning, but those times hurt so much to think about. He wasn’t sure he could survive the experience of being alone now that he knew how it felt to have his Other. 

The ink snaked higher, pulling him down. 

No!

Just give in, the ink whispered, and the pain will go away. 

You’re lying! Buddy cried. I don’t want to be One with you!

Why not? You’ll never amount to anything anyway. You’re Nothing, you’re just a reject that’s past your prime. Worthless. No one would even miss you.

Th-that’s not true! Bendy would—

Bendy? You mean the Original? What use are you to him? He said it himself: you’re a runt, a pipsqueak. He doesn’t need you, and he certainly doesn’t want you!

Buddy shook his head. His movements—without him quite noticing—began to slow. You’re lying, he whispered. You have to be lying.

Perhaps, the ink said, with the impression of a shrug. But I suppose it doesn’t really matter if I’m lying, does it? What matters is that you believe it. Don’t you?

In a slightly less horrible world, Henry would’ve been there to scream the closest things to obscenities he could get in response to the words. He would yank at Buddy, berate him for giving up and losing to ink of all things—and after they’d outsmarted Joey and not-Bendy for so long, too—and snap him out of it. He would give Buddy what amounted to a smack upside the head for him and tell him not to be silly, because screw the rest of the world, Henry needed Buddy, and that was all that mattered. 

But Henry was gone. 

And so, with no one there to make a difference, Buddy’s mind curled in on itself.

You’re Nothing, the ink repeated as it reached for Buddy’s heart.

• • • • •

“Hey, Henry.”

Leaning back from his desk, Henry cracked his neck. He twisted around to see one of the other animators poking his head around the corner.

“Is something wrong?” Henry asked.

“Nah, Joey just wants to see you in the main projector room.”

“Was it urgent?” He gestured back at his work area. “I’m in the middle of this scene.” 

The other animator shrugged. “He seemed to be in a good enough mood. I’m sure you could get away with a couple’a minutes.” He ducked out of sight.

Henry sighed. He’d just finish this frame, and then he’d go see what Joey wanted. Luckily, he was already mostly done, so it wasn’t a long delay before he was heading off.

In the center of the main projector room, Joey stood with his hands on his hips, watching their most recent animation play out on the screen in front of him. 

“Henry!” Joey cried upon noticing his entrance. “Come in, come in. You only missed the first few minutes.”

With a little laugh, he joined his friend. “I animated it, Joey. It’s not like I don’t know what’s gonna happen.”

Joey knocked their shoulders together. “Hush, and enjoy the result of your hard work.”

They watched the animation play out together, side-by-side. Partners.

By the time it ended, a warm feeling had taken root in Henry’s chest. Sure, it wasn’t like anything was a surprise to him—and at least some part of his mind had done nothing but point out teeny tiny mistakes—but he couldn’t deny his love for his work, and that included seeing it all put together, into something beautiful. 

“Another job well done!” Joey told him. 

“Just think,” Henry said, smiling. "Someday, Joey, we’ll bring these little guys to life. Off the screen, living, breathing, just as real off the page as they are on.” It was so easy to imagine. It’d be wonderful.

There was a moment of silence where Joey didn’t answer him. The cartoon clicked off, leaving the room only dimly lit. In the suddenly increased darkness, Henry could’ve sworn the studio looked… different, somehow. He frowned. Something wasn’t right. He turned to his friend, only to find Joey staring at him.

“Oh, Henry,” Joey gave him a sad, gentle look. “I already have.”

The warm feeling went cold and thick. Heavy, crowding against his heart. He pressed a hand to his sternum. “…what?”

“Don’t you remember? Bendy, Alice, and Boris—don’t you remember them?”

Henry didn’t. 

Joey grinned. There was something wrong with the shape his mouth took. “And then there was you. You wanted to leave, but I couldn’t let you.”

Henry slowly backed up, shaking his head.

“Wasn’t that your dream? To see your art brought to life?”

The chill in his chest stretched out, reaching.

“It was you,” Henry said, “It was all—you did something. To me." It sounded like something from a dream, or a past life, or—or a nightmare. 

Joey tilted his head back and forth like he was considering Henry’s words. “Yes, I did. But then, you never seemed to care.”

When he tried to take another step away from Joey, Henry found he couldn’t. Looking down, he watched as ink crept up his legs, which—were shorter and… wrong. 

He was… Wrong. 

A shadow fell over him, growing, stretching, devouring. Through pie-cut eyes, Henry watched as a monster shed the skin of his best friend, twisting his bones and wearing Joey’s smile—no. Only half of Joey’s smile. The other side was Bendy’s.

His fingers fused together, white ink gathering and solidifying in the gaps. Mitten-hands.

Karmic retribution, Henry thought, though he immediately wondered why. Retribution for what?

Joey’s head became malformed, his skull reshaping itself to include a curving horn on one side like a wobbly half-crescent moon. The flesh on the cheek below it melted off, becoming ink before it could splatter to the floor. His body hunched over as massive pipes sprouted from his shoulders to his lower back, keeping his body bent and looming. Gears protruded from his chest down into the single mass of his legs, oozing into the floor like a Searcher’s. 

Trash stuck to the goopy ink there, old plushies with misshapen smiles, playfully off-model sketches, a cracked record or two, even a wrench and what appeared to be a half-drowned book. 

It looked painful. It was terrifying. It was…

It was a monster he’d only ever seen once before—

Before.

Before. 

The world short circuited around him, and his connection to the past was lost. The memories swirled out of his mind like dead fish down a toilet bowl.

Jerking into existence, Before immediately felt something was wrong. After was—he was dying. 

He fought his way up from the foggy darkness, pulling himself back together just in time to hear the ink whisper to his drowning Other, You’re Nothing.

Wrong! Henry cried, lunging to wrap his fractured self around Buddy. He’s my Everything!

The ink shrieked as Henry shoved it away, giving it no chance to recover and fight back. He might not be able to kick Joey in the balls—especially now—and he might not be able to relieve Buddy of the pain and stress of control, but by golly! He’d save and protect Buddy from the ink as many times as he had to.

You can’t have him! Rage built up within him, familiar in the way only dreams and unrealities could be familiar.

Now leave him Á̢̠͙̭̝̤̫ͬ̊̋͢͝ͅ ̸̡̛̼̞̲̟̦͈͇̹̘̱̝ͭ̆̃ͯ̄̾̐̅ͣ͌̚̚͘͝ L̦͔̼̣̻̝͙̮͇̫̭̗ͦͤͫ̿͌̉̔̍͝ͅͅ ͊ͧ̇ͪ͂͌̚҉͎̬̰̳̀͜͠Ơ̷̹̜͚̭̰͑͊͛ͭ͊̃ͥ̽̑̂͑̀ ͗̍ͧ̈̎͌́̿͂̚͘͏̛͕̼̣͙̥͖̟̜͔̭̲̖̳̝͕̩̼͙́͜N̡̖̣̫̤͔̰̣̥̩̦̲͍̹͓͚̤͕̼ͮͮͦ͂̐ͪ͋͒̆͗͐ͦ̾̚̚͘̕͝ͅ ̛̿̐ͤ̎̆̽̔́͝҉̙̫͚̝̝͖̺͎̘̻E̷͖̻͕̭̲̼̗̣̦̼̜͈̬̍̿̇͒ͥ̽͋́̈́ͯ̌̎̄̌͐͆̃̈̚̕ͅ ̡͈̯̮̫͕͈̼̼͚̥̳͕͇̠͇̥̒̽̐͒̌͂̈͊̓ͫ̄̆̍̈̀̕ͅ!̵̵̨̤͙̯̭̥̝͚͕̺͖̭̻͈̝̻̖͖͙̝͙̘͖̝̜͕̙͓̖̳̏̋̓ͪ̈́ͫͯͩͪ̋̓̐͛ͩ̈́͢͞

Like a light switch being flicked on to chase the shadows of a room away, something bright and strong—indomitable and inevitable—surged through their body and seared against the invading ink. The One voice of it screeched as it writhed around, trying to escape before total destruction. 

Henry didn’t give it that mercy. 

Its hold on Buddy shriveled and died, what remained on their physical body retreating with a splat against the floorboards. 

Silence inside their mind.

Buddy?

Feeling as though he was plunging his hand through cold water, Henry stretched deep into their combined being, where the ends of them came together, and gently scooped Buddy’s tiny, shivering presence up. 

You… you came back, Buddy whispered.

Henry had the strange sensation of being significantly larger than his Other as he cradled Buddy against himself. Yeah, he said. I always do, remember?

Buddy slowly nodded. Henry carefully started to let him go, but his presence latched onto Henry’s, desperation curling his edges tighter. 

Please don’t let me go. I… I can’t… 

Rocking their minds as best he could, being intangible, Henry shushed him. Funny, he felt older somehow. Aged. 

I don’t wanna let you go, Buddy, but I’ve gotta so you can take control. 

Buddy trembled. I can’t right now. Please, I’m not enough—I… Will you do it instead?

He couldn’t. As much as he wanted to, as much as he longed to take that burden off his Other, Henry wasn’t able to handle having control by himself. Unless, maybe—

What if we both do it?

With a violent shudder, Buddy whimpered. But then we’d be One. I don’t want to be One.

No, not One, Henry told him. Together. Nothing more or less than Together.

Remaining separate, they filled in the empty bits of their body. It wasn’t something that could last forever, perhaps not even for long—but it was a start. 

• • • • •

As soon as the last Searcher finished dissolving, Bendy took off down the short length of hallway he’d been backed through by the horde. Buddy hadn’t been doing so well last he’d seen the pipsqueak, and he couldn’t help but worry that he’d be too late to save him. Last time had been close enough.

There was no denying the wave of relief that swept through him at the sight of Buddy sitting up on the floor, wiggling his limbs like he was testing them out for the first time. 

Bendy slid to a stop in front of him. “You all right, kid?”

It seemed he’d worked out whatever problems he’d been dealing with since the room with Henry’s tape, since Buddy turned his largest shaky grin yet to Bendy, giving him a double thumbs up.

The difference was almost unbelievable, actually. Buddy didn’t just seem slightly improved, he was acting like an entirely different person.

Something about that nagged at Bendy, but he wasn’t quite sure what.

“You seem better, pipsqueak. Something good finally come your way?”

Buddy nodded enthusiastically and said something in his incomprehensible language.

Funny. The static was making him hear things. If it wasn’t so ridiculous a thought, he coulda sworn that Buddy had said, “Together.”