Chapter Text
"Glad to see you again, pal. How are you feeling?"
"Better."
"I have a surprise for you."
"I can't wait."
~~==~~==~~==~~==
Ink, like blood, dripped down the walls. Black oozing from between the cracks. The empty halls groaned with the weight of the deserted studio. Ghosts haunted the desks, ghosts of people & memories long gone. Light flooded from the entrance, the only thing to illuminate the pools of ink splattered in corners & across surfaces. Gears on one side of a wall groaned & creaked, sluggishly spinning behind a dusty sign. 'Joey Drew Studios' it said. An eerie buzzing sounded from the room up ahead, of a movie projector that certainly shouldn't have been on. The piercing whiteness at the end of the tunnel of ink held a familiar, grinning face. A perpetual smile & two pie-cut eyes was what was haunting the empty room. The old animation bounced up & down in a loop, its lifeless eyes following the equally old animator as he paced the once familiar halls.
"Alright, Joey. I'm here. Let's see if we can find what you wanted me see." Henry mumbled to himself. His voice reverberated of the walls, far too loud for the soft spoken man's comfort. He cringed at how frighteningly quiet it was only a second later, save for the lone projector. Henry couldn't help thinking of how much this place had changed. No longer where people running about these halls, occasionally bumping into one another. No longer did the noise of conversation & happiness drown out the droning & scratching of pens. No longer did Henry spend hours at a time at his desk, until a coworker or friend reminded him that: he too needed a break. No, none of that was there anymore. In truth, last time the place was this quite was when Joey first bought it, with all the money Henry worked so hard to earn for him, just for this place to be theirs. Back then, they were no more than two youngsters, barely into their twenties, one armed with a pen & talent, & the other with smarts & a dream. These things were now long gone, 30 years if Joey was actually counting. Knowing him, he most likely was.
"...I'm outta here." Said the voice of none other Wally Franks. When Henry decided to switch the audio log on he didn't know what to expect. He didn't even know how old the log was. But appeasing gods & unusual rituals certainly weren't at the top of his list. Nor where they at the bottom. This was Joey that Wally was speaking of. Henry shouldn't have been surprised. One thing that didn't surprise him, was the Ink Machine. Its scale & grandeur outmatched anything he had ever seen in his life. And yet, it was still that accursed machine that made him grimace anytime it used to be brought up. Still, here it was, silently begging & nagging him to switch it on. Surely, this was what Joey wanted, right? What he had planned. It really left him no other choice, really. And anyway, there was no way Joey got it to work like he planned. That was simply absurd on so many levels. Right?
"Who put that there?" Henry gasped. A Bendy cut out stood before him, on the cross roads where there never stood a Bendy cut-out before. And really, it should never had stood there. Such a safety hazard. It brought back memories of all the safety lectures an old friend of his would dish out on a regular basis. The mechanic that complained about safety more than he did anything to reinforce it. But that wasn't what he was paid for, after all. What did bring the cash, however, he was exceptionally good at. But at the Bendy cut out, he'd certainly have a go. Now that Henry thought about it, where had the cut out come from, anyway? Who put it there? Henry wiped his glasses, & looked around again. There was no one around except... A ripped open Boris on display. The only light in the room were a couple of scarcely spread out candles. They illuminated the truth that Henry found hard to believe. The truth that there was a real, dead Boris right in front of him. No... It couldn't have been true. It wasn't true. It was simply a suit, or a replica, a cruel joke that someone set up for their own, cruel amusement. It wasn't real, none of it was. If he just kept telling himself that, he'd eventually believe it. I was best not to think about it. He never really understood much of Joey's ramblings, so there was no point in trying to understand what was going on. He just busied himself with finding the offerings. That way he'd see what Joey wanted him to, most likely, see, and he'd be able to leave. Yeah. that sounded perfect. In the end, it took a lot of guess work on what half of the 'offerings' could be. He did get them all. Eventually. They included an adorable Bendy plush, a wrench found in Boris' chest, a book titled 'The Illusion of Living', written by Joey himself etc... He hoped the book was about animation, not bringing cartoon characters to life. He didn't even dare open it. What use would it do anyway? But, had Joey really... No, he couldn't have. It was impossible. Though it did seem as if he went completely mad in Henry's absence. Oh, Joey. Henry preferred not to think about it. Preferred not to think about any of this, more than he had to at least. The sooner he got out of there, the better. He was so close to getting out, too. Until he reached the boarded up doorway. Since when was the Ink Machine room boarded up? Upon approaching it closer, Henry held his breath & dared look inside. Maybe it was just Joey playing a prank on him? Or more likely it was Wally. Wally liked pranks. And he liked Henry. And he liked pranking Henry. It could've been him. Or him & Joey. Absolutely nothing to worry about. No...
"Heeeeennryyyy!" A mass of ink jumped out at him, gurgling & screaming his name. It grabbed at him with disfigured hands, trying to pull him back. Henry was thrown back, landing awkwardly. He scrambled up, the pain clouded by fear. He had to run. All he could think about was to run. Run for his dear life as the studio collapsed around him, ink flooding the halls entirely. It dribbled from the ceiling, waterfalls of black blocking the halls & passages. The doorway stood barely ajar, Henry's last hope, the light at the end of the tunnel & his ticket out of hell. He was so close to it, until a crack drowned that hope. The ground gave out underneath him & he plummeted. He fell into the jaws of hell, no hope of surviving. Pipes & broken planks jutted out of the walls, catching on his clothing & tearing him apart. They battered his worn out body. When he collided with the floor, he lay there for a second, submerged in ink. Then something inside him pushed on. He jumped up, gasping for air as he stood up in the ink pool. He was alive. Bruised & tired, but alive. Ink reached his waist, & if it wasn't that he didn't fancy drowning, he would've collapsed on the spot. One arm against the wall, he carried on, draining the room he was in. He debated with himself whether he should rest or not. It was tempting to just lay down & sleep for days, but the old animator knew that he couldn't do that. Getting out was his top priority. But, oh God, he was exhausted. Multiple sleepless nights & an adrenaline fueled run. He'd pass out at this rate. Then, that thing would most likely catch him. He needed to get out, fast.
As he looked around, he found an axe (score!), and he realised that whatever hole he had fallen down, was in fact a part of the studio. Not a part he remembered but Joey clearly built out after he left. The new animation wing, & the nice lounge area with the darts, & this area, possibly attached to the Music Department in some way (hopefully). Joey had been busy. As he descended further, he wished he was currently going up. Keeping his eyes open was starting to become a right pain.
"What is going on here?" Henry gasped. The room he found himself in shortly after was mostly bare & uninteresting. It was lit up with a handful of candles, a bunch of shelves at one end, boxes at the other, & coffins opposite him. Empty ones, he hoped. The only other door was boarded up, as was the one he came through before, well, he came through it. What worried Henry the most, was the pentagram etched into the centre of the floor with, hopefully, red ink. The half light of the candles gave of an eerie, gloomy atmosphere. It felt... forbidden. A room that no one was ever meant to find. A secret boarded up from the inside. Hidden from the world for the rest of time. He could've turned back at that moment. He could've went back, found an alternate rout, maybe a way to climb back up to where he fell from. Instead, he let his curiosity get the best of him. He stepped around the pentagram with utmost care. Yet, he froze up, the axe slipping from his grasp. Images flashed before his eyes, before he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.
~~==~~==~~==~~==
"Alice! ALICE!" Screeched the short demon, his huge, black boots pounding on the ground as he frantically run in circles around the human he had found unconscious on top of a pentagram. He was panicking. Why was the man there? Why was there red on the floor? WHY WAS HE NOT RESPONDING?
"Bendy! Stop screaming! I'm here already." A gently voice spoke from the doorway. Into the room came none other than Alice Angel in all her cartoonish, angelical glory. Perfectly styled, black hair; makeup done beautifully; a silk, black dress closely hugging her thin, hourglass frame, showing just enough smooth, unblemished skin. Perfect & angelic in every aspect. Even her horns & halo shone as if freshly polished. On the other hand, Bendy was a panicking mess. Bow-tie askew; gloves dirty with ink; short, thick fur standing on end. He was simply a mess.
"Bendy? Are you OK?" From behind Alice, tail wagging, came an alive & happy Boris. But the moment he saw his brother in such a distressed state he dropped his smile & cocked his head. His tail stopped abruptly. He couldn't be happy if Bendy wasn't happy. They were best friends after all! Boris didn't understand why Bendy was so scared, though. Neither him nor Alice seemed to notice the animator laying at Bendy's feet, concentrating on the little demon, who seemed about to loose it.
"LOOK! HENRY! HURT!" Bendy spouted out, all coherence lost as he bounced on the spot, pointing at Henry quite frantically.
"Henry? But he's... Henry!" The two other living toons rushed up to the animator. Atop the pentagram, in the centre of the unusual, boarded up room, lay none other than Henry the animator. His glasses lay askew on his face, eyes scrunched up & teeth gritted in pain. Red 'ink' dribbled from his nose, gently pooling about his head in a crimson halo. The axe he had previously found, lay discarded beside his right hand, his wrist unnaturally red & swollen. Alice knelt beside him, checking for a pulse. It was faint, but steady. She brushed a gentle hand through his messy hair, revealing silver streaks & crimson specks among the brown. Yes, this was Henry. The perpetual bedhead & the bags under his eyes where the same. In each of Joey's pictures, he was accompanied by that tired looking, kind young man. Yet the changes were still clear as day. He was older, wrinkles creasing his forehead & scars decorating his pale skin. This was a man that had lived, shelter free from the cruelties of the world. But the toons didn't understand that yet. He only looked older to them on the outside.
"Are you sure this is Henry?" Boris asked.
"Of course!" Bendy screeched louder than necessary, earning a pointed glare from Alice.
"He's not exactly like in Papa Joey's photographs." He pointed out, the concept of ageing still mostly foreign to the youngest of the living cartoon trio.
"Of course he's not! Humans do this thing called 'ageing', remember? Over long periods of time they begin to change and start to look different." Bendy explained. Boris only looked more confused.
Before the cartoon wolf could speak up again, Alice stood up & turned to the two, "Boys. He is hurt. We need to bring him back to the safe house."
"What? BUT..." Bendy protested before being stopped by Alice.
"No buts, Bendy. He is our creator, and someone in need of help," The toon physically swallowed his pride & nodded, "Good. Now, Boris. You know what to do." Of course he knew. The three of them understood each other without words. He no sooner had picked the animator up than he was out of that door, on his was to their 'safe house', as they liked to call it.
"Alice?" From the floor Bendy spoke, not making a move to get up. He stared down at his huge, white gloves, far to much going on in his mind at once.
"Yes, Bendy?" Alice asked her brother, sitting beside him, a gentle hand placed on his shoulder. Her smile was full of warmth & understanding, yet the only thing he saw was Henry, Henry, laying on that pentagram, 30 years older than in the pictures Joey shared with them. Then he looked up at her, inky tears at the edges of his eyes. His forever smile was gone, replaced by a watery frown.
"Why is he here, Alice? Why did he come back? Why now? Why..." A sob racked his small frame, ink flowing from his eyes, marking inky tear tracks on his face. The demon grit his teeth, wiping at his face furiously, not wanting to show a hint of weakness.
"I don't know." Was all she could say, yet she could do more. She hugged him, stroking his head between his horns like she knew he liked. His sobs soon subsided, yet they didn't separate.
"Heh. Thanks. I guess." He pulled back finally, his gaze missing hers as he stood up & followed where Boris had previously run of too.
"You're welcome, Bendy." She whispered to the studio. At times like these, it seemed to be the only thing that listened, & listened to listen, not to hear. Soon enough, the angel followed behind her boys. They still had an unconscious old animator to deal with.