Chapter Text
At first there was barely anything to really note. Nothing but murky darkness that felt like it expanded forever. But sometimes, there were these waves of thoughts and, apparently, emotions. Brief, fleeting feelings of something... bad. They were all too far away to understand any more than ‘bad’.
Another strange part was the accompanying sensation of almost being something rolling in. Not emotionally, but existing, physically. Whatever that meant.
There was barely enough to think about anything too hard.
Time, if such a thing even existed here, between each of those instances felt endless. They felt so long that they could almost be forgotten entirely until the next slow tide of feeling washes in.
And then, the moments of nothing between became shorter. It wasn't too frequent, no, but the feelings started to ingrain like marked paper behind a pen writing over and over. Nothing seemed to change with what was written; still the same but now recognizable feelings of fear and pain, almost existing, not existing, a scent of candles…?
The way the thoughts and emotions surfaced was still so subtle, the occurrence akin to a weak beat of a heart.
Another heartbeat. Another wave.
This time, stronger feelings emerged. The impressions were enough to finally interpret words, those thoughts of fear, panic, the need to get away, the need to not be alone, to have somebody, anybody, to help, it was just so cold and dark, please-
Then suddenly there was just so much.
The endless nothing was flooded with swirling blacks and greys like a torrent as various voices and whispers abruptly rose in volume, overlapping, overwhelming. It was so much more than before; more fear, anguish, despair, desperation, betrayal, anger… like a buzzing, screaming well. They were strange, foreign, not the feelings from before.
The emotions and feelings from before- his emotions? They existed before these ones so they must have been significant to him. But were they his? So- Wait- His? He? Who-? It’d now become so hard to focus, and for the opposite reason to previously not having enough to actually focus on.
Suddenly, something moves and catches his attention upwards.
Gold slipped through some of the swirls, building up into a blinding light at the end of a murky tunnel. The cacophony of voices broke away but were not completely gone. Instead, a single voice was isolated. Phrases were overlapping enough that he couldn't make out more than a few words at a time. It was a rather calm voice.
“... see wh… …. hiding…. friend.”
“... this … here?!”
“... old desk…”
“... were y…. ...ing?”
“Alright Joey…”
And also strangely familiar…
The thoughts! The voice and those feelings were connected somehow, he knew it!
He couldn't even begin to wonder what the light was or why he started towards it, feeling like he was swimming against a current, but he knew he had to make it. His arms- he had arms?- felt too short but the light was so close now.
The mass of disjointed voices came back full force. Pitch black arms and hands clawed at him, but the light almost seemed to shun them. He was so close now, the same calm voice still there, calling. If he could just reach a little bit further. His fingertips just grazed the gold when one last definite thought, a name, surfaced just as he did.
Bendy?
The little devil darling found himself staring down at the wooden floor of a small, dimly lit room. The floorboard seemed warped with age and covered in dark stains. The quietness of this room felt jarring after everything he just went through. There was the smell of burning candles, a sharp scent that he recognized as ink, and something a bit more metallic. Blood? Lifting his gaze up revealed ink at his hands and feet to be in deliberate circles and overlapping triangles. There was a ring of candles around the furthest perimeter, a couple burned out. He made note of the excess ink that was still pouring off him as he shifted. A quick glance around the room was enough to realize how everything seemed to dwarf him until Bendy’s attention was drawn to two piles at each side of the circle.
To the right seemed to be a lump of ink stained clothing crumpled to the ground. With a quick squint, a messy head of grey hair could be made out ducking under the darkened sleeves. Thin lines of red (oh, that's concerning) ran down their arms. The pile wasn't moving.
Bendy moved his focus to the left pile which seemed to be just ink. No squinting nor tilting his head showed more than a mass of thick black liquid piled on itself. It seemed to be strangely solid. This one was moving.
The little toon suddenly felt anxious and started to get up to check on the right figure. Or at least, he wanted to. The pile of ink seemed to twitch more erratically, bubbling and rising up, before starting to seep through the wooden boards. It was then he realized the extra ink on himself was doing the same, bringing on the feeling of weights on his back, pushing him through the floor as well.
Bendy’s arms splayed out in an attempt to find purchase. His pie-cut eyes darted around desperately for something to anchor himself, seeing the candles, some strange boxes, and a chair, but nothing was within range. Half of his body was now through the floor (he could still feel his legs kicking strangely enough) and he reached out at the right pile that had begun to stir. He tried to call out- for help? Why did he think they would help?- but no words came out. In his panic, Bendy barely had time to question the weak, breathy whistle that came out instead.
The ink piles were almost fully gone and Bendy was up to his face. What parts of his body that were under felt like staticky pins and needles. He skewed his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable, but not before a last glance with one eye to the left. With all the excess ink melting off into puddles seeping who knows where, a vague face shape was revealed to wear one wide, twitching, but somehow all too familiar grin.
And then Bendy fell.
It felt more like plunging into a thick pool than being painfully pulled through solid wood. The accompanying pressure and muffled noise only reinforced that feeling. A force kept him going down, like someone had tied an anchor around his waist. Bendy could barely tell if his eyes were open during the entire trip until he saw glimpses of more yellowed wood, before diving into the dark again. He couldn't tell if he was screaming, couldn't hear with the rushing of ink in his ears. But if he wasn't? He definitely wanted to.
Suddenly the anchor was cut off and he was free falling. It wasn't a long distance from the ceiling he was shot out of to a shallow pool of ink below. It was unfortunately not a moment of reprieve. The dunk into the ink brought back the screaming voices that Bendy has come to learn lived in that pitch black.
“...o home! …”
“N… fair……s not fair! “
“The proph… ...s lost…”
“...id you hear … ?”
Bendy managed to pull his head out of the ink, eyes shut against the voices, and took a huge breath. Faint impressions of hands clawed at him and he frantically made his way to the ledge that was thankfully close by. It wasn't a large pool as it turned out. Nothing compared to being lost in there without a form. No wonder those voices were so-
“-OT FAIR NOT FAIR-!”
“LIAR!”
A support beam was close enough to grab onto as he scrambled his way away from the wailing only to bump headfirst into another creature that let out its own garbling screech. Bendy tripped and got up just as quick to avoid being bashed over the head with a- another head?! More alarmed whistles were heard as the little devil finally saw that this thing’s head was dangling from a fishing line, absolutely mutilated and spilling ink. The creature’s body was a mess: ink running lines down, legs melting, and one arm almost fused with the wrench it held. Some sort of sign was wrapped around its ‘neck’ that swung in time with its head as it recovered from that first miss. It would have stood just as tall as Bendy if his head were attached. Okay, maybe a little taller.
Bendy backed away and found the balance beam pressing against his back, knocking into something else he couldn't see. The room was just as spacious as the first one, which is to say, not at all. A quick glance of his options revealed a hallway to the left and the ink pool behind. Bendy wasn't given enough time to wonder if he could be fast enough to make it to the hall as the creature reappeared before him, wrench raised high. He ended up freezing in place and closed his eyes once more to brace himself. He really shouldn't be accepting these situations so easily but what can he do?! He was literally just… born? Made?
It happened too fast.
There was a screech, the gargling noises of that creature, and a loud, wet, almost a crack! noise. Bendy felt the cold ink splatter on him and nothing else.
In fact, nothing happened to him at all.
There was another squelch, then a sickening snap before Bendy peaked open one curious eye. He immediately flinched back at the blinding light that assaulted his vision. His flinch finally knocked over the thing he grazed a while ago, causing it to clatter on the ground. Bendy cringed at the noise and eyes snapped wide open. Laid on the ground beside him now seemed to be a cardboard replica of himself grinning back up almost mockingly. Bendy averted his eyes from it, returning his focus to what was ahead of him.
And he immediately regretted it.
The fishing pole creature was sprawled on the ground, no longer a threat. That was made obvious from the now gaping hole Bendy could see in its mutilated chest. Solid ink was torn apart, holding itself loosely as what seemed to be bones jutted out at unnatural angles. What made this worse though was a creature looming over them both, with its long hands digging right into the chest cavity. Bendy couldn't make out any more than that, not when the blinding light focused right on him.